#there's a bunch of references in here skpskdps

[hybristoo]

Vainglorious Vigilantes

Request: “ok ok… so I was sitting there hot sauce on my tiddies and I thought of a request. So I’ve never really seen this done before and hopefully I explain this in a way you can understand because I have dumb bitch syndrome. anyways, maybe the reader could mayhaps be batman and joker ( whichever of ur choosing ) could just subtly flirt with them. And reader is just done with his shit but also flirts back. This is a mess I’m sorry LMAO! ty tho!”

Synopsis: Reader is a vigilante, and tonight, they have to protect a criminal from the [Heath Ledger] Joker. 

Words: 1’849

Protecting-Gotham-and-its-people-it’s-STUPID WHORE

Such were the words plastered on the publicity poster. However, it being defaced, both your caricature (drawn brawnier and mightier than you actually were) and pseudonym (certainly not “Stupid Whore”) were scribbled over with red sharpie. Your eyes were crudely crossed out and there was a bullet wound etched on your forehead. The dysphemism for you was written in scraggly letters. 

Perhaps you would have found this vandalization disturbing if you’d had any hand in making this poster. However, as the logo in the bottom right suggested, it was commissioned and distributed by the RGC - the Royal Gotham Coalition, where Royal is written in obnoxious cursive. A group of rich Gothamites who liked to pat themselves on their back and would rather spend money on propaganda such as this than actual improvements. 

Disturbing or not, it did tell you something about the man you were begrudgingly protecting: he was not a big fan. 

“I see you’ve found my art. Do you like it? Should I start a gallery perhaps? I have one for all you types. I’ll call it The Vainglorious Vigilantes.” 

It must be common knowledge at this point that anybody working for the Boyles must be in some way vile. That they must have some deep-rooted moral sickness. However, to say that you didn’t have a particularly negative bias towards Elijah the Nose, consigliere of the Boyle family, would be a lie. Perhaps it was his high ranking position, his ability to escape justice, or that terribly grating voice of his. Regardless, it was an understatement to say it took every nerve in your body to resist punching him right then and there. 

You glared at him, lips pulling into a tight frown.“Have you no sense of self-preservation? Gratitude?” That you had decided to defend him was beyond your own comprehension; a disjoint decision made by the angel on your shoulder.

“I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need your help,” Elijah asserted, spitting on the ground and leaning further into the leather couch. It would have been convincing if not for his bouncing leg. 

“You did ask for trouble, though,” you walked over to him, hovering above him. “Crazy fucking clown? That’s really what you decided to call the Joker? For everyone to know?” You crossed your arms. Admittedly, hearing about it had been funny. But if the guy was going to die for insulting someone, make it creative. 

“You’d do the same in my position.” He furrowed his eyebrows, a flame igniting in his eyes. “He stole our fuckin’ plans. Executing them one night before us. He’s toyin’ with us. That money was ours.” 

“No, it was the property of Gotham Jewelers. You were going to steal it.” 

Elijah released a frustrated roar, pushing himself onto his feet. First, he paced towards you, making your hands twitch towards your weapon, then he paced to the other side of the room. He continuously peaked out of his curtains, biting his nails. It was plain to anyone watching he was more nervous than he would admit despite the dozens of soldati he had stationed below.

Considering the fact that he hadn’t even locked the windows when you snuck through them, you could understand why. Was he, in what could be his last moments, introspective enough to understand his own limited intelligence was not nearly enough to protect him? (You doubted it).

Not inclined to set him at ease, you plopped yourself into the couch, only subtly looking around. You’d already rigged the room and told Elijah to dismiss every soldati in the room. You knew Joker - or at least you liked to think you did. He wasn’t crazy, he was astute. To assume him a raving madman was a one-way ticket to a broken collarbone (you spoke from experience). Although you felt the room was quite Joker proof, relax was the last thing you’d do.

You wanted to catch him and lock him up for good. Gotham deserved that much. 

And maybe that was why you decided to protect Elijah. Not in a sudden action of complete martyrdom, but to use him as bait. Or maybe, somehow, you’d grown attached to him and his complete inability to commit crimes which made your self-imposed job easier. 

One thing that could be said about Elijah was that he liked to live lavishly. His bedroom, in which you now resided, was an eclectic mix of authentic victorian and contemporary styles. It was a constant reiteration of Is-That-A-Rembrandts and That’s-Worth-More-Than-Mes. It made you frown to think it was made off the backs of Gotham’s people. 

No, it definitely wasn’t attachment to Elijah which made you stick around.

You were staring at what had to be a recreation of Klimt’s The Kiss. You weren’t exactly an art appraiser but it struck you how authentic it looked, how authentic it smelled when you got too close. 

“Ohh, Klimt. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.”

