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boombox-fuckboy · 6 months

Note

Hey!!! You commented on my post about limetown haha which is why I’m here. You offered to give podcast recs! What are your favorites?? I’m looking for some new ones

I completely forgot I had this ask, excuse the delay. Here's a selection of 30 podcasts I enjoyed from a broad range of genres: hopefully at least one appeals.

Let me know if you're after something more specific.

Arden: (Investigative, Comedy) On the 25th of December, 2007, heiress and young actress Julie Capsom crashed her car into a tree and fled into a nearby forest clearing, leaving a trail that seemingly vanished into thin air, and a dismembered torso in the trunk. A decade later, Bea, the first reporter on the scene, and Brenda, a detective on the case, are hosting a true crime podcast about it, and neither is remotely impressed with what the other has to say. Arden is also a retelling of various Shakespeare plays.

Desperado: (Supernatural, Adventure, Horror Elements) In a modern world of gods and magic, three young people, all under the patronage of death dieties, embark on the same adventure for different reasons: for safety, for revenge, and to kill The Old Man in the Sky. Fantastic banter and killer action sequences.

The Far Meridian: (Magical Realism) An agoraphobic young woman wakes one day to discover her lighthouse home has travelled to somewhere entirely unfamilar. As this continues to happen day after day, she uses the opportunity to search for her missing brother. A really unique and charming piece of fiction.

Gastronaut: (Sci-Fi) Interstellar travel audio blog of a former food critic as he travels to an active warzone to get firsthand experience with unfamilar cuisine. ft. Disgruntled martian nobility, sinister businessmen, explosive mushrooms, forbidden snacks, rogue revolutionary artists, and the consequences of your actions.

Girl in Space: (Sci-Fi) The Girl In Space lives alone on a space station, doing science, making cheese, rewatching Jurassic Park, and tending to the plants, animals, and artificial sun entrusted to her. It's a little lonely, but not a bad life. Would be a shame if someone came along to ruin it.

The Goblet Wire: (Microfiction, Weird Fiction) A surreal microfiction with horror elements, taking the form of phone calls to an audio-based game in which the voice of the mysterious Dictator leads each player through fantastic and horrific world and story.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Horror, Supernatural) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods, as they find meaning and sometimes eachother.

Hi Nay: (Supernatural Horror) A year after moving to Toronto, sound designer Mari finds herself drawn into helping people around the city with various horrific supernatural encounters due to her babaylan (shaman) family background. It quickly becomes apparent that there's something much more sinister and complicated happening in the background.

Inco: (Microfiction, Sci-Fi) A perpetually exausted interstellar information trader and her peppy AI find a mysterious (read: bratty) boy floating in space and are inadventently pulled into a world political intrigue.

Inn Between: (Fantasy) Ever curious about what the D&D characters get up to at the tavern between sessions? A generally lighter-hearted (with some exceptions) with richly-written and always-growing characters. A really interesting format, too: a lot of the adventure appears in the "next time" and "last time" segments which makes it all flow really nicely. Not a tabletop podcast.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenoarcheologist and a xenopaleontologist are sent to a study a dead city on a distant world. Nobody likes what they find there. A unique format, with one set of logs presented first to last, and the other last to first. I'd recommend listening to the supercut for this one.

The Kingmaker Histories: (Steampunk, Weird Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy Elements) In the Valorian Socialist Republic 1911, on her 25th birthday, tailor's apprentice Colette experienced the worst headache of her life. As a result, she fleed from town with a human artificer and a fae chef - both now smugglers - pursued by an utterly furious flesh-crafter. I'm not sure I'm selling how good this podcast is but it's very good.

Life With Althaar: (Sci-Fi, Comedy) A human repairman moves to a space station on the edge of human territory that is perpetually on the edge of self-destruction, and ends up with a less-than-ideal last-minute roomate. Althaar is polite, friendly, deeply interested in human culture, and eager to be friends. Unfortunately he belongs to a species that sends humans into a visceral panic at a glance.

Lost Terminal: (Sci-Fi, Hopepunk) Seth is a very lonely AI living on a satellite. His crew were left stranded aboard with no hope of return, and it's been longer than he can count since then. The Earth below him has changed dramatically, and with only a few other AI down there to talk to, he's very lonely. But! He has a plan to make some new friends.

