#jazz dent

[arcticmist0324]

The real question I have about the United Healthcare/Mangione case is if the Monopoly theme is intentional and if he (or whoever the mastermind is) has read Barry Lyga’s “I Hunt Killers” trilogy-specifically the second book Game.

[bananapuddinpie]

Has anybody else read the I Hunt Killers book trilogy?

(First tumblr post) I’ve barely seen anybody talk about these books and I wanna post more about them but I wanna see if people have ever actually read them.

And if you haven’t read them, THEN YOU TOTALLY SHOULD BECAUSE GODDAMN THESE BOOKS ARE GOOD.

Also I’m going to write some fanfic about them too so if anyone’s interested let me know.

[azulhood]

DP X DC Prompt

The justice league ignore Amit Park in a time of crisis.

Years later, Harvey Dent is hired by the town to sue them.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Jazz: And that's why we need your help in taking my brother's custody away from Vlad Masters. Two Face, former DA and NOT a family lawyer: Kid, I don't know how to tell you this... Jazz, deflating with a sad puppy look on her face: Two Face: Fuck it, where does the bastard live, kid? I'll get your brother back.

[the-witchhunter]

I’ve had an interesting thought swimming around my head that I swear I’ve been meaning to write

You know what would be an interesting combination of characters?

Jazz and Harvey Dent/TwoFace

Specifically a Dent just getting back on his feet, released from Arkham and trying to learn how to exist in the world with his condition

I’m thinking a reveal gone wrong, Danny has disappeared to ancients know where, so Jazz cuts ties and Stays with her Uncle Dent, or maybe her bio dad if that’s more your game. Just an soaking wet and miserable Jazz showing up at his crappy apartment saying she’s his daughter or niece and him resisting the urge to flip a coin because he has enough on his plate as is, only to let her in telling her they’ll talk about it in the morning and point her to the shower so she can clean up and dry off

Why do I think this would be an interesting combo?

Jazz’s interest in psychology. A lot of times, as a fandom we depict her as an expert, and in a future timeline where she went to school and has been practicing psychology maybe, but default Jazz? She’s not an expert

Jazz wants to be a brain surgeon, psychology is an interest of hers but her understanding is very limited. She quotes Freud and Jung and has some amount of academic knowledge of the field, but she clearly doesn’t understand that psychoanalyzing friends and family and offering unwanted psychiatric advice is actually rude and something she shouldn’t do. She lacks understanding of actual therapy and is clumsy in applying her knowledge to people she knows

And I find putting her in proximity of someone with DID and probably PTSD would really be an eye opening experience for her

Because Dent might humor her, TwoFace will call her out. They both have hung around Harley to know enough to tell her, “maybe don’t take Freud so seriously” because man does everything go back to sex with Freud, and maybe quoting a guy that says she wants to boink her dad is not as strong of a point as she thinks it is

And the thing is, Harvey would likely still be receiving therapy as an outpatient, potentially taking meds to help deal with his conditions, likely a mood stabilizer or anxiety med to manage PTSD symptoms, so she’s front seat of him learning to live as a regular person in Gotham with his condition. She’s gonna see his good days, his bad days, the side effects of his medication, and it’s going to change her idea of what psychology is. It’s not just quoting things at people, it’s not just saying “this is good for people” but she’d see what it being put into practice would look like

Maybe that’ll push her away from the subject. Maybe it’ll make her more inclined to study, to learn not just about it as an abstract but how to actually apply it to help people. Learning about actual therapy practices. Maybe living first hand with mental illness would be the push to switch from neurosurgery to clinical psychology in her future plans

Also I just think that Dent would be empathetic and do what he could to help her, meanwhile TwoFace would help her cut loose a little, get a little chaotic and have some fun

You can’t tell me there’s not something fun about her and “Uncle Two-y” having a night on the town that only results in a little property damage. Relax Harv, they didn’t do anything too illegal, because they didn’t get caught or nothing

[hallowsden]

DC x DP Idea Thing #4

Dual-sided Rebirth AU (Official name pending)

Brain had this idea for over a week (or 2...) now, rent-free, but what if Jazz, Dan, Danny, and Ellie all reincarnated as Harvey Dent's kids? Jazz and Dan are the old set of twins while Danny and Ellie are the younger set. Will all of them remember their past lives? I say majority of it.

This is before Harvey got scarred and became Two-Face and maybe the mother is someone before Gilda Dent? Idk, all I know is that all of them present as Metas despite neither Harvey or their mother had the meta trait (this is a case that Black Canary II falls under from what my research says), Danny and Ellie's powers showing from birth while Dan's and later Jazz's activated after.

Danny and Ellie were thought to be dead when they were born but they proved otherwise. Danny froze a nurse's hand while Ellie went into goop mode a few times. Later Dan and Jazz both set something on fire but for two completely different reasons, severity, and time. At least to say, Harvey here has a handful, especially if he was acting as a single parent here.

Harvey's gonna have a bit of a hard time first as a parent, regardless if this is pre-Two-Face era or not. Man here is (secretly) terrified at the thought of becoming like his father to his kids.

It takes a while but he gets used to the life of fatherhood despite also being busy as hell. The kids help out by behaving (as much as they can anyways), though, Jazz's powers do come in handy.

(She's like SCP-999 essentially here when she notices people are stressed in her proximity, for lack of better words. No one noticed she had powers till it manifested into harmless flames that had calming effects to it when nearby. With her powers + support from her and the rest of her siblings, they managed to delay Two-Face's debut for a while later on. But uh, yeah, her powers are gonna be very helpful for Harvey when Dan, Danny, and Ellie all gain more powers cause OOOOO BOY, blood pressure, am I right?)

Harvey becomes more motivated to get into Law after all his kid's powers were shown so they can be seen/treated as equals and not have Metas outright banned from Gotham especially, even though he keeps his kid's status as "metas" away from public knowledge. It later becomes an open secret though.