You whipped your head around, your weapon entering your grasp before you could truly process what was happening. It was disorienting, the way your courage dropped into your stomach when you saw Elijah in the Joker’s grasp. A stalemate was immediately introduced as a knife was pressed to Elijah’s jugular. He cried out, a serenade of hopelessness. 

You were less focused on Elijah’s safety and more focused on the Joker, however. But did the Joker know that? Or could you use that? Damn those indiscernible, dark eyes. 

“I didn’t know you were a man of the bible,” you hummed as you tried to glide closer, shuffling your feet. 

The Joker made a whistling sound. “I’m full of surprises, snookums.”

You resisted cringing, hiding it with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sure, snugglekins,” you breathed, your eyes flickering. Taking the chance, you kicked the coffee table separating the two of you into his shins. He was immediately thrown off balance, just enough for you to dive and grab Elijah, ragdolling him out of the Joker’s grasp. “But so am I.”

The Joker attempted to grab you, his hand leaping for your arm, but you narrowly took a step back last second, almost tripping on the couch. 

“Oh, honey-darling, you’re going to break my heart,” he cooed. 

You were both still for a moment, before he lunged at you, grabbing your shoulders and throwing you aside, attempting to break your balance. You knocked your head against his, hearing something crack - you weren’t sure if it was you or him. You were aptly disoriented when you slashed a dagger his way, only to realize he was out of reach. A punch found itself in your abdomen before you could register it was coming. 

You hunched over, gripping your stomach and letting out a hoarse cough. By the time you had oriented yourself onto your feet, the Joker had Elijah in his grasp again. 

“Is your ego so fragile you walk right into this set-up just to get this man?” You hissed. You slowly backed yourself towards the bookshelf parallel to the Joker, slipping your hand between the books. “You take me as a fool if you think I’m going to let you kill him and walk away.” You pressed the button, sending the entire house into a frenzy. The alarm set-up was hastily made, but it seemed it worked.

He made a whistling sound, his eyes glistening as he listened to the sounds of dozens of soldati moving around in the rooms surrounding them. You couldn’t hold back a smile, as if to say, your move.

“Who’s to say I’m here to kill him? Maybe I just wanted to see you,” he purred, the knife closing in on Elijah’s throat. You took a daring step forward, testing his limits. “A-ta-ta, one more step and the curtains won’t be the only red thing around here.” Did you even care? Maybe not, but if Elijah was alive what would stop him from attempting to leave? You needed to corner him and fast. 

“I, ah, yes, as I was saying,” he cleared his throat, using his free hand to comb his hair out of his face. “I wanted ta see you. Not that stupid mask of yours, hm? Let me see what’s behind all of,” he made a circular motion with his knife, pointing at your face, “that.”

“Oh yeah? Are you going to reveal what’s under all the paint, then?”

He chuckled “Unlikely.” 

You trudged towards him as he trudged backwards, despite his warnings. “Is that a no?” he hummed, watching you closely. You, on the other hand, were watching where he was going. You were hoping he was going to set off one of your traps. You didn’t say anything, trying to push him just a little further.

“That’s a shame.” You were pulled out of your focus as blood spurted onto the floor. Elijah’s blood. You were shocked - somehow you didn’t think he’d do it - not yet anyways, and there was esotericism to seeing Elijah’s limp body crumble onto the ground. He was dead. The Joker, on the other hand, was way less concerned with that. 

“Well, the party’s over,” he sighed, “You’re no fun at all, Kitten.” He continued backing away, now at a much quicker pace. He was heading for the windows. 

“You thought it would be that easy?”

“No.”

You growled, sprinting towards him. He tried to push the windows open, having opened the lock at the bottom. The brief look of confusion was too satisfying. You grabbed his collar and shoved him up against the wall. “Your reign over this city is over, Joker.” On cue, sirens appeared in the distance. “The soldati wasn’t the only thing alarmed.” 

The look on his face was indescribable. You were expecting disappointment, anger, fear even, but instead, he had this crazy look in his eyes and a grin only widened by his scars. A laugh bubbled from his throat.  “You ever played poker, Doll?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows. You had no idea how to answer. This was no doubt a part of his anticks but, you couldn’t help but listen.

“Well, in the business, we say: As long as you’ve got ‘a chip and a chair’, there’s still hope.” He let out another howling laugh. You shoved him onto the ground, moving to put him into binds when you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head. You toppled over, falling onto the ground with a thud. Your vision was a pool of colours and vague shapes. You felt how the Joker hovered over you, a blur of red, white and green filling your vision.

“You do well to remember that next time.” You tried to push yourself away, trying to orient yourself in the expanding room. The other person, Joker’s helper, who were they? Where were they? You looked around, the world remains a blur. 

The Joker grabbed your face, forcing you to turn his way, and as your vision sunk into darkness, you heard a collection of last words. “Let’s see who’s under the mask.”