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red-batty · 11 months

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The Arkham Hellion: Year One

Chapter 1: The One Where Everything Worked Out (Part 3)

Characters: Connie Inviglio (oc), Dante Spectre (oc), Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow. Emril Griffith (oc, mentioned), Connie Inviglio x Jonathan Crane (slight)

Warnings: Language warning, dark themes, psychoanalysis

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: okay i know i tagged this as Crane x Connie but like it only sets the foundation for it here

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Connie stopped by her apartment first. She had thirty minutes until she had to be at the station, and she needed to feed her dog. Bilbo came bounding towards her, his fluffy tail wagging with excitement. Her shift at GCPD ran from 3 to 8, mirroring the hours she worked at Arkham, from 9 to 2. She was going to get home late tonight, so she fed Bo half of his dinner early. As she looked at her calendar in between shifts, she realized that her shift ended at 8 (way past when her parents would be enjoying dinner) and that right after she needed to get to the university for her class. A lot of her credits came from her work with the police and at the Asylum, but there were still a couple of classes that would help round out her degree and assure her future doctorate. Her class would be at nine, end at ten, she’d be home at ten thirty, and she could sleep.

Today was Thursday for Miss Caroline Inviglio, which is why she had her night class with Dr. Crane. In the morning, she’d have to get up early to attend her positive psychology class, work her shift at Arkham, but she wasn’t needed at the station on Fridays, so she instead had a lecture, a self defense class, and the evening to herself to complete school work. Saturdays had no shifts, another self defense class and a kickboxing class, but then she’d have the rest of the day. Those were the days she’d take Bilbo out for walks, go to the park or maybe visit a cemetery and leave flowers at each grave. Sundays were more classes, more lectures, another walk, and then work would resume on Monday.

Connie worked hard. She took her pills, minded her diet, and crammed as much effectiveness into her independent life as she could. Once upon a time, she was trapped with a family with animosity towards each other, surviving through mental illness and before that, living paycheck to paycheck in uncertain households. She never would have seen herself with the life that she had now. A dog, steady work, an abundance of education and the willpower and time to train her body to fight. Rest may have been limited, but she earned every bit of it, and didn’t regret the life she had.

At 3:01 pm, Connie had parked her car, and five minutes later, she had her ID on and had checked in at the front desk of the Gotham City Police Department.

"Ms. Inviglio?" a voice asked, and upon turning around Connie was faced with one of the most attractive men she had ever met.

"That's, uh, that's me." Her mind raced to keep calm, but very attractive people, men in particular, had a way of causing her common sense to falter. Women she felt more confident around, more encouraged to impress and befriend, but men were intimidating.

He had odd features, not the kind one would typically describe a perfect man- no square jaw, chiseled features, sharp nose, or piercing eyes. Quite frankly, his features could almost be described as soft, with a rounded jaw and no overly pronounced chin, thin lips and dark brown eyes. When he extended his hand for a handshake, she gripped it with a firm and confident shake, despite her trembling. The softness of his hands caught the hopeless romantic that Connie was off guard.

A tattoo of a sun or star, some design that looked pagan but she wasn't familiar with, was tattooed on the side of his neck, and delicate symbols and shapes were tattooed on the back of his hands. A large windbreaker-type coat swamped his broad shoulders, and underneath that he wore a black shirt and a gold chain. His hair was shaved on the sides and slicked back.

The man may have had gentler facial features and pianist's hands, but his time as a detective in Gotham wore him into the focused, grizzled and bitter cop before her. His eyes were dark and shadowed, and his thin lips were pulled into a hard line.

"I'm Detective Spectre; Commissioner Gordon said you'd be arriving. You're our intern?" Even his voice was pretty, and Connie struggled to compute how to maintain social etiquette.

"I'm, uhm, yup. That’s me. I’m doing criminal profiling, yknow, ha..." Her father was an attorney and before that, a soldier. She gained a lot from growing up under him, and one of them was the lift of her chin, the squaring of her shoulders and her hands resting stiffly at her side when she was faced with a superior.

The detective regarded her carefully. "I'm told you work with Dr. Griffith?"

"Yes, sir."

As the detective lead her down to her place in the forensics lab, Connie used her inhaler. Her hammering heart and nerves did not help the scratch and ache in her lungs. It confirmed a theory she had once told a friend - that attractive people were bad for her health. Once Dt. Spectre explained his expectations for her work on his case, he left, and Connie’s focus returned.

Connie did see her dad when he came by the station to receive evidence; and she also noticed how it came from the Commissioner himself. It wasn’t hard to see the truth- that Batman was involved. In almost every aspect of her life and career, he was. Maybe, she’d get to see this fable of a man for herself, but until then, she regarded him as a resource for the criminal-justice system, and kept neutral opinions on the morality of his existence. Michael and Connie exchanged a hug, and Connie apologized that she would have to miss dinner to complete her work and make it to her class. Returning home was rescheduled for Saturday, when her mother Seanna would make her famous red rice.