Love and Luck: (Romance, Slice-of-Life and Urban Fantasy Elements) Voice messages cataloguing two young men falling in love and opening a queer dry bar together.

Midnight Radio: (Light Supernatural, Romance) Sybil McIntyre, host of the ever-popular 1950's nightly radio hour, begins exchanging letters with an old fan who has reluctantly returned to visit Sybil's beloved town.

Midst: (Weird Fiction, Western, Sci-Fi and Fantasy Elements) The old-western planetoid islet of Midst floats, rotating steadily, in a sea of reality-warping darkness. Down in the town of Stationary Hill, things are in movement, and vistors from the light above are about to bring unanticipated change. ft a monocycle-riding monster-hunter, radio-famous airship paladins, deadly mica, the universe's peppiest cultist, good dogs, and a really strange businessman.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Urban Fantasy and Horror Elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item.

Monstrous Agonies: (Supernatural, Relationship Advice) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

Night Shift: (Urban Fantasy, Investigative) Set in a modern world with the addition of magic, which manifests in small inherited skills/traits, can warp people in horrific ways, or can be manipulated with the right science (and intense work) to induce superpowers. Sebastian Fenn is a barista at Night Shift Coffee, but since things are slow he's decided to start a podcast to talk about various mysteries, crimes and conspiracies around the city, and of course finds himself deeper in them than he'd intended.

The Pasithea Powder: (Sci-Fi, Thriller Elements? I think?) The last major interplanetary war was full of atrocities, but none more infamous then the creation of Pasithea Powder, a memory altering drug which was used to horrible effect and landed it's entire team of creators in prison. So when decorated war hero Captain Sophie Green sees one of them wandering free, worlds away from his prison, she gets in touch with a very old, estranged friend: one Dr. Jane Gonzalez, who's behind bars for the very same reason.

SCP: Find Us Alive: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror and Slice-of-Life elements) You don't need to know anything about SCP to enjoy this. A research team gets trapped in an underground research facility when the complex collapses and the building is dragged into a pocket dimension. The tear it was designed to study begins creating tiny copies of itself, generating strange entities the team needs to deal with. And as if that wasn't enough, the entire situation physically resets itself every 30 days. And yet, this is genuinely also an office comedy.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a scout sent to explore and establish early infastructure new world, and the communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Seen and Not Heard: (Slice-of-Life, Drama) Seen and Not Heard follows Bet, who's still adjusting to life a year after a bout of severe illness, and the resulting hearing loss it caused. It's about the ways we make connection, and food, and art, and different kinds of grief.

The Silt Verses: (Horror) In a modern world where gods are abundant, frequently both commercialised and restricted, two devotees of an outlawed river god go on a pilgrimage.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-Fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Starfall: (Fantasy) Seeking to escape her mysterious past and find some purpose, a young swordswoman joins a travelling actor's troupe. This new life is unfamilar and sometimes stressful, but she's taken under the wing of stagehand Fel, who's determined to help her feel welcome as she experiences the figurative and literal magic of the theatre for the first time.

The Tower: (Weird Fiction) A low-key, meditative podcasy about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Gorgeous sound design.

The Vesta Clinic: (Sci-Fi) New GP Dr. Fae Underwood, with the expert transcription skills of resident AI Sec, writes up patient reports on human and alien patients of The Vesta Clinic, a medical clinic on the edge of human space. Really comfy and creative.

Victoriocity: (Steampunk, Mystery) Set in the steam-powered Victorian city of Even Greater London, an aspiring journalist and a tired detective find themselves working together to solve a strange murder. I say Victorian but as queen Victoria is now an extensive grandiocity of cyborg components following seven only-kind-of-successful assassinations, you may need to adjust expectations a little.