As stated earlier, the Two-Face debut is gonna be delayed. Jazz, Dan, Danny, and Ellie are gonna be very protective of their dad (and pa when they officially meet Harv) after the attack. Mother henning children. I feel like Dan's gonna empathize with both of them a lot in a way and have late-night talks with dad and pa about the darker thoughts they all have.

As much as they all tried, though, Two-Face is gonna make an appearance cause this is Gotham.

When Two-Face era begins, Harvey and Harv likely avoid the kids (even if Danny and Ellie are still teens while Jazz and Dan are in Uni) as their way of protecting them from overall villain stuff the two do despite all of them trying to reach out to him and supporting them, hoping they'll get better.

I'm ngl, I feel like Dan and Danny are gonna join the criminal business with their dad and pa (much to their protests) cause someone has to look out for them. Ellie joins in on occasions for chaos and shenanigans (cause yes) and Jazz is glaring at Arkham with so much contempt cause YOU AREN'T HELPING HER DAD AND PA PROPERLY! (As well as the other inmates but STILL- YOU CALL THAT PROPER MEDICAL PRACTICE- Jazz ends up burning at least something whenever anything about Arkham is brought up. Everyone in the family is scared cause her flames normally don't even singe a thing)

Jazz is creating her own practitioner-place therapy thing cause TO HELL WITH ARKHAM!

I... Honestly don't know what I'm writing here anymore. More exhausted then usual. Might add/edit later. Idk. Just- Reincarnation for Fenton Kids, Harvey being Gotham's original Famous Dad before Bruce (which speaking of- he's Uncle Bruce and Dan and Danny don't trust him which confuses Harvey and Harv), and just, angst, fluff, chaos, and shenanigans.

[bugsticle]

logging onto tumblr after forever to get on my hands and knees to beg people to read the i hunt killers trilogy and ebooks. i have no one to talk about it with and it's driving me insane.THE BOOKS ARE SO GOOD, PLEASE I'M BEGGING.

[majjiktricks]

i have acquired :]

[batfamdannyphantomsstuff]

Why would you hide the treats on the bottom shelf?! 😭

DP X DC PROMPT

The Condiment King (represented by Two Face) and the Dairy King (represented by Jazz) go to court for custody of cheese sauce.

[tired-biscuit]

Logan would probably moan like he’s having the best sex of his life from just a shoulder massage. Do you think he’d deny he needs one? Or would you catch him off guard while he’s asleep?

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: friends to lovers, unexpected mutual pining, logan realises he’s touch-starved after you offer to give him a backrub, and you both get turned on by it.

divider credit: div1nepetal

what if you’re, like… his friend, who’s grown to care deeply about him over the years and wants nothing else but to help him out a little from time to time in simpler, more ‘humanly’ ways because of said caring?

i mean, he’s got super fast healing and all that jazz, sure, however that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get sore and thus — unbearably — cranky about it… and since you’ve known each other for so long, you’ve also gotten quite comfortable in each other’s company! so it wouldn’t be that odd if you were to offer to relieve the pain in your friend’s back when he swings by your place one random evening… right?

it’s really just to make him feel better, nothing else! because as soon as he flings himself onto his favoured spot on your worn out couch (a dent that he fucking made with the help of his heavy adamantium ass), you catch him repetitively stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders every so often with a furrowed brow and a tight-lipped expression that somehow manages to appear even grumpier than his usual neutral.

you steal glances because of it. listen intently to the laboured sighs he keeps letting out. and after leering at him and his struggles from the corner of your eye for a little while, not at all paying attention to the movie that you’re supposed to be watching with him, you finally succumb. you turn to the side and propose your offer whilst wiggling your magic fingers, as you like to call them, right in front of his face, and logan, as is expected, denies it by gently swatting your hand away.

taking over pretty much the entire space on the couch from how he’s manspreading, he doesn’t even peel his eyes from the television that — unlike you — he’s actually watching when he tells you that, “you don’t gotta worry about it” and that it’s not that bad, then. for some reason, he even feels the need to add that he can handle himself just fine.

it all makes your eyes roll.

and instead of listening, you rather choose to persist. he’s a wall whenever he makes up his mind on something, you know this, but you also know that if you nag him and scold him for long enough, prodding and picking at the cracks between phantom bricks, he’ll have no choice but to give in and give you what you want just to make you stop… though not without adding a snide comment or two himself during it because he can’t help but act like a dick sometimes around the people he’s fond of, it’s just the way he is!

as you tell him to scooch over and lay on his stomach, you feel just a little bit bad that you had to resort to annoying him in order to being allowed to help him. however, the guilt isn’t nearly as strong as is the sense of victory that you’ve just achieved, so you allow it to curl the corners of your lips into a satisfied, cat-like smile while you busy yourself by straddling the small of his back. he can’t see your face anyway, so what’s the issue?

meanwhile, logan lets out a tired exhale, smushing one cheek against the decorative pillow that he’s folded his arms under so that he can still watch the tv while you work your supposed magic. he listens to your sheepish apology and request to tell you if you’re too heavy, to which he responds by calling it nonsense and that you’re insulting him by thinking you’re heavy whilst sitting on top of a guy who’s literally filled with metal.

and filled with metal he is, indeed! it’s not long before you realize just how much freaking pressure you have to apply to his shoulders and back in order to make him feel something. how much physical strength you have to put into it, to the point that you’re nearly sweating because of it. popping a bone in order to ease some of the tension is literally impossible, so you aim your focus onto the taut cords of muscle instead.

you can see them even through the thin white shirt that he’s wearing — they’re that profound. flexed and attractive, attained with hard work. but they become even more visible when he reluctantly lets you roll the hem of his shirt up towards the collar, unfolding his arms just so that he can lift the upper half of his body, and you right along with him, with no visible effort whatsoever.

