#ransom the clown
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badly-drawn-doflamingo · 1 year ago
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SURPRIZE, SHIT HEADS!!1
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Redraw for a comic con panel [ for a friend. ]
Also have some fun color options
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Aaaand Doffy wanted to be included
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the-spooky-children · 1 year ago
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The fact that Frank, a man who kidnaps kids and holds them for ransom, is one of the most morally sound characters in the series says a lot
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xsacrificialambx · 11 months ago
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there's a 50% chance ill actually draw something this winter break
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okiedoketm · 1 year ago
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First chapter of my newest One Piece fic is up now! In which Shanks asks Buggy to check in on Luffy periodically, and he ends up kinda sorta kidnapping the whole ASL trio ;) I have a bunch of chapters in the bank, so it’ll be updating weekly for a while!
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ashers-selfships · 1 year ago
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i think everyone should look at them right NOW this is important (they have found buried treasure) i love reyes' little face he's so happy :(
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scratchandplaster · 2 years ago
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Stack The Deck - PART 10
CW: regretful Whumper (POV), Lima syndrome, mentions of death, stalking, obsession
PART 9 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ Intermezzo
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
He wanted to make it all nice for their reunion, even bought a button-up shirt at Goodwill to fit in. It felt surreal, like a last-minute Halloween costume he threw together on the spot.
Morris didn't recognize himself in the mirror of the opera bathroom, squeaky clean and smelling of lemon urinal cake, admiring his little dress up game.
It was impressive how cheap the Christmas Oratorio turned out to be. What he had imagined as a fancy event for the city's socialites was a mostly family-orientated gathering, children running around the ancient walls of the building and meeting up with their grandparents before taking a seat. There was no doubt in Morris' mind that this wasn't their idea to begin with, probably just one boring service to attend to make tomorrow's Christmas Eve all the more sweet. The love for the art and performance aside, that's not what he was looking for tonight.
Morris kept himself at the edge, disturbing nobody who wanted to join the quickly filling rows of chairs, nearly melting into the surroundings. Nearly, should be stressed, five minutes in some old hag mistook him for a server and ordered a small prosecco. He hoped she would choke on it.
As his criminally cheap coat was pressed into the pillar behind him, still hidden from the podium, the unusual attendee was kept out of focus. If this was supposed to be a success, he needed to avoid Sahra like the plague.
The audience settled down, only interrupted by distant chatter or a wayward sneeze. The calm started to vanish again when the conductor and their associates set foot onto the stage, greeted by a wave of applause and too busy to shake each other's hands to welcome the true stars of the show.
Morris was patient, though a long festering itch made its way up his neck. Any minute now.
The man behind the piano was hidden well at the beginning, waiting for his turn to be introduced. Shy, maybe. The smooth and glossy surface of the wood mirrored the orange lights overhead, a giant Advent wreath graced the ceiling, four candles lit to honor the upcoming celebrations.
Any festive mood was punched out of Morris when the pianist finally revealed himself. Of course, he should've expected that much; the man standing on the other end of the room was not right in any form. Too tall, too blond, too...wrong.
The understudy, or whatever they're called here.
He needed to be more realistic about it, nearly kicking himself for being that naive. Obviously, he wouldn't be here, the last time they saw each other he couldn't even hold a teacup, so how was he supposed to be up and ready to play again?
Maybe not this time, but Easter was realistic... If they had the chance to perform again. Pentecost, at least, but that would be months. Morris was unsure he could hold out that long.
After all, his social media went offline instantly. The data that Morris previously used to get to know him better was unavailable now; no friend lists, no favorite locations, no address he didn't already know and kept an eye on. He wasn't even sharp enough to discover an obituary column, he had searched thoroughly.
No one should exclude that possibility, even if it made his heart sink and stomach turn. Septic shock, no doubt. That would be Morris fault, naturally, because he couldn't even produce a single coherent thought before taking action because I am a fucking failure who isn't even-
He left shortly after the applause for the second part��died down.
The bathroom greeted him again, with the sterile lights overhead, eerily similar to another room that brushed through his mind from time to time. This one was much more pristine, of course, and even though the memories always carried a sliver of guilt with them, he preferred them over uncertainty.
Morris thought a lot about their time together; to keep his mind off Amber, shame felt almost better than the pain she still triggered: like a hot twinge in his chest.
He searched for her, more out of habit than anything. Yet, her parents always had a talent for keeping their dirty little secrets neatly wrapped up and stashed away, he gave up after another two weeks of insistence. How was he even supposed to approach her; build trust again? Another plan he would make, another plan he would fuck up.
Enough.
Morris sat down on the closed toilet lid to let out an exhausted huff. Having a smoke in the lav would hopefully get him back on track, wherever that shall lead. Slim threads of smoke met the ceiling in a stream, letting the worries of the past month dissolve with them. Moments of peaceful silence let him drift off. Weightless for a moment.
"You're not allowed to smoke in here, the alarm can go off."
A shadow below the stall made itself at home, right next to the wall that separated them. The last thing he needed now.
"Mhh," Morris produced with a cool demeanor. Shifting nervously in the high heels and floor-length gown he could make out through the space at the stall's bottom, the person took a seat.
"Care to share one?"
He didn't really, but if that made them shut up, he had more than enough to spare. Lighting its tip on his own one, he passed the stub to a pair of finely manicured fingers. Green, just as the dress, but in the wrong hue. What a shame.
The legs attached to the rest visibly calmed down, he took the chance to relish the newfound quiet.
"Enjoying the show?" Jesus fucking Christ.
"Sure. The pianist is horrible, though." Not that he could judge his skill, he was just the dollar-store version of who Morris hoped to meet. Meet again.
A light chuckle followed, stalled by a cough.
"Yeah, he's the best we could get on short notice. Always off-key, though, a true shitshow."
"You're part of this?" You know the members? Maybe they were friends with-
"Yeah," a cloud of smoke spread among their feet, somehow they sounded less than proud, "Always a pleasure."
Morris hesitated, not entirely convinced the next step would be a good idea: "A friend invited me, but I think I got stood up."
"Sorry to hear that. A lot of things go wrong today..." Pensive, he used their speaking break to latch onto any sliver of available information.
"So, what happened to his precursor?" Don't be useless.
"Huh?"
"The pianist. I bet the one before was way better." Less than a lie.
"Oh, that's the sad part. But I shouldn't just talk about that with everyone, so..."
They were lucky to be confined by the plywood board. Otherwise, he would have slapped the truth out of them in an instant. Although that never seemed to do the trick, at least not when Morris did it.
"I mean, it's his fault you have to work like this now, right?" he teased instead, "Hope the excuse is good enough to justify leaving y'all in the lurch."
His counterpart bit their tongue violently, not wanting to offend a paying customer. A minor scandal was the last problem the orchestra needed right now. That's why one should mind their own business while hiding from their conductor.