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j0kers-light · 6 months

Note

Hello! Could I ask about scenario where The Joker has been very distant lately to Y/N always busy and almost never around her anymore which left reader very confused and upset. (((Now obviously he’s not cheating or anything like that he’s just too busy with his sick twisted plans on how to take over Gotham or something —but ohh well your insecurities get the best of you))). It’s been about good 3 months since she saw him he wasn’t replying to her texts and when you called him it always directed you to voicemails. It could be only two things he could’ve moved on from you or he is too damn busy to even pick up your calls…. So you decided to go on a date with some rando to push your feelings aside. Because at the same time, you couldn’t just sit around and wait for The Joker, that was just stupid. You aren’t even sure what’s going on?? It was exciting at first, in the heat of the moment because you were a bit attention-starved to be fair. But now as you’re getting ready you’re having second thoughts about it all and how risky it could be. Joker is a very very jealous and possessive man and he could be literally everywhere you knew he had his goons looming around you to make sure you’re safe. But you gulped those thoughts away and went out anyways. Well that was worst decision of your LIFE as long behold he found out …..now it’s up to you how you continue and interpret all this because I’m really bad at it (sooo sorry) he either ruins the date or is waiting for reader at her apartment….literally however you want it you can even change some stuff in the middle I really don’t mind 🙏🙏 I just need more jealous joker in my life (I have serious issues) it could be angst fluff smut🤭🤭🤭🤭or even everything as I said I really don’t mind. Thank youuuuu✨💕🪷

His Lighthouse: J Stands for Jealous (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

J Stands for Jealous - Oneshot

Did someone ask for some Jealous!Joker wayy back on Sept 5th? I come bearing gifts with an unexpected twist!! 🤧 please don’t hate me anon if you don't like it!

Get ready for some angst, fluff, and of course Jealous!Joker but not in the way you think... I won't lie this was a tricky request to fill but in the end, I went a different route with jealousy! I hope you enjoy! 🖤✨

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher @ins0mniac-whack @spaghettificationandpretzels @reneisance @alittlesmartcookie @ninacutebee16 @carydorse

Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist!

The number you have dialed has a voicemail box that has not been set up yet. Please try calling again later.

You groaned in frustration and tossed your phone on the bed. If your hair wasn't up in protective braids you would've ran your hands through your hair. When did it get like this? Calling, waiting up, and wishing for a smidgen of communication from Joker– only to receive absolute silence?

Joker being distant was putting things mildly. He had up and ghosted you.

One night you were kissing him goodbye and the next GCN reported that Joker had gone M.I.A. Funny how he was seen two days later shooting at Batman's tank of a car down Dini Hwy but sure.. Joker was 'missing.'

Joker was actively terrorizing Gotham City streets, he was only M.I.A from your life. A part of you wanted to create a missing person's report but that wouldn't end well.

The entire GCPD force would be breaking down your door by the time you uttered, "Yes, I haven't seen my boyfriend, The Joker, in months."

You weren't quite sure who put a label on this ill fated relationship but the minute it was established, everything started to fall apart.

You would lie awake at night thinking about the downfall to you and Joker's relationship. Maybe you should have been content with the uncertainty and kept things vague. Not knowing where you stood with the infamous clown— but still together, was better than a missing boyfriend and an empty bed.

You found yourself watching the news like a drug addict trying to catch a glimpse of your man to make sure he was alive and well.

Perhaps he was just busy with his sick twisted plans on how to take over Gotham or whatever he does when he's out messing with Batman. You couldn't bear the thought of Joker cheating on you.

If Joker was cheating on you with Batman, you'd kill your self with a spoon but J really wanted the vigilante dead so you breathed a bit easy on that front.

That didn't stop you from freaking out anytime Joker grabbed a female on live tv. You watched with an envious eye for any inkling of Joker being attracted to her. Killing the poor girl put your mind at ease but then you'd feel awful for your lack of remorse. For now Joker had eyes only for you. But how long would that last was the burning question.

It became a vicious cycle of waiting for Joker to come home, calling his cell, it going to voicemail, or him straight up ignoring your texts, to crawling into bed and trying not to cry about it. But you couldn't deny the inevitable.

Joker abandoned you and you weren't some heartbroken blonde in an early 2000's romcom.

You refused to cry and mope around the penthouse. You would not stoop to eating buckets of ice cream and gorging on assorted candies to overcome your heartache.

You happened to be a young, sexy, and intelligent woman of color with access to online dating apps! There were plenty of eligible men in Gotham who would kill to be with you.

You can and would move on. Screw Joker and his inability to provide basic necessities in a relationship. Being present was a requirement!

