#its a shame gotham is cursed & they always go wrong

[batbabydaily]

detective comics #58: one of the most perfect frame-ups

bruce doing an awful job of teaching dick not to bully random people in public

[mywitchcultblr]

Sneak Peak. Crimson Threads. Roman and Bruce were sort of an item. Kinda. Pre-Birds of Preys.

Obi Wan is reincarnated as Roman

(unedited, wrote it in one sitting)

"Roman." The younger man didn't even bother to lift his head from the pillow nor listening to Bruce, Roman was still lost within his anguish over being kicked out of The Sionis mansion.

It had been three days of languishing in pain and rage, as much as Bruce wanted to allow his childhood friend to process everything in his own way and pace, Roman needed a shower and eat something. There was no way he would allow Sionis to wither right under his watch.

"Fuck off..." Even the cursing held no passion nor rage, its just... Hollow.

Bruce sighed and approached the bed, sitting on the edge and placed a careful hand on Roman's left leg. "You need to wash and eat something, you didn't even touch the anything that Alfred left for you. Not even the water?"

Roman grumbled and shifted, sitting up on the bed. His dark hair was a tangled mess, eyes bloodshot with heavy bags and dark circles underneath them. Unwashed, unstylish and barely coherent. If it was any other day, Roman would have washed himself ten times from head to toes. "I'm not in the mood to eat anything. Fuck, could you just leave me alone?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You are not in the mood to do anything at all, it's been days. Come on, anyone can tell that it wouldn't be good for you to stay in the bed like this for so long."

Roman's face twisted into a scowl, his hands gripping the silk cover tightly.

"You don't know how does it feels to be dropped like trash by your own parents. Sure, they are all assholes. Still! I suffered years of their bullshit to be their perfect son! But a little spending and me getting caught fucking with a man were enough to make me irredeemable in their eyes."

Bruce nodded and patted Roman's covered thighs. "I can't claim that I understand all of your pain. But I get some of it. The loss part, at least. You are not in the wrong for... What happened with your parents. The shame is on them and not you. Who cares if you are into a men as well as women? It's not a huge deal."

Roman snickered and looking away from Wayne. "It's a huge deal for them, hypocritical assholes. Half of my family members in the past are fucking each other to keep the money between family, maybe some of my cousins are still fucking each other. But god fucking forbid that I sucked a cock. That's unforgivable."

"Like I said before, the shame is on them and not on you. But, are you going to let them win just like that?" Bruce question was enough to arouse something within Roman other than depression and disappointment.

Annoyance, anger, confusion. "What?"

Bruce sighed again, tearing his gaze away from his long time friend to stare at the French window in front of him. "It's fine to grieve over this situation. Though, in my opinion, letting them destroying your life even after they cut you off is unfair. They treated you like garbage even when they needed you and now you are no longer a part of their lives, they are still hurting you. Over and over again. Surely, you can't let them keep doing this."

Roman frowned, biting his lips. "The fuck should I do?"

"Try to get better, It'll be alright, I know that you can succeed on your own without Richard or Elizabeth. Even without the Sionis money. You are a resourceful guy and terribly persistent."

"It's easy to preach your bullshit when you are Gotham richest man."

Bruce smiled at him, it was that kind of a smile that made you want to believe in yourself and trusted that everything would be fine. It was warm and genuine. Humane and accepting.

Roman shifted in discomfort, Bruce had always been a better man than him or anyone, so effortlessly decent. A shining light which made Roman flinched and shied away.

"I'll help you, you said something about opening a club right?"

Roman froze, blue-grey eyes widened.

"Y-you what?"

That damn smile widened into a grin which reminded Roman of the younger Bruce who often sneaking out of their campus dorm past curfew to drink and fooling around the town.

Bruce was a bit more fun, of course he still awfully depressed and preachy but less distant and guarded. But back then, the older man was just Bruce... Not the billionaire playboy of Gotham with so many burden and responsibility placed upon his shoulder as the sole inheritor of the Wayne family money and estate.

"I said, I'll help you to open that club you mentioned."

"What do you wanted in return? Also, were you offering this because I let you fuck my ass from time to time? Do you wanted more than just—"

Bruce raised a hand and shook his head almost apologetically. "No, I just want to help you to get back to your feet. That's all."

Roman let out a quiet laugh, it felt absurd. How someone could be so effortlessly decent like Wayne? Especially in Gotham? Out of all places.

"What's so funny?" Bruce asked.

The former Sionis heir shook his head and scooted closer towards Wayne, trailing his—what? Friend? Lovers? Hand in a circular motion. None of them were sure about what kind of a bond they shared or how to define this relationship. Roman stared directly into Wayne's eyes, those blue were a shade darker than his.

A deep shade of blue... Like the ocean.

"Why do you even like me?"

"Come on, do we have to go over this again? You asked that question a thousand times, you are a fascinating person."

"Fucking admit it that I'm a mess."

Wayne grabbed his hand, rubbing his knuckles with a thumb. "As if I'm not a mess myself."

"I trashed your room, cried to you almost five times a week and then pass out from coke."

"You listened to all of my anguish and brooding, and you were so persistent to keep me company after my parents' death," his voice faltered a bit. Wayne still couldn't forget the tragedy. "Even when I pushed everyone away."

Roman rolled his eyes and snatched his hand away, he didn't want to show any indication that what Bruce said touched his dark, twisted heart. "Sappy bastard, I was worried that you might fucking jump from a damn rooftop or something. If you were dead, who will fuck me and buy me all of the nice things? Also you were awfully easy to manipulate to break the campus rules. Can't let you die so soon, Brucey."

Bruce grabbed his other hand, refusing to let go while keeping his eyes locked into Roman's which made Sionis felt like a hypnotized prey, enticed but also sorta terrified. He hated to not be in control and not dominating the situation. Bruce... Brucey could do anything against him, he had both the physical power and the money, even through Roman knew that darling Brucey would never do anything that might harm him.

Still, a paranoid and unstable part of him wanted to run away from everything.

Especially from Wayne's tender gaze, which made Roman feel embarrassed for some unknown reason. Deep down, he knew that he didn't deserve this man... Crazy little Roman with his sick twisted mind didn't deserve Bruce mother fucking Wayne. He didn't.

"So, will you take the offer?"

He didn't deserve it, he shouldn't. But... Wayne was right, he need to get back to his feet.

"I'll be an idiot to not take it."

@wayward-pocket-dimension tagged you since you were interested with the SW and DC reincarnation AU

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

whumptober day 10: crying

slightly more straightforward h/c this time!

summary: set after the ric grayson/joker war arc in nightwing. 

dick’s been missing for two months. jason finds him first, but it’s just the first step in finding how very, very lost dick really is.

warnings: SPOILERS for the aforementioned nightwing arcs. plentiful cursing. moderately graphic descriptions of injuries.

crying

The last time Jason received a family-wide SOS to help them rescue Dick, the guy was a twice-brainwashed mess whose brain was being pulled in opposite directions by the Court of Owls and the fucking Joker, and that was after said brain had been shattered by a fucking sniper’s bullet. (And a period of being left to fend for himself with a broken brain in between, but Jason doesn’t really like to think about that.) This time, he doesn’t know quite what to expect. He can’t imagine things have gotten even worse than the last go-around, but then again, Jason knows from personal experience that there’s no end to the list of ‘things that are worse than dying’.

Besides, the alert came from Babs. And, in quick succession, Tim, Bruce, Duke, and Cass. If nothing else, Jason is curious.

Dick disappeared from Bludhaven about two months ago. The reason the oh-so-precise Bats have the word ‘about’ in that statement is because nobody can really pinpoint the exact date it happened. Donna can recall dropping by his place ten weeks ago. Tim maybe exchanged a few emails or text messages a few weeks ago but didn’t really get alarmed about Dick not responding to his messages until the radio silence stretched for over a month. Bruce had his trackers on (that bastard) but Dick hates them and is known to destroy the ones he finds. And they can’t even really depend on reports of Nightwing sightings in the city because having his brain knocked around and pulled apart like taffy means Dick takes regular holidays from patrols if he’s not feeling particularly steady that day. (Look what being sensible and having a smidgeon of a sense of self-preservation got him.) And the CCTV in his apartment complex was shit, so. 

It’s almost like it was a planned thing, like he was kidnapped, but honestly it’s how things go and how they’ve gone for a very long time: they drift in their own worlds for long periods until an event brings them together, and then it’s back to being scattered across the country again (or sometimes the world, or sometimes the galaxy). Dick is more prone to this than most; he’s probably gone undercover more than any of them, and he’s lived the longest on his own as well. 

Even after the clusterfuck that was the last year and change, it’s nothing new. And if that isn’t the most fucking depressing thing that Jason’s had to think about today, it turns out that not only have the Family figured out where Dick is, but that Jason is the one that’s closest to his location. 

So here he is, shivering, on a particularly icy night on the Gotham docks, scoping out the warehouse where Dick’s supposed to be. It’s not very well-guarded, which either means there’s nothing in there and this is a massive waste of his time, or that it’s a trap and what’s waiting on the other side is a fucking bomb or something even worse. It’s not a great situation to be in either way, and Jason’s got half a mind to have Tim or even Bruce take over--but it’d take too long for them to get there and Jason’s never been fond of the idea of handing over to someone else anything that he could potentially do by himself.

Besides, like he said, he’s curious.

He crouches down at his vantage point overlooking the warehouse and presses the communicator in his ear. “Two guards in front but nothing else; the place is practically abandoned. Infrared picking up three people inside.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, bracing, ready to spring. “I’m about to go in.”

Tim grunts. “I’ll be there in fifteen, give or take a couple.”

“Twenty,” Bruce says. Then: “Hood, you--” An uncharacteristic pause, and Jason can feel the sudden, uneasy chill across the entire comm channel. Bruce clears his throat. “Be careful. Assess the situation first. Don’t engage alone unless it’s an emergency.”

There’s a thanks for stating the obvious on the tip of Jason’s tongue, but something about the gravity of the situation, the mildest quaver in Bruce’s voice (he’s been missing for two months, god, two months) has him say, instead: “Roger that.”

Jason makes quick work of the guards in the front, leaving them in unconscious heaps on the ground before he creeps in. They’d hardly put up a fight, which just makes Jason’s stomach twist in anxious knots. The anxiety is made worse by the complete lack of resistance when he’s actually inside: there are only two huge, cavernous rooms, and one of them has two of the three people that he’d detected. They scatter as soon as they see him and Jason considers chasing, but now his nerves are stretched so taut that he thinks he’s going to vomit if he doesn’t see Dick now--

The night-vision on Jason’s helmet catches a figure sitting, slumped, in the corner of the room. A chain connects a manacle around its ankle to the wall, and another between the same wall and… a collar around its neck. Jason’s blood is already boiling before he steps closer and recognises the figure as Dick. His hair is long and shabby, having grown past his chin, curtaining his face. He’s shirtless but wearing ripped, stained jeans. His hands are cuffed in front of him, the thin metal biting into his wrists enough to leave his hands puffy and slightly purple from the lack of effective circulation. He looks considerably thinner--Jason can just about count the ribs under his skin--and every visible part of his torso is painted in bruises in various stages of healing. And--

--and he’s breathing.

Well, thank fuck. That’s a start.

Jason crouches in front of Dick and presses his comm again. “Found N. Little worse for wear, but alive and safe.”

He ignores the immediate clamour of questions from the others to focus on trying to get Dick awake. He brushes Dick’s hair aside and gently lifts his chin to have a look at his eyes. 

Dick smiles at him. “Hey.”

Jason is beset by an onslaught of emotion that’s part relief, part incredulity and part anger, so much so that he thinks he’s going to fucking burst with the pressure of it. Of course that would be the first thing out of Dick’s mouth--hey--like he’s meeting Jason for cocktails after work instead of being rescued after two months of captivity and torture! Well he can take that hey and shove it right up his fucking--

“Is there anything else here we need to worry about,” Jason says, busying himself with picking the locks on Dick’s manacles so that he doesn’t snap and say something he’ll regret.

Dick shakes his head. He’s got a shaggy beard going and he stinks of sweat and urine and filth, but there’s a sense of… togetherness to him, like he’d always known that Jason was going to show up at this exact minute and that had always been part of his plan. “They scattered as soon as they got word that you guys were coming,” he says, voice thin and raspy. “I guess not enough of them were curious to stick around to find out why so many capes would be coming for me.”

Jason pops the manacles and collar loose and goes to work on the cuffs. “So you weren’t taken as Nightwing.”

Dick sighs, then winces as the motion pulls on the gigantic bruise around his neck. “I wasn’t taken as Dick Grayson, either.”

The cuffs come off with a click. Jason stares at him. “So… what, you were just some poor mug they picked up off the streets to… torture for shits and giggles?”

Dick is silent for a moment. His eyes flick to a point behind Jason and back again. “They knew me as Ric.”

It takes a moment for the name to click in Jason’s brain, but he finally remembers that it was what Dick called himself during his brain-injured year in Bludhaven. “Why would Ric have enemies?” he says, without thinking.

There’s that smile on Dick’s face again, but this time it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Ric did have a life, Jason. And friends. And… enemies.” He begins to move, bare feet shifting against the floor and shifting his weight onto his hands as if he’s trying to figure out a way to stand up, but barely manages an inch of elevation before he runs out of energy, breathing heavily. “Ric--I used to fight. Street fights. Involved a lot more money and people than I remembered, and… apparently a lot of people felt betrayed when I just up and left the city one day. I’ve been fighting matches here almost every day.” A sudden, sharp grin. “I haven’t lost yet.”

Jason--stops. Utterly freezes, hands midway to helping Dick sit upright, because there’s something terribly, terribly wrong here. “Why didn’t you ever try to escape? And how--I mean, in the first place--”

How did you even get caught?

To Jason’s horror, tears start rolling down Dick’s face. His expression doesn’t really change, so Jason’s not sure that Dick’s even aware that he’s crying, but right now Jason is already halfway to being mortified. “I was on my way back from the gym,” Dick says finally, “and I think I--I blacked out. It happens sometimes.” Dick gives a wet laugh. “Talk about bad timing.”

“And--and what, you blacked out for two months?”

At this Dick’s face crumples, and suddenly Jason gets it: this is a man pushed and pushed to the end of his rope and beyond, utterly exhausted, past the point of caring who knows about it or why. “I guess…” Dick swallows. “I didn’t really see the difference. Between--between here and out there.”

Jason wants to scream, shake his shoulders--a shameful part of him even wants to hit Dick--and tell him that of course it was different outside of this stupid, dank warehouse: he has friends and family and a lifetime of experience to support him while he flies free. It’s ridiculous to even compare the two, and Jason is ready to put these words down to the effects of too much pain and too little food.