Though the stranger had a point, not a great one, but still, this whole fiasco could've been avoided. Some people just need to get their shit together.
"Some kind of accident, I guess. I think he was also stressed, y'know? Tried to escape..."
Don't say that!
"What?" their voice pierced through the thin wall separating them.
"Don't say that," Morris repeated. Only a shallow breath could be heard in the room.
"Uh, the duet is going to end in a few moments and my solo… I need to speed this up. Thanks for the cig, anyway!"
Duty called for effort, saving the absentee from further interrogation. Alone again, Morris took another draw, not an ounce wiser.
Brooke Hoffstetter left the bathroom as quickly as she entered, sneaking back to her place under the disapproving eyes of the conductor. She didn't care about her performance like she used to, overworked and underappreciated, she wanted nothing more than just take the back seat for once.
Nevertheless, she played the firm strings of her violin, the pianist sending grating tunes to the back of her neck.
--------
Darkness surrounded Morris as he walked through the city park to meet with a partner. A nameless job beckoned him with cash he surely needed by now; since they didn't ask for help as much as they used to. Probably because the damage he had done to the hideout had become more than visible.
An official mess, inside and out.
Maybe it was better this way, to slowly fade away from the people he surrounded himself with; never been a perk, clearly. His brother-in-law had made an offer a long time ago: minimum wage, working in the gym he was managing. Or back to the retirement home, if they were kind enough to ignore his record.
Not the worst thing that could happen.
They met on the edge of the harbor and after the usual mindless small-talk, they finally went to work. Simply collect and drop-off, he used to do worse for less.
Not much thought was wasted on vague job opportunities, Morris couldn't even focus on the one he was supposed to fulfill at the moment.
It hurt inside, any second they weren't together; the idea of the person who kept his mind away from the present burned even deeper than he could have ever anticipated. Nothing more than a cruel mixture made from shame and nostalgia. Someone who had met his worse side and decided to still be sincere enough to not punish him with spite.
The concord he got in those few hours gave him a touch of what was owed to him, of missed chances…
It would be different next time, he hoped, knowing full well he reached a dead end. He didn't need talk therapy or a half-assed phone call, what Morris had lost in that house just came once in a lifetime. He was sure that they had thrown away a true bond.
Sitting mute next to his partner and hearing detailed ramblings, the memories drifted further away, yet continuing to spin in circles over and over. It was obvious that Morris ached for the only person who could soothe his hunger.
My Elliot.
A hot twinge in his heart left him breathless.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Thanks for reading 🤍
Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername
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britneyshakespeare · 10 months ago
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the boys are back in town
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trollbreak · 1 year ago
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Girl help I went to start drawing random and remembered that she’s big strong and got thinking abt that worst endings au again
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zeekizeii · 5 months ago
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Reblog or don't, I dunno maybe a wizard casts a spell, the spell is oh shit...sorry yeah he got your boyfriend.
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tewwor · 5 months ago
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tag drop before i get dropped by the tags
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martyrbat · 1 year ago
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theres a leafs game at 8 am tomorrow and then penguins at 6pm so i cant wait to spend tomorrow in a constant state of anguish
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porcelana-r0ta · 4 months ago
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JOYRIDE
Fandoms: Batman, Danny Phantom
Relationship: Dan Phantom/Jason Todd
Word Count: 3,823
Ao3 Link: Available only to registered users
Summary:
Dan doesn't want to join his Habitudes group for their dumb community service project, which is why he lets two idiot goons kidnap him off the streets. When said goons turn out to work for The Joker, Dan decides to do something about him, maniac to maniac.
Or: The Joker tries to live stream a ransom, but ends up live streaming his own execution.
xxXxx
When Dan Nightingale is grabbed off the streets of Gotham, he makes a half-hearted struggle, just so he can seem human. The kiddie hero business and the indiscriminate genocidal tendencies no longer call to him like they used to, and while he’s still an impatient person who is intolerant of disruptive bullshit, he needs a little excitement in his life. 
Plus, he wants an excuse to get out of his Habitudes community service project. His pretentious trust fund baby groupmates chose to volunteer at some fucking coffee shop instead of something normal, like a hospital or an animal shelter. (Dan didn’t even know a coffee shop was an option, but anything goes for wealthy elites who want to roleplay as an impoverished barista, apparently.) Well, Jay Peters wasn’t so bad, and he was just as irritated as Dan was about the others’ choice. Plus, the chill that settles into Dan’s unused lungs when the other student is around shows that he’s at least Death-touched like him, even if they’ve never acknowledged that to each other. 
So, yeah. He lets himself be kidnapped by two goons, even if he could easily break free and make their insides their outsides. It could be interesting! Enrichment in his pandimensional parole! Everyone’s got to have fun sometimes! It’s like a little joyride, as a treat! But he isn’t the one committing the crime! How quaint!
Dan is a very polite captive. He lets himself be pulled into a creeper van with minimal resistance. He lets the goons zip tie his hands. He lets them put a black bag over his head, even though it smells of weed. He doesn’t count the number of turns they take, nor does he try to talk them into letting him go. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. When they eventually park, he allows the men to pull him out of the creeper van and into some building—likely a warehouse, judging by the echo of their footsteps on the floor. And finally, he lets the goons cut off the zip ties around his wrists and then tie them to the metal arms of a chair. 
He’s a great captive. And he’s so going to be excused from that stupid Habitudes community service project!
He’s content to sit and wait. The Bats of Gotham City usually have a good response time for villain bullshit, and if they don’t, then it’s not like any Fear gas or sex pollen will affect him. Dan’s not really human anymore, even if he is capable of looking so. 
Dan does not have to wait long. The footsteps increase and then stop altogether, and then a cackle fills the air. “Camera man ready? Mics? Charges?” The voice is familiar, yet grating. Where has he heard it before? In his past future, maybe?
“Yes, sir,” comes the reply from several different people. 
A pleased cackle, “Then let’s get started!”
“We are live in three… two…” 
At the silent one, the cackle echoes through the room once again. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Gotham City and beyond! I’m your favorite Joker, LIVE! With one of your favorite Wayne children!” 
Dan, who has been relatively chill this whole time, tenses. The Joker. That’s why he recognizes that cackle and voice. He had killed the clown before in his original timeline. Ugh, clowns. He fucking hates clowns. Hates their stupid pale makeup and their stupid dumb wigs and their exaggerated eyes and he fucking hates how they make him feel like he’s not in control. 
And what was that about a Wayne? 
Dan doesn’t think killing someone like The Joker in his original timeline should be held against him. Honestly, the guy is a megalomaniacal terrorist who abuses the guise of mental illness to get away with crimes against humanity. Dan had at least owned up to his own sanity, and never tried to hide from the law or anything like that. He just kind of… killed the law. 