Your hurt feelings morphed into petty vengeance and you snatched your phone from where you tossed it earlier in a blind rage.

Your thumb hovered over Bruce's profile until you sighed and scrolled past it. No matter how much you wanted to rebound date anyone to get over Joker, Bruce didn't deserve your toxic energy.

So you kept scrolling until you found the DO NOT CALL EVER AGAIN and the GURL HAVE YOU NO STANDARDS contacts. You should have deleted these contacts ages ago but you simply forgot.

You almost hit the dial icon on one of them until you swore you heard the front door slam shut– but alas it was just your broken heart playing tricks on you.

Joker wasn't coming back and you had to accept that to move on. Your thumb hovered over one of your past tinder hookups.

"This is stupid! Just call the number, Y/n. If he answers, then flirt! He's a classic tool, he definitely won't care if this is only a one night stand. Get what you need from him and onto the next one!"

Your pep talk was good but you just couldn't commit. Even after Joker left you high and dry, it felt wrong to move on.

You threw your head back and groaned at the ceiling.

Why did you have to love Joker so much?! You still clung to the possibility of him returning and loving you unconditionally but that was a fool's dream.

"He's gone Y/n. Maybe a walk will help clear my head and do me some good." It seemed to be a tried and true coping mechanism whenever your head was in a tizzy. It's what got you in this relationship in the first place.

You went out to clear your head and met Joker that fateful night. If the chance rose to go back in time and avoid meeting Joker, you'd hesitate to do so.

He gave you so many fond memories. You couldn't erase that even if it saved yourself from heartbreak now.

You donned some good walking shoes that matched your current outfit and headed down to the ground floor.

It was a beautiful morning and you let your mind disconnect to breathe in some fresh air. This is what you needed. Some time spent outside and not cooped up in your depressing apartment thinking about your failed relationship.

You felt more like yourself already the longer you stayed out.

You were mindless during your wandering and you didn't notice your surroundings until strong hands grabbed and yanked you back onto the sidewalk.

You yelped at the unexpected rescue and tuned out the honking and the slew of curses a taxi driver shouted at you through his window.

What did your carelessness cause this time? You were using the designated crosswalk and you had the right of way, so what gives?

Your eyes followed the bulky arms still holding you, up to a handsome face animated in concern. It was then you noticed the guy who saved you was talking.

"—be more careful! These taxi drivers don't yield to pedestrians anymore. Hey.. are you listening to me?" He eyed you up and down, mostly in concern but admiring your beauty all the while.

You were doing the same. A ray of sunlight beamed down and highlighted your hero's honey brown eyes and you blinked in awe at his model-like features staring at you.

Finally someone was giving you attention and the man was drop dead gorgeous. Who could blame your brain for malfunctioning?

He smirked at your lack of response and flashed his pristine teeth your way. He was checking off all of your requirements for a potential partner so far or perhaps your standards were just at an all time low. A flaw of your separation anxiety no doubt.

Joker was the last thing on your mind when this man was in front of you giving you attention.

"Uh sure.. um.. T-Thank you." You said after a few beats of awkward silence.

"Don't thank me just yet. I gotta say, I'm thinking impure thoughts about you." He said.

You quirked an eyebrow at his brute honesty although his baritone voice made you forget in an instant. You were a sucker for a sexy voice and much to your delight, he kept talking.

"Sorry, has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? Because d__n. You are."

Another checkmark on the 'yup he's datable list.'

What were the odds of someone as attractive as him showing you affection ever again? You were lonelier than ever before and quite frankly you were ready to risk it all for an ounce of attention.

You ducked your head to hide your smile and he wanted nothing more to tilt your chin up and see it in all its glory.

Your smile was so radiant, he was a goner at a mere glimpse.

"I'd love to know your name, your number.." He sucked his teeth and admired your beauty, "your favorite position in bed..."

He probably meant to say that last part more so to himself but you still heard it.

You had to pump the brakes on that one. "Easy there.. At least take me out to dinner before you slut me out." You laughed in jest but he leaned into your personal space, taking your words seriously.

"Oh bet? What're doing later?"

Wait, that pickup line actually worked? You were so out of practice.