Work went smoothly from there. As a forensic, she assisted a witness in Dt. Spectre’s case in sketching a depiction of the criminal. If the GCPD wasn’t so understaffed, Connie wouldn’t have any involvement in forensic art, but she was more than qualified to provide the service. As the witness struggled to describe her assailant, she shook, stammered and contradicted her own statements. Connie had to calm her down repeatedly. Connie then had to write out a rough description of what kind of person would be inclined to commit certain crimes - profiling. The assailant for Spectre’s case was the most interesting, because Connie deemed him to be a complete sociopath, and what behaviors and mannerisms he’d exhibit. Once Connie submitted her report and finished up other necessary paperwork for other cases, she finished her shift at 8.

Cold barbecue pizza, feed and pet the dog, double check on the plants, grab your lanyard. Four things, just a quick stop at her apartment, and then Connie was heading out again. Leftover pizza was not the most nutritious dinner, but it would tide her over for her class. She technically didn’t need to take this class, but of all the classes that could have given her credits, this one was the most interesting. A lot of students didn’t like Dr. Crane or his class, and found him creepy, but Connie gave him the benefit of the doubt and deemed him an eccentric; additionally, in a class about fear, creepy things would inevitably be the topic of discussion.

Connie took this class despite its reputation, because understanding the psychology and behaviour centered around fear would inevitably assist her work at Arkham. It certainly helped Crane, who also worked at the asylum; his office was just down the hall from Dr. Griffith’s. She found Dr. Crane attractive in a way, but he was strange and intimidating, so it was much easier to dismiss, but she still found herself admiring him. He was dedicated to science and his work, and he had succeeded in his career. That gained her appreciation far more than his elegant features and cold blue eyes.

She made it to the campus early. After walking across the courtyard of Gotham University, going up a flight of steps and walking across the building, she found Dr. Crane’s classroom. Twenty minutes to go, and the door was closed. Not wanting to disturb her professor before he opened the door, she found a seat on the floor against the wall, and checked her phone. There were too many texts, messages, emails and notifications waiting for her; over ten hours since she was able to really check her phone, and Connie marveled at how work now distracted her from the device, and not vice versa.

Several of the messages were from Camille Gutierrez, her friend from before Connie moved to Gotham, who moved there as well pursuing her acting career. Most of it was videos that Cam found funny, and others were updates on her life. Connie took the time to respond as appropriately as she could.

“Hello, Caroline,” a voice said suddenly, and Connie jumped, jerking her eyes upward and swearing under her breath. Her gaze landed on Dr. Crane, thin and cold as always, looking down at where she sat. As her heart rate settled from the jump, Crane smiled. With one thin finger, he pushed his clear glasses up his nose, and regarded his frightened student with a remote intrigue.

“Dr. Crane!” Connie finally said once her thoughts were gathered. “Excuse my language.”

Connie stood and gathered her bag, brushing herself off and straightening her shirt.

“You’re early.”

“Traffic wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”

Connie squirmed nervously in Crane’s presence, which brought him a mild form of delight.

“No need to sit in the hall. Come inside.”

Crane turned back into the classroom, and not wishing to be disrespectful, Connie followed.

“How have you been enjoying my class, Caroline?” Crane asked as he walked to his desk. This was the most one on one discussion she had ever had with him, and her social anxiety crept in on her. She found her preferred seat in the class, a desk towards the front of the room where she could better see and hear the professor. It wasn’t directly next to Crane’s desk, but it was close enough that Crane could engage in conversation with her.

“I’m enjoying it,” she replied, clearing her throat. “I’m finding it insightful on behavior.”

“Is that so?” He hummed. “Fear, I have found, is the most potent of neurological reactions. It is stronger than any other instinct.”

“Even love?” Connie blurted, and when Crane looked up at her with an unamused expression, she regretted it.

“What good is love to survival? And don’t say reproduction, because love is not needed for that.”

“For other animals, love and reproduction coexist for a purpose, but not for humans.”

Crane adjusted his glasses once more before looking at his computer.

“Not exactly, of course,” Connie rushed to correct herself. “Love is objective and it’s not entirely known if animals feel love, except for like dogs, or maybe dolphins…”

She laughed uncomfortably under her breath and sat back, curling in on herself.

“Then tell me. Why do you suggest love?”

“It- it gives people purpose. Without purpose, there is insanity. I think, uhm, at least. This is more philosophical, though…” Connie reached for her inhaler as she cleared her throat again.

“And you think the need for purpose is stronger than fear?”

“I think without purpose, there is no reason to fear anything.”

Crane looked up at Connie again, leaning forward.

