#harvey dent headcanons

[tarrenterror25]

thoughts no one asked for but my mind has no mouth and must scream

Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Soft/Romantic Goth F!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Tags: established relationship, fluff, mention of blood/wounds/injuries Harvey POV

Notes: Song referenced in moodboard is “Love You to Death" by Type O Negative. Just a thing that's been on the brain that I had to get out. Self indulgent.

Thinking about Harvey with a soft goth girlfriend who dresses like she could be scary, but she's actually the most least threatening person he's ever met.

You dress in all black, your boots look like you crush skulls for a living, and you wear spiked accessories like social deterrents, but you're just the sweetest thing he's ever met.

It's laughable to him, how people might perceive you one way when you're nothing like that. It reminds him of himself, or how he used to be, anyways. He's always been a bigger guy and looks pretty imposing, but he was never actually like that...unless driven to be. It's different now though, of course.

Dating you happened naturally as he found himself unable to stay away from you. Both sides of him liked watching the visible signs of you getting butterflies when he would be near you and though he'd never tell you, you gave him butterflies, too. He just couldn't stay away from you and he found himself having a soft spot for you.

You frequent all the oddity shops in Gotham so you've seen all sorts of things. The books you read are...interesting to say the least, he's peeked at a few titles. You're not bothered by the grotesque or the strange.

And you're not bothered by his scars.

He remembers the first time you looked at him, really looked at him. Right into both of his eyes and how you smiled.

Christ, he could never forget that.

His burns never bothered you and both sides of him immediately were attached to you because of this.

The first kiss you two shared made him so nervous. It was one thing to be around him and spend time with him, but physical intimacy scared him nowadays for obvious reasons. He hardly loves himself, so how could you? He was fully prepared for you to just kiss his cheek, maybe make an excuse if he were to make the first move, but you didn't.

You made the first move, cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, not bothering to work around his less than stellar half. Any doubts he may have still had about you, gone.

Your soft and kind demeanor brings out the gentleman side of Harvey and the protective side of Two-Face. Sure, his other half likes to scare you sometimes just for fun, sneaking up on you, stealing soft touches, grabbing you and pulling you to him when you least expect it, but if anyone else bothers you, luck will not be on their side.

He may not be the most gentle person, but with you he likes to try.

Harvey enjoys helping you in/out of your platforms, in/out of your corsets or whatever contraption of a garment you're zipped into, and he even offered to paint your nails for you once. He absolutely adores spoiling you with affection.

Harvey loves that your style is your own, but Harv is totally into it. When he's feeling festive with his split suits, he lets you help design them. Some designs are more fun with spikes and chain adornments and others are a bit more fancy with brocade and such.

Most of your interests he's not super into it, but he respects it. He's protective so you probably won't be able to go anywhere without him if he feels it could be unsafe.

If you want to go out dancing or to some niche concert, he'll tag along, though he'll hang back at a table and keep an eye on your from a distance, make sure no one messes with you. The scene isn't his jam, but seeing you have fun is enough for him.

Some of you provocative clothing is sure to get a reaction out of him, especially the fishnets. That's his weakness.

You always take him as he is so if you're ever nervous about how you look or how you're dressed, he's sure to hype you up as best as he can.

Sometimes he feels grateful for what happened to him, without the accident, he wouldn't have met you. With his new outlook on life, he can understand you better. He's positive that if he remained district attorney, living in the light, that he would have never given you the time of day and even if he did, he wouldn't know how to appreciate you the way he does now.

Your love for darker things helps him love himself, not by much, but enough that with you he isn't always doom and gloom or woe is me.

You being a romantic is not what he expected when he got with a goth gal. You like using the fancy dishes and lighting candles for dinner. You like flowers all over the place though they're usually dark in color. You like to cuddle with him and watch movies, not afraid to make contact with his scarred side.

You like watching a lot of monster movies which made him roll his eyes at first, but he would catch the way your eyes stay glued to the monster be it vampire, a werewolf, or a creature from the black lagoon. The soft dreamy sighs escaping you made him curious.

"You realize that they're the bad guy, right? Literally a monster, not human," he says. "They're just misunderstood," you explain. "And they just want to be loved like everyone else?" "Yeah, buut they mostly resort to extreme measures?" "I think..." she ponders, "it's because they understand what it is to lose something or be lonely. And they found someone who understands them and can see them, even though they aren't human. To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow. Or however that saying goes." She shrugs and pops a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth.

Watching you fawn over the the creatures in those films makes him feel better about himself, makes him feel like less of a monster, like he's still capable of being loved.

[yandere-wishes]

I'm curious what people's take on a rougher Harvey/two-face would be. The kinda that doesn't mind seeing they're darling a little brusied up if it's coming from him. Maybe Harv gets to play sadist a bit and Harvey can't help but admire how pretty you look with blood dripping from his love bites and those pretty bruises blooming across your gorgeous face and body.

Anyway someone please indulge me!! I need more Harvey Dent asks like a drug!!

[reginalusus]

IDK. I had to do something with them even if it's just eh.

Yes, I think Jason would take the opportunity to torture Harvey with puns and quips about his duality, hm, yes...

[shyjusticewarrior]

Batman love interests and who their fav of Bruce's children is

Selina - Cass

Harvey - Jason

Minhkoa - Damian

Talia - Damian obviously, Jason is 2nd

[urdreamydoodles]

Batman Villains x Fem!Reader

You are a criminal hiding under the role of a psychiatrist in Arkham

You introduces yourself as a new psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, but beneath your professional facade, you're also a criminal with your own agenda. During your sessions with Gotham’s notorious villains, you forms twisted, romantic relationships with them.

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, The Riddler, Two-Face & The Penguin

Joker

- You introduced yourself as the new psychiatrist in Arkham, armed with degrees and a mask of professionalism, hiding your true nature beneath the surface. Your sessions with the Joker began with cautious probing, dancing around his mind like any other doctor would. But the moment his cold, dark eyes met yours, you both knew it was a game—one neither of you intended to lose.

- His smile, wide and unhinged, widened further each session as he slowly unraveled your façade. You found yourself intrigued by him in ways you weren’t supposed to be. The chaos he offered was intoxicating, his unpredictable mind a puzzle you craved to solve. And while you knew the risks, you couldn’t help but draw closer to his madness. In your second session, his laughter became personal, no longer mocking Arkham's walls but meant for you.

- Joker had a way of pulling you in, teasing out the criminal lurking beneath your skin. You weren’t just a doctor—you were a kindred spirit, someone who understood his twisted view of the world. He could see it in the glint of your eyes when you spoke to him about Gotham’s hypocrisy, about the system’s flaws. And one day, as you were closing your notebook, his voice cut through the air: "You’re not one of them, doc. You’re like me."

- Your heart raced, but you played it cool, chuckling softly as if you weren’t shaken to the core. From then on, your sessions turned into something more intimate. Conversations turned into whispered secrets, truths about your past crimes, the people you manipulated to rise in the criminal underworld. Joker reveled in it, seeing the darkness he knew you were hiding. He began to speak about you in ways that made your pulse quicken, about how you could rule Gotham together, throw the city into disarray with your combined intellect and chaos.