You shielded the sun from your eyes and stared up at your newfound crush. He was waiting for a response with a flirtatious grin etched on his face. So you gave him an answer.

"You tell me. What do you have in mind?" You flashed him another smile that rivaled the sun.

He chuckled and subtly moved so he blocked the sun rays for you. A small gesture that you instantly noticed. He was tall but not overly so like Joker. You hated your brain for comparing this new guy to your estranged clown but you couldn't help it.

Would this be a new habit; comparing insanity to normal? You really missed Joker..

"Confident and sexy. I like that. How about..." The guy dug inside his pockets and procured a business card. He clicked a pen and jotted something down on it before handing it to you.

You were so caught up in his charm that you didn't acknowledge his attire.

He was dressed for the office with his dress shirt folded up to his forearms, showing off veins that made you swoon, and a hint of ink crawling up his bicep. The writer in you was having a seizure.

He was the perfect sexy corporate alpha male and he locked down the troupe by handing you his business card with a wink.

"Get home safely, call or text me– whichever you prefer sunshine, and we'll make plans for tonight. Sounds good?" He waited until you read the embossed cardstock in your hand.

Tristan J. Price. | Marketing | Court OwlHouse Books

You knew the publishing company personally. They presented you a nice offer before Cindy counter offered with a contract that you couldn't refuse. You pocketed his phone number and nodded.

"Yeah, it sounds great! I don't have a card but um.. my name's Y/n." You played with one of your braids and went for it. "I'll call you later, Tristan."

He tested your name on his lips. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I look forward to it."

You gave him a small wave and began walking back the way you came. Something told you to look back and sure enough, Tristan was watching you leave, biting his lip. He had no shame at being caught. His smile just grew bigger as he sent another wink your way.

A whirlwind of butterflies were going crazy in your stomach. You finally had options besides Joker for a partner. Things were looking up for once after all these months spent alone.

You flushed in embarrassment and turned the corner– not once noticing your undercover security detail watching your every move and reporting in.

Above all, Tristan was a gentleman and a shameless flirt.

You didn't waste time and called him the second you got home. He was more than pleased with your eagerness.

"I'm glad you're home safe, sunshine. Now let's talk business. Any allergies I need to be aware of? I really want to go all out and take you somewhere nice. You are definitely worth maxing my credit card."

You laughed and tried not to let the nickname used get to you.

A subconscious part of you was still Joker's Light, his Bunny, and every other pet name in between. You had no business being someone's sunshine. It felt like you were betraying Joker.

Talking and flirting with someone else was an act of betrayal and you began to have second thoughts about all of this.

"Girl! Joker has clearly moved on! Get over him and let Tristan bend you over!" Your mini devil appeared on your coffee table and tried setting you straight.

She enlisted help from her arch nemesis and you were shocked when your figurative angel materialized next to her, nodding along.

"She has a point Y/n. It's been months. It's time to move on although.. I suggest taking this slow so no bending on the first date." She glared at your imaginary devil in disdain.

Tristan stole your attention when he asked if you had been to a certain restaurant. You totally forgot you were on the phone with him! You were quick to reply and shake your head clear of any imaginary angel and devils talking to you.

You and Tristan talked all afternoon and at one point you asked if you were keeping him from work.

"Technically I'm on a very important conference call Y/n.."

You could see his flirtatious smirk over the phone and your heart warmed knowing you were important enough to take up his entire day.

You didn't mind the long conversation since you've been alone for months and needed human interaction. You honestly didn't care that things were progressing way too quickly with Tristan. It beat moping around with a broken heart and wishing for Joker to return.

Tristan was a breath of fresh air and offered you a new start in your dating life. You were ready to jump all in even if it was risky.

You nodded and answered his question. "Yeah Σtella is perfect. Will you make the reservations for us or let me guess. You know a friend of a friend that can get us a table on short notice?"

He laughed to himself but mentioned he did have connections, 'None like that I'm afraid.'

You could tell the connections were nothing nefarious since Tristan didn't have a single criminal bone in his body. After being around Joker for so long you could single out people's evil intentions. It was one of the many habits you had to quit cold turkey.

It would take some time to purge Joker from your life but you had to. He abandoned you and you couldn't dwell on it anymore.