the air in the room shifts a little after that; it gets kind of tense. because all of a sudden, you’re skin to skin. his should be covered in scars, but he’s lucky enough to have them all healed and smoothed away by his power. and while he may not be able to feel relief in his adamantium-covered bones, he sure as hell can feel the warmth of your palms running down the slopes of his broad shoulders, the grazing of your nails that nearly makes him shiver when they reach a particularly ticklish part on the nape of his neck, the heat between your legs as you continue to sit on him, dressed in nothing else but a pair of comfortable and tiny shorts…

forcing himself to be a loner, logan isn’t used to being touched like this all that much, and it makes him sensitive. and as a result, he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and groan in absolute pleasure when you readjust by wiggling your hips on top of him and lean in super close to really dig your fingers into his strong back.

you pause at the sound; he can hear your breathing hitch a little before it continues to fan his shoulder blade. he’s already halfway on opening his mouth to say something in order to avoid things from getting too awkward even if he’s not the kind of man who minds if they do, when all of a sudden it hits him.

it’s barely there, just the faintest whiff of something sticky and sweet. it would be impossible to catch by a normal human, but he isn’t a normal human, now is he? no, he’s a mutant — a primal one, at that — and because of it, his nose is more than capable of catching a scent like this.

you’re… aroused. have gotten turned on by the sound he just made. are getting wetter between the legs by the second. and he can smell it.

fuck.

logan chooses not to say anything even if the pheromones that he’s steadily inhaling now are making his blood grow feverish to dangerous levels. meanwhile, you choose to remain quiet as well, simply continuing your ministrations as if nothing has happened.

something that does change, however, is the way you touch him. from that hiccup onward, you get more, should you say, intimate with it; even daring to comb your fingers through his rich, dark hair at some point and experimentally tugging at the roots, making him actually shiver this time.

he doesn’t just shiver, though. the action is so freaking good that it also causes his eyes to roll into the back of his head — he silently prays that he’s managed to squeeze them shut for a second time before you could catch it.

and that’s not all there is to it either. by now, his cock has become painfully hard in his pants. thick, hot and leaking pre-cum from how excited he’s getting. it makes laying down on his stomach extremely uncomfortable, but he thinks it’s better to suffer through it than enabling you to see what you’re doing to him both physically and mentally.

mind fogged by a mixture of your and now his own lust, he’s getting so horny that all he wants to do is rut into the couch while you continue to touch him. he doesn’t, of course, he’s been around for over two centuries so he’s pretty good at restraining himself, however that doesn’t mean that he likes doing it.

so he remains decent… well, somewhat. he pants a little bit, and he grunts and curses under his breath in a way that makes him sound like he’s balls deep in your cunt, folding you in a mating press and pounding away until you’re nothing but a whiny mess and his cum is trickling down your thighs, but he still tries his very best.

by the time you pat him on the shoulders and tell him you’ve finished, he fears he did, too.

[revelboo]

I bought this lovely keychain explicitly for my Soundwave themed Jeep at TFCon Orlando and promptly forgot all about it until now. Whoops.

Touch-Starved Headcanons

Megatron x Reader, Wheeljack x Reader, Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, and others. I just like the idea of big mechs coming undone at a little comfort.

Starscream

• Almost always the one to initiate it. Just absently scooping you up while grousing about his day and slowly feeling his tension ebb as he sits with you. And you in turn, relax into the feel of his warm hands and the gentle slide of a servo between your shoulder blades as you sleepily ask questions because you know he likes it. He’ll never admit how much he enjoys these moments, they soothe a need he can’t quite pin down. You’re not plotting against him. Not a threat. Just you and he needs this more than you know.

Megatron

• It’s been a long time since he’s let his guard down. Mostly because he knows the loyalty of his followers is a tenuous, uneasy thing. They might cheer his name to his face, but they scheme behind his back. And he can’t allow himself to really make friends with any of them. Any weakness will just be exploited. Used to hurt and betray him. You aren’t Cybertronian, though. He’s almost sure Soundwave deliberately leaves you with him, because the other mech knows how much he needs it. Slumping on his throne in those quiet moments when no prying optics are about, he cradles you against his chassis. Sometimes he tells you about Cybertron before the war, but usually he just idly holds you, his spark softening.

Wheeljack

• So busy. This mech forgets to refuel and recharge when he’s working on a new project, obsession consuming him. And he’s always working on something. It takes a bit for you to notice the pattern and realize the big guy isn’t taking care of himself. And that’s not happening. You walk across his desk to put yourself between him and whatever he’s working on, head tipped up as his vocal indicator panels flash at you in question. He might not remember himself, but a gentle request to share a meal is never refused. He carefully offers his hand and carries you to find an energon cube and something for you. Recharge is the same, a soft complaint that you’re cold and a light touch on his servos and sure, he’s picking you up to hold because he knows you like sprawling on him, soaking in his warmth. With how explosive his projects sometimes are, most Autobots avoid him. That you want to be around him? Understand that he’s lonely and needs this without making him ask? It means everything to him.

Soundwave

• What with his cassettes and his abilities, he’s never truly alone. Lonely, though? He drifts through the base, the voices of other Decepticons whispering in the back of his processor. There, but distant. But not you. He finds himself gravitating to wherever you are, the strange, chaos of your mind so fascinating. You calm whenever he picks you up, those snarled worries and fears soothed away with a touch of his servos. And his own tension drains away in turn. You give him one voice to anchor to when he’s adrift and in danger of slipping under.

Jazz

• No matter how stressed he is, he keeps that smile in place. It’s part of the mask he wears as a spy-nothing can touch him or put a dent in that perpetual good mood. Even if underneath the surface, he’s so tired of pretending. That exhaustion is always there, trying to drag him under. He can’t let that mask slip, not even around the other Autobots. They need him to be the easy, going spot of sun for the team. With you? His door wings can droop as he toys with your hair or feels your little hands cautiously exploring his much bigger servos. He doesn’t have to pretend that everything is alright. And he needs that so much his spark hurts.