Except--

(plucked you right out of one life and stuffed you into another, didn’t they? treated you like a puppet without a past and a future, didn’t they? didn’t let you entertain the idea of a different life even for a minute, did they? punished you for straying, reminded you there was just too much at stake, and that those stakes were always, always bigger than you or your health or your happiness or your future--)

“Dick, I--” Jason really doesn’t know what to say. Tim says, “ETA five” in his ear while Bruce says, “Right behind you, Robin” and Jason knows, just knows, that this isn’t how they would want to see Dick, and more importantly, this isn’t how Dick would want them to see him.

He gathers Dick in his arms and presses him to his chest. Dick freezes for a second, surprised, then melts into his embrace. His shoulders shake, hands coming up to weakly grasp at Jason’s jacket. The sobs reach a crescendo quickly, a pathetic keening muffled into Jason’s chest, before tapering away and Dick is still, just… breathing. 

Jason breathes with him.

That’s how Tim and Bruce find them a couple of minutes later. Dick peels away and somehow musters the energy to reassure them. Bruce helps him up and carries him to the car while Jason follows; just as Dick’s lowered into the backseat his hand shoots out, grasping Jason’s arm in a silent plea. 

Jason gets in with him. Neither he nor Bruce say anything through the whole drive at the tears that continue to pour down Dick’s face, but Jason doesn’t let go of his hand for the whole ride.

[mischiefandspirits]

Colony of Gotham (5/7)

The Colony of Gotham is an urban legend that is whispered about in the dangerous city. It’s said the Colony is a family of demons and spirits that stalk the night, hunting for the souls of the guilty.

When Bruce became Batman, he’d never intended to be mistaken for a demon. He was happy to lean into it, though, and as he gained his partners – as his family grew – they all followed suit.

First Part ~ Previous Part ~ Next Part

Vampires’ animal forms

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

The zeta had barely finished announcing the departure of the speedsters to Gotham when a hissing voice echoed through the Watchtower.

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have done that. But I’m sure they’ll come out in mostly one piece. Maybe not alive but probably one piece. Shame. They didn't seem too bad. For heroes.”

Everyone was immediately on their feet and in fighting stances. Wonder Woman demanded to know who was there and the voice announced itself as Pythia the Coded Serpent, Oracle of Gotham and Advisor to the Colony. For a moment, every screen around them flicked to an image of a python with dark green feathers in the place of scales and looming shadow-like bat wings stretching out from it. Its empty white eyes stared them down, then it was gone and when they tried to speak to the voice, it didn’t answer. They tried to contact the speedsters and Tigress, but their calls wouldn’t go through. Zatanna tried to dispel whatever magic the serpent had used, but couldn’t. Without any idea where the speedsters had gone, all the older heroes could do was sit and wait.

Meanwhile, Young Justice and Supergirl immediately sent messages to Tim, Stephanie, and Bette, asking them to let them know if they saw Wally and Bart and got thumbs up emojis in response.

The three did not text them when Wally and Bart arrived at the manor.

Instead, they stayed hidden in the cave with Barbara and watched Dick tell them Tim was out before giving them both a dumbfounded expression when they asked him about Batman.

“Bat-who?”

He waved off all their questions, saying Batman was just a myth and he wouldn’t have told Wally if he’d known the stories would spook him like that. All the same, the spooky stories had been banned from the manor for the time being since Cass had started to have nightmares lately. They kept trying to get him to talk, but he soon received a text and had to leave to pick up Carrie from a friend’s house.

When the speedsters got back to the Watchtower no worse for wear without even seeing a bat, they all thought Pythia was just bluffing. 

Then they found a small, bat-shaped listening device on Kid Flash’s boot. No one could explain how it had gotten there. No one, not even Dick, had gotten close to him while he was in Gotham.

Then again, few people notice Cass when she doesn’t want them to.

Over the course of the following week, the same kind of bugs were found by all the heroes who’d been at the meeting, and some who weren’t. And it wasn’t always when they were suited up. Lois Lane, Superman’s wife, found one in the pocket of a pair of his lazy jeans, Troia found one stuck to her work camera, and one of the Green Lanterns stormed into the Watchtower, cursing out Superman and Wonder Woman for ticking off demons after he’d found one on his ring. The only relief they could find was that none of the bugs were turned on, but it was a small relief.

The message was clear: The Colony knew exactly who they were and could get to them without them ever knowing they were there.

The only ones who didn’t receive bugs were Flash -- who was happy to say, “I told you so!” to anyone who brought it up -- and Tigress -- who left any time someone brought up the Colony. The one and only time someone tried to stop her, she flipped them over her shoulder then said, “I wouldn’t pick a fight with Joker so I’m sure as hell not messing with the only thing that can take him down. Leave. Batman. Be.”

Safe to say, by the end of the week everyone was jumping at shadows.

Which meant the call they received was a bit overkill.

Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash, Wonder Girl, and Nightwing were debriefing after a joint mission between the League and Young Justice when all the screens in the room filled with static and the lights dimmed halfway. The largest screen then lit up with the image of a figure. Most of him couldn’t be seen, the dark patches of hair, mask, and suit blending into the shadows that surrounded him, but this only made his pale face and the bright blue streak on his chest and arms stand out more. Black lips split into a sharp smile as the creature realized he had their attention.

He greeted them each in turn, reaching Nightwing last and referring to him as “Copycat.”

“Nightwing?” Superman said, stepping towards the screen.

“In the flesh. Or as close to it as I come. Well, sort of. Got a little help from Pythia.”

If the group had looked at some of the other screens, they might have noticed the shapes of serpents moving through the static. Unfortunately, no one dared look away from the man so Barbara’s hard work went unnoticed.

“What do you want?”

The spirit’s head tilted to the side, slipping past his shoulder in a way that made his neck look broken. “Wasn’t that obvious?” He chirped. Then his head was straight up and he wasn’t smiling. “I’m here to warn you. Stay out of Gotham. If anyone wanted you here, they would have asked. And the little magic kid doesn’t count. As any Gothamite would tell you: Gotham problems are Gotham’s problem. Get lost, Metropolis.”

Flash couldn’t help but snort, having heard those last three words more times than he could count from both his partners. He regretted it instantly when he felt the spirit turn his attention to him, though he couldn’t tell you how he knew when all he could see where his eyes should have been was void.

The demon’s lips pulled up into a smile again, but this one was less fangs and more mischief. “You should take my words seriously. I had planned to leave my Flamebird alone until it was time for us to be together again. But if you keep it up, I might just need to steal my fire away now.”

“Flamebird?” Superman asked.

“My love,” the spirit answered, though he kept his attention on Flash. “I recently found my fire in Blüdhaven. Such a beauty, as I’m sure you can all attest. After all, Flamebird is one of you.”

Before anyone could respond, he was gone. As the screens and lights returned to normal, they turned to each other. Flash was pale as he started wringing his hands. Nightwing barely started to ask what was wrong before Flash started fretting about how Tigress must have been the one the spirit meant. They lived in Blüdhaven together and no one else in the League was recorded as living there. Her blonde hair and orange suit and fiery attitude must have made the spirit think she was Flamebird. They had to do something!

They called Tigress up and showed her a recording of the video Wonder Girl had smartly taken. She glared at all of them as the video progressed and when Flash worried over her she rolled her eyes. She was from Gotham. She knew the Colony. If they came for her, they came for her. Worrying wasn’t going to do anything to stop people that managed to slip past their defenses time and again. The only concession she agreed to was asking Dick if he’d be alright staying at the manor for a few nights so they could have some personal time.

It wasn’t unusual. They each had stayed elsewhere on a few occasions since they’d moved in together. Sometimes they just needed time as a pair instead of a trio. As such, Dick agreed easily.

Despite her calm attitude, something about the video bothered Artemis. As they went home and readied for bed, it replayed over and over in her head. She didn’t recognize his voice, but something about the way he talked nagged at her. The quirk of his smile tugged at her brain. The way he’d focused on Wally then immediately started in on Flamebird after the speedster had snorted seemed strange too. The way he was teasing Wally, taunting him, it didn’t feel malevolent. More like he was screwing with him.

Artemis shot up in bed. “Goddamit Dick, you little troll!”

Wally woke up at her scream and jumped to his feet, looking around for trouble. When he didn’t see anything, he turned to her, only to see her pulling on sweatpants. He asked what was going on and she told him they needed to see Dick immediately. He tried to argue, but she just made him put on some clothes before dragging him out of the apartment. Once in the car, he complained about how he shouldn’t be getting punished when Dick was the one in trouble then nodded off until they reached the manor.

Artemis was already at the door by the time he climbed out of the car so he didn’t hear what she said to Jason when he let them in.

“So which demon spirit are you?”

He does notice when Jason grabs them both and hauls them around the mansion, through a secret door, and down into some giant cave.

He doesn’t know why it’s happening, but he is awake enough to register that it is happening.

They both end up tied to chairs with a serious Jason, a cheerful Cass, and an annoyed Tim standing over them.

“So what do we do with them?” Tim asked and Jason pulled out a gun.

Suddenly Wally was wide awake. “Woah, okay, what is happening? Where are we and why is Jason going to shoot us?”

“He’s not,” Cass said, which wasn’t very reassuring considering she was speaking over Jason’s, “You know too much.”

“Who knows too much?” Cullen asked, strolling in. He looked over the two captives and shrugged. “Come on, Cass. Time to go home. Leave the others to their games.”

Cass pouted, but followed her older brother out after giving Artemis and Wally a friendly wave.

“So what do we do with them?” Tim repeated.

Artemis proceeded to curse them both out now that there were no children in the vicinity before demanding to see Dick.

Jason’s response was to aim the gun between her eyes and pull the trigger.

Once she had a faceful of glitter, he said he’d go get Dick. He ignored her cursing as he swaggered back the way they’d come.

“Should have called the idiot and made him come to us,” she growled and Tim agreed. She shook her head to try to get rid of some of the glitter, to no avail.

“No, seriously, what is happening?”

“Your death.”

Wally shrieked and vibrated straight through his bonds. He spun around and found himself face to face with a giggling Carrie. Except that the voice coming from her was not her voice.

He looked at the others to see Tim was amused and Artemis was done. It was at that point that he took in the cave. His eyes widened. “Oh.”

Jason and Dick arrived, the latter looking sheepish. Artemis immediately tore into him.

“In my defense, you guys didn’t exactly tell me about your secret lives either.”

“You ALREADY KNEW!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me. And hey, at least I told you I was a vampire.”

Both took a second to think about that as they realized they probably should have connected the large family filled with creatures of darkness to the creatures of darkness running around protecting Gotham.

“You still didn’t need to be a dick about it.” Dick opened his mouth at Artemis’s words. “Oh shut up, you know what I meant!”

As it hit Wally just how much the family had been messing with the League, he smirked. “You know what would really freak the League out?”

“No,” Artemis said as the siblings perked up.

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

Young Justice were all hanging out in the Watchtower’s canteen, waiting for Kid Flash so they could have a team meeting, when Tigress came in to ask Troia and Aquaman if they’d seen Flash. Apparently, he’d left early that morning to check on their partner before monitor duty then disappeared. The last anyone had heard from him was when he’d asked Captain Marvel to fill in for him shortly after he’d left Tigress. She had called their partner, but apparently Flash had never shown up.

That was when Kid Flash raced in, looking terrified.

Flash had called him in the early morning and left a voicemail, but he had only just seen the message because his phone had died. When he’d charged it enough to turn on, he’d listened to the message and…

“Hey, kid. Wanted to see if you wanted to get lunch after I get off duty today. I’m getting to the manor now so I can ask Dick and Tim if they want to come too. Call me wh-Oh shi-What are you do-”

“Hello, my flame.”

Troia and Aquaman immediately sent a call out to everyone connected to the Batman case. No one was pleased to realize Nightwing thought Flamebird was Flash, not Tigress like they’d assumed. When the group checked, they found that the call came ten minutes before the one to Captain Marvel and came from the edge of Wayne Manor’s property line.

Hearing this, the team all spammed Tim with texts checking to see if he was okay.

The bird, having grown tired of all their smothering, sent them a picture of himself flipping them off with a caption saying he wasn’t a child and could take care of himself. He was from Gotham, not Metropolis. He then turned his phone off so he wouldn’t have to see their demeaning fretting.

If he hadn’t, he would have seen the group panicking over a shadow behind him that they were convinced was one of the Colony. Without the others noticing, the five snuck away to Gotham. Tim was less than pleased when he opened the door.

“Since when do you open the door for yourself?” Jinny asked.

“Since Alfred’s in England and Bruce and Selina are on their honeymoon. Why are you guys here?” Cassie showed him the picture and he slapped his forehead. “I knew you guys were getting paranoid, but this is ridiculous. That is my jacket.”

They refused to believe him so he offered to bring them up to his room to prove it. They made it halfway there before the sounds of thumps had him turning around to see them all unconscious on the floor, Jason and Cass standing over them.

“Seriously, Jason? Stop kidnapping everyone! You're ruining the bit!”

“You and Dickie are the ones who decided to drag your friends into what was supposed to be a family thing.”

“I told them I was fine! They’re the ones who just showed up for no reason!”

“You’re just mad Artemis isn’t here too,” Dick said as he and Wally walked up.

“Shut up, Dickhead. She’d kick all our asses if we dragged her into this and you know it. Now help me get them to the cave.”

“Definitely pouting,” Dick whispered to Wally and Jason slugged him.

[primeemeraldheiress]

Brönte's Forgotten Child

(You did say to keep it coming) 

Her mother loved Emma. Those first lines were everything she ever wanted to be

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and a happy disposition... and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.” 

She wanted that.

The life of the socialites. Of Gotham’s beloved children that seemed inhuman for their beauty.

They garbed themselves in riches that she couldn’t attain, couldn’t even afford to dream.

So she tripped.

She tripped hard. 

She disconnected herself from the world and it’s cursed reality and pretended she was Emma Woodhouse being cathered and pampered instead of Catherine Todd laying on her own vomit in her run down little apartment in Crime Alley, new bruised eye from her Mr. Darcy, and her daughter trying to clean her up.

Her daughter.

Her Jane.

Catherine never wanted children.

But just like everything that involved Willis she either had to accept it or get bruised. 

“All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”

Jane Petra Todd was every bit of Sheila and every bit of Willis.

Willful, stubborn, obstinate, tenacious, dangerous, cunning little devil child with a heart too damn soft for this world.

She had come to her as a little girl with a profound scowl and pretty bows in her hair.