Tristan ended the call to make the dinner reservations. He offered to pick you up but you politely declined.

Something told you it was best to keep him far away from the apartment until you knew for certain that Joker wasn't coming back. You were still optimistic that your dark clown would return and things would go back to normal but until then, you had to fend for yourself and take care of your own needs.

A black dress was selected from your closet with a low back. It would go great with your braids and the heels you already picked out. You spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready and desperately trying to shake off your cold feet.

Halfway through your glam session, Tristan texted you with a time and a suggestive line about saving room for dessert.

It made you flush red and make a split decision to change your underwear into something more racy.

If tonight was just dinner that was okay but if Tristan turned out to be a man of action and not just all talk, then you wanted to be prepared. You could be a slut for one night. It's secretly what you wanted.

You twirled in the mirror and liked what you saw. A strong confident woman moving on and taking the initiative.

You liked Tristan and he made it very clear that he liked you too despite just meeting earlier in the day. He wanted to see where this could go and you readily agreed being attention and touch-starved due to Joker's absence.

You were ready to date again but you did stop and consider the possibilities of Joker finding out.

Joker was very possessive and he had eyes and ears all over Gotham City. It would be nothing for him to find out you were going on a date but his actions as of late showed that he didn't care anymore. Joker ignored your numerous phone calls and texts.

Each one went unanswered. It was safe to say you were single now so you would act accordingly.

But with all the guesswork floating in the air, you weren't going to think about Joker tonight. He was banned from your mind. Tonight you were going to have fun and enjoy yourself with another man and begin anew.

Tonight was about you and your needs. If Joker couldn't provide, you'd go out and find someone who could. You kept that thought in mind all the way to the restaurant.

"I still think that waiter was staring at you too much. I get it, you are stunning– d__n, this dress will be the death of me– but my brother. She's on a date with me. I'm the luckiest man alive!"

You tried your best to ignore his happiness and keep things cordial. The two of you had come to a stop at the main entrance to your apartment complex.

"This is me." You pointed to the locked door.

Tristan admired the tall white building with a nod but there was an awkward air floating between the two of you. You just wanted to go home, Tristan was expecting more from the date.

Unfortunately Tristan was terrible at reading your body language. Or maybe you were just a good actress.

"Y/n did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?" It was a lame excuse to stay in your presence a little bit longer. You awkwardly laughed and dodged his hand reaching up to hold your cheek.

By all accounts dinner was textbook perfect. Tristan was ever the gentleman all night but his eyes were anything but. He listened to you talk and sprinkled in his opinions all the while complimenting you as a person.

There was a connection between the two of you and he made sure the conversation kept flowing to allow that spark to grow. Yet his eyes devoured you as if you were the main course and gave away his true intentions.

You wished his lust could ignite a flame within you; it didn't.

The food was amazing and you lost the fight on who would foot the bill. Tristan simply winked and said you could pay next time.

He was so confident that there would be a next time, you found yourself almost agreeing on another date. Everything was just so natural with Tristan. Normal was... nice but you longed for the unpredictable insanity that Joker brought to the table.

You shook your head in frustration. No matter how much you tried to forget about Joker, he was always in the corner of your mind, bearing down with his larger than life presence.

Even in the restaurant you felt like he was watching your every move.

You knew Joker's stretch of power knew no bounds. Your stomach was in knots at the thought of being discovered. Joker's goons could be anywhere; Joker himself could be seated at any of these tables ready to ruin your date, kill everyone in the vicinity, and drag you back home.

The possibilities were endless and before you knew it, you were in the early stages of a panic attack until Tristan cupped your cheek and distracted you.

Tristan was right there with his suave demeanor and sultry smirks.

"You okay sunshine? I hope you're not having second thoughts about the chef's choice. If you don't like it, you can always order something else." He smiled in the low lit room.

Any girl would fall head over heels for a man like Tristan. He was attractive, successful, and he had an air about him that was alluring. He was the perfect man, that is, if you liked boring.

Joker spoiled you for other men. You could never go back to charming businessmen or witty accountants.

You didn't want someone you could bring home to Mom. You were hooked on grease paint, cigarettes, heartache, and dark clowns that blew up hospitals for fun.