….ACAB? 
A hand suddenly grips at the bag on his head, grabbing hair with fabric. “That’s right, folks! Here’s Gotham’s beloved Dick Grayson!” The bag is yanked off his head, revealing Dan in all his scowling glory. And Dan is a lot of things, but an exact Dick Grayson copy he is not, so while the goons may have mistaken him as Grayson, The Joker does not. 
He pauses, studying Dan’s face. Dan raises a mocking eyebrow, then looks around the warehouse. 
It’s empty and dimly lit, but it’s not a problem for his superior vision. The metal walls are an ugly beige and the floor is a gray cement, its color only broken by mysterious brown stains, and now the discarded black bag. Dan is up against a wall, surrounded by filming equipment. The camera in question is just a fucking iPhone 12 attached to a ring light. There’s one goon behind the camera, moderating the live stream. There is another goon holding a boom mic above Dan and The Joker, and there are four others behind the camera. All of the goons who are not handling equipment are holding toy musket guns. It is probably safe to assume that there are similarly armed goons guarding the doors that Dan cannot see from his position tied to a chair. Likely two goons per exit. In a warehouse of this size, there have to be at least six more goons that Dan isn’t seeing. 
The Joker grits his teeth. “Who brought the Grayson kid here.” It’s not a question so much as it is a demand. 
“We did, boss,” two goons pipe up proudly from behind the camera. 
“Why don’t you two come up on camera so I can congratulate you for good work?” The Joker grins beseechingly. 
One of the two goons, the blond, shuffles nervously at this, whereas the other puffs out his chest. So only one has any brain cells. 
The prideful one grabs his comrade by the arm and drags him up to the camera with Dan and The Joker. They stand in front of Dan, blocking him from the camera’s view.
“I always reward good work, you see,” he says to his henchmen. “Now, you think this is good work?” 
“Yes, sir,” says Pride, while Blond frowns. 
“Take a good look at his face.” The villain gestures angrily to Dan’s unimpressed face. “What do you see?” 
“Dick Grayson, sir,” 
Blond shuffles, “He looks like he isn’t scared.” 
“No! Wrong! This isn’t Dick Grayson! This– This is some—” The Joker takes another glance at Dan, noting the black Gotham U hoodie that hides his muscles. “This is some fucking college twink!”
“Twink?” Dan mutters to himself, disgruntled. Sure, the hoodie is baggy and he’s seated instead of standing, but do those two things add up to him looking like a twink? 
The color has drained out of even Pride’s face at The Joker’s words. “Sir, please—”
But The Joker is already pulling out a comically large toy gun that probably has real bullets, and Dan sighs. It would probably be bad for his parole if he let a bunch of humans die in front of him. 
He phases out of the ropes binding him, safe from view with the two idiots in front of him. Then, he kicks The Joker down to the floor, sending the toy gun scattering across the cement floor of the warehouse. He stands and knocks Pride and Blond’s heads together, knocking them out as The Joker screeches with rage. 
The goons behind the camera aim their guns, but Dan is already moving behind the camera. He snags the guns out of their hands, snapping them in half with strength he doesn’t even have to think about. He moves so fast that at first they don’t even realize what’s happened. By the time they connect their missing firearms to the broken bits of metal on the floor, Dan has already clobbered them over the head, knocking them unconscious. 
He takes out the cameraman, too, and the goon holding the boom mic. Then, in mere seconds, he takes out all the goons at each exit, and he’s back at the filming station by the time The Joker has staggered to his feet. His original estimate had been off by two—there were eight other goons in total. 
Dan checks the iPhone—still live streaming. On TikTok, of all the goddamn apps. The comments are going wild on what’s going on: where’s the college student, how did he kick The Joker like that, do you guys think that those two goons have brain damage now, what was that metal scraping sound, where is The Joker? 
“Hey, brat!” snarls The Joker, clutching at his ribs. “That was not part of the script.”
Dan hates clowns, and he especially hates The Joker. Sure, Dan wiped out nearly all of humanity. Who doesn’t have a bad decade of villainous activity? But he did it quickly, and he didn’t do it under the guise of insanity. He owned up to it. And if Dan’s being honest, he’s… disgusted by it all now, even if it hurts himself to admit. 
If Dan isn’t human, then neither is The Joker. 
Still off camera, Dan moves so fast he basically teleports in front of The Joker. The other man stumbles back, but Dan reaches out and grabs him by the throat. He chokes and claws at Dan, but Dan isn’t human anymore, and so his nails catch on nothing but the cloth of his hoodie. He doesn’t even feel it.
He drags The Joker to the chair in front of the still live camera and shoves him into it. While he recovers from being choked, gasping and shuddering and so fucking human , Dan forces his hands behind him and uses the ropes he’d phased out of to tie The Joker up. When he ties the last knot, Dan stands tall, staring into the camera. 
“Hello, friends and family,” he greets the audience. He gives a small smile, and he makes sure that he is perfectly, utterly human with normal blue eyes and normal black hair and normal human skin. “As you can see, things have turned around for The Joker here. Now, I’m sure his original intent was to ransom out the Wayne kid, and it would be a shame to see that hard work and planning go to waste on a mistake, wouldn’t it? So why don’t we hold a… reverse ransom? Only, I don’t need funds. I’ll accept donations. My venmo is vladsucks03. My cashapp is dannight07.”
Dan’s smile grows into a wide grin. “Feel free to donate if you like. But even not a single person donates, The Joker dies today.” 
The Joker spits out a gasping laugh, “Ha! You think you can kill me? I gotta admit, that’s a good joke. But Batman—”
“Batman what?” Dan asks, stepping off camera to grab the black bag on the floor. He shoves it halfway into his pocket. He walks to The Joker’s toy gun, the only one he hadn’t broken, and he picks it up. 
“Batman is already on his way here,” The Joker says. “He always is by this point.”
“And Batman will save you?” Dan snorts. He moves to check the live stream, comments coming in so fast that the only reason he can read them is because he’s not human anymore. 
Is this for real
fuck yeah kill that guy
💥🔫🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
extremely common gotham uni W
im donating 50$ rn
Can we vote on how joker dies
Lol does he fr think that batman would help him
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Does anyone else find this incredibly attractive or is it just me 😳
guys my joker/batman fic update is gonna slap after this
Joker’s cooked
bro is about to have ao3 level donations
Hey what’s his cashapp again
Omg i think that guy is in my bio class
I’ll donate when hes acc dead
doin god's work 🥹👍
If bro doesnt do it he’s cooked
This guy is gonna have infinite rizz if he pulls this off
The Joker scoffs, “Of course he will. He’s done it before.”
Dan yanks his gaze from the comments to The Joker’s face, “What?”