Her mother had ran away from a lawsuit after a botched abortion.

Talk about a contraceptive method.

Catherine never wanted children. 

She especially never wanted a girl.

If push ever came to shove (which it did most days with Willis drunk off his ass), she wanted a boy.

A strong, self-sufficient boy.

One she would make sure to raise right, away from the influence of her poisonous father.

Away from Crime Alley.

Away from this Hell.

He would be chivalrous and educated and well read and well spoken. He would be every bit the gentleman that managed to break through Elizabeth’s wall.

She always did like the name Jason.

“You — you strange — you almost unearthly thing! — I love as my own flesh. You — poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are”

Instead she got a Jane.

Soft, brittle, little Jane withe dark hair that fell in curls and bright blue eyes that made the Gotham sky seem dull. 

Catherine never wanted children.

But she loved her Jane. 

“I knew, you would do me good, in some way, at some time;- I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you”

Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.

Rehab never worked.

It didn’t matter how many times she tried. 

How many books she read.

What words Elizabeth, or Emma, or Jane, or anyone said to her.

Willis would always show up with a little white powder and once again she was lost.

Jane always forgave her.

Looked after her.

Cleaned her.

Tucked her into bed.

Made sure she drank water.

Soft, brittle, little Jane who cried because kids made fun of her name. Stupid, selfish Catherine who took her into her arms and showed her the miracle that was Jane Austen.

Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.

She thought everything would be cold and dark.

Instead it was warm and bright.

The image of her sitting on the couch, little Gothamite princess in her arms, reading at loud:

“I desired more...than was within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn't help it: the restlessness is in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.”

Daddy dearest died not too long after, a job with Two-Face gone wrong.

She was officially an orphan, and ran away before CPS came for her.

Jane wouldn’t be caught dead in foster care.

She barely survived her family.

She wouldn’t survive another one like that.

She was better off alone anyways. 

Soft, brittle, little Jane died the day she found Catherine overdosed on the bathroom floor.

Feral, menacing, savage Jay was born that same day.

She always did hate her name anyways. 

 “I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.”

These glimpses of who she once was, of the life she left behind haunted her day and night.

Nagging, bugging, exhausting swarm of bees, that never fell silent, not even in her sleep.

Nightmares of mother, and ma.

Dreams of father and pa. 

Ironic that two men so different could be the same.

Violent, and proud with their heads shoved so far up their asses they could never see how they hurt everyone around them….or was it that they didn’t care?

                            “Am I hideous, Jane?

                   “Very, sir: you always were, you know.” 

She always hated her name.

Catherine appeased the hatred for a while, reminding her that Austen was an unbreakable woman. An unstoppable cyclone who wouldn’t budge at the circumstances.

Who wouldn’t budge, who wouldn’t bend, who didn’t just survive but THRIVE. 

Then again, fate always seemed to like to play jokes on her. God (if there was one) always found her pain very amusing.

She wasn’t Jane Austen.

She was Jane Eyre. 

“I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing.” 

She was the ghost that haunted Wayne Manor.

The failed Robin. The wayward child. The lost daughter. The absolute scourge of evil.

The cursed mark upon Batman’s perfect record. The problem child of Bruce Wayne.

The fucking blemish upon the family name. 

Her catastrophe etched on the walls of the place she once called home.

Her debacle immortalized in the cave that saw her grow.

Her fucking name forgotten, erased letter by letter and tossed in the air.

She lived now in the attic; Edward Rochester’s best kept secret, and burning shame.

Her screams and cries were ignored as they resonated in the halls. Her calls of justice silenced once for all.

“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned”

He locked her in the attic, let her memory haunt the place.

He locked her in the attic, let her memory fade.

He locked her in the attic, let her name never be displayed.

He locked her in the attic, let her go fucking insane. 

                      “Remorse is the poison of life.”

Jane always hated her name, Bruce never once called her “Jay”

One more reason to hate him. 

And hate everything he built after her.

The life that blossomed above her grave, flowers nourished by her corpse.

She hated him.

She hated all of them.

She hated Gotham, and her villains, hated her crime and her corruption.

But most of all she hated herself.

She hated her lack-luster hair, and the single white stripe on it, her dead eyes, with green specks bleeding through the blue. Hated her scars, covered by a million tattoos.

She hated herself.

Because despite it all.

She couldn't hate him too. 

“I could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice me.”

----------------------------------------

Em here:

Excuse me?

Excuse me, where the fuck have you been hiding?!

This god damn knock-my-fucking-socks-off-amazing!

Is there an AO3 account out there I'm missing?! Holy shit!

I need more of your writing, do you hear me? MORE!

[incoherentbabblings]

An Endless Hope (3/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces which seems awfully familiar along the way.

Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

On her way down to the botanical gardens, Stephanie’s mother rang.

Fumbling trying to hold onto her box of roses, Stephanie answered the phone. Her feet crunched loudly as she crossed the snow-covered grass. She flapped her fingers free from the mitten cover so the fingerless gloves could allow her touchscreen to work. She had worn Tim’s gloves since he had vanished, feeling like punishing herself for how she had failed him.

“Hi mom!”

Ooft, her fake cheeriness hurt even her own ears.

“Steph, are you okay? I hadn’t heard from you all week!”

Stephanie nearly dropped the plants in her fright. “Oh God. Mom, I’m so sorry. I’m safe. Promise. Are you okay?”

“Living out the hospital currently, thank you for asking.”

Shame flooded through Stephanie. “I’m sorry mom.”

Crystal sighed, deflating. “I guess I didn’t call either. It’s just been non-stop here. So many people needing help from the streets.”

“I can imagine. We couldn’t do anything the other night. It was too cold even for us!”

“You’re all good then?”

You meaning Tim, but Crystal would never say Tim’s name until held at gunpoint probably. He was just that boy, or him. It was sort of funny that – not only had Tim and Stephanie’s outlook’s on life undergone a flip – so had their relationships with their partner’s parent. Bruce liked Steph after a few years of tribulations (or so she thought), but the same time had not been kind to Crystal’s estimations of Tim.

Certainly, telling Crystal that Tim had kicked Stephanie the other night and run away would not have added positive points.

Stephanie swallowed dryly, not sure if she should lie for a moment, but ultimately sided on the side of fibbing. Her mother had enough to worry about at the hospital. Stephanie entering despair and seeking help from a misanthropic villain would not help Crystal do her job.

Yes, lying was the better option at the moment.

“We’re both good. We’ve got a lot of time to kill, we’re out at the botanical gardens today.”

Crystal sucked in air between her teeth. “Hmm. Okay, but Stephanie, try to remember to give me a call once a week. Just to stop my hair from completely falling out from stress.”

“Yes mommy.”

“Be good.”

And then the call ended.

Stephanie loomed outside of the greenhouse. It was covered in a thick layer of snow, thick enough to discourage entry. But there was a huge amount of warmth showing up inside, almost like an igloo, which was how she guessed this was where Ivy was. Stephanie looked for a way in, then sighed. Knocking on the door would probably be the best bet.

Ivy was at best indifferent to humans and at worst homicidal. She tended to lie low however when natural events knocked everyone back. Nothing levels the playing field of humanity like nature. Still, Stephanie was taking a gamble. She knew this. She was banking on Ivy having information Steph only had circumstantial reasons to think she held.

But Stephanie was desperate. And when she was desperate, her brain tended to throw things like caution and logic to the wind. Act on your gut, it’ll get you there in the end.

Except that one time when it really didn’t.

As far as Stephanie could tell, she had few other options, and she wanted to give Bruce some kind of information outside of a missing boy and car. If it meant risking her life and giving up her flowers, so be it.

Stephanie knocked, then opened the glass door, and slid inside.

It was swelteringly warm in the greenhouse, filled to the brim with plants and flowers which did not belong in the United States, let alone New Jersey. Stephanie stumbled into the fishpond, disturbing small lily pads.

“Excuse me? Poison Ivy?” She gulped, fear apparent on her features, as she tried to locate the green lady amongst the foliage. “Doctor Isley?”

“The only people who still call me doctor are those mocking me.”

Pamela’s voice came from behind, making Stephanie jump in the frigid water.

“I’m not mocking. I promise. I… I just…”

Ivy looked down at the roses in Stephanie’s arms and frowned. Steph held them out for her to take. “I wanted to give you these. My boyfriend and I were trying to grow them, but he went missing during the storm. I’m trying to look for him, but I need someone to look after these until I get back.”

Ivy raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “And I was your first choice to nanny? Hilarious. Get out. One warning.”

“No please. I’m not mocking I swear.” Stephanie brazenly trudged forward deeper into the water. Ivy looked bemused, but Stephanie knew her interest in this strange young woman wouldn’t last too long. “I want you to look after them, but I also wondered if you knew anything about this storm. I would give you these to look after in exchange for information and to let me look for my boyfriend.”

Pamela looked at the flowers, then at Stephanie.

“Your lover isn’t the only one missing in a snowstorm.”

“I don’t think this is just a snowstorm. Batman and Robin have gone chasing a lead, but I think they’re looking in the wrong place. I don’t think it’s an easy fix.”

“No. It’s not.” And finally she took the flowers from Stephanie, gently stroking the petals. “What happened to the red? They haven’t settled.”

Stephanie gulped and told a half lie. “An accident. They fell. They had their own box, but it broke and I tried to… I tried.”

Ivy snorted. “Not good enough. I’ll take them off you. You can leave now.”

Stephanie slowly got out of the water. “But you said this isn’t just any old snowstorm. Do you know who caused it? Or what?”

Pamela turned around, clambering onto a vine which lifted her high above Stephanie.

“Nothing natural,” She said dryly, chuckling to herself. “Why do you care so much?”

“If I can know what caused it, I can fix it.”

Pamela rolled her eyes. “And bring your beau home.”

“Yes.” Stephanie uttered, glaring at Ivy.

“Listen little girl. All I know is, the cause is not of this earth. Not to be found in a machine. Not to be found in men. Something else.”

Stephanie followed Pamela waltzing around two levels up, craning her neck as she moved around on the floor.

“Like magic? Because I know someone who knows something about magic. This can’t be good for your plants, right? Don’t you want the cold to leave?”

Pamela flicked her wrists and the doors flew open, tree branches holding them to allow the frigid air in.

“I want you to leave Miss Brown. Good luck getting the storm to end, and good luck finding that sweet boy of yours. Maybe when Mr Drake-Wayne returns, I will trust you with these roses again.”

Stephanie tried not to appear shocked that Ivy knew her and Tim from sight and inference alone, but she was nakedly frantic.

“But I—”

“It’s magic. Magic not from this world. That’s all I can tell. It will pass. Let it do so on its own you stubborn girl.”

“No. I need to know Tim is safe.”

Ivy dropped down once more and got uncomfortably close. She raised a green hand and cradled Stephanie’s cheek. Stephanie, for her part, stared right back, unafraid.

“I don’t enjoy humans and their little love stories. Who cares if this boy comes back to you? There’s always another.”

“…Not abandoning him. Not giving up. It’s a thing for me.”

“Hmm.” And in an unintentionally mocking manner, she curled her fingers into Stephanie’s hair, loose strands reminding Ivy of vines and Steph of how much more comfortable the motion was when it was Tim holding onto her. “It’s all a bit pathetic honestly.”

Stephanie swallowed bile, resisting the urge to spit on Poison Ivy to get her to back off.

“You know more than you’re telling me.” Stephanie pushed.

It seemed Ivy had had enough of Steph and took a step back.

“Leave.”

Stephanie noticed too late that a vine had curled its way around her ankle. Looking down, her stomach dropped, but before she could say anything, the vine tightened, flinging her back and out with a squeal. She landed on a large mound of snow, unharmed, but stuck with her legs flailing around. She heard the distinct solid thud of the greenhouse doors slamming shut.

“Oh, come on!” Stephanie wiggled, trying to loosen up the snow around her torso.

What a waste of time. Of course, this storm wasn’t natural. They’d known that from the start. And now she was stuck in snow, and she had given up her roses. Her beautiful roses that she had invested far too much emotional value in. Why couldn’t she do one thing right? Every solution she tried made things worse. Like a curse. Hold onto hope, because she certainly had nothing else going for her.

Swinging her ankles, she screamed, which soon morphed into a cry. Snow crumpled and went in her mouth, making her wail.

Bad day, bad week, bad life…

Someone seemed to take pity on her, and grabbed her black legging covered ankles, dragging her out from her snowy prison. Snow went up her jacket and top, making her squeal in discomfort.

To her surprise, the person who tugged her out had bright blue skin.

“Klarion!” She exclaimed.

“Oh good! It is you. I followed the smell of Christmas and desperation.”

Stephanie sat up, shaking her coat free of snow, despair momentarily forgotten.

She had helped Klarion the witch boy once or twice, never of her own free will, but still. He was harmless enough, to her at least. He smiled widely at her, but in a way which was not reassuring. Her own smile turned brittle, then cracked and fell into misery. She was still reeling from the useless encounter with Ivy. It had maybe narrowed down where to hunt akin to reducing the search from a needle in a haystack to a grain of sand in a rice bag.

Disoriented and directionless were two words that came to mind. She tried very hard to not let her frustration seep into her acknowledgement of Klarion (who looked entirely too happy to see her), but still, her tone had some bite to it.

“What is it? Does Teekl need a new girlfriend?”

“Oh no,” He said, and sure enough, his ginger cat familiar hopped up around his shoulders, acting like an oversized scarf. “I have come to help you this time. I understand you are a friend of a friend of mine. I have many of these here nowadays.”

The last thing Stephanie wanted was a distraction, however well meaning, from trying to melt the snow and find Tim. She held up an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry Klarion, but you’ve caught me at a really bad time and –”

Klarion, in his silly little pilgrim outfit and pointy black hair, bit his index finger. “Oh, I know! I know how you are feeling. You saw me when Teekl ran away… oh I was crestfallen. And before you so did Timothy!”

Stephanie, still sat on the snow, gaped. “You know Tim?”

Klarion seemed shocked she did not know. “You mean he never mentioned me? Why, we saved the world together, and Teekl, who is my world, a year or two ago. At least I think it was… time is funny here.”

Hope sprung anew in Stephanie’s chest and she rose, holding onto Klarion’s forearms.

“Then you know he’s missing?”

“Exactly! I am here to help you bring him back home and…brr… end this winter.”

“Oh! Klarion! You’re a godsend!” She hugged him tight. “What do we need to do?”

“Come, come! We must go to the river. Perhaps call your family. This trip may take a while.”