Ratchet

Not much better than Wheeljack about remembering to care for himself. He’s too busy. And while he pushes himself past exhaustion, he’s more likely to take breaks if you’re about. He has no idea how long he’s been in surgery, hands a blur, but as he washes the energon off, he sees you. On the counter, back against the wall sound asleep. And then he’s picking you up, venting when you curl into him with a sleepy sound, smiling as he fusses at you. Humans need sleep. And have you eaten? He’s one to talk, but you’ve invoked caretaker mode now. You protest without any real heat and press your face against his palm and he just freezes before carrying you to his quarters to rest. Because you need him and he doesn’t want to put you back down on that cold counter as you cling to his servos. He can’t.

[azulhood]

I feel like Jazz should have her own Bio-dad Aus Now Bruce is a popular choice for most bio dad AUs, but let's add some variety. Harley Quinn is another popular choice, it kinda fits since they have ties to psychology. But let me give you another choice. Harvey Dent. Let's say Maddie and Harvey met at one of Brucie Wayne's fundraiser events, they hit it off, get a bit tipsy, then boom. Jazz's born. Jazz looks so much like her mum that Maddie doesn't even think that Jazz is not Jack's kid. (She does notice some things about Jazz that she couldn't have gotten from Jack or her, but admitting that would probably ruin her marriage, so she employs blissful ignorance.) Harvey, of course has no idea Jazz exists. Years pass, truths come out (or not), tears are shed, life goes on. Now Jazz is looking at schools, and she finds a good one in Gotham, you know, the home of her bio dad. She decides to reach out to Harvey. So, she talks it over with Jack and Maddie and they agree to let her go. Now you could have Jack and Maddie know that Jazz isn't Jacks kid and approve of her reaching out to Harvey, just them being supportive. Or, you could have them not know anything, and have Jazz do this behind their backs as an attempt to have a semi decent role model in her life. Your choice. But anyway. Here Harvey is, planning something (Next court case or next crime) and then, out of nowhere, a kid shows up on his doorstep saying "Congratulations, it's a girl, where's that child support?" And he's just so confused, like how did she find him (Tucker of course) and where were her parents? Harvey who's very concerned: ehh, you do know I'm a criminal, right? Jazz: My mum and other dad have a portal to hell in the basement, trust me, you're an improvement. Harvey who's even more concerned about this kid: ??????? Or you know, Slade Wilson is also an option.

[emacrow]

When Danny's core cracks while escaping into gothams, he doesn't disappeared or dies, but accidentally split his personalities

He accidentally multiples into tiny misshaped pieces of his own personalities that became tiny lil baby ghostlings the size of a toddler.

Which they all scattered and ran, spreading around gotham like they were running from the devil(GIW) themselves were after him.

While main piece human formed danny with barely his conscious left is stuck with the only piece of his core as his main personality.

The feral back off if you love your fingers and I will beat you into the grave while i spew comback puns at you personality.

Not even 7 minutes in gotham, he already attacked 39 strange strangers, fourteen people in clown masked, torn some messed up rejected clown apart, a guy in a green suit and ? Staff, ate some buffguy ectoplasmic injectors tanks, only to now being held by the scuff of his itsy bitsy white and red nasa shirt by a bat furry man in black, who had several bite marks dents all over his suit, arms and torn on his cape while he still biting the bat shaped metal thingy. .

Meanwhile near crime alley, red hood had found 3 tiny white haired toddlers, one even more paranoid then tim if possible, one clingy onto him saying I love you, and another one follow around crying a lot calling out for someone named jazz..?

Sequel here <-

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Million Dollar Man"

Ok yall..... I know I said it was gonna be another chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" but @lilithquillete sent in an ask about Reader interacting with Harvey Dent and I couldn't help myself. This is the same AU as Older, and it's the prologue. Sorry if they dont make sense together butttt I couldn't stop myself, Hope yall like it!!!!

The Pink Pony Club was Gotham’s underbelly, dark, seedy, and full of people who either wanted to forget their past or embrace it. Jazz played faintly in the background, a vocalist crooning somewhere in the distance, as smoky air curled up toward the dimly lit ceiling. The dim lighting and murmur of conversation created a sense of anonymity. For you, this was heaven.

A place where you got on stage and no one knew you, your first taste of freedom outside your family. Here, you weren't Bruce Wayne's least favorite child nor were you the failed Batgirl or useless sister, here you were just you.

Your voice enchanted people and on stage in your heels, you were unstoppable.

Only a couple nights ago, you packed your things and walked out of Wayne Manor, as if the years of being part of that family never existed. It wasn’t just that Bruce and the others had been ignoring her for Tiffany all these years; it was the cruel realization that you was never important to them. Not like they were to each other.

You tried. You had given them everything. But Tiffany’s presence had overshadowed you since she came into the manor on your 14th birthday. It was as if you'd been erased, the little attention you got diverted and multiplied to someone who was more useful, more important.

You couldn’t even get a text from Duke anymore, let alone a casual chat with Dick or Tim. Forget about Damian or Jason, or any of the girls really.

So, you left. And now, you found yourself at the Pink Pony Club, a dive bar with no judgments, just an escape.

The club was packed tonight, filled with people who seemed to have their own agendas and distractions. You took a seat at the bar, watching the crowd. It was your first day off and you had nowhere else to go.

Tonight, you weren't singing, didn't want to be noticed, but Gotham had a way of drawing attention to its wounded.

You weren't sure what you were doing anymore. This was't you. You were never a party girl, you would never be caught dead in a place like this. Bruce would kill you, if he could look away from Tiffany long enough to see you here.

Maybe you were trying to spite you family. Maybe trying to drown the anger that simmered within you. Anger at the Batfamily, who had all but erased you from their lives. Anger at yourself, for allowing it to happen.

But mostly, the anger at Bruce. You had spent years trying to live up to his expectations, only to realize that Tiffany had took his love in a day.

But tonight, you weren't thinking about them. Tonight, you were here to forget.