- The tipping point came when, during a particularly charged session, he reached across the table, his gloved fingers brushing yours. There was a promise in that touch, something raw and dangerous. The lines between doctor and patient blurred completely when he pressed his lips against yours, leaving a smear of red lipstick on your mouth. You didn’t pull away—you couldn’t. Instead, you let him pull you into his world of madness, where logic twisted into a wicked kind of love.

- After that day, it wasn’t just therapy anymore. You became his accomplice, helping him from the inside, pulling strings behind Arkham’s walls. And when he finally escaped, you were right there beside him, both of you laughing at the chaos you would unleash. You weren’t just the Joker’s psychiatrist—you were his queen of madness, his partner in crime, and Gotham was yours to play with.

Harley Quinn

- When you walked into Arkham as the new psychiatrist, you were immediately drawn to her. Harley Quinn, the infamous former doctor turned criminal, sat across from you, her playful smirk never faltering. But you knew better than to take her lightly. Behind her giggles and flirtations was a woman who had once been where you were, a professional undone by obsession. Little did Harley know, you had the same spark of madness within you, hidden under the guise of professionalism.

- Your sessions with Harley were like a dance, a back-and-forth of wit and insight. She would tease you about your job, mock the way you spoke in clinical terms, but you both knew she was testing you. You always answered with a smirk of your own, showing her that you weren’t as buttoned-up as you seemed. You weren’t just here to analyze her—you were here to connect, to peel back the layers of her mind because you saw yourself in her.

- One day, during a session, she leaned in close, her eyes flickering with interest. "You know, doc, you remind me of someone." Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial, and you knew she meant herself. You chuckled, leaning back in your chair. "I’ve heard that before." She narrowed her eyes, suddenly serious. "You ain’t like the others." And she was right. You weren’t.

- You started to let bits of your real self slip through, sharing small pieces of your criminal side with her. You knew she would understand, maybe even admire it. Harley watched you carefully as you spoke about the schemes you had been part of, the power you wielded under the radar. She loved it. And before long, your sessions were less about her and more about the connection between the two of you.

- The day she kissed you was a blur of impulsive passion. After a particularly heated exchange, Harley had grabbed your tie, yanking you toward her, your lips crashing together. There was no hesitation on your part, only a thrilling sense of liberation. You were no longer pretending to be the psychiatrist, and Harley wasn’t just your patient. You were equals, two criminals playing a dangerous game of love and power.

- From that moment on, you were inseparable. You used your position to smuggle things in for her, weapons and plans for her next big heist. Harley, in return, made you feel alive in a way no one else ever could. She saw your darkness and embraced it, encouraging you to step deeper into the life you had been hiding. You became her partner in crime, but unlike the Joker, you weren’t controlling her. You were both free in each other’s chaos, equals in madness.

- The day you helped her escape Arkham was the beginning of something wild. Together, you wreaked havoc on Gotham, her unpredictable energy and your calculated cunning making you an unstoppable duo. You were Harley’s new obsession, but it wasn’t one-sided. She was yours too. You weren’t just another doctor who fell for the wrong patient—you were a criminal mastermind who found the perfect match in Harley Quinn.

Poison Ivy

- You introduced yourself to Arkham as just another psychiatrist, another cog in the system. But from the moment you sat down across from her, the infamous Poison Ivy, you knew you were dealing with someone who could see through your façade. Her green eyes were sharp, watching you with a knowing look as you asked your initial questions. You were careful, though. You knew better than to underestimate a woman like her.

- Each session was a test, a game of wits between the two of you. Ivy wasn’t like the others—you couldn’t simply manipulate her or play into her weaknesses. She was strong, both mentally and physically, her connection to nature giving her a kind of power you admired. And she could sense something off about you, something that didn’t fit with the usual Arkham doctor. You were good at hiding it, but not good enough. "You’re not just a shrink, are you?" she asked one day, a sly smile playing at her lips.

- You leaned back, meeting her gaze evenly. "And you’re not just a criminal." It was an admission, a silent agreement that you were both more than you appeared. Ivy’s curiosity grew from that moment, and so did yours. She wasn’t just another patient to you—she was a woman who had taken control of her life, her body, and the world around her. You respected her, even admired her strength, something you had always craved for yourself.

- Slowly, your conversations turned into something more intimate. You shared pieces of your own life with her, your involvement in the criminal underworld, your ability to manipulate others without them ever realizing it. Ivy listened carefully, her expression neutral, but you could tell she was interested. She liked the idea of someone who wasn’t afraid to challenge the system from the inside, someone who understood the game she was playing.

- One day, she leaned in close, her fingers brushing against your wrist, sending a strange, almost electric pulse through your skin. "You’re beautiful," she whispered, her voice low and sultry. You felt your heart skip a beat, but you didn’t pull away. You were drawn to her, to the danger, to the idea of losing yourself in her world. It wasn’t long before your professional boundaries crumbled, and you found yourself kissing her, tasting the sweet poison of her lips. It was intoxicating, like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

- From that moment on, your relationship was no longer confined to Arkham. You helped her in secret, bringing her the resources she needed, aiding her in her environmental crusades. Ivy saw the criminal in you and nurtured it, just like one of her plants. She didn’t want to control you—she wanted to empower you, and you let her. Together, you became a force to be reckoned with, a dangerous duo that Gotham wouldn’t soon forget. Poison Ivy had claimed you, body and soul, and you loved every minute of it.

Bane

- Your arrival in Arkham as the new psychiatrist was unremarkable to most, but when you were assigned to Bane, things took a darker turn. His reputation was terrifying, the man who broke the Bat, a living embodiment of strength and intelligence. But you weren’t afraid. You were drawn to him, to the power he represented, both physical and mental. You had always craved control, and Bane was the perfect subject—someone you could manipulate, or so you thought.

- Your sessions with Bane began like any other, with you trying to delve into his psyche, trying to understand the mind behind the monster. But he was different from the others. Bane wasn’t just brute strength—he was calculating, strategic, and he quickly saw through your act. He didn’t say it right away, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting for you to slip up.

- It didn’t take long for him to speak up. "You’re not here to fix me," he said one day, his voice deep and commanding. You froze, knowing you couldn’t hide from him anymore. "No," you admitted, a smirk tugging at your lips. "I’m not." You weren’t just a psychiatrist—you were a criminal, someone who had risen through Gotham’s underworld, and you wanted to understand the man who had brought the city to its knees.

- Bane respected honesty, and from that moment, your dynamic shifted. He didn’t see you as a doctor anymore—he saw you as an equal, someone with the same hunger for power that he had. You were fascinated by his mind, by the way he strategized and planned every move. He was a genius, far beyond what most people gave him credit for, and you couldn’t help but admire him.

- The tension between you grew with each session. Bane was controlled, disciplined, but you could see the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. It was subtle, but it was there. You were drawn to his strength, to the raw power he exuded, and you knew he felt the same. One day, after a particularly intense session, you found yourself standing too close to him, the air thick with unspoken desire. His hand, large and calloused, reached out to gently touch your cheek, his eyes dark with intent.