 *****

 “Oh my God you’re blue.” Cassandra exclaimed as Stephanie and Klarion arrived. Duke looked equally dumbfounded. The wind was icy, whipping around the pebbly ground underneath Kane bridge. It pierced Stephanie to her core, but Klarion seemed – as always – unaffected by his surroundings. Sighing, Stephanie waved vaguely between a politely smiling Klarion and the two batfamily members.

“Cassandra, Duke, this is Klarion. Klarion, this is Cassandra and Duke. They’re Tim’s siblings and friends of mine. Klarion is a witch who’s a… friend… of mine and Tim’s.”

“Hi…” Duke waved. Klarion bowed, and Cassandra made a woompf noise. She did not have a good history with magicians and took a cautious step back and behind Duke. Teekl appeared on top of Stephanie’s car, then leapt into Duke’s arms. He caught the cat, exclaiming, whilst Cassandra flinched away, not enjoying the vibes the witch and his familiar were giving off. It was off kilter and feral. Unmanageable and unpredictable.

“Right.” Klarion said, peering across the river with a dramatic step forward, looking like a Smurf pilgrim pioneer. “Are you ready to go?”

“You haven’t told me anything. Where are we going?”

“Not we. Just you.”

“Alone?”

Cassandra pushed Duke forward, calling over the wind, “What’s going on?”

Klarion ignored her, speaking only to Stephanie. “Hmm? Oh, you don’t know about the storm and its creator?”

“Only that it’s not of this Earth.”

“Indeed!” Klarion sounded entirely too cheerful. “You have been to my realm Stephanie, but there are many others to explore. The lady who caused this storm usually stays within her own, but sometimes she gets bored, and likes to go exploring.”

Stephanie slowly put the pieces together. “So… a magic… lady did this?”

“Magick. But yes. She likes to pick up people sometimes. I try to keep quiet track of my friends, and I noticed Tim had disappeared a few days ago. That coupled with this nasty weather of hers, well, one does not have to be a detective to put the pieces together!” Klarion nudged Stephanie in the gut, trying to be playful, but she only looked sick at his words.

“How do I bring him home? Will she hurt him?”

“Yes. She doesn’t mean to of course, but she likes humans so much. They freeze thanks to her though. She is sad for a little while, then decides to try again. Something we do not want for Tim.”

“No.” Stephanie breathed.

Klarion’s look became sympathetic. “He was very cruel before he left wasn’t he?”

Stephanie said nothing, and Klarion tutted. “It’s her way. She is not fond of a human’s warmth, not realising it is what makes them such.”

Cassandra meanwhile stomped her foot. “Who is ‘she’?”

“A Snow Queen!” Klarion gestured around him. “In case that was not obvious from the weather. Fey. Magick.”

“Fairy-tale.” Duke finished, blinking in realisation. “It’s just like a fairy-tale.”

“Is it?” Klarion shrugged. “I don’t know what that is. Regardless, Stephanie, you should be the one to melt his heart and bring him home. Since you’re the one who lost him.”

She tried not to let his matter of fact manner of speaking sting. “Why just me? Why can’t I go get my Batgirl suit? Why can’t you come with me? Or Cass and Duke?”

“Wait, he knows your secret ID?” Duke muttered, three steps behind Steph and Klarion’s conversation.

“Oh dear, Stephanie. You are going to be sick of this reason soon I am sure.”

She laughed brokenly. “It’s magic reasons huh?”

“Magick. And yes. Remember, the rules are very different in different realms. And names matter. Timothy Jackson Drake has been taken from Stephanie Brown. Stephanie Brown must be the one to bring Timothy Jackson Drake back. Anyone else entering will be kicked out. Their purpose does not fit with the rules. One human over there is bad enough… two!  Oh dear. Three? Four? It will end terribly!” After his worrisome but somehow cheery doom of a lecture he held out his hand for Steph to take. “Here, I will share with you what I use to keep an eye on you and Tim. It will feel like an instinct to a human, pulling you in the right direction.”

Stephanie took off her (Tim’s) gloves, then held Klarion’s right hand. It was painfully warm. Soon enough her heart jerked, and she stumbled forward, almost careening onto the frozen river. Cassandra caught her and pulled her back.

“Oh!” Stephanie huffed, her heart legitimately aching from the separation.

“You will get used to it. Follow that pull, and you will find Tim. Remember, magick is not just something you do; it is something to hear and feel. Remember that and you will find our friend. I know you will succeed and find him before his heart freezes for good.”

Klarion smiled in that weird manner of his. Supposedly reassuring and bright but to the three humans standing by the river, it was unnerving and dissonant with his message.

Duke shook his head. “All well and good for Tim, but what about the storm? It’s been a week of this, how much longer? Is Stephanie going to fight a witch with her bare fists too?”

“Oh my God.” Stephanie groaned, crumpling in on herself. Cassandra remained curled around her, protecting her from the wind.

Klarion looked up, shielding his eyes against the glare of the white clouds reflecting off the white ground. Stephanie herself felt like she had been squinting for her entire life, like her eyes would never be fully open again.

“The storm will dissipate soon enough. She got what she came for, and this leakage will fade the further into her realm she returns. This is a problem which will fix itself. Tim however, will need a bit of help.”

“But why Tim?” Stephanie asked, desperation for him blending with relief for Gotham. “Of all the people on this planet, why target him?”

“That I do not know.” Klarion clapped his hands. “Come now, the more time we waste the less time you have to catch up.”

“But Bruce and Damian aren’t here.” Cassandra urged. “We should wait. There may be another way… so that Stephanie doesn’t have to go alone?”

At that moment the wind picked up, screaming it was so fierce, pushing the group away from the frozen water’s edge. She didn’t understand why, but it made Stephanie’s hackles rise. It felt like a challenge, or a warning. Don’t follow.

She was a squishy human. Klarion was seemingly willing to send her alone into a realm where that was not the norm. Whatever she would be hunting, it was strong enough to bring a city to a standstill by just leaking across the border. She didn’t know where she was going, or for how long. She didn’t know if she would make it to Tim, or what to do when she found him. How would she bring him home? What if she got there (wherever there was) and it was too late? What if she failed?

But what was the alternative? If she didn’t go, she failed Tim. If she went, there was still a chance she would fail Tim.

Just a chance.

The wind died down, and Stephanie got up, displacing Cassandra. Everyone watched as she went back to her little purple car and pulled out her satchel.

“I’ll go.”

“Stephanie.” Cassandra’s voice was unabashedly worried, and Duke did not look any happier with her decision. Stephanie ignored them.

She tossed nearly everything out of her bag – her purse, her phone, her keys, her umbrella – leaving behind a bottle of water, Bruce’s scarf that she had held onto (just in case she found Tim…just in case he was cold) and a bag of dried apple slices.

It was anything but a suitable bag of provisions for a journey which had no destination or time stamp, but Stephanie’s stubbornness had clicked on, and she had made up her mind.

“You can tell Bruce I have gone to bring Tim home. I may be a while. But he has to trust me to do it. I can do it. I will do it. You believe in me Klarion?”

“Oh yes. Absolutely.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She looked to Duke and Cass, who had both paled. “You can cope a while without me, yeah?”

Klarion had moved down to the river, and held out his hand once more.

“Don’t joke! Stephanie this is insane!” Duke exclaimed. Stephanie leapt down to join Klarion on the ice. Duke and Cassandra went to follow, but with a wave of Klarion’s hand, they were shoved back several feet. The two rushed back to the edge but were somehow unable to make the final step onto the frozen river.

“You should trust your friends!” Klarion called out.

Stephanie looked up at the two on the riverbank and smiled reassuringly. “Cover for me with Bruce, yeah? I’m fixing a mistake. For honest for real.” Stephanie took Klarion’s hand. “How do I get into that world?”

“I cannot go with you, but I have opened the way. Cross the Gotham river, and do not drown.”

Stephanie looked at their feet on the ice. “It’s frozen right now. Really frozen.”

“Not for much longer. The storm is moving north very fast. Spring is coming.”

Stephanie pulled out Bruce’s scarf and wrapped it around her neck. Then she adjusted Tim’s gloves, recovering her fingertips with the mittens. She breathed into the wool, feeling it warm her neck and cheeks. She muttered to herself a small pep talk.

“Okay. Cross the river. Follow my heart. Melt Tim’s heart and bring him home from a human obsessed ice witch. Easy-peasy. It’s like a fairy-tale. Just like a fairy-tale.”

“I wish I knew what that was.” Klarion gently shoved her away from him. “Remember Stephanie. Different realm, different rules. It will turn your human head inside out if you are not alert. It has happened to Tim. Do not make the same mistake.”

The river was covered in several inches of snow, but even so, Stephanie felt unstable, like she was standing directly on black ice. Slowly she turned, took three steps, then whipped her head back around.

“Wait my mom!”

But Cassandra, Duke and Klarion were gone. Instead it was an endless frozen lake, with the only land viewable across the bay as she slowly returned to facing forward. The sky was piercing pale blue, and already she could feel the temperature rising.

“Oh. Oh my God. Steph, what have you gone and signed up for now?”

She then took a breath, and began to cross the frozen river, heading straight for land.

Back on regular Earth, Duke dropped Teekl when Stephanie vanished. Klarion waved goodbye to the open air, then turned around to see Cassandra and Duke glaring at him.

“She will be fine.” He said, for once reading the atmosphere.

“You’ve sent her to die! Both her and Tim!” Cassandra yelled. Klarion looked mortified.

“I absolutely have not! What a lack of faith you have in your friend.”

“It’s not a lack of faith knowing someone going on a magical journey with no destination with nothing but the clothes on their back is suicidal.” Duke bit out. “I hope Batman wrings your neck.”

“Is that something he does?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh dear.” And then Klarion stepped back off the river. “Nevermind. I’ll head off now, nothing more to be done here. Stephanie will succeed. It may take a month or two, but be patient.”

“Two months?”

Everyone turned to see a very angry Batman looming from above under the bridge, Robin perched a couple of beams down. Both looked like they were genuinely considering strangling Klarion. Teekl hissed at the perceived threat. Klarion simply shrugged with his entire body.

“Or a year. Just be patient! Trust in her!” With a little uncomfortable laugh, Klarion portaled himself away, his voice echoing through the open air.

Cassandra and Duke gulped as Bruce landed in front of them.

“Care to explain how Tim and Stephanie went missing?”

“It…It was…” It was Duke’s turn to take a step behind Cassandra, who grew very puffy.

“It was magic! Or something stupid like it. Can’t you call for help?”

Damian looked out at the river. Everyone could hear new cracking noises, and the ice began to crumple under the weight of the thick snow it held up. It was still bitterly cold, but Klarion was right. The worst of the storm had passed. Gotham would recover.

Tim and Stephanie were another matter.

[aliypop]

Mirror Mirror

Word Count:  1,721

A/N: So this fic is about the alternative Yonah and Ezra, which follows in the line of the 2005 Constantine movie,  I hope you guys like it!

  "What more do you want! Yonah." Ezra shouted, "You come back home late at night make a ruckus to the Wayne name on the night of my most important day," she growled, her eyes focused in her mirror, Ezra was soon to become the queen of Pafrania, a title that Yonah gave up years ago when she ran away to California to "practice" her magic. "I just wanted to congratulate you little sister.," she smirked evilly at Ezra. "Can't I just be here to support you?" Yonah questioned pulling one of the many hairs from her sisters head, 

"No, because nothing good ever comes from you.. you bring heartbreak towards this family, everyone you love leaves you and sometimes dies, I'm surprised that demon guy likes you." she scoffed, brushing her hair. Yonah felt a small rip in her heart form knowing that it was her time to leave, she had already gotten what she needed and there was no turning back now, so she thought,

Ezra watched her sister walk out of her room putting her focus back into prepping for the royal gala when suddenly she saw a shadowy figure in her mirror, thinking nothing of it she shrugged it off and continued doing her makeup, 

" Ezra .~"   

"Ezra.~" 

A voice said coming from nowhere, looking around she saw absolutely nothing until she looked up into the mirror from the corner of her room. 

"What the hell are you!" Ezra asked staring at the entity that dwelled from inside her mirror, 

" Ego sum anima, quod habitat in vobis." 

"I am the soul that dwells in yo-" she began to repeat after her reflection as she was sucked into the mirror,

 "LET ME GO!" 

"John can you believe it," Yonah said sitting in the back of Chas's taxi "I go to give a simple hello to my sister, and she treats me like utter shi-" a flash of bright light was seen in one of the mansion rooms, 

"Do you smell that?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"Sulfur," John replied while lighting a cigarette in his mouth.  Chas nodded at the pair gesturing them for them to go scope out the scene. 

"If you wanted to kiss me, you could have asked." 

"Rosemary lipstick, wards off demons." She said applying the red substance on her lips, as she handed him  sage, the look on his face a confused one,

 "Remeber I stopped practicing black magic years ago, ever since our little accident." she pointed towards her back as John took the sage,  "Chas come on !" she shouted watching him run behind her,  opening the door of the mansion she saw the looks of it, something about the place was eerier than usual. 

"Ms. Yonah, don't you know it's improper to come uninvited?"  Alfred said, polishing the metal of his prized teapot, 

"Alfred I'm so-" she stopped talking as he revealed his half rotting face, flies flying over it as he was grey in the face,  

 "  Libero spiritus relinquere hoc corpus!" Yonah shouted pushing her hand out blasting through what she thought was Alfred,  running up the steps she looked back at John blowing a spark from her finger,  "Let's just keep going," John said, the three of them walking upstairs,  

"This place is huge.." Chas said, looking around as he walked passed one of the bedrooms, "Hey, John, Yonah I'm gonna explore a bit in here," the room was beautiful, something you would see in a movie, chandelier hanging from the ceiling, with a bed fit for a queen, it was quite, pictures of a young girl on the table with what seemed to have been her parents, she looked  happy and fulfilled but she also looked like-,

"Chas.. play with me?" 

Chas followed the voice of the little child, being lead to what was a little girl playing with a Batman action figure. She had curly hair with the most trusting eyes that Chas had ever seen. 

"What's a little kid like you doing left alone?"

"Oh, I'm not alone?" the little child smiled at him, "I'm Yonah it's nice to meet you!" she stuck her hand out for him to shake it,

"Nice to meet you two," he took her hand to shake, the dooring behind him closing slowly.

"You didn't tell me your parents were royalty?" John glared over at Yonah as they passed down the family portraits, "You've never asked, now keep walking." she growled, walking by the study they hadn't been faced to face by any demons yet, and they had hoped it would stay that way. 