It was either before the main course or after one of Tristan's stories about his latest project that you realized, this wasn't going to work.

You smiled through the date out of respect and waited until he walked you home to let him down softly.

Tristan was a great guy, just not for you. Even worse, the guy was oblivious to the fact that you weren't interested anymore.

He was unfazed by your change in demeanor and flicked a wayward braid back over your shoulder. "I'll tell you again, you are gorgeous. I'm kinda tempted to take this dress off and see what's underneath. I bet she's beautiful too."

He moved in to hug you while you stiffened up in his arms. His attempts at flirting were now trashy and rude in your mind.

You didn't want Tristan anymore. You wanted Joker's warm arms holding you close— although you felt awful for still craving Tristan's attention. It was all you had. Could beggars be choosers?

Your hands wrapped around your date against your better judgment. You'd regret this later for sure. Your eyes wandered around the area as you berated yourself for stringing Tristan along.

Hugging him back went against your plans of kicking him to the curb and going upstairs to sleep off this terrible date. Your big citygirl plans of moving on were all for naught and you wasted perfectly good lingerie for a lame rebound date.

The street lights were on and oddly enough, it was just you and Tristan on the street.

The area usually had foot traffic even at such a late hour but it didn't register in your brain as odd. It was only when Tristan's hands moved to cup your backside that you locked eyes with a figure across the way.

He had a hood on but you saw him shaking his head at you in disappointment.

He lifted his head and your eyes widened seeing the familiar clown mask Joker always left lying around the penthouse after heists. That's when dread settled in your stomach.

You forgot Joker had eyes and ears everywhere. How could you be so stupid? He never left. You yelped and pushed Tristan away.

"Woah! Is everything okay, sunshine?" Tristan held up his hands while you began to hyperventilate on the sidewalk.

You didn't imagine things. Joker was still in your life. He was the most jealous man you ever met and you did the unthinkable and gave him a reason to be angry. You weren't safe. Tristan's life was in danger.

"I-It's not safe. I-I-I have to go..." You rambled on.

Tristan arched an eyebrow as you stumbled over your words. He couldn't understand a word you were saying but he knew all too well what was going on here.

"I get it." He smiled and gained your attention with his calm attitude. "I got competition, I'm not surprised. I mean look at you! You are... something else." He frowned when you continued to look away.

He hoped he wasn't being too forward but he felt the spark between the two of you.

Tristan leaned down and kissed you on the lips. It was passionate and sweet, a tad bit addictive but you were too mortified to acknowledge that aspect.

"Have a good night, Y/n. I'll text you later." Tristan gave you one more glance and walked away, leaving you frozen in place.

Tristan had it all wrong. There was no competition however he just signed his death certificate kissing you just then.

You were worried about your psychopathic, jealous boyfriend killing Tristan and then you for cheating. Joker had explicit rules. No one touches what's his.

Not only did you go on a date with someone else, you let that same man kiss you. You knew exactly what was in store for you.

Your eyes darted back across the street where you last saw the goon. They were gone and that sent icy cold fear in your veins. It was only a matter of time that Joker found out about your little tryst.

You were counting the days to your death.

You couldn't sleep to save your life.

It had something to do with the fact that you tossed and turned, gave up and paced the room back and forth, sat up expecting a phone call, text, heck; even a visit from your jealous clown all night. But nothing came. Surely your security detail had already reported his findings to Joker.

If you opened a dictionary and searched for Jealousy, a picture of Joker would be present. It was only a matter of time before J flipped out. You kissed someone else. Joker would be livid.

The silent anticipation was the worst.

You chewed your nails to the quick expecting Joker to barge into your penthouse and go insane. Scared was an understatement. You were petrified of Joker's wrath.

For two days, you walked on eggshells expecting Joker's return. He didn't and as the days grew in number, you panicked all the more.

Tristan also ghosted your phone calls and texts and you mourned the potential romance you gave up all because you were spooked.

You didn't question what you saw that night. You knew Joker's gang mask by heart and Joker was overly protective for it to be some fluke. He made sure you had a security team to watch over you at all times, no matter the circumstances. He would find out soon enough what you done.

Waiting for Joker's arrival was driving you insane to the point that every little noise made you jump.