“Interesting.”

Silence fell as Connie’s mind raced and Crane studied his pupil.

“What do you love, Caroline?” Crane asked carefully, breaking the silence.

“I, uhm. I love my dog, for sure. And my family. And my friends.”

Crane rolled his eyes.

“Only living things that give you some sort of validation?”

“I love my dog because seeing it happy makes me happy.”

“You keep mentioning your dog.”

“He’s not human. And I have nothing negative to connote to him.”

“Do negative connotations negate love?”

Connie thought over all that had happened in her life, the conflict and divisions and the fighting amongst her family, the distance and grief at missing her friends, the conflict and chaos that tore at her heart for years. At that moment, her pain of the past killed her social anxiety, and she winced.

“I’d rather not go over it. My dog is just an easy example.”

Her family was a weak point, and Crane took note of that.

“Does your dog give your purpose?”

“No,” Connie replied reluctantly. “But my dog makes the pay off of work sweeter.”

“Then what gives you purpose?” Crane gave her one of those strange looks that only he seemed to give, that other students despised.

“Helping others,” Connie replied steadily. “I can’t heal the world, but there are good people who don’t deserve to be in pain all the time.”

“Like lunatics?” Crane smirked in amusement.

“Like the people of Gotham,” Connie shot back, as politely as she could. “If I can understand fear, I can help others overcome it.”

This elicited a small laugh from Crane, and he slowly removed his glasses.

“Very well.”

Other students began to arrive, and the rest of the class went on without anything unusual. She returned home, showered, took her medicine, and went to sleep. With her loyal Bernese pup curled up at her side, she felt safe, and at peace. Things were normal.

That was, until the next morning. She heard it on the news:

Harvey Dent had escaped Arkham.

Taglist: @arts-and-sharks @burnthashbrown27 comment or ask to be added to the taglist!

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katzynia · 19 hours

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Turn your dream to shame

Turn your dream to shame (3207 words) by Katzynia Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Jason Todd Additional Tags: ArkhamVerse, Whump, Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Jason Todd, Victim Blaming, (by the victim himself), Angst, Rescue, expectation of sexual assault, Hurt Jason Todd, Ambiguous/Open Ending Summary: Jason startles awake when the door closes. Pain prickles anew on his throat as the barbs of the wire push a little deeper in again. In the great scheme of things, it doesn’t matter much, but he still keeps his head lowered. Pain is inevitable but he’s in no particular hurry to meet it. Sir will do what he will, no use guessing.

***

The Jayde Agenda server's Wish granting festival fics are out! (well, the first round anyway). This is one that I made for @sandsofelsweyr

A bit different from what I normally write, and inspired by @ghost-bxrd's Mirror Casket Gen, non-shippy (yes yes, surprising for my stuff) and pretty dark (but what can one expect from Arkham verse?)

#my writings #jason todd #arkham verse #fan fiction

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traeumenvonbuechern · 12 days

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If you like The Locked Tomb, listen to these podcasts!

Where The Stars Fell:

Dr. Edison Tucker is having a very weird life. Not being able to die tends to color things that way. Lucille Kensington is the literary scene’s biggest enigma. That’s just the way she likes it. When the pair find themselves sharing a cabin in the strangest town in America— Jerusalem, OR— they’re prepared for a housemate situation from hell. What they’re not expecting is tidings of a stranger sort: Ed is the antichrist, Lucy her guardian angel, and if they can’t find a way to work together soon, the rapture is set to take first the town, then the world… but neither of them know that yet. Welcome to Jerusalem, OR, where what doesn’t kill you is just another mystery.

The creators have a whole post on why WTSF is perfect for The Locked Tomb and Griddlehark fans!

Malevolent:

Arkham Private Investigator Arthur Lester wakes up with no memory of who he is or what has happened, only a nameless, eerie voice guiding him through the darkness. Blind, terrified, and confused, his journey will lead him towards a series of mysteries in the hopes of understanding the truth of what has transpired. As cosmic horrors seep into the world around, Arthur must ask himself whether this entity truly seeks to help him, or are its intentions more… malevolent?

Dathen says it perfectly here: "The relationship between the investigator and the voice is by far the #1 sell of this story. It’s messy and ugly and beautiful and complicated and terribly, wonderfully intimate. It ended up overlapping a lot of my feelings about Harrow and Gideon, and lyctorhood in general."

Hello From The Hallowoods:

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, a cosmic narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

If you like Gideon Nav, you will love Riot Maidstone. Just look at this fanart!