"What happened between you guys?" he asked the two now strolling down the hall, 

"I wasn't always a bad child... I just wanted to well... be noticed, I never meant to put a curse on my sister, I never meant to fall from grace I-" the door of the study creaked catching the attention of John and Yonah, it was empty as the perusal when she was there. 

"I should have raised you better.." the voice said coming from behind the door, "But instead we paid attention to your sister," Yonah knew that voice from anywhere, she began feeling the sting again on her heart that took a splash in the acid of her stomach.

"Dad?" she began walking.

"Yonah no," John said, seeing right through the disguise, but he knew Yonah was too blinded to see it, he just had to find a way to show her, she was wrong.

"You really think you'll get your happily ever after with that one?" Bruce pointed outside to  John from the closed doors, everything still looked the same from when she was little, pictures of her dad, her brothers, her mother, and in his hands a picture of her, in a mirror, 

 "What are you talking about?"

"All he's doing is using you, you know it for a fact, that boy doesn't love you.." Bruce said glaring at Yonah making her feel small, "He'll only break your heart, throw you away and-"

"That's not true!" she shouted, watching the way he began to glide past her, grabbing her by the arm taking her towards the window his back towards the door, as she was now hypnotized by the image, almost as if she were caught in his web,  Bruce smirked as he took a shard of glass dipping it in his blood, 

"So nice of you to visit.." 

BOOM!

"Yonah where are you, Yonah," John stopped in his tracks seeing her semi- lifeless body on the floor bleeding out a puddle of magenta blood spewing out from her body slowly, "That bastard.." he whispered crouching down to her height, tying his tie around the gash on her leg he picked her up laying her on the office desk, before of blast of air pushed him out the window glass falling all around him.

"Well fuck," he grumbled hitting his head on a bush,  

"We meet again," the voice said shapeshifting from its disguise to its usual self.

" Marzannin.," he growled, "Demoness of vanity," he growled getting back up as she pulled her hand out using her powers to choke, "Doesn't feel nice does it, John, nice girl, by the way, shame she had to die," she shrugged.

Yonah got up with the best of strength that she had left, hearing fast pacing footsteps from the hall her hand out reading to cast any spell needed, her eyes still half shut, 

"Hey... Ms. Yonah... stay with me, God that's blood, yeah that's blood,"

Yonah laughed a little hearing his voice, "Hey Chas sweetie, calm down, we have to save Ezra,"  she tried getting her strength back, but nothing would do, "John's gonna be pissed at me, but.." he said starting to ramble out spells that he remembered,

"Had enough yet, John!"  Marzannin said, seeing him all bloody and beaten.

"No.." 

Yonah pulled Ezra out of the mirror as she laid her unconscious body on her bed, "Chas protect her please, she's the only sister I've got." 

"Wait where are you go-" he stopped noticing that she was already gone, "Gotham broads I tell ya." he shook his head,

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size Marzi.. or are you too much a bitch to do so.."  she began walking towards the demon who had John floating in the air, looking up at again she felt everything was slipping away from her, but she also felt as though she had nothing to lose.

" Rosea flamma ignis" she said flames growing from the palm of her hands, slinging them around to hit the demon, first she takes her sister and now the man that she dearly loved, this demon had to die and quickly. 

"You'll need a summoning circle, I've been practicing on those!" Chas said making one,  Yonah nodded as she walked towards it face to face with the demon, 

"You really care that much.." she said, "What a pity, wasting your time on a man who'll never love you.." she laughed, 

"That may be so... but I'd trade my life for his any moment, including now.." she said raising her hand out for Marziznian to reach,

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Yonah! no, "  Chas shouted.

"Take it, it's yours.." as the demon grabbed her hand she used her fire powers to send her right back where she belonged, in hell,  "Chas you make sure John is fine I'll-"

"Yonah.." Ezra said running towards her hugging her tightly, "You saved my life, after everything I said why, " 

"It was no big deal, trust me," she smiled, 

"No, I must honor you at the gala Alfred, you get her and her friends cleaned up please," 

Yonah sat in her old room dressed up as she heard a knock on the door, John stood there mouth open as he saw Yonah dressed in a midnight blue gown that complimented her so much, "Why the long face?" he asked watching the way she looked at him.

"John I don't deserve to be here... I deserve to be with you.." she said, 

"What about the scar?"

"Stitched perfectly, but what do you say we leave this place and stick our noses where we're needed.."  she smirked pulling him by his new tie and kissing him.

[thepartyresponsible]

this fill is for @roguetelepath​​, who had the beautiful idea of Jason Todd/Harry Potter with “a post-war, done with everything Harry in Gotham.”

my general disregard for canon compliance is stepped up a bit here, because i’ve only read the first seven books and seen their movies. i know nothing about fantastic beasts.

...well, i know that i am a fantastic beast, but that’s probably not what the movie is about.

Talia would call it a Lazarus gift, the way Jason can sense magic these days. She’d call it that - a gift - because she’s never experienced it herself. When the dark-haired man passes behind him, Jason feels the magic on him, sharp and unpleasant, like fingernails and ice chips scraping across the back of his neck. It doesn’t feel much like a gift, but he’ll grant that it’s interesting.

The place is a dive bar, sure, but people usually don’t layer on high-level repulsion charms before they go out for a drink. Especially when they’re nowhere near the magic-friendly districts of the city.

Jason counts thirty seconds and then he stands up, takes his beer, and follows the man across the bar. The magic pushes against him, but charms that rely on redirection tend to lose most of their punch when you confront them head on. He feels it, though, the whole way over, chilled air settling across every inch of exposed skin.

“Hey,” he says, as he leans into the space next to him at the bar. Jason smiles, trying for friendly, self-aware enough to know that he’s probably missing the mark.

“Hello,” the man says, glancing at him. He has a British accent and some kind of spell on his face, concentrated in the center of his forehead. Jason can’t see behind it, but cosmetic magic always looks wrong in his eyes, vaguely blue-tinted and reflective.

Jason never did finish high school, but the dealers on his street taught him all about basic arithmetic.

An English accent, a concealed mark on his forehead, and magic, a lot of it, equals Harry fucking Potter, hiding out in a shitty Gotham bar.

Jason thinks about asking him if his press knows he’s here, but Potter’s watching him now, mouth bullied into a flat, miserable frown, pretty green eyes gone all dark and defensive. Jason spends most of his nights patrolling the city with a mask on his face; he knows what it’s like to try to cut your way out of an identity you don’t want anymore.

It’s a little like clawing your way out of a coffin.

“Buy you a drink?” Jason asks, instead.

Potter blinks at him. His eyes dart toward the bartender, who’s hanging back, reading Jason. “There some reason you would like to?” he asks, after a moment.

“Sure,” Jason says, with a shrug. There are a dozen reasons he would like to. He read the news, when it hit, a couple years back. He knows all about the clusterfuck that happened to the British Ministry. He knows about the horcruxes, and the bullshit Dark Lord. He knows about the dead kids. “I’ve got a thing,” he says, “for brunettes.”

“Really,” Potter repeats, like he doesn’t believe it. Like he’s exhausted by the very idea of pretending, again, to believe whatever lie someone’s selling him.

“Sure,” Jason says. It even has the benefit of being true. He looks over at the bartender, who finally starts making his approach, apparently reassured that he doesn’t need to stay out of the shrapnel zone anymore.

“Look,” Jason says, when Potter just keeps staring down at the empty bar napkin in front of him. “You’re here to drink. You really think it’s a good idea to do that alone?”

Potter’s eyes snap up to his, and there’s a moment where Jason can feel himself being assessed. He doesn’t mind. He’s been calculating how dangerous Potter is since he walked into the bar.

“Fine,” Potter says. “But I’m terrible company.”

“Oh, good,” Jason says, settling onto the nearest bar stool. “Me too.”

  Later, after they’ve shared a few beers and some meandering conversation, after Harry quietly eased the repulsion charm until it disappeared entirely, they go outside to smoke behind the bar. Harry – who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom – goes through the whole process of fishing out his lighter and hunching inward, shielding his cigarette from the wind.

Jason snaps his fingers, summons a bright blue magical flame that dances briefly above his thumb, and lights his cigarette neatly, efficiently, waving the flame out of existence while Harry’s still holding his stupid lighter in the air.

“Thought so,” Harry says, after a beat of silence. “How’d you know about me?”

Jason rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers again, holds the flame under Harry’s cigarette until it finally lights. He closes his hand around the fire, and it disappears. “Yeah,” he says, “you’re really not that subtle.”

Harry sizes him up again. He’s been doing that all night. Jason wants to tell him that, someday, he’ll shake himself free from the habit of continuously updating the threat level of everyone around him, but Jason’s an asshole, not a liar. Shit like that never, ever goes away.

“This whole city,” Harry says, settling back against the wall, “is cursed. How do you stand it?”

Jason shrugs. “Grew up here,” he says. “Get sick if I leave for too long.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, thinks that over. “Do you really?”

Jason nods, although it’s not a sickness the way that word maybe implies. It’s more like an addiction. Leaving the city for too long leads to anxious, skittery, bone-deep aches that feel like withdrawals. There’s a reason people don’t leave Gotham, no matter how shitty the place is, no matter what they lose to it.

“Over there,” Jason says, “you British wizards, you’d probably call it Dark magic.”

“Call it Dark magic?” Harry shoots him a faintly incredulous look, lighting up his green eyes with skepticism. “It is Dark. This whole city’s Dark.”

“It’s all just magic,” Jason says. The difference is that this kind’s got a higher price and a sharper bite. And maybe Jason would care more about the former if he weren’t so dedicated to the latter.

Sometimes, he can feel the echoes of the spellwork he’s done settling into his joints, aging him early, rotting him from the inside out. But there are hundreds of people alive today that wouldn’t be, if he hadn’t done what he’d done. So what’s it matter, in the end? He’s living on borrowed time anyway.

Harry frowns at him. Jason figures that’s fair. Harry’s probably still a little sensitive to that whole bullshit light-and-dark divide. Bruce can get that way, too, if you let him corner you into a philosophical debate about it. But the reality is Bruce uses whatever magic he can, and dark and light are just words frightened people use to keep each other in line.  

“It feels bad,” Harry says, finally, and gestures outward, toward the sprawling nightmare of the city.

And, yeah, Jason imagines it does. The city always seems to weigh heavy on new arrivals. “If it feels so bad,” Jason says, “why the hell are you here?”

He already knows. Of course he knows. He knows why every single one of them surfaces here, all the runaways, the fugitives, the deserters. He knows what Gotham can offer people, if they’re desperate enough to bargain.

“Can’t be traced here,” Harry says, finally, after he busies himself for a while with the nearly finished cigarette in his hand. “I’m on vacation.”

“Yeah,” Jason says, with a smile, as he flicks his cigarette into a nearly puddle. “Sure. The kind of vacation where you’re actively hiding from everyone who knows you. That kind of vacation.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “I’m not hiding,” he says. He sounds like he means it. Maybe he hasn’t figured that part out for himself yet.

Jason grins at him, leans closer, settles his hand on the brick wall beside Harry’s head. “So, Neville Longbottom,” he says, enjoying the quickfire focus that ignites in Harry’s eyes at the mocking tone Jason uses when he calls him by a name they both know doesn’t belong to him. “You got a place to stay yet?”

Harry’s still for a second, and then he drops his cigarette to the ground, crushes it beneath his boot. He runs his fingers through his hair, and, in the wavering light of the nearby neon sign, Jason catches the glint of a line of scars down Harry’s hand: I must not tell lies.

England, he thinks, is just as hard on its boy heroes as Gotham. Maybe the whole world over, Robins and Harry Potters get eaten alive.

“I’m entertaining options,” Harry tells him. For a second, his eyes drop down Jason’s face, to his mouth, his throat, down all the way to his hips and then slowly back up. And then he looks away, squints up the alleyway. “But,” he says, “I’m a nightmare to share a room with.”

“Oh, really?” Jason thinks it’s sweet that Harry said share a room instead of share a bed. Especially since he just got finished eye-fucking him in the back alley behind one of Gotham’s least impressive bars.

“Yeah,” Harry says, eyes dropping, dark with guilt and maybe shame. “I’ve got-- dreams. Bad ones. Broke somebody’s nose once.”

For fuck’s sake. This is what happens, Jason thinks. This is what happens when you’re fourteen and someone you trust tells you that you can save the world.

Jason’s not sure of the details of what happened to Harry. They were, as usual, on the brink of the end of the world in Gotham, too. But he knows the look on Harry’s face, knows the weight of that directionless rage, the drag of all that that hollowed-out exhaustion. He knows what it’s like to play hero too young.

“This is Gotham,” Jason reminds him. “You don’t have to apologize for shit like that here. If we couldn’t handle a few nightmares, we’d all be sleeping alone.”

Harry’s eyebrows pull together. He sizes him up again, and Jason waits, lets that threat analysis buffer until Harry nods, once, slow and thoughtful. Cautious. “Well,” Harry says, “not sure I’ll be staying the night.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Break my heart, English.”

Harry grins, then, bright and uncomplicated, sharing the joke. Jason sees, for a second, who he could have been, if he hadn’t been sent out to fight, if he hadn’t been asked to save the world before he had a chance to find his place in it.

It’s no use, second-guessing the sacrifice once it’s already been made. But Jason wishes like hell that all these old men would learn to fight and lose their own Goddamn battles.

Jason wonders if that’s the reason the two of them do what they do. He wonders if Harry’s an Auror and Jason’s a vigilante so they can put themselves in front of all those desperate, stupid kids, build a wall with their bodies that keeps all the starry-eyed, Bambi-faced preteens from looking at the you must be this tall to avert the apocalypse sign and figuring fuck it, close enough.

Or maybe this is what they do because it’s all they know how to do. Maybe, once you put a price on your life, hand it over in trade, you can’t ever get back to a place where you have any value at all.

“C’mon,” Jason says. He tips his head up the alleyway. “Let me show you the parts of Gotham that are slightly less shitty.”

Harry smiles, and it doesn’t have the wattage of that grin, but the grittiness of it – the worn-down edges, the glint of danger in his eyes – has a hook all its own. Jason always did have a soft spot for lost causes.

“You know,” Harry says, as they start up the alleyway. “My name isn’t actually Neville Longbottom.”

“Well, holy shit, English,” Jason says, feigning shock, clutching his non-existent pearls. “Does this mean you’re Hermione Granger?”

Harry laughs, sharp and surprised, and there are shadows in his eyes, scars on his skin, but there’s still life in him, still something bright and sweet and worth preserving.

As they walk up the alley, Jason feels the magic fade, like the softest brush of breath against his throat. When he looks over, Harry’s scar is clear on his face. It feels like a declaration, like some kind of trust.