- "You are more than they realize," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. You closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a heated, dangerous kiss. There was no softness in it—only raw passion and the unspoken understanding that you were both forces of nature, bound by a mutual respect and hunger for power.

- From that day on, you were no longer his psychiatrist. You were his partner, his equal in every sense of the word. Bane trusted you in ways he trusted no one else, and you used that trust to help him plot his next move against Gotham. You were the brains behind his brawn, working together to bring the city to its knees once again. You loved him, not just for his strength but for his mind, for the way he saw the world and molded it to his will. Together, you were unstoppable, a force that no one could stand against. And you reveled in the chaos you would unleash.

Scarecrow

- When you first introduced yourself as the new psychiatrist at Arkham, you were already aware of Jonathan Crane's reputation. The master of fear, the Scarecrow, was infamous for his obsession with the mind's darkest corners. But what intrigued you wasn’t just his fixation on fear—it was the brilliance behind it, the cold, calculating intellect that twisted psychology into something deadly. You weren’t there to cure him, though. Beneath your polished exterior, you had your own darkness, your own secrets, and a hunger to learn from someone like him.

- From the first session, there was a tension in the air. Crane wasn’t like the other patients who tried to charm or manipulate you—he studied you, analyzing every word, every gesture. His voice was calm, his demeanor almost detached, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He knew you weren’t like the other doctors. "You’re curious," he remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But not about my recovery."

- You smirked, leaning back in your chair. "No, Dr. Crane. I’m curious about your work." That was the moment he saw you for what you were—a kindred spirit, someone who wasn’t afraid of fear but fascinated by it. Your sessions became less about psychology and more about power. Crane saw potential in you, and you in him. You started talking about fear on a deeper level, about how it controlled people, how it could be harnessed and used.

- As the weeks passed, you found yourself drawn to his mind, the way he saw fear not as a weakness but as a tool. You began to share your own experiences, the times you had manipulated fear in others to get what you wanted. Crane listened, his interest piqued, and for the first time, he opened up about his own experiments, the thrill he felt when watching his victims crumble under his toxin’s effects.

- One evening, after a particularly intense session, you found yourselves standing close, too close for a professional boundary. His hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt through you. His eyes, dark and penetrating, locked onto yours. "You don’t fear me, do you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. You shook your head, smiling. "I admire you." That was all it took. In an instant, his lips were on yours, the kiss filled with an electric tension that had been building for weeks.

- From that moment on, your relationship was no longer patient and doctor. You became his confidante, his partner in exploring the darkest aspects of the human psyche. He showed you things no one else knew about—his latest fear toxin formulas, his plans for Arkham and Gotham. You helped him, using your position to cover his tracks, to gather resources, and to watch as he slowly gained more control over the asylum.

- But it wasn’t just about fear anymore. It was about power, control, and a twisted form of love that grew between the two of you. Jonathan Crane wasn’t just your patient—he was your equal, your partner in crime, and the two of you reveled in the chaos you could create together. The city would learn to fear you both, and you’d savor every moment of it.

The Riddler

- Arkham had seen many doctors come and go, but when you introduced yourself to Edward Nygma, better known as the Riddler, he immediately knew you were different. You weren’t just another psychiatrist trying to “fix” him. No, there was something in your eyes, something calculating. You enjoyed puzzles, mysteries, and games of wit—just like he did. You weren’t there to cure him. You were there to challenge him.

- Your first session was more of a mental sparring match than a therapy session. Nygma tested you with riddles, trying to throw you off balance, to make you stumble. But you never missed a beat. Every time he threw a challenge your way, you met it with ease, answering his riddles with a smirk. "Impressive," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But you’re hiding something, aren’t you, doctor?"

- You tilted your head, feigning innocence, but you both knew he was right. Edward Nygma thrived on solving puzzles, and you were a puzzle he wanted to crack. But what he didn’t realize was that you were just as much a player in this game as he was. As the sessions progressed, you began to drop hints, letting him see glimpses of the criminal mind beneath your professional exterior. It fascinated him, the idea that you weren’t just there to help, but that you had your own agenda.

- One day, during a particularly charged conversation about Gotham’s elite and their weaknesses, Nygma leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You’re like me, aren’t you? You see the world for what it is—a game. And we’re the ones smart enough to win." You didn’t deny it. Instead, you smiled, leaning closer. "Maybe I am."

- That was the turning point. From then on, your sessions were no longer about his rehabilitation—they were about planning. You shared your own insights into Gotham’s corruption, its flaws, its riddles. Nygma loved it. You became partners, planning your own schemes from inside Arkham’s walls. You used your position to feed him information, to help him plot his escape and his next big move.

- The chemistry between you grew with every session, the tension crackling between the two of you like static. It all came to a head one night when, after hours of trading riddles and plotting, Edward stood and crossed the room, pulling you close. "I always did enjoy a good mystery," he whispered before his lips met yours in a fierce, possessive kiss.

- After that, you were inseparable. You weren’t just partners in crime—you were lovers, bound by a shared intellect and a thirst for control. Nygma trusted you in a way he trusted no one else, and you used that trust to help him execute his plans, bending Gotham to your will. Together, you were unstoppable, a pair of masterminds who thrived on chaos and complexity. The city was your playground, and every riddle, every challenge, only brought you closer.

Two-Face

- When you walked into the room for your first session with Harvey Dent, you knew you weren’t meeting the famed district attorney Gotham once adored. No, you were staring at a man who had been broken by fate, his face a stark reminder of the chaos that ruled his life now. But you didn’t flinch. You introduced yourself calmly, sitting across from him like you would any other patient, knowing full well you had your own reasons for being here.

- Two-Face sized you up immediately, his scarred eye twitching slightly as he watched your every move. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice low and suspicious. You smirked, leaning back in your chair. "Maybe I’m just curious about how someone like you thinks," you replied coolly. He chuckled darkly, flipping his coin in the air. "No one’s ever *just curious* about me, doll."

- Your sessions were a constant tug-of-war. Harvey’s dual nature fascinated you—how he constantly struggled between his desire for justice and the dark side that had overtaken him. You, too, had a duality hidden beneath the surface. You played the part of the psychiatrist well, but beneath that, you were a criminal, drawn to chaos just like him. And as much as he tried to intimidate you, you didn’t back down, and he noticed.

- Harvey respected your strength. The more you pushed back, the more interested he became. He saw something in you, something different from the other doctors who had tried to “fix” him. One day, after a particularly heated session, he tossed the coin in the air, catching it in his palm before smirking. "You know, I’ve got a feeling you’re not so innocent yourself." You met his gaze evenly. "What if I’m not?" That was the moment you saw the shift in his eyes—the dual sides of Harvey Dent were no longer fighting each other, they were intrigued by you.