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #tamsyn muir #where the stars fell #wtsf #malevolent #malevolent podcast #hello from the hallowoods #hfth

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jasontoddenthusiastt · 1 year

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I think fans want Jason to be a good person or be becoming one. To have a character that is well meaning and compassionate but decided murder is ok and to stand against main heroes who’s beliefs and actions go against the people he cares about and wants in his life. It’s confusing for people. People want their fav characters to be happy. But Jason can’t have his family’s support and follow his moral code. He’s cares about people and Gotham, and he’s an asshole who kills. It’s messy. It’s not black and white. I don’t even think Jason cares about being a good person or in the right anymore. I think he cares about what will save the most people instead.

Oh my goodness gracious I’ve been bamboozled

Batman’s definition of Good is not synonymous with absolute good/right no matter how much dc insists it is. Torture, battery/assault, surveillance, those are all condemnable actions too. I won’t get into the exhausting and frankly dumb debate of comic book morality wrt killing because I’ve already reblogged plenty of posts from other people who explained my thoughts on the matter far better than I ever have the patience to sit down and articulate. I also just think the notion that there’s something to be done about fictional characters who kill nazis and senseless murderers is stupid. Jason’s point is that the “main” heroes’ sanitized definition of right has its unaddressed holes and flaws which ultimately result in more preventable fatalities, and that he’ll work to correct those missing spots.

He doesn’t not care about doing what’s right. What he doesn’t care about (at least during his Winick characterization) is whether Batman thinks he’s right or wrong, because he sees the flaws in Batman’s methodology (and since he has a mind of his own). Batman’s methods alone cannot address Arkham’s revolving door and the rogues that come and go through those doors who have no intention (or capability from the doylist pov) of ever changing or undergoing redemption. Jason knows that he’s minimizing the number of preventable deaths by killing his targets, typically Characters Who Simply Do Fucked Up Shit Just Because, Why The Fuck Not?

Secondly, Jason is compassionate … to a fault. That was his fatal flaw. If he wasn’t so hell-bent on saving his potential birth mother he just met from that bomb despite everything she did to him prior, he could have protected himself instead, however slim his odds of survival were. What about his relationship with his other parents? He was a caregiver during his early childhood years for Catherine, until her death. Even mature adults who are financially stable find being a caregiver to a dying parent to be extremely burdensome on their bodies and minds, but he never complained about it or resented Catherine for being unable to care for him. Despite how none of his parents have really been what he needed them to be, he doesn’t blame them for their failings, and even continues to think highly of them (Bruce included).

And post-death? Enter Lost Days. Despite being dead set on plotting his revenge on Bruce, he constantly sidelines this in order to save other victims who are helpless like he once was. His own anger, trauma, and mission don’t remain his priority. (Sound familiar? Something something my own trauma above my son’s, mission above all else, etc.). Why would he waste precious time and risk his own life to do this if he wasn’t empathetic towards these victims or didn’t care about doing the right thing. He is simultaneously horribly traumatized and full of rage, and also incapable of ignoring what’s happening to victims around him (even as he claims that it’s indeed not his priority). And in that same vein, the entire premise of his rebirth outlaws run was that he doesn’t care if the public views him as a villain, an outlaw, so long as he can protect Gotham. And anyway where is this portrayal of him not caring about being in the right anymore. Almost every modern Jason story is about him grappling with where he stands with Bruce/Batman. During the early 2000s was probably the last time he did not care (hello, tentatodd??).

Jason has very evidently been portrayed as a kind and compassionate character. He is also simultaneously a calculated killer who doesn’t hesitate to kill when he deems necessary, and does so without remorse. It’s called being a Complex Character With An Edge™ that as you said, people so often claim to love. However when he fulfills that latter part, that seems to upset people because “killing bad”, and they then try to shave off and round out all his edges and claim he shouldn’t be that angry. In that case I guess you should just stick to liking traditional one-dimensional characters instead of claiming to like Jason but then encouraging his character assassination attempt by dc. Lol.

Lastly, who said anything about the batfam making Jason happy? Just because he’s written nowadays to want acceptance from Bruce (a shoddy attempt at forcing a non-existent nuclear batfamily), doesn’t mean that it’s a sound decision or that it does his character justice. I certainly don’t empathize with the idea that Jason needs the family’s approval or acceptance to be happy. (And anyway he has enough outlets for angst and pain aside from the batfam hello explore his other sources of trauma and do more deep dives into how he thinks when he’s alone). I don’t want them to magically make up and become one big happy family. This is not disney Lol. Besides, there are plenty of stories from dc that have that type of “wholesome” (hate that word utilization) characterization for Jason (Li’l Gotham, Tiny Titans, wfa, and even new stuff like the brave and the bold mini) and that is sufficient imo. Jason fans who are invested in the character deserve accurate, nuanced characterization and well-written stories, whether they be from his robin days (e.g., Batman: The Cult) or as red hood.