The Joker nods his head up arrogantly. “Batsy can’t live without me. He saved me after fickle-ickle Nightwing killed me.” 
“Huh.” Dan blinks consideringly, switching his gaze back to the comments. They’re all freaking out about this new information. He steps back into the camera frame, pulling the hammer back on the toy gun. “Then I’ll just have to make sure it sticks.” 
He points the gun at The Joker’s face and fires. As expected, rainbow confetti is the only thing that flies out, dusting over The Joker in celebration of what is to come. 
The Joker laughs. 
“Cute,” says Dan. He walks around The Joker to stand behind him, directly in front of the camera. He removes the black bag from his pocket and puts it over The Joker’s face. 
He shoves the muzzle of the gun into the back of The Joker’s skull. Pulling back the hammer, he asks, “Any last words?” 
He pulls the trigger before The Joker can say anything. It’s funny. As expected, the second gunshot is a real bullet. The Joker’s head and body jerks forward. Blood splatters on Dan’s face, but it’s mostly on the floor and the unconscious Blond and Pride and on The Joker himself. 
For a moment, Dan can only stare. The Joker’s body is crumbled in on itself, held up only by the bindings on his arms to a chair nailed to the ground. 
He feels big. He feels good. 
He feels… dirty.
He clears his throat. He drops the gun. He lifts up the soaking black bag up just enough to check for a pulse. After thirty seconds of nothing, he says, “Well, that’s the end of The Joker.” 
He looks up, staring into the camera lens, and he chuckles. “I missed my community service project because of this bozo. You guys think my professor will accept this as community service?”
You guys think this will affect my ghost parole? he doesn’t ask. 
He bends down to check the pockets of Blond. He finds his phone and uses Blond’s thumbprint to bypass the password. His stomach curdles at the home screen—a picture of Blond and a little girl with his eyes and his nose. His eyes burn and he calls 911, trying not to blink.
“911 dispatch. What is your emergency?”
“Yeah, uh, I killed The Joker. But he kidnapped me first, so. Turnabout.” 
“You— sorry, you what?”
“I killed The Joker. He’s dead. I checked his pulse and everything.”
“O-oh.” The woman on dispatch sounds strangled. There are muffled sounds, frantic, that the receiver only barely picks up. Dan wonders what she’s doing, Asking for verification? Trying to triangulate his location? Celebrating the fucking good news? “Do you know where you are, sir?”
“Some warehouse, I guess. Probably at the docks. Do you want me to check?”
“No, sir, please stay where you are if there are no immediate threats.”
“Got it.” He clicks his tongue. 
“Can you tell me your name, sir? Are you injured somewhere?”
“I’m Dan. Uh, Dan Nightingale. I guess he thought I was the Grayson kid. Um. Dick Grayson, I mean. And no, I’m fine. His henchmen are injured and unconscious, though.” 
“Right. Okay. Hi, Dan. I’m Claire. First responders and patrol units are on their way to your location now.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” He almost wants to ask if she thinks that he’ll end up in Arkham for this, but he’s pretty sure that there’s no jury on Earth that would convict him. Well, maybe not. He did ask for donations for murdering The Joker, after all. That might put a damper on his defense. 
“Dan?” asks Claire. 
“Yeah?”
“Is– is he really dead?”
Dan looks at the body and kicks a limp leg, avoiding looking at the gory black bag. Nothing. “Yep. As a doornail.” And he knows death intimately. 
She breathes a shaky, staticky sigh into the receiver. “Thank you, Dan.”  
He blinks, “Can you get fired for saying that?”
She laughs, “Honey, everyone not on break right now is listening to this. My boss just broke a bottle of tequila out from his desk.” 
He barks out his own laugh. “Oh?”
“You’re about to be very popular, Dan.”
“Well, I—” 
And seventeen minutes late to the party, the windows at the top of the warehouse shatter open. In cascades of broken glass and grappling cables, the Bats drop down to the floor. 
“Away from the body,” commands Batman as soon as his feet hit the ground. His little birdies, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and the newest Robin fall in line with him. Robin makes quick work of rounding up the unconscious goons and binding them. 
Dan obligingly puts the hand that isn’t holding the phone up in the air, but before moving away from the camera’s view, he says, “Just a reminder guys, my venmo is vladsucks03 and my cashapp is dannight07. Please remember that I might need a lawyer soon.”
“Okay, funny guy,” Nightwing says, entering into frame and pulling Dan away by the shoulder while Red Robin shuts down the live stream.
“It was self-defense and defense of another. A whole population, if you will,” Dan says. 
Red Hood snickers, “Only crime here was the kidnapping.” 
“Dan, are you okay?”
“Bats are here, Claire,” Dan tells her. He watches Batman lift the black bag off The Joker’s face, revealing the viscera and gray matter beneath. He’s not smiling anymore. Dan hasn’t seen that kind of gore in years. He’s the cause of it once more and he doesn’t regret that. It feels invigorating. It feels devastating. “I guess I’ll hang up now. If The Joker is mysteriously alive after this, it’s because Batman couldn’t handle not being the hero.” 
“Dan—” He hangs up as Batman’s shoulders go minutely tense at his words. The man stands fully, turning his head slightly to narrow his cowled eyes at Dan. 
“Problem, sir?” 
“You killed The Joker.” 
“I saved myself and his two idiots.” He shrugs. 
“You had him restrained.” 
He rests an offended hand against his chest. “I was frightened that he would escape, sir, just as he escapes from the very place you put him every eight to ten months.” The Bat doesn’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner. Fine. Whatever, he gets it. Dan hadn’t wanted to be that, neither as hero nor villain. He’d wanted to save, he wanted to be saved, and then he wanted everyone to feel like he did. But he’s not so prideful now to know that he wouldn’t have stopped then, not unless someone handled the job permanently. 
The Joker needed permanence. 
The Bat can play fucking judge all he wants. But he’d be just as villainous if he tried enforcing his own moral code on other people.
“You asked for donations,” Red Robin says dryly. “You were basically putting a hit out on him.”
“My art in life textbook is $300. How much do you think a lawyer is going to cost?”
“Hn.” 
“Stop giving the man a hard time for doing a public service, Batman.” Red Hood shoulder checked Nightwing away and held out a gloved hand for Dan to shake. He takes the other’s hand and firmly shakes it. The contact, while not to skin, gives Dan goosebumps and chills his lungs. 
Jay?
“Let’s hope my Habitudes professor agrees with you.”
“She will. Everyone with three brain cells to rub together will.” The man cuts a glare at Batman. 
Dan didn't say what pronouns his professor uses. 
The rumble in Red Hood’s voice is enticing. He looks at the other man, really looks, and notices his broad shoulders, how tall he is (though Dan towers over him even  disguised as a human), and his muscled arms. Arms that Dan’s pretty sure are normally hidden beneath a Gotham U hoodie, just like his own. 