- It wasn’t long before your relationship took a darker, more intimate turn. One night, after hours of discussing Gotham’s corruption and his place in it, Harvey stood from his chair and crossed the room, pulling you close. The kiss was rough, almost desperate, as if he was trying to claim you as his, but you didn’t resist. You wanted it, wanted him. There was something thrilling about the danger, the unpredictability that came with Two-Face.

- From that moment on, you were his partner in more than just therapy. You helped him plan, working from within Arkham’s walls, aiding him in gathering resources for his next move against Gotham. You fed into both sides of him—the one that craved order and the one that loved chaos. Two-Face trusted you in a way he hadn’t trusted anyone since his fall, and together, you were unstoppable. His coin may have decided fate, but you held the real power in your hands, manipulating the outcome to suit your shared goals. You were drawn to the danger, and with Two-Face by your side, you reveled in the chaos.

The Penguin

- As you introduced yourself to Oswald Cobblepot in Arkham, you could feel his eyes assessing you from head to toe. The Penguin was a man who built his empire on manipulation, control, and knowing exactly who to trust—and who to use. But you weren’t just another psychiatrist walking into his cell. You had your own agenda, and the second you sat down, you knew Penguin would be a challenge worth taking on.

- Oswald wasn’t subtle. "So, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?" he sneered, the cane in his hand tapping the ground softly. You smiled, unphased by his attempt to unnerve you. "Just trying to understand what makes you tick, Mr. Cobblepot." He chuckled, clearly amused. "Is that so? Or are you here for something a little more… profitable?" He had you pegged, and you didn’t deny it. Penguin wasn’t someone who responded to weakness. He respected ambition, and you had plenty of it.

- The sessions became a delicate dance. You learned quickly that Penguin wasn’t just a gangster—he was a mastermind, always ten steps ahead of everyone else in the room. He loved the game, the power plays, the manipulation. And you knew how to play the game just as well. Every conversation with him was layered with unspoken meaning, your words carefully chosen to show you weren’t just another Arkham shrink. Oswald began to respect you, intrigued by your sharp mind and your ability to keep up with him.

- It wasn’t long before the lines blurred between professional and personal. Penguin’s calculating gaze would linger on you a little too long, his smirks becoming something more suggestive. "You’ve got a real talent for this," he’d say during one of your sessions, his voice low and dripping with amusement. "Maybe you should be working for me instead of this place." You didn’t disagree. In fact, the idea thrilled you. Gotham’s underworld was where you truly belonged, and Penguin saw it.

- One evening, after a particularly intense conversation about Gotham’s crime families, Oswald stood, walking around his desk with that unmistakable limp. He stood close, closer than ever before, his hand gently brushing your arm. "You and me, we could run this town," he whispered, his eyes dark with ambition and something more. You felt the electricity between you, the pull of power and attraction, and when he leaned in, you didn’t pull away. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and filled with the promise of what could come.

- After that, you were no longer just his psychiatrist. You became his confidante, his right hand, and eventually, his lover. Together, you plotted his rise back to the top, using your position in Arkham to gather information and pull strings. Penguin admired your cunning, your beauty, and your ambition. You weren’t just someone he used—you were someone he trusted, and in his world, that was more valuable than anything.

- You found yourself falling deeper into Gotham’s criminal underworld, by his side. Oswald respected your mind as much as your beauty, and you thrived in the power he gave you. The city became your playground, and together, you schemed to take it all. Penguin may have been a ruthless crime lord, but with you, he was something more—an equal. And together, no one could stand in your way.

[gothamite-rambler]

Lucid Harvey Dent being fatherly to Jason Todd

Harvey Dent: Hey Red Hood, Batman, white Robin.

Red Robin: Is that what they call me?

Harvey: Well it helps me differentiate you two since I think you're both called Robin.

Red Robin: That... Makes sense and honestly makes me feel a lot better.

Red Hood: Are we talking to Two-Face or lucid Harvey?

Harvey: Lucid Harvey. You're the kid that survived... again it's really good to see you, you look very healthy.

Red Hood (sniffling): I needed that today.

Batman growled with anger, rubbing his forehead frustrated.

Batman: We didn't come here so you can make him cry.

Red Hood: I'm not crying!

Harvey chuckled and takes a sip from his tea cup.

Harvey: What you here for? I can talk for a few hours, I'm getting better at staying in reality.

Red Hood: Oh okay, that's great! Before we start, I wanted to give you this coin.

Red could flipped the coin through the cell bars and Harvey caught it with ease he examined the coin and saw that it was a cute novelty coin he could flip.

Harvey: Aww that's neat. It's marked decision coin and one side says 'hell yeah' and the other one 'fuck no'. Two face will like this. Thanks kid.

Red Hood: I can't do this... I can't do this. He's so fatherly.

Red Hood sniffled and walked off to have a moment alone. Red Robin chuckled when he saw Batman glaring at Harvey, but it was hidden by his mask. He patted him on the shoulder.

Red Robin: Sorrows, prayers.

Batman: Shut up.

[bruciemilf]

This is canon to me ✌️😔✌️

[aeturnum-mendacacium]

"NO! PLEASE! ANYONE BUT THE BAT, HIS HIP TO WAIST RATIO IS TOO POWERFULL"

-could be anyone actually

[moider-time]

AU where Bruce Wayne is a voice actor.

He always had an interest in acting and would've tried it but his anxiety always stopped him from getting into the game. Even trying out for the school play would get him stammering and unable to read his lines. To this day, he mourns the fact that he never got to play Benvolio.

He had given up on his dream years before he heard that there was going to be a reboot of his favourite childhood cartoon, The Gray Ghost (all of Gotham probably heard the scream he let out when he heard the news)

Sadly some of the original cast had passed away before the reboot so they couldn't reprise their roles, and this includes the original Gray Ghost. So you have Bruce hoping like any other fan that they get a good replacement. He talks about it so much that Alfred jokingly says "well Master Bruce if you're so worried about it, you should audition"

And Bruce laughs but he can't stop thinking about it. He twists and turns in bed because the idea of playing The Gray Ghost, of being to kids what the original voice actor was to him as a child, he can't say it's not appealing. He dwells on it for the next few days and while he doesn't know if his inability to perform will extend to voice acting, he wants to try.

On his way down to auditions, he is sweating. He has to have Alfred drop him cause his hands won't stop shaking. Seeing all the people in the waiting room almost makes him turn back around but Alfred talks him back into it.

(I'd like to think that everyone else there either didn't recognise him because he barely leaves the manor or they recognised him and realised that this man is chock full of anxiety so it's better to not bother him)

So he gets into the booth and once he's started reading his lines, he really gets into it. It's so much easier for him to get into character when there aren't dozens of eyes on him. He finishes, thanks them for the opportunity, goes back to the manor, grabs his stuffies and screams into his pillow.

It's weeks later when he gets a call saying that they want him as the new Gray Ghost. He absolutely does not cry into his biggest teddy bear, what are you talking about? He does hug the crap out of Alfred though. They have cookies to celebrate.

Before you know it, everyone is in love with the new voice of The Gray Ghost. Both new and old fans agree that Bruce was a great choice. I can see Bruce using a pseudonym though. Bruce Wayne is a name that has a lot of weight behind it, weight that he doesn't want to feel when he's voice acting. So he asks them to credit him as Bruce Pennyworth or smth. Alfred is sobbing.