#fellas. ya know what else is wholesome? avenging your own death #you can have moments of ‘reconciliation’ or peace but still maintain a strained relationship which is far more realistic #‘he’s an asshole that kills’ and Bruce is an asshole who doesn’t kill. lol.#you can’t claim Jason’s conflicted and disturbed but go on to say Bruce is perfectly sane those two are mutually exclusive #also please realize that a character acting out of anger does not mean they lack compassion.#implying that he doesn’t care about doing the right thing is saying the same thing that person said;#that he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing. that he hasn’t thought through his moral stance.#‘Jason didn’t put any thought into anything he did in utrh he’s just a poor mentally ill lost soul who needs the batfam’s love to heal 💔’#🤝#‘jokers just a poor victim of society 😔 he just needs someone to understand him and maybe one day he’ll heal and realize he’s wrong’#what they both have in common is that they’re misunderstood in opposite directions #the joker doesn’t have a point to prove. there’s no deeper meaning behind what he does. everything is a joke to him.#he isn’t unaware of right vs wrong lmfao #jason todd #dc #asks #my post #and I think you’re implying that he’s utilitarian based on that last part but I don’t think he is #user mintacle posted a few metas regarding that and again they explain it much better than I prob could #anyway it isn’t difficult to understand his character if you know why you like him and you actually read his stories #that post specifically was from someone who clearly said they did not read the comic so. technically they’re on their own wavelength #edit: grammar

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chiyana · 2 months

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I am writing a fan fiction because I'm trying to purge some feelings after playing through Arkham Knight, and I'm using a Tim who's more in line with comic!Tim who teams up with Jason in the end, which involves bringing Jason's civilian identity back to life, which has lead to me writing this:

"Amnesia?" Jason asks, and he hates how his voice is going kind of whiny and shrill but what the fuck?! "You want to give me amnesia?!"

"Unless you want to come up with a list of reasons as to why you didn't try to contact Bruce in the intervening five years and change after being held hostage by pirates, yes, Jason, I want to give you amnesia."

Tim is fun to write :)

#tim drake #jason todd #arkhamverse #arkham knight #I should probably post this #it's going to be a bit rough but you know what #I'm having a good time #I added Ghost and Soap from Call of Duty #and some of the others #for funsies #what is a bat but a miserable pile of identity issues

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yaztheangel · 1 year

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I, Edward Nigma, The Riddler, am better than you.

I drew Arkham Knight Riddler! Fan-Art for my new fan-fiction! Check it out!💚—> Most Wanted <—💚

#artist #my art #arkham knight #the riddler #edward nygma #edward nigma x reader #edward nashton #arkham edward nigma #arkham riddler #riddler x you #batman

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futurefamousdeadmusician · 2 months

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Sibling prompt ideas?

Friends and Foes,

I am in a little bit of a rut when it comes to prompt ideas. I'm interested in working on a sibling/ step-sibling fic for any of Cillian's characters. Idk why that dynamic is easier for me to write than any other, so I'm sticking to it. Please drop any and all prompt ideas below or send them in anonymously.

A million thanks. X

#cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #cillian murphy fanfic #arkham fan fiction #cillian murphy x reader

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crypticpawpoems · 2 months

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Before You Go

One more time One more joke One more laugh One more kiss before you go

One more bullet One more bomb One more murder One more moment to share before you go

One more plan One more idea One more explosion One more scheme to act out before you go

One more fight One more word One more slap One more chance to say I love you before you go

But I never had that chance

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Follow on TikTok @crypticpaw.official

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mad-scientist-enthusiast · 11 months

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My last post has reminded me of something that I honestly forgot was a thing.

Malevolent fans... I love you all dearly. I am a fellow Malevolent fan myself. But you guys do know this podcast is based off of books, right? Like yes technically the story goes in the direction the Patreon chooses, but the locations, the symbols, the gods and things... Are from books. This story takes place in the Cthulhu Mythos. Arkham is a fictional town from HP Lovecraft's stories. Shub Niggurath is also from HP Lovecraft. So is Miskatonic University, the symbols, and so on. The King in Yellow wasn't originally created by HP Lovecraft, but was instead part of the Yellow Mythos written by Robert Chambers. The character Hastur (the King in Yellow) and his lore was then adopted into the Cthulhu Mythos and I think he's actually like Cthulhu's half brother or something now.

But like,,, The King in Yellow wasn't invented by Harlan Guthrie. You can learn more about the King in Yellow and these creatures and places by READING BOOKS. If you want more content in between Malevolent episodes, maybe go to your local library and give the source material a shot!

#this is lighthearted #definitely outing myself to people who follow me on here but don't know we're in a discord server together #malevolent #malevolent podcast #the king in yellow #hastur #cthulhu mythos #I hate HP Lovecraft as a person #but God do I love the universe he created

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alter-l-ego · 10 months

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Arkham Asylum: A House Not Sane - Chapter IV

⏪ 🦇 ⏩

This story takes place five years after Batman: Year One.