As you sipped your drink, you noticed a familiar figure at the back of the room. Harvey Dent, the once-proud district attorney, now the infamous Two-Face, sat alone in a booth, nursing a drink. His face was partially scarred from the acid, and his expression, even now, looked like he carried the weight of Gotham's filth on his shoulders.

Selina Kyle, Cat Woman, Bruce's ex- lover who got you the job had mentioned he frequented the club. And if you were being honest, you couldn't help but be curious about him.

"Rough night, sweetheart?" a voice purred from beside you. Speak of the devil.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was. You knew that voice too well. Selina Kyle. The only person who never treated you like a pawn or an afterthought. The only one who didn't care about the petty squabbles of Gotham's rich, the same Gotham she had spent most of her life trapped in. Your only friend in this god-forsaken city.

You half-turned in your chair, giving Selina a wry smile. “You have no idea.”

Selina perched herself next to you, crossing her arms, sizing up the tension on your face. "Let me guess. The Batfamily still ignoring you? Haven't even noticed you moved out? Too busy obsessing over the golden child?"

Your mouth twisted bitterly, but you said nothing, Selina always knew exactly how to get a rise out of you. Your eyes flickered toward the back of the bar again where Harvey Dent, still sat in the shadows, his burnt face half-hidden under his usual dark, grim expression.

Selina followed your gaze, the slight curve of her lips pulling into a mischievous smile. “You’re looking at him again, huh? You know, I never took you for the bad-boy type. Never thought you'd betray Superboy like that.”

"I'm not thinking of Clark tonight." You said, suddenly tense at the mention of your unrequited love.

A dark, playful smirk crossed your lips. You weren't looking for anything serious tonight. Just a distraction. And Harvey would be perfect for that.

Bruce would be pissed.

You slid off the stool and made your way toward the half-handsome man, the tension between them thickening as you approached. He looked up, his eyes scanning you for a moment before he smirked.

“Is there something I can help you with, sweetheart?” Harvey asked, his voice low and rough, the raspiness of his tone sending a jolt of heat through your chest.

You leaned against the table, crossing your arms. “Saw you sitting here all by yourself, thought maybe you could use some company.”

Harvey's lips curled into a dismissive grin, but his eyes were cold, calculating. “You think I need company?” His tone was sharp, sarcastic. “You're a little young for me, don't you think?”

You grinned, unbothered by his coldness. “A little age never hurt anyone, mind if I sit?” You asked, your voice dripping with feigned innocence as you slipped into the seat opposite Harvey. You could feel his sharp eyes on you, scanning your every movement, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he took a sip of his drink, his jaw tight.

“Sure, if you’re into wasting your time,” he said flatly, not even bothering to look up again.

Reader’s lips curled into a playful smile. “I don't think anything to do with someone like you is a waste.”

Harvey glanced up slowly, his sharp gaze scrutinizing you like a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. His eyes lingered on you for a beat too long, his lips tight with something unreadable. “You’re bold,” he remarked, his voice heavy with condescension.

You tilted your head, leaning against the back of the booth, watching him through half-lidded eyes, peering at him innocently through your lashes, “What, is that a problem?”

He didn’t answer immediately, taking a long sip of his drink, his eyes now trained on her lips before sliding up to meet her gaze again. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, little girl.”

You didn’t flinch, though a hot flash of insecurity pierced through your facade. You’d had enough of people underestimating you. “Maybe, but i've always had a thing for lost causes.”

Harvey smirked, his expression a mix of arrogance and indifference. “I’m not exactly your type, kid. You want a pretty boy, go back to playing in your Batcave.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and pushing out your chest. “Did you just call me a kid?”

Harvey’s lips thinned, and you could see his eyes momentarily flicker to your chest. All men were the same.. “That’s what you are, sweetheart. You’re out of your league, go home to daddy and stop trying to play with the big boys. You don't belong here.”

You let out a low chuckle, leaning in just a little closer. This was a challenge now, he thought he was too good for you, too strong to give in, you'd show him how convincing you could be. “You think so? I’m not the one sitting in a dark corner of a bar brooding. Seems like I’m doing just fine.”

Harvey’s eyes darkened, and the tension in the air thickened. He took another sip, this time with a little more force, the sound of the glass clinking against the table ringing out. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don't really care.”

He smiled, sharp and predatory, "This won't play out in your favor. You think you're in charge here, you're not."

The words hung between you, charged with something dangerous.

For the next hour, you exchanged glances, words, and cold retorts, every time Harvey tried to shut you down, you would respond with something even more bold and charming, pulling him in. The man was harder to read than a stone wall, but you knew one thing for sure: the tension was building, the air crackling with the kind of heat that made your heart quicken.

Finally, Harvey broke, leaning forward and offering you a sardonic smile. “Alright. What’s your angle, sweetheart?”

You leaned in as well, matching his intensity, never backing down no matter how hard he tried to intimidate you. “Just here for a good time. You’ve got your secrets, I’ve got mine. But I think we could both use some fun. A way to let loose.”

Harvey’s jaw clenched, but the flicker of interest in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not interested. ”

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” You shot back, your voice low, sharp, and breathy.

Harvey’s lips tightened again, the words bitter in his mouth. “Because you’re trouble, you're a mess. And trouble’s what I wanted tonight.”

The words stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Then we're on the same page.”

For a moment, his jaw tightened, his face betraying a flicker of frustration. He reached for his glass, swirling it absentmindedly before taking a long sip. Then, after a beat, he placed the glass down with a deliberate slowness, his eyes narrowing.

“I don’t have time for games, little girl. Why don’t you take your flirtations somewhere else?”

But there was something in his voice—something that cracked, a faint whisper of desire beneath the tough exterior. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“I don't want much,” You replied, your voice low, leaning in slightly, your noses almost touching. “Just tonight. A distraction.”

He smirked at that. “A distraction, huh? You think you can handle me?"

The words were slow, dangerous, suggestive. The tension between them had become thick, charged with the weight of things neither of them was willing to admit.