He requests to record his lines at home because he isn't always up for leaving the manor and he doesn't want to slow down production. He'd totally have a professional ass set up cause when he's interested in something, he goes in.

Bruce Pennyworth gets offered more voice acting roles whether it's for cartoons, movies, anime dubs or ads. Harvey and Clark both wondering why the voice over in an ad for toothpaste is about to make them act up. Every single one of the batkids went through the "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE BRUCE PENNYWORTH?!?" phase.

( @bruciemilf come get your juice)

[mogamuncher]

Brucie is a menace to society: The Thesis

Urrgh the brainworms got to me again, so we're talking about some funky Brucie Wayne headcanons:

• There's a difference between Brucie Wayne interacting with the general public and random rich folks that he isn't too close with vs Brucie Wayne interacting with business partners, friend, or people Brucie is generally a bit more trusting towards

• To the general public and the more distant rich folks? Brucie is a himbo dork, a hot playboy manwhores who donated to charity all the time, a little dumb, a heart of gold, definitely seen as way too naive. Brucie is just a well-intentioned goofball who is very good looking, he's clumsy and kinda adorable, people just generally like him because of his Vibes™. Also just very good with kids, though his habit of adoption is brought up a lot in jokes

• But with long time business partners, friends and people he'd be closer to? Brucie is 100% a smug bitch, absolutely insufferable. He's like, still seem as mostly stupid and vapid, still a manwhore, but as they get to know Brucie more others definitely start to catch on whenever he's just fucking with people. Brucie can no longer get away with pretending like he's naive anymore, because these specific people have 100% caught him saying curtain things solely because he thought it would be just so fucking funny

• Because of this, Brucie tends to be more playful with this select group of people, being less of an adorable himbo and more like a loud snarky friend, he's absolutely hilarious if you're actually in on the joke, has an awful habit of teasing others as well

• If you're particularly grouchy or insufferable then Brucie will dedicate the rest of his day to bother you in particular. He can and will just make up any excuse to have a meeting, or to tour at someone else's office, or anything and other to simply be able to annoy bitter people from a close range

• His biggest victims: Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor and Harvey Dent. These three will never know peace, the moment they got close enough to get to the more snarky side of Brucie it was game over. It was really common to see Bruce waltz through parties acting like his normal himbo self, only to do an immediate shift in attitude once he spotted one of them, the press usually found it hilarious

• Lex is the one that suffers under this the most since he's the bitchiest man alive, so Brucie is basically in speed dial to annoy this man 24/7, he's an actual menace about Lex to the point where he will make the trip to metropolis solely to piss Lex off on a completely random Wednesday. They're both the prettiest people to ever exist so the annoyance is actually kinda mutual, but Brucie often wins out since his reactions aren't really fully genuine (on account of being, well, Brucie), something that Lex is endlessly bitter on. To this day no one can tell if they're genuinely actually friends, or if they just hate each other

• Oliver does not get hit by the full brunt of the Brucie Wayne Effect™ as Lex does, but they both still snark at each other all the time, to the point that having a conversation with the two of them present becomes a comedy routine really fast. The accounts of the poor poor survivors that have ever third wheeled their conversations say that it was vaguely reminiscent of being the ball in a game of verbal tennis, as was read in a particularly descriptive article released by several bitter interviewers

• Now, of course Harvey is actually aware that Brucie isn't really fully real, like, he knows that it's mainly a persona, he's actually had full conversations and memories with Bruce instead of Brucie. Still though, Brucie and Harvey are like a menace duo, being targeted by both of them is a sentence to being messed with or manipulated, it's actually really impressive what they can get done together. Of course, they both use their methods for good, and to annoy people that are assholes while still somehow being polite, so it's more funny than anything, really

• Brucie is also just generally more mellow around Harvey, being less snarky and sometimes even quiet, staying in a sweet spot between Bruce and Brucie. Seeing Smug Bitch™ Brucie Wayne chill out a little whenever Harvey was around is a bit surreal to everyone else though, Lex and Oliver will forever complain about it

• Once Harvey became Two Face, Lex and Oliver both actually had some tact (yes, I know right) and gave Brucie some space to deal with it. A week later after the incident Brucie visited both of them with a big confident smile, beer and an invite to a party with only the family friends

• Not much changed after that, Lex is still insufferable, Oliver is still playing along with Brucie's bullshit to some extent, and Brucie is still a menace to society disguised as a harmless himbo playboy. Though sometimes the clear absence of Harvey is felt, especially whenever those quieter and softer moments of Brucie mellowing out simply cease to exist entirely

[violent138]

Harvey Dent's favourite movies would all be sequels. This obviously doesn't change when he's Two Face and his goons quickly learn never to say something stupid like "all sequels are bad". No, they spread the word amongst themselves and one even goes so far to tell Harvey they didn't even bother watching the first one.

Two Face: "You didn't see them both?"

Goon, suddenly anxious: "Oh uh, well--"

Harvey, flipping a coin:

[tarrenterror25]

Do you think Harvey and Harv have different approaches to romance?

Absolutely!

For Harvey, he has a more modest and gentlemanly approach to romance. He's definitely old school so he likes to do things like cook with you, dance in the living room with you, go out on cute dates, and cuddle with you.

Harv is a lot more bold and playful. He definitely pinches/smacks your ass when he can. He may not show interest in everything you do, but he likes being near you so he'll suck it up. Harv is not wine and roses, but more like whiskey and pizza.

Harvey is gentle with you, soft touches like brushing your hair behind your ear, hugs, arm around your shoulders and Harv is not so subtle with his hand on your thigh while he drives or when you're sitting next to each other, taking hold of your chin to make you look at him whether gently or firmly, and his arm around your waist.

For date night, Harvey is arranging everything ahead of time whereas Harv is a make it up as he goes.

In the early stages of your relationship, both will be at war with what to do with you, both afraid and overthinking about what you are okay with or what you would like from them. Just be patient with them, they're trying their best 🥺💕

[yandere-wishes]

⭒°𖦹ᯓlacerationsᯓ𖦹°⭒

Author's note: I have made a wondrous discovery. It's called waking up before 10 am. You get the beautiful solitude of staying up past midnight but with an extra bout of energy. And a little extra time to waste on useless things!

WARNINGS: dead dove, Dead Dove, DEAD DOVE, gore, blood, yandere behavior, multifandom (sorta, there weren't many on either side so I just lumped them together) seriously DEAD DOVE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶° .ᘛ𓆩♡𓆪ᘚ. °꒷꒦︶ ๋꒷꒦︶ ๋꒷꒦

Harvey Dent - Two Face | هاروی دنت - دو چهره

You can feel the keratin sinking through skin, tearing the layer of flesh covering your back. Harvey pulls down the incision, well Harv does technically. Letting it marr his fingertips as his tongue nicks itself along your teeth. His other hand, the human side you think bitterly, Harvey, traces constellations across your thighs, nails ever only grazing skin to connect rogue stars. You suck in a sharp breath when his lips abandon yours, feel the longing of his blue eyes sinking into you.