Follow my IG to support my work: @alter.l.ego

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red-batty · 11 months

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The Arkham Hellion: Year One

a preview of the fanfiction behind the (hopefully) DC comic

Every Arkham breakout made a sick feeling settle on Connie- as it did most of Gotham. It also made her angry--once someone dangerous was put in the asylum, they were supposed to stay there for good, until they were safe to be around other people--but Arkham was so poorly run that it was only really a matter of time before someone slipped through their fingers. This time, it was Harvey Dent, who since his accident preferred the title Two-Face; and because it was Two-Face specifically, she worried.

Harvey Dent was once friends with her father, when Dent was Gotham’s District Attorney, and Mr. Inviglio worked for him. Mr. and Mrs. Dent would go out to dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Inviglio, and it wasn’t uncommon for the Inviglio family to be invited to an event Dent was hosting. Mr. Dent was over ten years older than Connie, but Connie still saw him almost as a friend. She had fond memories with him in them, and with Gilda Dent, Harvey’s wife. When Dent was scarred questioning a criminal on the stand, Connie found herself worrying for her father’s friend.

And now that Dent had gone insane, and escaped the asylum he had been sentenced to, Connie found herself worrying again. She tried not to let it get to her… of all the things Two-Face would wish to pursue, her family couldn’t possibly be one. As she served herself and her loyal dog breakfast, she tried to forget how her dad had been the prosecuting attorney against Two-Face. As she grabbed her keys and head out the door, she tried to forget that Gilda might be one of his targets. As she drove through Gotham, she tried to forget that he was out there, and that something could happen at any moment.

Her positive psychology class helped boost her mood, and passed without a hitch. Afterwards, though, she was needed at Arkham. When she reached Arkham, she was forced to remember it all as she was faced with the aftermath of the breakout.

“Griffith!” she called as she entered Intensive Treatment. “What the hell happened last night?”

“I was at home, it was the damn night staff.” Griffith scowled, not so much at Connie but at the ever-incompetent system at Arkham.

“It’s always the damn night staff,” Connie grumbled under her breath. “You’d think that with us basically living out of Wayne’s pocket, the money would actually get put to some good goddamn use around here.”

“What, are you gonna take it up with Mr. Sharp?”

“Y’know, I just might.”

Griffith scoffed. “Like that’ll do any good. Save your breath, love. We’ve got to check in with the patients, see if they know anything.”

“Well?” Griffith asked, five hours later.

“They know two things,” Connie announced as she flopped into the chair across from Griffith. “‘Jack’ and ‘Shit.’ No one saw anything… they were either out of their mind, drugged to hell, on the other side of the building, or perhaps just too scared to admit anything. I’d honestly stick around, but I wanna check in at GCPD; the station is probably hell right now.”

As Connie logged out her hours, Griffith reached across, took the pen and signed it off.

“You told security everything, yeah?”

Connie raked a hand through her hair, and sighed,“Everything I could. But it's a little late to do any good, y'know?”

“Well, saying anything is worth something, eh?”

She hummed, and readjusted the bag on her shoulder.

“Ey, Inviglio?”

Connie looked up at her friend, and mentor.

“Stay safe, luv.”

An understanding silence settled in between the two, just for a beat.

“Thanks, Griffith. You too.”

Note: I hold all rights to everything I write. Any use of the names, characters, and places in my writing will be reported as theft. Do not share without credit. I do not claim any right to the names, places and characters that belong to DC Comics.

#batman fanfiction #batman rogues gallery #dc comics fanfiction #dc comics original story #dc comics oc #detective comics #batman fan comic #original character #original story #original fiction #dc comics original character #the arkham hellion #red batty

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madwomansapologist · 1 year

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fan behavior | Edward Nigma

Masterlist | Taglist | Library | More Edward Nigma | AO3

synopsis: When the Riddler send you a letter, you thought that the day of your death was near. How could you be so wrong about someone?

warnings: Arkham. he is kinda of obssessed. its fluff. convos about murder, death and violence. i swear its fluff. you will understand this later: i love poems and you can do nothing about it.

People believe that to live in Gotham is to live with fear. You once was like that. Thinking about every possibility. It was like drowning in a shallow lake. All that panic, and for nothing. Every person you did suspect, every siuation you did overthink, every sound that scared you: you were waiting for danger, prepared for it, but it never came.

Everyone shall die, all those news channels make sure that no one could forget that, but you don't know how it will happen. When. You may die because Joker didn't like your face, but you also could die because your heart couldn't take it any longer. Or you could die when you're so old that people won't even say that it was unfair, but that you needed to rest.

You were sick of living with fear. Sick of not living because of fear. Of making yourself smaller, quieter, to fit into spaces that you don't want to fit in. So you changed. You decided to be honest with your soul, and to respect that deal. You decided to live.