“Oh, hey, Harry Potter,” Jason says, with a small, sideways smile, “welcome to Gotham.”

[dr-circuitous]

Harleen

INVOLVED: Harleen Quinzel  TIME FRAME: ― LOCATION: Gotham City, New Jersey SUMMARY: Harleen finds out the Joker has been sent to Arkham.

Smack in the middle of Gotham Square the Grissom highrise rose.  The building was a  monument to Gotham's glorious past, with three hundred luxury apartments on its upper floors and the prestigious Flugelheim Museum in it’s lower half.  The crim dela crim lived here. The crim dela crim and Harleen Frances Quinzel.

Murals to rival the Cistern chapel covered the walls.  Sculptures of both Gods, men and demons lined the entry ways.  It’s  opulence regularly left visitors speechless, yet Harleen strolled out of the lobby, yawning hand covering her mouth, without a backwards glance.  She liked her 500 square foot apartment that overlooked Gotham Park.  If was valuable the way a collector loves a new shiny bobble. The added bonus was it impressed her mother, Sharon, who knew the building's name and understood it to be  where the elite gathered.

Harleen stepped out into the morning air that coated her like in a layer consistent with that of  congealed cream of chicken soup. She pulled this new layer on over the ever present milestone that came with being a resident of Gotham City.  Gotham made it’s residence, hardening there resolve. Love it or hate, you endured and Harleen couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad one.   She smiled fractionally as she stepped forward to yellow cab # 042  settling into the familiar comfort of the seat.  “Morning.” She greeted, falling seamlessly into the  the well practiced rituals of her day.  

Rodney was in his late fifties, with a shock of black hair that was graying around the temples. As Harleen climbed into the back of the cab, his hard face  melted into a smile that almost  pushed away the gloom that always lay over the city. “Morning beautiful.  How’s my favorite fair today?” he asked, with a genuine air of concern. He reached down and picked up a cup of coffee. “Here you go. 4 creams and 4 sugars.” He sighed, handing her the cup, “I swear that's more cocoa than coffee. Doc.”  

“Perfect.” Harleen chirped as she took the cup, she held it in her hands enjoying the scorching heat that radiated through her fingers. “It’s cocoa with a kick.” She offered, beaming “Thank you, Rodney.  You spoil me.” She raised an eyebrow, unconsciously batting her eyelash at the man.  “I have to admit, I have a suspension you bring coffee to all your fairs?” She asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Hell no.” Rodney said, sucking his teeth.  “Only the pretty ones. Who tip well.” He said, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He inclined his head and turned back in his seat.  Jamming the car into drive, he hooked once before he  pulled away from the curb.

Rodney's laugh was hollow this morning. Harleen slipped her coffee carefully, tapping the side of the styrofoam with her fingernail.  The driver worked his way in and out of traffic in unusual silence. She lowered her coffee quickly. Gasping, as a pedestrian darted into the street, narrowly being missed the cab. That was the last straw.  A stunt like that would normally send the aging cab driver into a 20 minute tirade. “What’s wrong Rodney?” Harleen asked after a moment, heart still thumping in her chest.  “You don’t seem quite yourself today.”

Rodney glanced back at the rich skinned woman in the rear view mirror.  “Nuthin…” He sighed, then thought about who was in his back seat and changed his responses. “It’s my daughter Gina, she was supposed to start her internship down at city hall today. But after what happened to the major… She’s upset of course. At least Batman got him.  Thank God, that nut bag, the Joker is off the streets.”  

“Harleen’s face went gray.  What are you talking about?” She asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Rodney snorted, “What do you mean?  Doc...  Do you live under a rock?  It’s been all over the news.” He said grabbing the paper and handed it back to Harleen.

“I don’t have a television.  I don’t trust them.”  Harleen said in a hushed distracted tone.  Grabbing the paper and scanning the front page, her mouth moving in a puckered whisper, eyes sliding back and forth.  The Dark Knight.. You would think the self styled “Batman would be old news in Gotham. But no. The vigilante donned the front page of almost every newspaper daily.  And every day the city ate it up. She cringed at the word. Vigilante.  It was the right context but it rolled off her like a curse as she fastened it to Gotham’s caped crusader. There it was in black and white, Mayor Charles Chesterfield and the better part of his staff murdered.  Nevertheless, the vigilante of Gotham was the savoir.   She lowered the paper and stared absently out of the yellow cabs grim stained windshield.  How odd that the truth should taste a lie.  And every trundling face that chance a glance toward the cab, knew it. There was no will to call the GCPD if trouble loomed. But you did it anyway with the hope that the shimmering bat signal would dominate the sky and he would save you. The Mayor, the Police commissioner, the city itself, justified the Bat’s very existence. Who was she to complain? Especially now when he brought her the quarry she’d most wanted. The Joker.  

“I know that look.” The portly cab driver said glancing back at Harleen in the rear view mirror.  “It’s the Bat. Ain’t it?  Hell of a guy. One day-” He spoke in quick, short sentences, the somberness replaced with a sort of hope. “I'm gonna shake his hand.  He saved my brother’s life.” He continued taking one hand from the wheel, he held it up to the sky in allegiance. “He was almost killed by that new freak- What they call him the Rhymer, um, tattle tell-” He hunched his shoulder up, under his ear and gave up. “One of them funny names. You know they all got something nowadays. Penguin, the Joker.. But, hey that makes sense.. The Penguin looks like a fuckin bird,” he chuckled “And the Joker runs around with that white skin and green hair, that’s a joker if I ever seen one. I bet he ain’t laughing now.” The man quipped, laughing husky at his own joke.

Harleen pulled her eyes away from the gloom and focused on the cab driver. She folded the paper back into a neat square,  slipping it back onto the front seat. She raising a questioning eyebrow at the gun sitting next to the man.. Sitting back, she tilted her head like a bird and did what she’d been trained to do. Listen.  “The Riddler.” she offered, not particularly interested in the man’s conversation, at least it had pulled her out of her own rabbit hole.  “I guess it depends… The Riddler likes to tell Riddles.  It fits him as long as you know his MO. Rodney,  the last time you told me this story It was your mother Batman saved.”  She said, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.  “You know I could help you with your compulsive lying habit.”

The cabbie's laugh died away as the woman began to speak. His face twisting into an uncomfortable scowl.  “I don’t need no head shrink doctor. The closet I want to get to Arkham is dropping you off at the gate. Besides, I ain’t lying.  You can’t find anyone in Gotham who hasn’t been saved by the Bat. He’s the only thing standing between Gotham and total destruction. - Used to be I didn’t need a tazor to drive a cab. Now, I drive around with a 9 mil on the seat.  I don’t even let my girls go anywhere alone in this town. I’m going to shake his hand one day, Doc.  He’s our savior.”

Harleen’s cheeks burned with shame as Rodney's face grew somber. He was right but, she couldn’t work out if the very existence of Batman only made things worse. One man couldn’t save a city.  And believing he could was only false hope that would eventually lead them all to destruction. But you don’t explain these thoughts to your cab driver.  You let him live on with his false hopes and dreams. She looked up the street and watched as the Hospital styled prison came into the view.  The white walled building dominated the landscape of the Narrows. Yet, the stanch white of its wall didn’t reflect light back down on to the city.  In an odd turn of events, the building did the exact opposite, casting dark ominous shadows instead. A small shiver ran over her whenever she saw the building. She looked back to the cab driver then handed him a neatly folded $20 bill as he pulled up to the main entrance.  “I understand. I'm sorry if I offended you.” She stammered heat poring from her neck.  “Sometimes I speak out of turn.” She lowered her head feeling her cheeks flush. “I’m getting off late tonight.  I can call another cab.”

Rodney dropped his head, shaking it faintly. “Don’t worry about it.  That's what head shrinks do. Keep the fare you can pay me tonight. Just call before you leave. I'll be here. I don’t want some other driver stealing my best fair. Hey doc. Besides, I don’t want you out in these streets with a stranger either.”

Harleen reached over the seat and slipped the twenty into Rodney’s top shirt pocket, squeezing his shoulder.  “Fine, but take the tip anyway.  See ya later.” She said climbing from the back of the cab. She stood awkwardly on the curb and waved at the cab as he drove away. After living in Gotham for the better part of 10 years, he was her only real link to the outside world.  

Harleen dug into the side of her briefcase and pulled out her badge, as she moved into the building.  The low flat heels made barely a whisper over deep cream marble floors as she moved past the security desk. She stepped through the center of the metal detectors. Setting of the normal array beeps, and chirping alarms. “Morning Dr. Quinzel.  We need to check your bag, please.” She continued to move, absently lost in her own thoughts. When Lt. Snow rose and stepped into her path..  Harleen’s came face to face with the man’s chest, startled she shuffled back away from the middle aged man  “Dr. Quinzel, we need to check your bag.”  

Lt. Snow was a solid man, with dimples and a handsome face that worked well with his guard’s uniform. Harleen looked down at her briefcase, then held it out stiffly to the man. “Since when?” She asked quietly, using her other hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, “You see me everyday.” “Dr. Qunzel, excuse us. Today we are on high alert.” Snow said in a honey toned voice full new forceful demand.. “You know who’s coming in today.  We have to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Harleen sucked her lips as understanding taking hold.  “Lieutenant, we have Killer Croc in the basement. Surely, the Joker isn’t that scary.” She said in a cutely dismissive tone.. “Not to mention, the last time I checked,  I wasn’t a member of his gang.”

Lt. Snow  nodded his head, with a sharp tilt, then quickly scanned the contents of Harleen’s bag.  His face seemed to contort as he looked back to her face, eyes turned rock hard and bitterly cold. “I lost five good men the last time the Joker escaped.  I don’t intend on that ever happening again. Have a nice day Dr. Quinzel.” He said bitterly, stepping away from the Psychiatrist.  

Harleen, lowered her arm letting the bag fall back against her side numbly.  Without a word she stepped around the man and resumed her march toward the elevator. This was shaping up to be one hell of a morning.  “Oh, by the way,  Dr. Strange wants to speak with you.” Snow informed her voice echoing in the lobby. She pushed her glasses back up onto her nose. And sighed. “Thank you. Have a nice morning.”  Lt. Snow cleared and raised his voice and repeated himself with an annoying reverence, that irritated her to her toes.  “Dr. Strange wasn’t in a good mood. I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” She jabbed the up arrow and climbed into the polish silver coffin as the door slide opened.  “You can let him know I’ll be right up….” She said, holding her bag in front of her  as the doors closed smoothly,  

A quick stop by her office and Harleen was headed toward Dr. Strange’s office.  Well it was more of a wing. Strange had his own suite of examination rooms. His own separate hospital that happened to reside inside of Arkham. Harleen had placed her lab coat over the calf length black skirt and crisp white button up oxford shit. She smooth both sides of her bun and straightened the pearl at her neck before rapping lightly on the door with the back of her knuckles then pushed it open, as she heard the muffled “enter.” “Dr. Strange you wanted to see me.”

Dr. Hugo Strange’s head remained bowed over his files.  “Dr. QUINZEL.” He said in a voice that croaked with age that wasn’t present in the smooth lines of his face.“I’d like a status report on your research.”

Harleen stepped close to the desk, but made no attempt to seat herself. Instead she shifted uncomfortably on her heels as Strange played his unnecessary game of protocol. She occupied herself by rereading the numerous plaques and diplomas that line his office walls. Harleen watched him out of the corner of her eye as she spoke, refusing to fully acknowledge him until he offered her the same courtesy.  “Promising.”

Dr. Strange looked up from his work, and stared at Harleen. Deeply, considering her.  He rose in eerie  silence and collected books from around his office. Placing each one cover up on the desk. “The Answer,” By Dr. Theodore Lane. A deep dive into the mind of the Riddler.  “The Killing Joke,” by Dr. Anthony Wise What drives the mind of a mass murderer. Once he had laid down, “The complete guide of Monsters” he began to speak.  “Each book one of these books was    written and published by a doctor just like you, Dr. Quinzel.”

Harleen's eyes moved down to meet the rounded, tinted spectacles of Dr. Strange. Behind the mirrors of his lens, one could only guess at his true thoughts and feelings. Harleen forced a count of 20 before she allowed herself to look away.  She was up five second from the last time. A small but meaningful personal victory. When he rose to collect the books from pristine shelves, she watched his back, then scanned each title as they were placed on the desktop. “I have read them all but I fail to understand what you’re implying.”

With the same cold detachment, he had risen with. Dr. Strange moved back to his seat and lowered himself incrementally back down. Waving a stiff arm out over his desk, he picked up where he’d left off continuing in a lecturing tone. “Each one of them had “promising” or “fruitful” findings, Doctor.  Yet, other than lining their own pockets, they offered no change to any of the notable patients here at Arkham. I understand that your Wayne funded grant,  gives you certain privileges here. That said, it’s no secret that I do not believe in your..” he sucked his tongue as if removing something distasteful, “Work. Most of the patients here at Arkham, under my care, have very unique circumstances.  They are no longer,” he chose his words cautiously, “Completely human. Thus this empathy you want desperately to find simply doesn’t exist.  No more than you can find it in a snake. I think it’s time for you to end this little experiment of yours Ms. QUINZEL. End it before you get hurt. End it and do what all these men and women have done. Write your little book about your deals with my menagerie of fiends and leave the actual science of the mind to me. ”

Harleen listened eyes rising steadily to meet the bespectacled man. Fear of his alieness, swallowed by a mounting angry, some kind of beast that wanted to claw its way from her body.   “Humans are responsible for the mass genocide of more creatures everyday, then any one in this hospital can boost. Less than human? We seem to hold that word ‘human’ up as if it means something other than a thinly valid mask of humanity to allow ourself to sleep at night.” Harleen’s jaw clenched. “They are my patients just as they are your Dr. Strange. They are people who have suffered horrific traumas. Some have received certain powers that doesn’t mean they have lost that which makes them human.” She argued. “On the contrary, the very thing makes them more like animals to you, is exactly why we must find the empathy in them. Because as you well know, even animals have empathy for one another. It is our obligation to remind them what it means to be a part of our society and in doing so,help them regain their sanity.  Now, I have patient to see Dr. Strange.  Have a good day.” She turned on her heels and moved to leave the office.

Dr. Strange cleared his throat as he sat back in his chair.  “Dr. Quinzel, one last thing. The joker will be under my personal supervision for the next three months. I think it’s best if he’s handled by myself for the time being. Please close the door on your way out.”  

Harleen stiffened in places, nostrils flaring for a moment. Damn! body moving as if through honey as she willed her legs back to motion and exited Dr. Strange’s office without a backward glance.  This was going to harder than necessary. 