"Don't think" he rasps, voice smooth as silk so soft it makes you maon. "Let the coin choose," he demands voice so gruff you practically feel the sandpaper skating across your skin. The coin dances across the air like loose flower petals to the wind. Only to land scarred side up. You feel the burning ache again, his nails digging into your chest, leaving jagged trails in their wake. Harvey kisses you again, pushing his pain past your teeth and down your gasping throat.

Jason Todd - Red Hood | جیسون تاد - نقاب قرمز

You wonder if he thinks no one would realize if he died. No one would care. That's the problem with dead things walking, it's hard to weep for something twice gone.

Jason's lips are cold, they're always cold, he's never quite as warm as he should be, then again what dead thing is? You can taste the blood and lukewarm Coca-Cola as he forces his tongue past your sealed lips. Sweet iron flooding your mouth, probably from a gash inside his mouth. Your nails dig into the clean-cut scar engraved across his chest. It's instinctual trying to ward off the dead. His hands lay heavy atop your hips memento mori seeping into the bones. Your palms brace his shoulders but there's no defying death.

Jonathan Crane - Scarecrow | جاناتان کرین - مترسک

It makes sense, he thinks as your little fingers thread the needle through his skin and pull trying to seal the bleeding. Scarecrow, scarecrow, a patchwork of old fabrics to brittle for clothes. What's the difference when it comes to him? He's no less patchwork no less a menace than the straw-stuffed mascots he claims to be. But, and although he knows this isn't perfectly logical, Jonathan can't help but wonder if any scarecrow has ever wished for their seamstress to trail languid kisses across the scars, across the patchwork. To brush their ethereal lips along each stitch. To make the pain worth it.

He loves the way you cry and squirm. Withering in pain the needles pierce through flesh, lacing thread and skin. His tongue laps at the blood still spilling from the half-open wound. Relishing in the shaky breath you take and the delicate hiss of pain. The needles sink in again, threading faster. There's some mirthful irony stored somewhere in all of this. He just can't tell what it fully is.

Roman Sionis - Black Mask | رومن سیونیس - ماسک سیاه

You listen to his music, to the thundering 80's metal reverberating across the room as if trying to break the bars of some invisible cage as if trying to seep through dimensions. Roman lets out a lazy breath of smoke, you let the scent burn your nostrils and sink into your flesh. MINE it screams just like everything else he does. You take your own intake, harboring the smoke between your cheeks letting the poison trickle down your lungs until you can't breathe. Then out into the air chasing pathetically after Roman's smoke. Cause isn't that what life is? An endless chase? Trailing after the thing that broke you, that scarred you beyond repair. What happens when you catch it? Do you kill it or kiss it? Will it let you do either?

Roman props himself up on his elbow, black eyes roaming over your scarcely dressed form. "Cute" he mutters, the timber of his voice always echos. You blame the mask, the ebony ivory. Roman brings the cigarette down, the molten heat penetrating the fat of your thigh. You moan or scream, as the sizzling of your skin rings within your ears. The burnt flesh reeks. You wither beneath the pain letting it engulf you and sink inside till your bones cry. Roman twists the cigarette making sure the ashes tumble down your leg little embers leaving dead stars across your flesh. When he finally lifts the dreaded thing you can't help but trace your fingers over the burnt bound. But he swats your fingers away instead, inserting his own, digging his nails into the raw patch until you cry out again.

Anakin Skywalker - Darth Vader | آناکین اسکای واکر - دارت ویدر

The smile he offers is too genuine, too golden. It stings more than the phantom pain scratching at your wrist. Ani's fingers trace the wires of your exposed hand with all the gentleness you'd expect from someone so holy. Twirling wire ends together before binding them with the silver alloy.

He breaks, lifting his head to leave shallow kisses across the valley of your hand where flesh meets metal. Laughing so sweetly when you wince that it makes your stomach churn. Sometimes he lets the iron slip, letting it tickle your arm and imprint it's fine tip across your glowing skin as if it's all a joke, some inside quip between two friends. But you take it sharply cursing at the galaxy beneath your breath for all its cruel cruel mockery.

Darth Maul | دارت مول

Maybe it's the hunger, that makes everything worse. The desperate need for his attention, molten gold gaze bearing into your soul. Taking apart the broken thing and chipping off more pieces than you care to count. Slowly you pace forward, surprised when he lets you lay your hand atop his. Lets you draw closer to his saber.

You feel the burning light kissing your lips, daring you to open your mouth. Your tongue slowly lulls out empaling itself on the red light. Maul laughs at the burning scent that wafts through the starship. Inhales it desperately, engraving it across his mind. Why does this hurt less than his kisses? Why does being burnt by laser light feel so must sweeter than the touches your lover weaves across your fractured body? Lightsaber burns on your tongue, burnt sugar wafting through the air it's all better than the all-consuming darkness that Maul pushes between your bones each night.

[reginalusus]

Just a sketch that I was too tired to finish... And since it's Father's Day I'm just gonna dump a bunch of my more silly (mostly) headcanons about their dynamic below, teehee.

General - They argue. A lot. About anything. Jason is the instigator. Harvey is almost always correct. - There has been a karaoke battle at some point. - They smoke far too much and smoke breaks are common occurrences during anti-hero outings. They are no longer mere breaks; they are rituals. - One of the only things they are comfortable openly bonding over is their alleged hatred of Bruce - and weapons. - Actually work very well together in combat. Jason's accurate, hard-hitting martial arts expertise and agility compliment Harvey's more elegant and violent approach. Gotham's scumbags are cooked. - They were both slain by Gotham, and reborn. They are now both living their second life - neither want to admit to each other that they find comfort that they're not alone in this. - They will take any opportunity to bring up each other's past interactions; the two-toned car, the two-story building fiasco, the kidnapping, anything. - Jason's biological father is the root cause of their most explosive, brutal fights. Both of them, however, are exhausted and have other shit to worry about, so they avoid this topic as best as they can.

Jason's POV - Teases Harvey about twos, duality and doubles to distract from the horrors. - When angry, will call Harvey 'Apollo' to piss him off. Sometimes it's 'Ex-District Attorney', with emphasis on the 'Ex'. - He doesn't like it very much when Harvey attempts to get close/connect with him; relationships are transactional. At least that's how Jason views them. - Hates being passenger in Harvey's car because he doesn't get any say over the radio. - He does view Harvey as a parental figure, or something like it, but he's conflicted. - Actually appreciates it when Harvey helps him through PTSD episodes. - Sadly, he isn't very good at helping Harvey through dissociation/depressive episodes yet. He sort of stands there like the man emoji. - Will randomly come out with courtroom related lines when Harvey does something bad, like: "Your honour, my client would like to plead Gemini," or "Your honour, in my client's defence, he didn't know the safety lock was off." - Makes jokes about Harvey's thugs all wanting to have 'a night' with Harvey. - Absolutely refuses to call Harvey "dad", even jokingly. He will have sightseen everything in Hell before that happens. - But at the same time he cries out for a father figure, one that is proud of him, that loves him. He secretly loves it when Harvey pats his shoulder or gives an approving nod.