He smirks as sirens sound in the distance. “Let’s hope the cops agree with you.”
“They will,” Hood says. It sounds like a promise for something entirely different. 
“Gag me,” Red Robin mutters.
Robin says, “For once I agree with you.”
Without looking away from Dan, Red Hood flips the two off, and yeah, maybe redemption can be more promising than he initially thought. 
xxXxx
A week later, Dan finally goes back to his regular schedule. His ghost parole is intact—he’d even been thanked by some Gothamite ghosts, and Danny begrudgingly told him that there were ghosts who said they’d riot if Dan was given any punishment. As for the mortal side of things, Vlad Masters had graciously sent his team of attorneys to Dan’s aid. While Dan still hates him, he has no issue about using a free team of lawyers to defend him. He’s guaranteed to walk.
Jazz had called him. It made his core unsettled and stony. She wasn’t disappointed, and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel. He doesn’t regret it—The Joker would never change. But what does that say about him and his progress? 
Jazz in general makes him uneasy now. She used to be his big sister, and now she’s younger than him, and he tried to kill her, and— she’s different from his Jazz, is all. But if she’d always known like she said, then his Jazz did, too, right? Could she still be his Jazz, a Jazz who got to grow up? Still be his sister? It would be stupid to hope so, right?
He feels bitter.
She said she’s considering Gotham University as her college of choice as she nears high school graduation. Apparently, their psych department is amazing. 
So maybe hope isn’t so bad. 
Dan sits down at his 10:00 am Habitudes class. Everyone already in the room stares at him. Before they can offer any congrats or thanks or swarm him, Jay sits down next to him. 
Dan looks at Jay’s mostly black hair and his tuft of white at his front bangs. He’s wearing his usual Gotham U hoodie, a hoodie that likely hides muscled arms. A chill builds in his lungs like it did when speaking with Red Hood, like it has every other time he’s talked with Jay Peters. 
…Hm. A hoodie that definitely hides muscled arms. 
“Hey,” says Jay with a grin. “Crazy week, I hear?”
“You’re a Gothamite. I’m sure you’re aware of exactly how crazy it’s been.” 
“You should tell me about it sometime.”
“Sure. After class? We can grab an early lunch. Make it a date, maybe.”
Jay smiles, cute and small. His eyes flash green—a baby Death-touched soul, still can’t control his spooky abilities, how adorable—and he says, “That sounds perfect.”
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wood-white-writer · 1 year ago
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"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [4/...]
- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader
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"I think my brain is rotting in places, I think my heart is ready to die, I think my body's falling in pieces, I think my blood is passing me by."
— Mitski, "Brand New City"
Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6
Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, "Cross-Hairs"/reader is a lonely asshole too, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF, a mixture of both the Reader's and Buggy's POVs, angst
A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than usual with only 2.2k words... Sorry.
Taglist:@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))
You’re like a savage beast when you’re fighting, Buggy admits to himself in awe as he watches you tear through your opponents one by one with substantially more strength than anyone thought your body capable of.
But Buggy's not just anybody. He's always known that your body is of a special sort, an Iron Maiden encompassed by skin, flesh, veins, arteries, and ligaments; capable of bringing ruin to anyone and anything if only you have reason enough. Chains can't hold you, nor can any power on this earth.
He relishes in it.
You have your sword and your pistol both disposable at the belt on your hip, but you seem to have no interest in wielding them for the battle. No, your body is a weapon on its own; a blade cutting through people like grass straws on a narrow field.
It’s during times like these — when he gets to watch your strength from the front rows — that he wonders whether you’ve eaten a Devil Fruit of your own at some point, but that can't be. He’s seen you swim.
You, him, and Shanks had been simply traveling through the town where the Oro Jackson was docked, minding your own business when a group of rival pirates suddenly ambushed you. Thinking they easily could kidnap the apprentices of the famous Gol D. Roger and demand ransom, the shidiots would quickly come to realize that they made a mistake.
A very costly one at that. One they will be sure not to repeat.
Whereas he and Shanks stand partnered together against a few of the rival group, you are holding your own quite well from the other side of the fight. He swears he saw one of the men flying over him at some point, though it might’ve just been a trick of the adrenaline.
Kicking one of the larger pirates straight in the balls with his lower body severed from the rest, he turns his upper body to catch a glimpse of you in case you need help.
What he sees instead is a flash of the sun reflecting in your eyes as you pounce at your prey, casting a yellow line in the air that reminds him of lightning about to strike the ground. Everything around him seems to cease mid-motion save for you. There is no fighting going on, no shouting, no Shanks telling him to take cover from an incoming blow.
All he sees is you, and all he hears is his own voice telling him: "Gods, you’re fucking marvelous."
The last thing he hears is Shanks shouting his name before the world begins to darken around him, and the last thing he sees is lightning making its way toward him, destroying everything in its path to get to him.
He wonders drowsily if it's going to strike him too.
———
The fight that ensues reminds you of the battles you partook in during your years as Captain. The chaos in it all. The carnage. The general inability to think properly as you fight. Of course, your opponents back then lacked Buggy's uncanny ability to split up into multiple parts while still alive, but it doesn't stop you. 
Nothing on this earth can.
Blades are thrown, skin is cut, and by the time you get close enough to reach him, a number of props have scattered to pieces in the midst of your warfare. It seems like an endless battle trying to defeat him, just get him to fucking stay still.
Just as you reach for Buggy's chest with your nails reached out to claw at his vest, his midsection separates and all you're left with is air. Just empty air.
He cackles as he puts himself back a few good feet from where you're standing. "C'mon! Put your back into it! It's like you're not even tryin—!"
In a flash, your face is hairsbreadths away from his, and it feels like everything around him stops. 
At that moment, he realizes that the golden color of the sun has not left your eyes. Only to find that, upon closer inspection, it's not the color of the sun that he's met with.
It's thunder, and it strikes hard.
Before he has the chance to blink, the next thing he knows is the feeling of a boulder being pushed against his stomach. Not a sound leaves his throat save for a guttural groan, and he finds himself on the ground before he knows it with stars adorning the edges of his vision.
Gods, he thinks while in a state of both pain and exhausted satisfaction, your face a blurred canvas in his eyes. You’re so fucking marvelous.
By the time Nami and Zoro debut to join the battle, you have already pinned Buggy to the ground with your legs planted firmly on each side of his hips, and a bruising grip around his neck as you press your forearm down onto it. Not enough to cut his flow of oxygen, but enough so that he doesn't have the capacity to move unless he splits.
His face, the very same face you used to paint when you were younger, looks up at you with nothing short of manic glee. He doesn't even divide himself up to get free this time. It's almost like merely connecting to him, even during an act of violence such as this, is enough to keep him entertained. Happy, you dare think.