“Nothing permanent. Just... for tonight. What happens after doesn’t matter.” You'd never fall for someone like Harvey Dent.

Harvey's lips twisted, amusement in his eyes. “What would your daddy think?”

A week ago, that would've mattered. Back when your life revolved around him and his stupid family. But now? Now, it didn't matter, nothing mattered other than getting Harvey Dent in her bed tonight.

You chuckled darkly. “I'm a big girl now Harvey, I choose who my daddy is."

His gaze sharpened, his grin widened, and you could feel him moving under the table. “Really? Do you now? Does that mean I have to prove myself?" He said his Gotham accent coming out as he swiftly slid out the booth and began walking away, only glancing back at you once in a silent invitation.

The night bled into the morning as you found yourself in your bed alone, the only evidence of last night being your scattered clothes and the rumpled side of the bed that smelled of a deep, earthy cologne. Harvey, nowhere to be found, though you're sure he stayed the night.

You found a note on your nightstand with a number and a single red rose. You threw them both away.

The intensity of the night, of Harvey’s dangerous allure, his cold, hard demeanor that eventually gave way to something more primal; had left you breathless. You hadn’t exchanged any promises, but there was no mistaking the way he’d looked at you afterward. There was an intensity that had simmered between the two of you, a powerful connection of mutual darkness.

Later that day, as you met up with Selina to apologize for ditching her last night, you couldn't help but notice the sly smile on Selina's face.

"So, how was it? Life altering? Mind numbing?" Selina asked innocently, but her voice had a knowing tone.

“Fun,” you replied smirking, “Just what I needed. No strings attached.”

Selina raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because I heard Harvey’s been looking for you. Asking around. Seems like you’ve left an impression on him. He's not the type to give up.”

Your chest tightened, but you pushed the feeling down. “He was just a distraction. That’s all. i just needed to forget Clark for the night.”

Selina knew of your childhood crush, she was the first you told. You approached her as an awkward, chubby 13 year old, asking how to make Superman your boyfriend.

Selina smirked, clearly unconvinced. “You tell yourself that. But I think Harvey’s not done with you just yet.”

You shrugged, "I'm done with him."

Selina faltered, her mischief giving way to concern, "I'm serious. You need to be more careful, men like that, men like Harvey Dent, they don't take kindly to being ignored."

As the days passed, you felt the weight of your choices, of the things you’d told yourself you could leave behind. And yet, you couldn't help but feel the pull of Harvey’s gaze every time you closed your eyes and went home with a different guy.

You were still angry at the Batfamily, still haunted by the echoes of Tiffany’s presence, but now there was something else. Something dangerous, something that wasn’t just about anger anymore.

A few nights had passed since the night with Harvey. You found yourself with a strange feeling, lingering like smoke on your skin. Like someone was watching you, following you.

It started with small things, when you sang at the club, you could feel his eyes on you. When you flirted with customers and they didn't look you in the eye anymore. When even your charms and seduction couldn't pull anyone in, Harvey was trying to put you in a dry spell. Punish you for ignoring him.

A week after the night, you came home from the club to your apartment exhausted and what you saw shocked you. Dozens of red roses were in your living room and kitchen, with notes and pictures attached to each boquet. Everyday you ignored him, your apartment would be flooded with red roses, by the 4th day you were sure there were no more red roses in Gotham. You would read the notes, each day a different one, more vague and kind of threatening.

“I see you every night, whether you want me to or not. - H”

“You think I’m going to give up? Not when I’m this close. - H.”

“You can’t hide from me. I’ll always find you. - H.”

You rolls your eyes, but can’t stop the flicker of something—danger, excitement, anticipation—from flashing through you. The usual defiance is still there, but now it has a slight edge. It’s hard not to feel compelled by his power, and you pick up a card that has his number on it, and you call.

Two months. Thats how long you've been something to Harvey Dent.

Since that night you called him, you've seen Harvey Dent everyday for two months. You either saw him at the club, he never missed out on watching you sing, or at your apartment, or he'd wisk you away for a candle light dinner. The only exception of his constant attention was the two weeks you were sick, and even then he called you and sent you flowers.

Thats why when he started getting distant it hurt, you were in love with him.

Like a fool, you fell for Harvey "Two-Face" Dent.

You wrote songs for him, stayed up on the phone talking to him, baked him cookies and cakes, you didn't care about his scars or his mood swings, you put up with his sometimes hurtful comments because you could feel his love for you.

It was in the little things. Little displays of affection like knowing how you liked your coffee, your favorite fruit, how he would play your favorite movie whenever you were down and watch stupid rom-coms all night, without complaint. How he would laugh at all your stupid jokes and help you with the dishes.

Everything changed when Selina dropped a bombshell. You were just finishing your shift at the Pink Pony when Selina came up to you, leaning against the bar, a rare seriousness in her voice.

“I'm sorry. I didn't want to have to tell you this” Selina said, looking at you with eyes full of love and concern. “But I think you need to know . You’re not the only one Harvey’s been after.”

You froze, heart dropping to your feet. “What are you talking about?” You asked, chuckling at the unfunny joke, Harvey would never. He loves you.

Selina’s gaze shifted toward the back of the club, where Tiffany fucking Wayne, was standing at the bar with Harvey. The way she leaned into him, the flirtatious, familiar touch on his arm, made your heart drop. That was all the proof you needed.

“When you lost your voice last month, Tiffany came here every night, working him over. She’s been coming in, feeling him, and leaving with him. She’s been playing him like a violin. And he's been two-timing you.”

Your stomach twisted. Tiffany. Your “sister”, the girl who always took everything from you, the girl who you cried to him about, who you told him stole everything from you, stole him too. The image of Tiffany and Harvey together was enough to break something inside you.

Your voice cracked. “I... he... he was mine.”

Selina raised an eyebrow, sympathy in her eyes. “I’m sorry. You know Harvey’s not the only one she’s after. She’s always tried to steal everything from you. She’s always been good at that.”