Harvey's POV - Will make jokes about Jason being alive again to distract from the horrors. - When angry, calls Jason 'Robin' or 'Pup' (name of a baby bat) to piss him off. - Tries to bond with Jason - he *wants* to - but he's a big dumbass about it. - Does not understand Jason's music taste and doesn't have any desire to. - Views Jason as the child he never had the chance to have. In a sense, that makes him quite protective of Jason, but he hides this. He tries desperately not to be like his own father. - Is quite good at understanding Jason's emotions; he knows how to deal with his attacks and does, begrudgingly, use tips he learned from his previous therapists. - Doesn't wish to burden Jason with his own episodes. Unfortunately it's not always possible to hide them. - Just as Jason tortures him with puns, Harvey will do it right back. He'll come out with things like, "We only put up with you because you were the SECOND Robin," or "How would you like to die a second time?" - He will stand and stare awkwardly when Jason brings (sneaks) lovers back to the hideout. But he minds his business. - May have accidentally called Jason his son a few times. Or his "kid". But not to Jason directly, only in his talks between himself and Two-Face. - He likes seeing Jason happy. So many kids and young people are let down by Gotham's corruption and he'll be damned if Jason becomes a victim of it (again).

[refloralisation]

broke: two face crimes never go to trial because of the insanity plea

woke: two face crimes never go to trial because: every single trial he will stand up and begin to punch holes in the lawyer's arguments. this would be great if he just restricted himself to the prosecution, but unfortunately for everyone involved, he does not spare the defence either. Chronically unable to stop yapping once they put him on the stand. only three things can happen once harvey is taken to trial: someone blows up the courtroom, mistrial or a hung jury.

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Villains x Reader

One of the underlings hit you and your partner finds out

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

The Joker

- You entered your shared bedroom cautiously, hoping to go unnoticed, but the Joker’s eyes were sharp even in the dim light. He noticed the bruise on your cheek and the busted lip instantly, his grin freezing into something far more sinister. “Well, well, what have we here?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

- When you hesitated to answer, his patience snapped like a frayed wire. He grabbed your chin, tilting your face to inspect the damage. “Who?” he growled, his voice now devoid of its usual playful lilt. “Tell me who dared to mark my favorite little masterpiece.”

- You confessed reluctantly, explaining that one of the underlings had attacked you out of jealousy. The Joker’s laugh started low, bubbling up into a maniacal crescendo. “Jealousy!” he howled, clapping his hands together. “Oh, how precious! They thought they could touch what’s mine and walk away unscathed?”

- Without another word, he stormed out of the room, dragging you along by the wrist. His carnival of chaos always followed him, and tonight, you were part of the show. He found the culprit lounging smugly in the lounge, and his grin returned, wide and predatory. “Congratulations!” he declared, clapping the underling on the back. “You’ve just earned a starring role… in pain!”

- The Joker’s retribution was theatrical and brutal. He pulled out his knife, twirling it playfully as he toyed with the terrified underling. “You know,” he mused, “I always say jealousy is such an ugly emotion. Let’s see how you feel with no emotions at all!” His laughter filled the room as the blade gleamed.

- When it was over, he returned to you, his suit now spattered with blood. He wiped your lip with surprising tenderness, his head tilting as he studied you. “All better now, sugarplum,” he crooned, his mood swinging back to twisted affection. “No one gets to hurt you except me.”

- He spent the rest of the night doting on you in his own chaotic way, cracking jokes and reenacting the “punishment” for your amusement. Beneath the madness, though, his possessiveness was clear. “You’re mine, dollface,” he murmured, running a hand through your hair. “Anyone who forgets that ends up as a punchline.”

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley’s bubbly energy was unmistakable as you entered the room, but her expression quickly soured when she noticed your injuries. “Oh, puddin’, who did this to ya?” she asked, her voice filled with concern and a dangerous edge.

- When you told her about the jealous underling, Harley’s smile twisted into something sharp and feral. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, gently cupping your face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care’a this little problem for ya.” Her tone was deceptively sweet, but her eyes burned with fury.

- She marched straight out, her mallet slung over her shoulder, humming a jaunty tune. You followed hesitantly, watching as she cornered the offender. “Hey there, sugar,” she said with faux friendliness, her mallet swinging lazily in her hand. “I hear you’ve been pickin’ fights with my honeybun.”

- The underling stammered excuses, but Harley was already circling like a predator. “Aww, don’t be shy!” she chirped. “Let’s play a game. It’s called Whack-a-Traitor!” With a gleeful laugh, she brought the mallet down with terrifying force.

- The scene was as brutal as it was efficient. Harley danced around her victim with chaotic grace, each swing of her mallet punctuated by a giggle. “Nobody messes with my baby!” she declared, her voice ringing with conviction.

- When it was over, she bounced back to you, wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek. “All done!” she announced cheerfully, throwing her arms around you. “Nobody’s ever gonna mess with ya again, puddin’. Not while I’m around.”

- That night, she pampered you like royalty, insisting on patching up your lip herself. Between stolen kisses and her playful jokes, you couldn’t help but feel safe despite the carnage. “You an’ me against the world, sweetie,” she said softly, her blue eyes sparkling. “And don’t you forget it.”

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Ivy was lounging gracefully among her plants when you entered, but her serene expression darkened the moment she saw your injuries. “Who did this to you?” she asked, her voice low and venomous, like the hiss of a cobra.

- You hesitated, but her sharp green eyes left no room for evasion. When you finally explained, Ivy’s composure cracked, revealing a wrath that felt as ancient as the earth itself. “They dared to harm you?” she murmured, her voice trembling with fury. “They’ll regret ever drawing breath.”

- Rising gracefully, Ivy summoned her vines with a flick of her wrist. “Come,” she said, her tone commanding. “We have work to do.” You followed as the plants parted for her, their movements strangely menacing. Her connection to nature seemed almost alive with her anger.

- She confronted the underling in her usual calm yet intimidating way, her vines coiling menacingly around them. “You thought you could harm my partner and get away with it?” she asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “Foolish. Very foolish.”

- Ivy’s punishment was swift and merciless. The vines tightened around the underling, their cries muffled as the plants did her bidding. She stood over them, her expression cold. “The earth will reclaim you,” she said simply, turning away as the vines dragged them into the shadows.

- When she returned to you, her anger softened into tenderness. She cupped your face gently, her fingers cool against your skin. “No one will hurt you again,” she promised, her voice like a soothing lullaby. “Not while I have the power to protect you.”

- That night, she surrounded you with the comforting scent of her plants, their soothing presence lulling you to sleep. “You’re mine, my love,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “And anyone who dares harm you will answer to the wrath of Mother Nature herself.”

Bane

- Bane’s sharp eyes immediately noticed your injuries when you stepped into the room. His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched as he asked, “Who dared to harm you?” His voice was calm but carried an unmistakable undercurrent of rage.