So you wrote a book. Not your first, not even close, but the first that wasn't fiction. A non-fiction novel about how a violent and corrupted city could kill the soul of their citizens. You told the stories that mainstream media was affraid to. About students, widowers, orphans, homeless, survivors. The stories about fear, and grief, and trauma, and hope. About dreams and nightmares. About finding your strength and losing it. About deciding life wasn't worth or finding out that it was.

And it was a best-seller. Awarded. It was... Damn. You had a good career, writing mostly romances and a little bit of fantasy, but not that good. Money, interviews, awards. You had authors you idolize saying things like "brutally frank", "a milestone of her maturity as a story teller", "disciple of Truman Capote".

It was your peak. It really was. It was everything you ever dreamed about it. You didn't need a parallel job anymore, you could just write. If it was the end of your story it would be perfect. But you didn't want it to be the end. So you tried to find a new ideia. Something that could comunicate with your soul. Something you really wanted to write.

Coming back home after a meeting with your editor and your agent, the train stopped in between stations and you made home just late a night. Gotham, right? You were scheduled to give another interview. Its a big channel, so they were preparing you for some questions that could be made.

In front of your door step you found something different. Something interesting. Its been long gone the time were writers received letters. Now, its emails. But it happened for you to receive letters at your home or at your company some few times, maybe less then five. But now you weren't facing just a letter. It was a really big emerald box, with a scarlet envelope adressed to you.

You were so naive to though it would be just a gift. You really did think it could be something from the TV show you gonna be interviewed. So, without thinking twice about it, you held the heavy box and entered your home with a bright smile.

You couldn't imagine that, but people would make sure he knew you had smiled.

First things first: you put everything on your table and prepared a hot bath. You needed that bath. That moment of relaxation. Everyone deserves that after dealing with Gotham. Smelling like roses, you wrapped yourself in a towel and went to find something to eat. You could hear your grandma screaming at you for opening the refrigerator wearing just a towel, but you were starving.

Devouring a piece of your favorite cake, you remembered about the box on your table. You took the scarlet envelope. Using a knife, you opened it.

My dearest writer,

When I overflow with words I don't have

When the candle that heat my heart starts to erase

And I ask myself in which mirror did my face get lost

I discover that lost in your words the summer is eternal

You are my North, my South, my East and my West

And because of you my madness is divinest sense

Your smile was so big. It was... so sweet. So considerate. No other channel had done something so lovely for you. This is not just a poem. With just one look you can see that those verses are references to books and poems you loved. They even saw your interviews talking about your inspirations!

The first line was a Faulkner reference. The second: Tolstoi and his wonderful Ana Karenina. Then a little bit of brazillian literature with Cecília Meireles on the third line. A clear reference to Shakespeare on the fourth. The next was a snippet of your favourite poem: Funeral Blues. And the last one, you had to think about before coming to a conclusion, was Emily Dickinson.

Smiling like a teenager, you go after the box. It was so heavy, you keep wondering what is inside it. Carefully, you put the envelope on your table and opened the emerald box. And it was... a vault. A black one, with digits to put a password. It was like in the movies, but the difference is that the keyboard has letters on it.

Looking at the open flap of the box, you noticed a yellow post-it.

First things first. It can't be that difficult, can it?

Laughting to yourself you agreed with a head movement, even tho no one was there to look at you. Of course you didn't know that a camera was recording it on the other side of the street, so that wasn't a lie. Just a silly little mistake.

First things first.

You wrote William Faulkner on the keyboard and hoped it would work. With a little click, the vault opened. And inside of it, you found another vault. Smaller this time. You quickly realized what you need do to. So you keep writing the name of the next writer, getting an even smaller vault, until the very last line of the poem dedicated to you.

When the name of Emily Dickinson was wrote, you didn't knew what to expect. Another click, the vault was now open, and inside it you found... another envelope? This was as emerald as the box. You took the letter inside it.

Arkham Asylum, Intensive Treatment Center, Cell 140D. Tomorrow.

And as easy as it came, your smile faded away. You should've know better. A emerald package. How did you not look at it and immediately notice it was made by the Riddler. "Oh, fuck."

What have you done? Did you say something about him during a interview? No. No, you didn't. What could make you a target? What you did wrong? What will he do with you?

You analyzed every vault. You must had missed something. Shouldn't his riddlers have a punishment for those who don't know the asnwers? But they were just vaults. You took his letters, looking for any subtle threat that you didn't notice before.

Why the first envelope was red? It didn't make sense. His color is green. Everything is green when it comes about him. But reading the letters again... they sound affectionate. Even now knowing that he was the one that made it, it don't seen like a threat.