You find those sea-blue eyes looking up at you, and before you try and strike the finishing blow, you hesitate. You fuckinghesitate, because when it all comes down to it, you can't find it in yourself to kill him. 
The legendary Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, the executioner of a thousand marines and other pirates, can't kill something this time.
You can't kill him. You can't kill those ocean-blue eyes, even when your body yearns to see through with what you promised. You always stick to your promises, but for the first time in forever, you don't. You can't. 
Not him.
Never him.
Meanwhile, Buggy can't help examining you like you're the most fascinating creature he's ever laid his eyes on, because you are. Even after all this time, he's still as drawn to the fire in your eyes that as he was all those years ago. It's a feeling he can never hope to extinguish.
Nor does he want to.
Being the jester that he is, however, he takes the moment to his advantage. This one, vulnerable moment. It's not out of pettiness, but survival. Nothing personal.
He separates his femur and exploits the momentum to knock you off him. He can tell you're surprised as you position yourself on your knees and hands, yet it only takes you a ghost of a moment to recover.
The fire is back in your eyes, a thousand times brighter this time, and the fight continues. 
Now, neither of you holds back, and he becomes first-hand acquainted with just how ruthless truly you can be. When there is nothing keeping you down.
Truth be told, it excites him. Very much so. 
He has the Bounty Hunter and the Tangerine-haired girl hot on his tail, but he hardly provides them a medium of his attention. You're the only thing he can't take his eyes off.
"NAMI! THE CRATES!"
And that's where the entire play gradually comes to an end. Maybe it's what pisses him off the most?
You stalk after his separated body parts like a hunter after a flock of deer, throwing them into the crates as the rest of your companions follow suit. Whereas Nami and Zoro are strategic with their actions, complementing each other, you're acting on pure, unadulterated wrath. 
You do not have Luffy's stretchy capabilities, Zoro's precision, or Nami's diligence. 
What you have is something far, far deadlier.
It's twenty years of pent-up heartache.
Catching pieces of him is much easier than catching all of him.
This is what it's come to, with you and him fighting; with you and him having different goals. It's not the future you envisioned for yourself at all. In fact, it's the exact opposite. If you knew then what you know now, you would've ... 
Once, it was you and him together against the rest of the world. Now, it's you against him, against the rest of the world.
You can feel your eyes threaten to sting as you catch his femur and throw it in an open box that promptly shuts, but like with everything else, you push it down. You push it until all that remains is the vague ache. 
It doesn't matter, you tell yourself. This is what it will stay like. 
In the end, all of his body parts save for his head, hands, and feet are spared from the confinement of the containers, and when he melds them together to a pathetically small version of his usual self, you can't help but address the irony of the situation.
"What have you done to me?!" Buggy cries.
Luffy grins as he caresses his beloved hat, having suffered the most injuries. "Cut you down to size."
Buggy looks as small as you felt that day. Helpless. Pathetic. Reduced to almost nothing.
Still, it's not a moment that brings you any happiness. Not any victory, or satisfaction. You don't even have the urge to gloat. 
All it brings you, as you tower over him from the side, is nothingness. 
You're tempted to kick him, and you almost do. You take a step closer to him, a river of anger rushing through your veins. With nowhere else to go, it circles.
"The One Piece will never be yours!" Buggy yells and flaps his hands, too focused on Luffy to notice you calmly stalking toward him from the dark. "You're just a sad, lonely little boy, wearing another man's hat!" 
It’s Shanks’s hat, you want to scream. Our friend’s hat. Don’t you remember?
Luffy's words don't register with you as you kneel in front of the shortened clown, nor do Nami's questions or Zoro's inquisitive eyes. It all tunes out into the background as you raise your hand slowly to Buggy, and you think about how easy it will be. It will be so easy to end it now. He's weak, he's practically defenseless. There's nothing to stop you now.
Buggy simply stares when he notices you, his mouth slightly parted in what you can only perceive as surprise and ... disbelief? You take one final look at his face, the same face you used to paint long ago, and you briefly wonder how many layers of white, red, and blue separate this one from the touches you applied years ago. 
Is there still some residue left? Any fingerprint? Does anything from you still linger with him, or did he try to scrub your touches off his face the same way he tried to scrub you from his life altogether?
Buggy is completely still as your outstretched fingers close in on him, and he thinks that this is it. Now's the moment when you will make good on your threats, where you'll finally kill him. Truth be told, it's a less-than-satisfactory way to go, but surprisingly enough, it doesn't bother him half as much as he expected it would.
Maybe it's because, after all this time, it's still you until the end? You and him, like it was always meant to be.
He closes his eyes with a sigh and finds that the edge of his lip tilts a little up. "Go for it," he says, awaiting the moment when your calloused fingers grip him. He can anticipate your nails clawing at his scalp, tearing the skin of his cranium, digging until there is nothing left to tear at.
Devil Fruit or not, you're the only one he'll let end him like this.
Except, you don't.
All he feels are your fingertips gently grazing the sides of his cheek, so uncharacteristically soft against his thin stubbles that he could've mistaken it for air brushing his face.
The same hands he knows capable of such great feats of violence and brutality, the same ones who had just fought against him with enough strength to match a beast, are touching him like he's made of glass. 
He snaps his eyes open, and when he meets your gaze, he's surprised to find them ... empty. Hollow. 
The sun is gone, and so is the thunder. Now, there are only clouds in his view.
"Goodbye, Buggy." Your voice is so tranquil that he strains to hear it, and before he gets to, you stand up again and turn your back to him. "He's all yours, Luffy."
No, no! He tries to walk up to you, but his shortened sature won't let him. Don't look away, not yet! Look at me! If only to keep your fucking promise! Just fucking pleas—Please just look at me again!
"GUM-GUM—!"
"No, no, no!" Buggy, for the first time in his life, begs as the kid stretches his arms backward. Not like this. Not yet. He tries to search for you, only to discover that you've already left the circus tent. "Wait, wait, wait! Just wait!"
"— BAZOOKA!"
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envysparkler · 7 months ago
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The Joker has a captured Robin, and he wants the Red Hood.
Jason is innocently watching TV when it gets interrupted by Joker's broadcast. The clown is in a warehouse with Robin!Tim and a bomb. He demands the Red Hood as his ransom. For the sake of plot, Bruce and Dick are away/off-world.
Jason gets in touch with Oracle to track down the location, she warns him it's a trap, he knows, she won't give the location to him unless he promises he won't give himself up.
“Don’t worry, Oracle.  I have no intention of walking through that door.”
Switch to Tim POV, he tells the Joker that there's a snowball's chance in hell that Hood would come for him and there's no point in torturing him. Before the Joker can get too worked up, there's the sharp whistle of a sniper shot.