- When you told him it was one of his own men, his composure shattered. “One of mine?” he repeated, his voice filled with disbelief and anger. “They will pay for this insult.” He rose to his full, imposing height, his presence radiating fury and power.

- Without hesitation, Bane marched out to find the offender. His movements were purposeful, each step echoing with the promise of retribution. You followed at a safe distance, knowing better than to intervene when he was like this.

- He confronted the underling with cold precision, his voice like a growl. “You struck someone under my protection,” he said, towering over them. “That is a grave mistake.” The underling tried to plead, but Bane was unmoved.

- The punishment was swift and brutal. Bane’s strength was terrifying, and he used it to devastating effect. Each blow was delivered with calculated precision, his fury controlled but unrelenting. When it was over, he stood over the lifeless body, his breathing steady. “Let this be a warning to anyone who dares to harm what is mine,” he declared.

- Returning to you, Bane’s demeanor shifted. He knelt before you, his hands surprisingly gentle as he inspected your injuries. “I have dealt with the matter,” he said simply, his voice softening. “No one will harm you again.”

- That night, he stayed close to you, his protective nature evident in every gesture. “You are precious to me,” he murmured, his deep voice filled with sincerity. “And I will always ensure your safety, no matter the cost.”

- Jonathan was engrossed in his latest experiment when you entered the room, your face bruised and lip split. His sharp gaze immediately noticed, and his expression hardened. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice cold and clinical but with a hint of concern beneath.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- You hesitated under his calculating stare, but there was no avoiding his interrogation. When you explained it was one of his underlings acting out of jealousy, his lips curled into a dark smile. “Jealousy. Such a fascinating emotion,” he mused. “I’ll ensure they experience fear instead—true fear.”

- He stood, his movements deliberate as he grabbed his iconic mask and canisters of fear toxin. “Wait here,” he instructed, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll deal with this… interruption to my work.” Though his voice was calm, his anger simmered beneath the surface.

- Finding the culprit, Jonathan wasted no time in delivering his unique brand of justice. The room filled with his chilling laughter as he released the fear toxin, watching as the underling crumbled into terror. “You dared to touch them?” he hissed. “Let’s see how brave you feel when your worst nightmares come to life.”

- He took his time, ensuring the punishment was both psychological and physical. Each scream seemed to satisfy him more, his clinical fascination mingling with his wrath. When he returned to you, he looked calmer, almost serene, as if purging his anger through their suffering.

- Jonathan knelt before you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he wiped a trickle of blood from your lip. “No one will hurt you again,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re mine to protect, and I’ll make sure everyone knows the consequences of crossing that line.”

- That night, he stayed close, his rare displays of affection manifesting in small ways—checking on your injuries, brewing you tea, and offering you a book from his collection. “You ground me,” he murmured as you drifted off. “And I won’t let anyone take you away.”

- Harvey noticed your injuries the moment you entered the room. His dual nature became evident as one side of him looked worried while the other seemed immediately enraged. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice a mix of care and fury.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- You hesitated, but under his intense gaze, you confessed it was one of his underlings who had attacked you. “They thought I didn’t belong,” you admitted. Harvey’s good side frowned deeply, but his scarred side twisted into a snarl. “They thought they could hurt you and get away with it?”

- Reaching into his pocket, Harvey pulled out his coin, flipping it with a practiced motion. “Heads, I scare them. Tails…” His scarred side grinned maliciously. “I get creative.” When it landed tails, he stood abruptly. “Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

- Harvey confronted the underling with all the unpredictability of his dual nature. His voice oscillated between cold reason and raw anger. “You dared lay a hand on them?” he growled. “Let’s see how you like answering to me.” His punishment was brutal, his scarred side reveling in it while his good side rationalized it as necessary.

- The room was eerily silent when he returned, his hands still shaking with residual anger. He pulled you into his arms carefully, his good side apologizing softly while his scarred side muttered curses against the world. “No one touches what’s mine,” he said, his voice firm.

- That night, he remained close, torn between his need to protect you and the guilt over his violent reaction. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said quietly. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you again. Not while I’m still standing.”

- His duality showed in his care—one side tender, ensuring your comfort, while the other vowed vengeance against anyone who dared cross you again. “You’re the only thing keeping me balanced,” he admitted. “I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take that away.”

- Edward’s sharp intellect didn’t miss a thing, so the moment you walked in with a bruised cheek and busted lip, he froze. His smirk vanished, replaced with a calculating frown. “What happened to you?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- You explained reluctantly, telling him one of his underlings had lashed out in jealousy. Edward’s eyes darkened, and a dangerous grin spread across his face. “Jealousy,” he repeated, tapping his temple. “What an irrational emotion. Let’s see how rational they feel after I’m done with them.”

- His mind was already working overtime as he led you to his chair. “Sit,” he ordered, placing a blanket over your shoulders. “I’ll handle this.” He left the room with his signature cane in hand, his steps brisk and purposeful.

- Edward confronted the underling with all the flair and intellect he was known for. “Riddle me this,” he began, his tone venomous. “What happens to someone foolish enough to harm the one person I care about?” When the underling stammered, Edward struck with his cane. “Wrong answer!”

- He played with his victim like a cat with a mouse, his riddles cruel and his strikes precise. “Your jealousy was misplaced,” he sneered, leaning in close. “They’re mine, and you? You’re just another irrelevant piece on my board.”

- Returning to you, Edward’s mood shifted. He knelt by your side, his hands uncharacteristically gentle as he inspected your injuries. “You’re far too brilliant to be dealing with idiots like that,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

- That night, he pampered you with little puzzles and brainteasers, his way of distracting you from the pain. “You’re my equal,” he murmured, his voice unusually tender. “And I won’t let anyone disrupt the perfection we’ve built.”

- Oswald’s beady eyes immediately honed in on your injuries when you walked in. He set down his glass of brandy with deliberate care, his voice deceptively calm as he asked, “Who did this to you, darling?”

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- When you told him it was one of his own men, Oswald’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “One of my employees?” he hissed, gripping his umbrella tightly. “I’ll make an example of them they won’t forget—assuming they live to remember it.”

- Oswald marched out of the room, his umbrella clicking against the floor with each step. His subordinates scattered like rats at the sight of his fury, knowing better than to cross him when he was in such a mood.

- Finding the culprit, Oswald wasted no time. “You dared to harm someone under my protection?” he snarled, his voice carrying through the room. He used his umbrella with precision, the concealed blade flashing as he delivered his ruthless punishment.

- When it was over, he returned to you, smoothing his suit and regaining his composure. “It’s done,” he said simply, pouring you a glass of your favorite drink. “No one will ever harm you again, not while I have the power to stop it.”

- That night, he lavished you with attention, his usually cold demeanor melting into rare warmth. “You mean more to me than all the wealth in Gotham,” he admitted, his voice low. “And I protect what’s mine. Always.”

- Oswald’s actions spoke louder than words as he ensured you were comfortable and safe. “You’re my diamond,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “And anyone foolish enough to harm you will be crushed under the weight of my wrath.”