It hit you harder than you wanted to admit. Tiffany had taken Harvey, too. she wasn’t stealing brothers or sisters from you; she was taking the one place where you had ever felt wanted.

He loved you, at some point, you were sure. But could love be so easily swayed?

Before she came and stole him like she stole everything else in your life, Harvey Dent loved you

In the two weeks you were sick, Tiffany Maverick stole the one man who loved you.

The next night at the club, the weight of Selina’s words followed you like a shadow. You stepped onto the stage, singing as best as you could, but the usual thrill was gone. Tiffany was there again, standing too close to Harvey. Every laugh they shared, every touch, was like a knife to your chest.

You couldn’t help but notice how Harvey had changed. The way he looked at you now felt different—distant, colder. There was no longer that spark of attraction, just the lingering sense that something had shifted. That someone else had taken hyourplace.

Tiffany had won. Again.

You finished your set and stepped off the stage, throat tight. You caught Harvey’s eye as he turned toward you, but there was no warmth or love in his gaze, like there was two weeks ago, only disappointment. He was looking at you like you were just another face in the crowd.

You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t stay. It wasn’t just the loss of Harvey—it was the realization that Tiffany had taken your spot in their world.

Her betrayal felt too familiar, like an old wound that never healed. It wasn't enough for her to have your family, she wanted everything.

That night you quit the club and broke your lease to your apartment. You wouldn't let Tiffany or Two Face run you out of Gotham, out of your city, but you couldn't stay where you and him shared all your memories.

You would forget about him. You would never mention Harvey Dent again, you would never even think of him again. Nor would you acknowledge that he was the first man that loved you. Harvey Dent did not exist anymore.

[smokescreenimusprime]

not my usual but it was too perfect to pass up and the idea was NOT leaving my head. Decided to write a snippet for @keferon's IMMACULATE Mecha Pilot Jazz AU, though apologies if the charactization is a lil funky, this is my first time writing either of these characters and double apologies for the undoubted slew of grammar and spelling errors

but that aside, I hope you enjoy :)

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

Is It Self Sacrifice If It's Not Really You?

Despite the cacophany of the battlefield, Prowl's scream cut through it with with the ease of a freshly sharped blade through flesh and found it's home nestled into Jazz's ears.

He barely had a second to look up, hardly more than a glance, but it was all he needed to make out familiar white and black.

A Quintesson, one of the smaller but more freaky looking ones, was looming over his collapsed frame. He was pinned, his back to solid rocky walls and the Quint at his front, jamming it's tentacles into every crack of his armour they could.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, but something was wrong.

"PROWL!" he shouted, shifting his weight in preperation to bolt. "HOLD ON, I'M COMMIN-"

But the screech of the Quintesson he was currently grappling with forcefully stole his attention back, barely any warning given before it's gaping maw latched onto his mech's forearm.

It pulled, joints and plates creaking with the strain but still holding strong. It shook it's head and Jazz brought a hand up to brace against the outside of the monster, if only to stop the arm from being completely ripped out of the socket. He landed a few solid kick as it lifted him off the ground, but it's movements were still largey effortless, like his frame weighed as much as a tin can.

Prowl screamed again. This time it was louder.

Against all common (sane) sense, Jazz looked away from his enemy and toward Prowl

Some of his external plating was damaged, gouges in messy circle patterns with rivulets of blue energon sluggishly bleeding out. He seemed to be smoking too, thin curls of smoke wafting off his cables. His eyes were flickering wildly, something Jazz had grown to associate with too much damage and too little power.

All of the damage paled in comparison to where Jazz's focus was.

Now, Jazz didn't know how these guys had their mechs built, but they could hold up to some serious punishment. Their engineers seemed to keep an even more meticulous eye on any damage, and Prowler and the other's all had frames clealy meant to last.

But they were all still vulnerable at their cores.

And the Quintesson's tentacles, sparking with a terrifying yellow and red electricity, were pulling and prying right at the plating above that core.

It was starting to show some give too, a testimate to the true strength of the offending monster. Chest plating, no matter the make, didn't come off easily, intent to protect the most vulnerable parts of a pilot.

The electricity was already frying his frame, if it got a straight shot of that to his chest-

Jazz needed to do something.

Jazz needed to do something.

But what, what could he do, whatever it was it needed to be quick, he didn't have time to finish off this Quintesson, there wasn't time for finesse, he just needed to go to help to F I G H T -

Jazz readjusted the braced positioning of his legs, thanking for what was probably the thousandth time the engineers who'd made the adjustment to give him more flexibility and agility, and brought his free arm high above his head.

And brought it down.

His trapped arm creaked, the plating denting and squealing as the metal controted, sparks going flying and red error messages flashing in his vision.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

He made sure to keep his blows aimed at preciscely where he knew it was weakest and made sure to push with his legs as hard as he could, swaying side to side and focing the joint to bend in ways it had never been meant to. His movements became a dance to the orchestra of cables snapping and metal ripping and electricity cracking and his arm b r e a k i n g , the dance growing faster and more determined the louder the music played.

It felt like eternity, and the phantom sensation was disorienting. There was no pain, only uncomfortable pressure that built up and up and up, perfectly in time with the warning messages he forcefully dismissed. It was far from pleasant, but it was nothing compared to the cold burning terrified angry fight flight save him running full blast in his brain.

And with one final crack akin to lightning, he was free.

It was the furthest thing from a clean break, and to his mild surprise it didn't break at the elbow but rather a bit above it. In the second of freefall he had, he couldn't help but admire the shredded stump and mourn how he knew Ratchet was going to have his head for all the extra work.

He hit the ground in a roll and popped up running, stumbling and nearly falling face first into alien dirt at the sudden uneven weight distribution but he simply let his partial fall carry him forward until he was sprinting full speed.

With his remaining hand he grabbed the Quintesson and pulled, not letting go until it wasn't tearing into Prowl's front and instead embedded several feet in the ground. He dashed, not giving it even a moment, standing tall in front of Prowl.