Joker falls dead to the floor, bullet through his skull.
Unfortunately, the clown has one last trick. Dead man's trigger, a bomb, twenty seconds left on the timer.
Jason comes rappelling through the skylight (not the door, ha, Oracle), frees Robin from the chair--who's trying to warn him about the timer--and attaches Robin to the rappel line. Robin goes flying up out of the warehouse. Jason finds someplace to weather the explosion.
It was always going to come down to an explosion.
Dialogue fading in and out, someone shouting for Red Hood. Begging for Jason to respond. Shifting rubble.
Jason wakes up in the Cave surrounded by his very worried family and finally realizes how much he still means to them.
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effy-writes · 5 months ago
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can you maybe write something for Fizz where they were friends and when blitz ran away, she stayed and tried to help get him out of the fire, and in doing so, she lost her right arm. and now she is his partner in his clown gigs, and they both get captured and taken for ransom, and then they think that they're going to die so they both confess, but turns out that they get saved, and are together?
tysm :)
ofc!! i already did do a request very similar to that so i’m gonna do hc’s for this, either way hope you enjoy!
also i have insane writers block rn so bare with me 😔
~~~~
fizz x f! reader: being held ransom together and confessing feelings hc’s
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• fizz and you bonded over the same trauma that you guys endured. both got injured and you two had to start a whole new life without limbs (with you just your arm)
• fizz would always apologize that you lost an arm, but you always tell him to stop apologizing and that you wanted to help because you didn’t want to lose him. he was helpless and needed to get out of there, but when you pulled him out your arm got engulfed by the flames that was on the curtain just next to his body, you would always reply, “i would rather lose an arm than you lose you”
• years later, ozzie given you and fizz new “limbs” as well as a job. at first you were very reluctant to perform again and it took a lot of convincing from fizz to encourage you to perform.
“it’ll be like old times!”
“exactly. i don’t want to get reminded of the past. i don’t even think i could perform again without getting all emotional.”
“i miss performing with you, y/n. let’s just do this one time and if you don’t like it then i won’t force you. but i know you love dancing, singing, acrobatics, and when you did them in the past you looked so happy. i miss that smile.”
• eventually you gave in and started rehearsing with fizz and found great enjoyment in it. ever since then you two been performing together.
• you already know that fizz got held ransom before with blitz, and that was a wholeeee other thing you had to deal with. you don’t know which day was more traumatizing, you and fizz almost dying or fizz almost dying and you couldn’t do anything about it
• whenever you two got kidnapped by a critic and got locked in a basement things definitely changed. he was freaking out as much as you were but he didn’t want to seem weak in front of you, so he put on an act and tried to comfort you as much as possible.
• since both of your arms and legs got tied up he had to wiggle himself over to you and used his head to rub it against your shoulder, “we’re going to be okay, alright? ozzie will eventually figure out by now that we’re in trouble because we’re supposed to perform in like…20 minutes?”
“that’s not helping me out fizz!”
“ah shit! okay okay um..we’re in this together?”
“fizz, i love you but you’re not making this any better.”
• unfortunately, fizz wasn’t right and you guys been stuck down here for hours. the critic hasn’t came down, so you two began wondering if he forgot about you guys. “do you think we can eat the robotic limbs? like will we die?”
“y/n…what?”
“i mean..yeah i kinda just answered my own question.”
• after some hours of you guys crying, laughing, freaking out, joking around with each other, the critic finally went downstairs to the basement. out of fear you and fizz huddled close to each other.
• the critic spoke about how much he hates you and fizz for ignoring him on social media and in public. at first he wanted to be friends with you guys and just keep you guys down here, but after hearing you guys cry, talk, and laugh, he became so envious of your guys relationship that he wanted both of you gone.
• you didn’t want to die like this, not die without confessing your feelings, and fizz felt the EXACT same way. at the same time you guys said, “i always had feelings for you and was just too afraid to admit it.” “wait WHAT”
• before the critic could say anything a loud gunshot pierced your ears, and once you two looked back up you saw no other than blitz.
“BLITZO?”
“heyyy guys…totally WASNT spying on you two.”
“then why the fuck are you here?” you spat.
“apparently saving your guy’s lives. took you long enough fizz to admit you have feelings for her!”
• basically, right after blitz saved you guys you and fizz had a long and awkward conversation about how you two had feelings for each other for the longest time and both of you had the same reasons as to why you didn’t want to tell the other person, you guys just didn’t want to ruin what you already have
• the day after, fizz wanted to properly confess his feelings at a nice dinner and that’s exactly what he did, and you obviously agreed to be his girlfriend
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youvebeenlivingfictional · 8 months ago
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Bateman Begins Part 42
Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part
Notes: I'm aiming to have 3-4 more chapters before wrapping this up. Just a heads up.
Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader
Rating: M
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There's police tape criss-crossing the front entrance, and across a few of the windows
The kitchen door is untouched
The camera outside of it appears to be disabled
You scour around, spotting a large rock
It's cool and heavy as you pick it up, and you find yourself wincing before you even throw the damn thing.
The shattering seems ear-splitting in the relative silence around the mansion.
"Sorry, Alfred," You mutter as you slide your sleeve down over your hand, reaching through the broken pane to unlock the door.
The quiet is eerie as you walk around. The mansion has always been enormous, but walking through it alone and hearing the echo of your footsteps makes your stomach churn with discomfort.
Are the cops monitoring this place? They must be, right? Is there anyone stationed nearby, watching the house?
You do not have time to be booked for breaking and entering
And how would that even play in the press?
Deranged Bateman Enterprises Employee Returns to Gotham and Breaks Into Missing Boss' House
Vicki Vale would probably love that.
At least you have an alibi for whatever the hell happened.
And what the hell did happen?
You duck beneath the police tape cordoning off his lab, looking around.
There's police tape across the window there, too. If police had seen Bateman—well, Batman—leaving through there...
You turn to the bookshelves as you consider the possibilities.
Maybe Nathan had to have been coming or going, saw the police and ran.
But to not come back?
Something must have been deeply wrong.
You walk over to the bookshelf, gently levering down Nathan's false copy of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep and waiting as the bookshelf sinks to the side.
You walk cautiously toward it, eyeing the elevator. The structure seems secure; nothing appears to be out of place.
You step onto it and pull the lever to lower yourself into the cave.
You turn to look down, listening as the clanking of the machinery awakens some of its bat inhabitants.
Everything in the cave seems as untouched as the mansion. You press your hand to the biometric scanner, looking up as the screens come to life.
Camera first, you think.
Maybe some of the questions that you have can be solved by whatever footage you can get from the mansion.
But when you try to view the logs from the past few days, access is denied.
There's a password protection of Nathan's that you can't override.
You try everything that you can possibly think of, but nothing pops.