[yakumtsaki]

Well, well, well, look who’s back with the most morally repugnant update in Union history. Me. It’s been a very productive summer of Netflix, chill and giving wrong directions to tourists but all good things must come to an end. Also coming to an end is my ill-fated attempt to kill Max, who, after refusing to eat the cake FOR 2 FUCKING DAYS is finally released from the cage of death. Honestly, I’m impressed, Max, you’re definitely not as stupid as you look.

-Yea, I get that a lot.

I doubt that but whatever, now gtfo and I better not see your Komei-clone ass around Jojo ever again or it’s back in prison for you!

-So, Jojo, not that we’re not all extremely invested in the excruciating selection process of your husband, but are you any closer to picking one?? I mean I love this whole commune thing we have going but the constant food delivery for 8 is killing us.

-We’re afraid not, dear brother, it’s starting to look like no one in this world is worthy of our majesty.

Ugh are we really doing royal ‘we’ now? Is this what this has come to?

-Yes, college has really helped develop our sense of self-worth.

How can it be self-worth if you’re ‘we’?

-This is exactly the kind of idiotic questioning that would get you eliminated from the suitor process. 

Oh, perish the thought! And miss out on this classical-music-dick-measuring-contest you have them doing?

-Ew seriously, Francis, Vivaldi? Why don’t you turn up to Justin Bieber while you’re at it.

Man, what a zinger! Good times. JOJO PICK A FUCKING DUDE ALREADY SO I CAN MOVE THE OTHERS OUT THE LOT IS LAGGY AS SHIT

-I lost the dick measuring contest and my punishment is sleeping on the couch.

KILL HIM IN HIS SLEEP MELODY

-Maybe later, Real Housewives of Pleasantview is on, Cassandra is getting dragged for the pigtails!!

-Ha, look at this Vivaldi-listening losér! Point at him and laugh, everyone!

-Who’s laughing now, bitch? Not you with that hoof right in your French-whore mouth!

-Ugh, aren’t you late for the beans-on-toast feast, you limey piece of merde?

Not since the 100 Years War have French-British tensions ran this high. Of course that one was for a throne, while this one..

-Is for something far more important.. Our heart.

LMAO Jojo please be serious, you don’t have a heart.

-We absolutely do and it’s made out of pure gold.

Yea I guess, I mean gold is a metal after all! 

-Do you really think you should be eating decaying Chinese food, mon cheri? You’re going to need a soda to digest it and you know it’s too cold for your teeth!

-Wyatt, I don’t pay you to think, I pay you to sit across from me and look pretty, and occasionally to scooch down next to me so I look taller.

-You actually don’t pay me at all.

-Yes and obviously I’m getting my money’s worth.

Wow Jojo tone it down, your gold heart is shinning so brightly I’m gonna go blind!

Precious Gunther has added three new addictions to his existing sex one! A) working out in this atrocious outfit.

B) blowing bubbles from dawn to dusk.

and c) and the most disturbing one, constantly being alone in enclosed spaces with his brother’s intended, Brit Brit. At first I wasn’t too worried about it, thinking Brit is a popularity sim so it’s only natural..but then..

I SEE THIS. GODDAMMIT GUNTHER WHY MUST YOU HAVE CHEMISTRY WITH EVERYONE

-Man idk, it’s almost supernatural. Blame it on God ;)

UGH I don’t even know who I hate more, your whore ass-

-or this fucking llama that hasn’t gone home in 3 days and is eating all our pizza. 

-I just feel so accepted here, like I’m part of the family, you know? 

GET OUT

Speaking of furries, not even the cow will approach the fucking cowplant, jfc. I mean you’d expect some kind of kinship there but nop. Great job Jojo, you killed a dozen secret society members for a defective cowplant.

-Mooo :(

I don’t know which one of you did that but stfu, I can’t anymore with this flop ass household!!!1

ANYWAY back to Brit and Daniel, it seems like my Gunther concerns were baseless, since these two remain eternally into each other, always autonomously doing cute crap.

-Oh Daniel, let me serenade you with the song of your people!  

The kings made us drunk with fumes, peace among us, war to the tyrants! Let the armies go on strike, stocks in the air, and break ranks. If they insist, these cannibals on making heroes of us, they will know soon that our bullets are for our own generals  ♪

ROMANCE ISN’T DEAD

In other news, allow me to present you all with Melody’s personality panel. I was under the false impression that being the child of Wanda and Stephen she was.. nice?? But nop, total Union freak material! We hit the jackpot once again. Now her best friendship with bitch Brit makes total sense.

-Honestly girl, this janky ass house is such a step down from the sorority, I spend half the day thinking of ways to peace out.

-Ugh I know, I was on the fence at first but can you really put a price on good d?

-Aw, what are my beautiful hens cackling about? May I join?

-No.

-I was about to make a math joke but I doubt you gals would get it, amirite? As Barbie said, math is hard!

- I’m a literal math major.

-Oh I know, Mel, good for you! Affirmative action works wonders!

KILL HIM AND HIS HAREM WE DON’T NEED THE LAG

It’s another day in paradise. Daniel has finally cracked and gone full Komei, autonomously cleaning shit even though we have a maid..

Melody ate a ton of burnt grilled cheese and is non-stop throwing up..

AND THIS BULLSHIT IS STILL GOING ON. STOP IN THE NAME OF LOVE

-What?? We’re just talking, GAWD

No you’re not “””just talking””” you’re gossiping and doing sexy whispers, I KNOW YOUR TRICKS GUNTHER-

-I don’t mean to interrupt but I think you’re focusing on the wrong issue here?

OH AM I?? DO TELL

-LOOK OUTSIDE BITCH

Nice try whores, nothing is happening outside-

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMM WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK. WHAT. 

-That’s right, Ti-Ning and I are in love now!

............................FRAN THIS BETTER BE SOME DRY ASS BRITISH HUMOR 

-Nop! We got tired of waiting for Jojo and we decided the best way to handle it was to suddenly make out in front of him even tho we have never even flirted before!

THIS LITERALLY CANNOT BE HAPPENING

-Well it is, so best accept it and we can all move on :)

Oh yea certainly, I mean if anything Jojo is known for his ability to forgive and forget!

See the ghost of Ti-Ning indeed! Finally a wish Jojo and I share. 

TI-NING OMFG THIS LACK OF SHAME

-Haha!!! Finally I’m free to be as gross as I want >:) 

Well.. enjoy it while it lasts.

-The hell does that mean??

Nothing, just you know, none of us know when our time will come.. only that it will. The curse of human existence, one might say. Only we among the animal world know that we will die. Memento mori, Ti-Ning. And we will memento you. 

-..Yea, maybe it’s time I move out?

I mean, you can try..

..but like the curse from It Follows, it follows. It being Jojo. How you holding up boo?

-Oh, I’m great, can’t you tell?

You know what might help? Some of your beloved homework! Do something useful, get your mind off this stuff..

“Sending The First Human to Mercury and Leaving Him There: A Very Specific Space Exploration Proposal” 

-Jojό!! I’m writing about how I finally won your heart but please don’t look, I’m gonna read this at our wedding!

-Yea I literally couldn’t care less about you and your thoughts/feelings/etc, what was left of my heart is dead and gone and now there’s only a black hole there.. Oh we could also send Ti-Ning to a black hole if Mercury doesn’t work. Nice.

-UGH how are you even still alive and breathing the same air as me and not dead from shame like you should be, you vile adulteress???

-OH PLEASE you’re just mad cause Fran and I realized we can do better than your mega-jaw ass. If not for the endless supply of bubbles around here blurring our vision this would have happened weeks ago!

-I’m going to strangle you in your sleep and my jaw will be the last thing you see.

-Your jaw would be the last thing I saw even if I died on the moon.

-MAYBE YOU WILL

.....................well I guess it’s official then. And if the above didn’t seal it..

..this definitely did. God have mercy on me, what a shitshow.

While Tin and Fran are woohooing, Jojo attempts to end his troubles once and for all by running out of the house and into a thunder fire. Thankfully the rain puts it out quickly and all we’re left with is critically low hygiene. 

Man, serving Penguin teas! You have the entire look down, Jo. I’d tell you to audition for Gotham but that’s extremely bad career advice

-Oh god, I almost died!!!! 

Aw I know, but don’t worry you’re safe now <3

-No I mean I came so close but didn’t make it.. :(

Jojo please, if anything, live to kill Ti-Ning and Francis. You owe it to yourself.

As soon as Fran and Tin are done, guess who rushes in to gossip next to the bed. ISTG YOU ASSHOLES, BREAK IT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT THAT WINDOW

-Whatever, we’d just land on Jojo trying to set himself on fire.

-LOL oh Brit you’re so funny!

I HATE THIS HOUSE

-HAD FUN, DID WE YOU SLUT

-Get him, Jojό!

Honestly Wyatt, I get being supportive but I’m really starting to worry about you, even demeaning yourself has its limits..

..especially since Jojo continues to be a massive freakshow. Good lord.

-Oh Francis, don’t tell Wyatt cause you know how he gets, but your total disregard for my existence is making me see you in a whole new, hot, light..

Man, good thing Wyatt isn’t standing 3 steps away from you!

Oh yes, loving this dinner. An ocean between us..

-I wouldn’t eat that third slice if I was you, Ti-Ning. Your funeral day is fast approaching, don’t you want to look nice for it? 

-Well you’ll be there so it doesn’t matter, everyone will be looking at your jaw.

Yes, what a wonderful night. Now let’s all go to bed and hopefully everyone will have calmed down a little by tomorrow!

LMAO yea idk what I was thinking.

-Strangle me in my sleep? How about I strangle you in broad daylight???

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but.. poor Jojo. Not only did he get his ass beat, but to literally add insult to the injury-

-everyone is lusting after Gunther during his defeat. Jfc, I’d want to set myself on fire too.

Oh here we go, Gunther to the rescue! 

-How dare you beat up my brother even though he attacked you first? Prepare to die!

-Whatever, I’ve been preparing for that for the last couple days!

Aw, Gunther is such a good brother/giant loser depending on the outcome of this fight.

VINDICATION. Bravo, Gunther, defending our non-existent family honor!

Daniel, in true Daniel fashion, slept through this entire shitshow, which might be the smartest thing he’s ever done.

Oop, spoke too soon. Say what you want about Gunther and Daniel but man do they both love Jojo! Truly god knows why.

-So Brit, you’re studying poli-sci, can you think of a peaceful resolution to this? Haha!

-YOU STFU TI-NING MY FINALS ARE TODAY MY GPA IS ALREADY IN THE TOILET AND NOW IM GONNA FLOP CAUSE YOU ASSHOLES SPENT THE WHOLE NIGHT FUCKING AND THE WHOLE DAY FIGHTING AND I HAVEN’T SLEPT AT ALL DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL I’M GONNA BURN THIS PLACE TO THE FUCKING GROUND IF YOU TRY ME

Well, you might not need to Brit! WHAT IS UP WITH THIS HYPER-FLAMMABLE CACTUS

Brit returns from her finals with a free pizza! How’d you do, Brit?

-Saved by the nightie again!

NOICE. Got a freebie pizza from it too?

-No, I found it in the garbage. My gift to Francis and Ti-Ning for their 3 day anniversary! 

Jojo’s official greek house portrait coming along nicely! Wow he looks very majestic..

..Instagram vs Real Life.

-Bowling is so satisfying if you pretend the pins are your former lovers’ genitals!

Whatever coping method works for you boo!

Gunther and Ti-Ning are officially enemies which is hilarious because not even Jojo is enemies with him?? Follow your bliss, Guns!

In an impressive display of brotherly synchronicity we have double slapping across the room. Double the slapping for half the time, Jojo is as always a true capitalist.

JOJO!! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WON! So proud of my baby <3 I’m ofc kidding, this shit has gotten old really fast and I extremely feel Brit watching uninterested. ENOUGH  

HARD MOOD. Brit is honestly on another level than the rest of us basics. What an icon.

For some reason I bothered to fulfill Ti-Ning’s want to learn that relationship maintenance or w/e lifetime skill (talk about money down the drain) and the irony of this pop up text almost sent me to an early grave. And we know who’s going to an early grave today..

IT’S CAKE TIME. REACH OUT, TI-NING. YOU KNOW YOU WANT IT

FINALLY. GOODBYE FIGHTING AND INSANE LAG

JESUS JOJO. STONE. COLD.

Ice Cube would like to say, that I'm a crazy muthafucka from around the way, since I was a youth, I smoked weed out, now I'm the muthafucka that ya read about, takin' a life or two, that's what the hell I do, you don't like how I'm livin well fuck you ♪

Wyatt and Brit were on their way to react to Ti-Ning’s little accident but somehow got sidetracked and are now randomly arguing on the porch. Honestly I don’t even know what’s going on anymore, I’ve lost all control of this household.

Jojo rushes over to celebrate Ti-Ning’s demise by immediately slapping the shit out of his grieving lover! Whenever you think we can’t possibly sink any lower, think again. Like right now, after the slapping, are you thinking we can’t sink any lower?????????????????????????????

THINK. AGAIN.

ARE YOU SCREAMING? CAUSE I DID

YUP THIS IS HAPPENING

IT’S REAL

IT’S. REAL. THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH CURSE WORDS IN ANY LANGUAGE TO EXPRESS MY FEELINGS

FUCK YOU FRANCIS. FUCK. YOU. YOU’RE GETTING MURDERED SO FUCKING HARD YOU UNBELIEVABLE ASSHOLE. I’M FUCKING DONE. JOJO YOU’RE GONNA DIE ALONE TIME FOR ALL OF US TO ACCEPT THAT REALITY. WE STARTED OUT WITH 3 CANDIDATES AND ENDED UP HERE. HOW THE EVERLOVING FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN FRANCIS AND WYATT HAVE. 1 BOLT. ONE. WYATT IS A FAMILY SIM I’M SO PISSED OFF I NEED TO TAKE A MOMENT

OK. In my 10 years of playing I have never wanted to quit without saving more than with this bullshit. Look at fucking Fran’s smug ass face and moron Wyatt putting on an Oscar worthy performance of shock and regret. YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID NO, YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE HOME WYATT. What the FUCK are we gonna do now???? I guess good thing Max Flexor survived the cage of death. GOD.DAMMIT

[thejokersenigma]

Joker x Reader Deadly Voice Part 25

Hello - next parts ready (I think) I apologise if the ending is rushed but I’m exhausted but really wanted to get it out!

I apologise for any continuity errors - I finding it hard to keep track between all my pieces!

Cursing myself for my lack of imagination in describing thoughts and feelings - but I hope to improve on this over time!