He called you his dearest writer. The first few verses formed the image of someone who is not in a great moment in live. Someone that is losing hope, who can't recognize himself, who can't even put it into words. And then, this person find peace. Someone whos summer is eternal. His personal compass. Someone who made his madness seen divinest.

If he wanted to threatened you, shouldn't he write about bad things? Or even just put a bomb inside one of the vaults. And why he want to see you? But deep inside you knew that he was the only one that could asnwer those questions. The only question you should be worrying about was: will you go?

And could just stay at home. You could have purchased a one-way ticked to Metropolis. You could have run to Commissioner Gordon and beged him to call Batman. You could have done a lot of things.

But fear and curiosity would eat you whole.

You never been in Arkham before. You saw it on television, but this was way different than you could've imagined. Outside, it seen like a hauting mansion. If a ghost came from it, you wouldn't have blink an eye. But inside it... it was even worse.

Not hanted: it was inhuman. Lifeless. No one could live in a place so dark, and visceral, and threatning. You heard laughs when the guards took you to the maximum security area. You don't think someone could experience something worth a laugh on a place like this.

"Don't touch him." One of the guards told you before opening the last door. "Don't give him anything. You can get out of there anytime you want. Scream if you need help."

Glaring at the last thing between you and he, you breath in and nodded. When you entered the room, you took a few second to get used to the light. It was a white room, with a tiny white bed, white sheets and white chairs. You would go crazy with you had to stay a day there.

And chained to his bed, Riddler admired every move you made. Almost embarrased by his powerful presence, you made your way to the white chair. You couldn't do this while standing. It was weird to see him without a mask. It felt wrong. But you couldn't help but to analyze every single feature of his face. Riddler look like a normal guy. Like someone you could see at the bus stop.

"Here you are." His voice alone gave you goosebumps. "I started to think you wouldn't come over."

The sunset was a few hours ago. You recorded the interview, but all the time you were thinking about what would happen when you were in front of him. "You invited me."

"Invited?" Riddler smiled. He rubbed his tights, it was like he would start laughing just like the crazy guy you heard on the corridor. "Yes, I did. My manners: welcome to my temporary house."

"Temporary?" The smartest thing you could do was to act nice. Maybe he would put you on his good side and decided not to do anything with you. His others victims didn't have a chance to talk to him before they were murdered. But if he wants to kill, he will. Nothing you could do would change that. This probably is just a game to him. So he better be prepared because you ain't going to be scared. Never again. "You killed the major. This is your forever-home."

"That was mean," his smile didn't fade away, it just got bigger. Even his voice changed. It was almost a purr. He liked the way you talked to him? It appears like he did. "Are you scared of me? Thats why you think that I should be there until the day I die?"

"I am not scared of you. I am angry." You crossed your arms. "Why am I here? And don't say that I am here because I was invited. Why you want me here?"

Riddler was in silence for a few minutes. Not smiling anymore, he didn't even look at you. "30 seconds."

"What?"

"Thats what took you to solve my riddle." He told you. "You were smiling the whole time. Glowing. You were glowing the whole time. I could see in your eyes: the moment you read the poem you knew what it really means. Did you have fun?"

"I... did." What was going on? Why was he acting sad? "You saw me?"

"You getting home, so stressed and tired, and your smile when you found my gift. You hold it so gently. You solving it so easily, drops of water running down your body... It was a divine vision. Are you a god, by the way?"

You could felt your cheeks burning. You were only using a towel and he was seeing you. No. Not him. He is there, right in front of you, so it must have beeing one of his fans. They recorded you to show to him?

"Are you really angry with me?" He pout. "You had fun, didn't you?"

"You threatened me." Now you were uncertain of that. "You demanded me to see you today. You were spying on me."

"Threatened you? I could never do that!" He really sounded offended. "It was a gift. I spend so much time making something you would love. I watched all your interviews. Read all your favourite books. I even know your favourite color is scarlet. The color of passion. It was gift. And a invitation. And I wasn't spying on you. I was just seeing your reaction."

Now you couldn't put any words together. What does that... What does that even mean? "You won't kill me?"

"No!" Riddler punch his bed. "Oh... the things they say about writers is true. They won't understand you love them even after a love letter."

"What?" You gasped. "Love letter?"

"My dearest writer. When I overflow with words I don't have. When the candle that heat my heart starts to erase. And I ask myself in which mirror did my face get lost. I discover that lost in your words the summer is eternal. You are my North, my South, my East and my West. And because of you my madness is divinest sense."

So... you were right about it. There were nothing threatening about the letter. It all sounded so romantic when he chanted. So pure. "You... love me?"

"Most ardently."

"Jane Austen." You recognized without missing a bet. "Its another riddle?"

"No." Suddenly, he was standing. He wasn't chained anymore, they all fall to the floor. Riddler smiled. "It is a confession."

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