You're in the middle of attempting to override his security when a livestream of the news catches your eye.
Your brow furrows as you eye the runner:
CLOWN GANG UNLEASHES CHAOS IN GOTHAM—MAYOR GARCIA INSTITUTES CURFEW
You reach down, turning up the volume on that feed.
The anchor's voice crackles slightly before steadying:
"For our top story: Gotham has been gripped by fear as a gang of masked perpetrators wreak havoc on the city. Authorities have struggled to contain the situation, with the Gotham PD launching a city-wide manhunt. Graffiti of clown figures and Joker cards have appeared on buildings across the city, with the rate of their creation outpacing the city's ability to cover or remove them. Mayor Garcia has mandated a city-wide curfew in attempt to stem the rising tide of clown-related crimes. Meanwhile, rumors continue to circulate about the disappearance of both Nathan Bateman and Batman. Some are questioning whether the billionaire has chosen to resume the hermitage that he held after college, or if he's being held for ransom by the masked vigilante. Others speculate that Batman is somehow behind the growing clown posse."
The footage flickered to an older woman on the street, her brows knitted as a microphone is thrust into her face.
"I've never seen this many clowns in my life. Not once. Not even when the circus came to town. Not even when I met my ex-husband's family."
You frown as the footage flickered to a familiar face—one that turns your stomach.
Vicki looks a little flighty, and hardly stands still to answer the question that the reporter poses. Her face is pinched; there are dark bags under her eyes as she gives a staccato reply:
"No one has ever seen Nathan Bateman and Batman in the same room, have they? No one. His last name is one letter away—has anyone ever considered that?"
You scoff, shaking your head.
She's right, of course, but that doesn't exactly settle your nerves.
The news turns to another interview—a young man with closely cropped hair, his features obscured behind a thick smear of white makeup and overdrawn red lips.
"Why's everyone getting so worked up over a little makeup?" His face splits into a grin as he grasps the microphone and runs away with it, cackling gleefully into it.
You wince at the sound of the laugh, a chill running down your spine as it pricks memories of your nightmares.
The footage cuts back to the anchor in the studio shuffling their papers before they fold their hands over their notes.
"Commissioner Gordon has urged citizens to remain vigilant and report and sightings of suspicious acrobatics, or people wearing an excessive amount of makeup or face paint."
You reach out, turning the volume back down as you lean back, eyeing the other news feeds.
"Jesus, Nathan," You sigh. "What the hell happened?"
--
You can't stop staring at the trash can.
Why the hell did Nathan keep them?
No—No, it can't be the same trash that it was when you left. You haven't been in the Blue Room in almost two years.
You came up in the vain hope that you may have a thing or two left in here, but...It's the same.
Everything is the same.
The designer clothing and bags that Nathan got you are still in the drawers and closet.
Your favorite products are still in the ensuite bathroom.
And as you crouch down and pick up one of the crumpled pieces of paper, your blood running cold as you spot your handwriting.
You drop it again and straighten up, bracing your hands on the desk as your chest tightens.
Why did he leave it like this? Did he close the door and forget about it?
Did he think you were coming back—
You turn away, pushing a low groan out as you shake your tingling hands out, trying to push back your conflicting confusion and hope.
Fuck, whatever it was won't matter until you figure out what the fuck happened—
Bzzzzzz
You freeze at the sound of the brief buzz. It stops as suddenly as it starts...
You wonder if maybe you imagined it—
Bzzzzz
You look around the room, frowning. What the hell is that?
It's close enough that you can hear it, but it's not in the room anywhere.
Bzzzzz
You step into the hall, following the sound toward Nathan's room.
You find yourself raising your hand to knock, then shake your head. No one is in there, right?
You're still hesitant to open the door, wincing at its creaking before you step inside. The buzz grows louder as you approach his bedside table.
You open the drawer and find it...Empty.
But you can still hear and now feel the vibration. You knock on the bottom of the drawer, thrilling as you hear the hollow thonk.
It takes a few tries, but you find the small tab to lift the false bottom and find...
A flip phone.
A flip phone? Why the hell would Nathan have a flip phone?
This seems like the kind of thing that he would've mocked you for having when you first met.
You pull the phone out of the drawer, eyeing the caller ID.
C.G.
You hesitate before you flip it open, raising it to your ear.
You don't speak, you just listen.
For a moment, you hear nothing. And then—
"Where the hell have you been, man?"
The man's voice is familiar. It's on the tip of your tongue...
"Still not talking?" He pushes. "You're lucky I'm not tracing this call after all the shit you pulled. Look—the mayor is on my ass. I need you to meet me tonight, usual time, usual place."
You flounder wordlessly before you push out the lowest, gruffest answer you can: "Can't."
You wince. Damn—You couldn't sound like Nathan if you tried.
The man's so flustered that he doesn't seem to notice.
"The hell do you mean, can't? You can't go AWOL like this. I need you to rattle some cages. I've got a lead on this clown gang, but I can't go after it myself."
You scrub your hand over your face. You can't go after them the way Nathan could, but you could do some research, right?
"Send the information," You grit out.
"It's too sensitive to send."
Fuckssake.
"...I'll send an address and time," You manage before snapping the phone shut.
You stare at the phone for a few moments, braced as if it'll explode.
When the man doesn't call back, you push out a soft, relieved breath.
Alright, you need somewhere you can meet whoever this is—somewhere you know the terrain, have the upper hand.
You may have once promised Nathan that you'd never go back to the Narrows without him, but he isn't there.
You are. You need answers.
Whatever this person has might lead you to Nathan.
But how the hell are you going to turn up without revealing who you are to...Whoever this is?
--
Nathan's armor is too heavy for you.
You're not in bad shape, but Nathan is strong in a way that you aren't.
You can pair down...Can't you?
You don't need all of the armor. If you play this right, whatever this meeting is won't end in conflict.
But you have a bigger problem than the armor.
You can't growl all night. That little bit in the bedroom hurt, and you'll never get away sounding the way you did in person.
You look around the lab, trying to cobble your thoughts together.
The helmet. You'll start with the helmet.
You'll need to adjust the design to include a voice modulator.
Okay. You can do this.
You've sent the C.G. contact an address and a time. You'll meet with him at five to midnight. You have eight hours.
You need to make the voice modulator first.
Once that's done, you'll go through the cave and see if any of the lighter kevlar that you designed and ordered is still there.
You're not as worried about covering your legs, but your arms, chest, neck, and voice are what you're worried about tonight.
With any luck, this is the only iteration of this suit that you'll need, and the only time that you'll need to wear it.
Tag list: @blueeyesatnight ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @foxilayde @danniburg ; @brandyllyn ; @missredherring ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @ew-erin ; @xocalliexo ; @youngkenobilove ; @chattychell ; @lorecraft  ; @thembosapphicclown ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink
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