Also - new discovery - writing in past tense for a prolonged period of time is actually quite hard for me (so sorry for any tense mistakes!)

Hope you enjoy! :) Please leave feedback if you would like - I love to hear from you guys!

Masterlist

I stormed most of the way back to my house, burning my anger off through my powerful strides until my legs burned. By the time I reached my front door my rage had been replaced with an overwhelming feeling of shame and disgrace at my behaviour.

I threw myself down on my front step so that I sat on the door mat outside. My feet rested on the step below so my knees were at the right height for me to rest my forehead on them, closing my eyes and giving myself over to my mortification of my actions.

What had I just done?! I was ruined! There was no way that I had not come across as insane – I’d defend a mass murdering lunatic for goodness sake! I had been doing so well in this town - in my new life - and now he had to come and ruin it! And it wasn’t even him! It was just a bloody picture and a few words.

And Hannah. Oh my God. I’d been so rude, so defensive! It must be obvious I had feelings towards the Joker! I thought in despair – she was going to think I was as crazy as him. 

My temper was flaring again - but this time aimed at me – and I stood up abruptly, irritably searching through my handbag, letting out growls or frustration when they didn’t show themselves obviously and mumbling hate and obscenities to myself, “Why did I have to bloody ruining everything?” I shoved my hand into pockets and compartments of the bag, “Why can’t I be normal?” I finally found them and thrust them roughly into the lock, “Why couldn��t I just fall for Timid Tim next door or Frankie’s ex?” I stomped through the doorway flinging my keys on the nearest surface. “But nooooo,” I sighed loudly to myself, gesturing wildly as I made my way down the hallway, trying to work out some of my frustration. “I just have to keep that psychotic clown in my head instead!”

But, as I walked into the kitchen and threw my bag on the counter, a part of me couldn’t help but think that maybe I had sought this out. Maybe this was my solution to my boring, lonely country life – mix it up by revealing I was in love with a murderous lunatic – that’ll spice things up! I rolled my eyes at myself.

Hell, I was becoming a psycho too! I had wanted to kill Hannah for goodness sake! I couldn’t even begin to fathom it now, but I could remember the fervour that rushed through me and, given the right opportunity, I didn’t doubt that I may well have ended her life right then and there. Disregarding the fact that she was a good person, a nice person, and a friend. Disregarding the fact that we were in the middle of a public pub which still contained lunch stragglers and early evening drinkers.

I still felt like I would have done it.

The thought made tears burn in my eyes and my throat close up. What was I becoming? How could I want to do something like that? Could I trust myself anymore? How could I exist around other people if I was going to get weird urges to kill people over small squabbles and disagreements?

Because that’s all it had been. She hadn’t insulted me, threatened me or done anything to me. She had expressed her opinion, one shared by nearly everyone else in the world and I had nearly killed her.

How was I supposed to exist in this world now? What was wrong with me?

Had Gotham rubbed off on me like it did to every criminal? Had the Joker rubbed off on me?

He sparked a weird passion in me that didn’t seem to stop at just romance - everything I now did was bolder, braver, more insane.

What had changed in me? This wasn’t me.

I was the shy nervous girl that could barely get myself onto a stage and was too shy to look anywhere but at her feet.

I was the girl who had run a club from behind closed doors, getting others to be the front people whilst I handled things behind the scenes.

I was the girl that hadn’t stood up for my club. The girl that had run tail between her legs to an old friend for shelter and then practically fallen on her knees to beg a criminal for protection and a job, only to sign her life away to the madman.

The girl who had naively and inanely fallen for a deranged psychopath that liked to dress as a clown and shoot people for fun.

When had I changed?

I could ask myself the question in disbelief and confusion, but I knew the answer. The minute the joker had stepped foot in my club and demanded it be his I had changed. He somehow brought it out of me.

It hadn’t happened over night, but now that I looked back it was clear that the more time I had spent with him, the more ridiculous my actions became.

I looked out my kitchen window into my small garden and the fields beyond. I could spot a few cows on the horizon but other than that the land was empty, as if the world itself was empty and I was all alone. The only person left.

I had felt like this before. When my Father had died just under a year ago. He was my last remaining member of my close family – having already lost my mum when I was younger and having no siblings. The rest of my family had never showed much interest in us so we returned mutual effort.

When he passed I had no one really. I was alone. At the time I had been travelling – doing the usual young adult thing of trying to find my place in the world – but Gotham had always been my home. I hadn’t bothered to make close friends on my journeys – never staying in one place long enough - and the ones I had left in Gotham had moved on, neither side bothering to keep in touch. Life was like that.

But I had found myself without a safe place anymore. My dad had always been there should I need him - a financial rock, an emotional rock, a base should I fall. Now I felt isolated in the world and floating without any idea where I was going.

I moved through the small house, climbing the stairs to my bedroom. I climbed out of my uniform and tossed it into my growing pile of washing before wrapping myself in my dressing gown and heading to the bathroom. As I passed my dresser, I caught sight of the one thing, over than the necessary, which I had brought with me from the flat at Penguin’s club. It was a picture of my club in its prime before the Joker had turned up.

I picked the frame up now and studied the picture, reminiscing in the details and the memories.

A lifeline had arrived for me in the form of the club. It was the one thing waiting for me back in Gotham, the one true memory of my family. My father had run the club and, upon his passing, it was handed down to me to do as I wished with it – run it, change it, sell it.

The club had been in my family for generations in one way or another, always adapting to the times, but keeping a tradition alive. We had survived so much throughout the years and I had grown up in that place - my childhood filled each room from the time I first learnt to walk by holding onto the stage to the time I had my first drink out of the coloured bottles that lined the bar. I couldn't see it leave the family because of me and my wanderings – anyway I had yet to find anything in the world that held me away from Gotham and the club.

So after the funeral I accepted the keys and had taken my place in my Father’s office in his chair behind his desk. Most of the staff that had worked with my Father took the chance to retire or go part time, but they had helped me to look for replacements, called in on me and helped me get to grips with the place.

My dad hadn't updated the place in a while and it was behind the times – possibly why our patrons at the time were generally older than me. Once I had got the books in order I had refurbishment the place, keeping a few things the same, but giving the club new life through sprucing it up with new decor, new entertainment, new bartenders and new connections.

And it thrived.

I smiled at the memories and replaced the photo. I walked down the hall to the bathroom and ran the shower till it was warm enough to step in. The water pressure wasn’t great, but it gave me an excuse to have a long shower.

Trying to push the thoughts of the afternoon out of my mind I began to sing a familiar tune and I fell back into recollections of an easier time.

I had different way of running the club to most, having always been a reserved person. Instead of actively being the boss I would hide out in office, preferring the call or emails and accounts. I only ventured out into the main in opening hours to blend with the crowd and observe how things ran and make notes about alterations for improvement.

But, contrary to this, I had always held a certain passion for singing. When I was really young, and more carefree, I would climb onto the stage, instruct a nearby adult to retrieve the microphone from the stand – which was too high for me to reach - and then sing my little heart out to my favourite pop hits as my mum clapped along in the empty seating area and, when I was done, my dad would applause from his office.

As I got older my nerves soon kicked in and I no longer felt that I was good enough to be on the stage, having watched many beautiful and talented singers own it so well. My dad would encourage me continuously – always hinting there was a spot should I want it, but I had kept my singing for the shower alone.

It was only when my Father had gone and I owned the club that I had returned to the stage. It was the anniversary of me taking over the club. All of the staff had remained behind to throw a wild night for me and celebrate a very successful year with far too much alcohol. It was late into the evening when the cheesy tunes started on the speakers and karaoke had soon taken over. After a large amount of chanting, shots and begs I was convinced to step back onto the stage when the senior bartender Jerry told me it would be what my dad had wanted.

Those words had caused a lump of emotion to form in my throat but there was still no way I could have done it without the alcohol in my veins. I had gone up there and sung my heart out in memory of my father – the dancing coming solely from the drugs in my system.

One drunken karaoke later and people had seemed to love me. They had somehow managed to convince me to give myself one try in front of a real audience and, much to my complete and utter disbelief I was soon put on as a regular entertainer.

From then on all had gone well for a few months.

Then the joker turned up at the door.

I stepped out of the shower and towelled off before moving back to my room and throwing on my comfort clothes – jogging bottoms and a hoody. I threw my damp hair into a messy bun and headed back to my kitchen to get a hot drink and dig through my freezer for some dinner.

I watched the kettle boil and returned to my shower thoughts.

I had known who The Joker was of course. There wasn’t a single person in Gotham who didn’t – you couldn’t survive without at least knowing the major criminals to look out for. But I’d never had the displeasure of meeting him before then - as most of his ‘business was generally on the other side of Gotham - whilst my club had been located on the border between Two-face’s and the Penguin’s territory. Not that it had been unknown for him to visit others.

But still, to find him walking into my club one evening whilst I was performing had been quite a shock to me, which that then quickly given way to fear and dread.

I recalled trying to concentrate on finishing my song without missing any beats. I had already figured out why he was there. I remembered fearing it for a while, having been warned several times that my success would be my downfall. But, though I had heeded those warnings, I had always put off dealing with them - always comforting myself that those days were still a long way away.

His sudden appearance had caught me off guard at the time, forcing me to think on my feet. I had, stupidly – though some may class it as bravery - approached him. I had been forced to battle with Frost before I had finally managed to get close to the renowned criminal and attempt to address him; however I didn’t even get a glance from the Joker. He had simply continued to walk through the club and I remember thinking he was examining each part to see if it was to his taste.

My – now famous – temper had flared at that point, and I had almost done something I knew now I would have regretted, when he had abruptly stopped next to a booth. It was the booth he would then on occupy whenever he was in the club.

I reminisced how he had slid into it, draping himself across the bench - making himself at home - before he had finally turned his gaze on me.

Even now I could remember how his clear blue eyes had pierced me and made my heart jump as if I’d been suddenly dropped from a great height. I had found it difficult to collect my thoughts so hadn’t been able to say anything before The Joker spoke up, and his words had brought me back to Earth. “Fetch me the boss, Dollface.” I recall him commanding as if he was ordering a drink from a waitress.

That had done it for me. It had confirmed what I had known - that he had been there for my club. I had also known that I couldn’t do anything about, couldn’t even have called for help. I also knew I had needed to survive if I was going to help my staff get through it. That meant I couldn’t have given myself over.

I guess I had a dark side even then - heck maybe he had brought it out of me in that very moment – because I recollect then walking to the bar where the local jackass Trevor Harris had been sat at the bar.

Everyone in the club had known Trevor. He had been a well-known player, often hitting on at least half the girls each night, having always gone home with at least one. He had also been a small town criminal, having been charged for a number of small crimes, and he was an all-round rude, egotistic misogynist.

I remember telling him that I needed him to do something for me before I had then quickly gathered my staff to explain what was going on. I had tried to be as vague as possible but I also tried to provide them the necessary reassurance to prevent too many worries.

I had then gone back to Trevor and flirted with him enough to think he had got me. I then managed to convince him to pretend to be the boss for the night – as a weird kinky role play he thought I was into.

I vividly remember leading him to the Joker, like an obnoxious lamb to slaughter, Trevor playing his role perfectly. I had barely flinched when he was shot.

The kettle pinged, making me jump and I gripped my chest, feeling my erratic heartbeat. “Jesus.” I breathed and then giggled quietly in relief.

I made myself some tea and found a frozen lasagne which I unceremoniously dumped on a plate and shoved in the microwave, watching the plate spin under the artificial light. 

After the Joker had officially taken over I just became another member of staff. No one really knew me as the owner of club because I always got other people to do things for me so I didn’t have any awkward questions about why roles had changed, and anyone about to ask understood when the Joker walked in. That hurt a bit. The fact that I never even tried to stand up for my club.

I spent most of my time working on stage or trying to make other people’s lives less miserable under the Joker’s reign.  It hadn’t been easy for me, I had hated blending into the background as the Joker changed my club, terrorised my staff and welcomed criminals and low life's in the place of my regular patrons.

But that’s also why I had stayed. I couldn't stand to see my family's business ruined.

Until I snapped. It became too much for me - to watch my team slowly fall apart and for them to constantly live in fear that any wrong move would cost their lives.

So then I had destroyed the whole thing out of shame.

Now I looked at it the feelings were returning to me. I was a failure. I had let generations of my family down. I had destroyed the one part of my true family I had left. My childhood was gone. My parents were gone. I truly had nothing.

 I was brought back to the present with the feeling of warm tears rolling down my cheeks and the beeping of the microwave in front of me.

 In the end I had eaten a few bites my dinner but my depression had overwhelmed me and I had fallen asleep on the sofa watching my favourite soap opera. 

I went to work the next day, after debating back and forth all morning. I knew I would be working my midday shift with Hannah and, though I dreaded talking to her, but I also knew I needed to confront her at some point.

When I entered the pub at 11am I noticed nodded to Hannah in greeting who was already heading behind the bar. She looked at me wearily and gave a slight nod in return, following behind as we both headed to the back room.

I walked to my locker and put away my bag pulling out my apron and hanging it over my head. I turned to her as I tied it behind my back, "Hey Hannah, look I'm sorry about yesterday.” I apologised, trying to avoid looking her in the face. “My past is weird for me,” I admitted truthfully, “so can we just leave it in the past and not talk about it?”

I could see the inner gossip in her dying to know what I clearly wasn’t telling her, but with all due respect to her she fought it down.

“Sure” she eventually agreed, before giving me a small tentative smile which I returned with warm gratitude and after that we pretty much returned tomorrow. Like my recent bout of insanity never occurred.

 The next few days were almost normal. It felt like I had returned to my new, simple, ordinary life and I was grateful. I had heard no more information about the Joker because I stayed away from newspapers and News Channels and I could almost pretend the other day never happened. Almost.

It was a week after the newspaper incident when I found my past haunting me once again. I was on the evening shift, the pub was packed - mainly of large country men either with beer bellies or large muscular frames – the main room hot and smelling of tobacco and smoke. I was on my feet continuously serving drinks or making them and swerving round tipsy customers as I manoeuvred through the crowd.

As I served a table a round of drinks, handing each out from a tray balanced on my left hand, I felt someone slid past me, brushing against my back as they slid into the chair opposite someone on the table behind.

“Aren't you that guy that works for that guy, The Joker?” Asked the man who had just sat down in a slightly hushed voice. I could feel my ears literally prick up at his name.

"Use to." Came the answer and I felt myself freeze in my action of grabbing another drink from the tray and my eyes widen at the familiarity of the voice. "Not anymore." Stated Frost.