The Quint got back up, enraged screeches and chitters coming out of it's mouth.

"Back off," Jazz growled back.

The Quintesson attacked, and everything became the hyperaware blur combat always became.

Dodge, dodge, punch, dodge, kick, kick, punch, dodge, jump, kick jump-

One of it's tentacles latched right onto the open stump and set a wave of electricity in.

His mech's vision went bright white, sparks exploding out even inside his cockpit and the smell of burning metal filling his nose. All the protective insulation was made useless from the direct route into the mech's systems.

Jazz jerked his arm stump back and headbutted it.

He got a tentacle to the face for his troubles, grabbers squeezing and cracking the visor. He planted his feet, one on solid ground the other on the slack of the tentacle, and pulled as hard as he could.

A decent chunk of the face came left it, not deep enough to affect any systems or his vision anymore than it was already damaged, but enough that it certainly wasn't pretty.

He kept more distance after that. Wouldn't do any good for him or Prowler if he got fried too. But the Quintesson was desperate, like a cornered animal, grabbing and clawing at anything it could gets it's tentacles on. The same gouges Prowl had began to litter his own armour as it kept making grabs, and the beastie even managing to get a few more much briefer electrical surges in.

It was obvious only one of them was going to walk away from this fight, and Jazz was not going to let it be the Quint. Prowl would kill him if he did

Finally he managed to get in a lucky shot, albeit at the cost of his feet. The Quintesson tried to get in a bite like it friend had, only to be met with the full force of Jazz's feet pressing them apart.

The teeth and other horrors might've torn through his feet but dammit if it wasn't satisfying to hear the crack as its jaw snapped and the body went limp.

The battle was still going on around them, but it was starting to wind down. A trio of bots had even started attacking the one Jazz had left behind.

The immediate area was clear, and there were more than enough bots he could shout out to for backup if he needed it.

"Prowler, you okay?" he said, though he noticed his voice had a bit of static lacing it. Maybe getting his face ripped off did more damage than he thought, or it could be lingering damage from the electricity. "Sorry it took me so long to come getcha, talk, dark and bitey kept me a bit occupied."

He wiggled his stump with a chuckle, leaning in closer. Kneeling down was difficult with the leaking hydraulic fluid and Quintesson salivia making it hard to get a solid grip, but with the current state of his visor he didn't want to risk missing anything on Prowl. To his relief, despite the extensive denting and electrical burns, Prowl's chest was thankfully uncompromised. Hopefully his mech was insulated

The electricity seemed to have done a number on his connection to the head though, the eyes were still glitching wildly and his normally expressive face seemed stuck.

"J-Jazz..." Prowl stuttered, and Jazz found himself frowning. Maybe Prowl got a bit more banged up on the inside than he thought. "You- your-"

His eyes were flickering wildly about Jazz's mech, and he could practically hear his friend's battle computer crunching away.

"Ah, don't worry bout that," he rapping his mech's chest with a fist. "This old frame's gone through worse. Nothing delicate got smashed, and I've barely got a scratch on me. Ratchet'll have me right as rain before you know it, so don't worry your pretty little head one bit."

"Speaking of, I'm gonna go find 'im," he stood back up, looking around the battlefield. "The fight's pretty much over, and I'm not sure if it's a great idea for you to be moving after all that zappy nonsense. Just sit tight and-"

"No!"

Jazz startled a bit at the sudden shout, looking back down at Prowl. The other man's mech suddenly lunged up, sitting straight and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Prowler? Is somethin wrong?"

"I will contact Ratchet," he says in a rush. "A comm message will be more efficient than searching on foot, not to mention I'll be able to tell him what to prepare for,"

Jazz raised a brow.

"Go right ahead, Prowl," he chirped despite his suspicion. He was fairly certain Prowl was hiding something from him, but prying would just make him clamp down tighter.

Prowl didn't seem like the sort to hide things from medics but...

He sat his mech down and leaned back against the wall. "You don't mind if I wait with ya, do you?"

Just to be safe.

Despite his initial assumptions, Prowl actually seemed to relax at his suggestion.

"Not at all."

[devils-yui]

Hi, yeah, sorry for the worst and most blurriest photo ever but oh my god do I think about this scene. SPECIFICALLY,,, D-16's strength and being able to lift up the absolute HUGE rock double times his size and probably more to help save Jazz while Orion Pax is pulling him out. Like, yeah--there was the jetpack, BUT EVERYTHING ELSE??? RAW STRENGTH ALONE.

D-16 is so strong and I've definitely mentioned this before in a post but since it got absolutely purged off the face of the Earth since my accidental deactivation, I will say it again now. D-16 is SO strong, even before his ascension to being Megatron.

People have mentioned this before and ofc I will address it, one of the main parts of D-16's strengths that we do get to see is him catching Darkwing's fist, marking of his fast reflexes and the fact that he caught Darkwing's fist, DARKWING--who is literally double the size of the cogless miner that D-16 is and yet still catches it, albeit with a tremble here and there but still he caught that fist before it would hit Orion. Also Orion getting donked too, even with just a semi-light punch from D-16, or at least the softest it could get to be believable. Then there's also D-16 punching straight ROCKS throughout their escape from the unstable energon mine, he PAVED a pathway for Orion Pax and Jazz to get out... AND OH MY GOD DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE CONCEPT ART WHERE D-16 CANONICALLY WORKS OUT BASICALLY WHERE HE WAS PUSHING DENTS INTO A STEEL PUNCHING BAG.

a STEEL punching bag!! and yeah okay I get it, they're metal--but if you look in the background, there's also some bots(?) training with the steel punching bag and from what I can see? No dents

D-16 is just STRONG, and I admire it sm. That's why he is the TOP of his sector I'd imagine like his strength just didn't come out of absolute no where or the fact that his strength came from receiving his cog, no. He had it since the start and having the t-cog allowed him to access his full potential and strength and GRHHRGHGR GRHRHR (proceeds to flail and foam at the mouth)