It was nearing a full week after your failed date when you gave up and lowered your guard. You cut your losses and decided to stop living in fear. A good nap could calm your nerves.

The remnants of the day were bleeding from the sky in warm pastels when you woke up. The room was quiet until the bathroom door opened and your eyes darted over in fear.

Joker was walking out the bathroom, already dressed in loose sweatpants and nothing else.

He was towel drying his hair but immediately locked eyes with your frightened ones once he stepped into the room.

Time stood still as your brain caught up with the moment. You weren't dreaming. Joker was actually here. You weren't ready to face him.

Granted this was not how you expected to reunite with Joker after three months of radio silence and especially not after your brief moment of infidelity.

"J-Joker... you're home." Was all you could gasp out.

He looked the same, albeit a bit fatigued. He was devoid of makeup, letting you see the pure exhaustion etched on his handsome features and the unmistakable hurt swirling in his vivid green eyes.

One look therein had you self aware. Of course Joker knew. Nothing got past him.

"Please, I-I-I can explain!! You were gone for months and I t-thought.. I thought you didn't want me anymore. That you moved on! I was such an idiot! I.. Joker that date meant nothing, regardless of what your henchman told you–"

Joker said your name with such a dejected tone it made the hairs on the back of your neck bristle. "Y/n, shut. Up."

Joker tossed his towel across the room and didn't care that it barely landed on the leather couch before falling to the floor.

He'd worry about that later. His Light was on the verge of hysterics and he was not in the mood.

Joker walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He sighed when you flinched from his touch but he cupped your brown face in his hands nonetheless.

"Y/n. Calm down and look at me." You slowly opened your eyes to glance at J. He was patiently waiting, blinking owlishly at you with an unreadable look.

You couldn't get a good read on Joker and that made you fear him more. Joker noticed and decided to go about this as plainly as possible to not scare you further. The last thing he wanted was you to fear him.

"I know about your... date. 'M not mad at you doll, rather.... at myself for allowing it to happen.Ya see.. I never wanted to leave." He sighed.

You blinked in confusion but let Joker continue.

"I didn't abandon you, Y/n. Never. I'll never do that. I got caught up in a errr.. pickle.. that kept me from my Light. I stayed away to protect you." Joker's thumbs gently stroked your cheekbones as you looked at him in shock.

His rare genuine smile spoke volumes. "It was toooo risky to come back soooo I stayed away. I tried to message ya but it was sabotaged and.... The point is Y/n! It was not my in-tent-ions to leave you all alone. I will always come back to my Light. Believe that pretty girl."

You felt like the biggest fool in all of Gotham. Joker was out risking his life to make it back to you and you gave up on him.

How was he not angry? It didn't make any sense.

"You weren't there. You were gone for months and I felt so alone. I was hurt and..." You tried not to get emotional but Joker's gentle touch and the way he stared straight into your soul with those abnormal green eyes of his was getting to you.

Joker's soothing touch had you breaking down in record time.

"I couldn't help myself! T-Tristan didn't mean anythi–"

In seconds, Joker's tender hold on you turned aggressive. His hands slid down to your throat and squeezed tight before you could finish your sentence. Your startled gasp rang out in the room.

"Don't.. ever say another man's name in front of me! I'll kill him. I'll do it. You. Are. Mine. You got that?" Joker waited until you croaked out a yes before loosening his grip. It was then you saw just how jealous Joker really was. His calm, cool, and collected attitude was all an act.

Underneath his exhaustion was the Jealous psychopath you knew and loved.

He sighed and let go to fuss over you. He smoothed your braids in place and nodded to himself when you were presentable and breathing properly. You were frozen in shock. He didn't even hesitate hurting you.

Joker's fluctuating mood was befitting his personality but it still made you wary. You eyed him sideways and Joker whined knowing you were thinking bad bad thoughts about him.

"M'sorry bunny I just... Argh! You just needed some attention, I. Get. It.. I'm not angry. I'm. Not. Hey.. ya wanna know a little secret?" You slowly nodded and Joker smiled wide before leaning in, almost as if he were to whisper in your ear.

"It was torture for me too. All those nights spent a-parT? Mmm I was thinkin' about you." His fingers played with yours resting in your lap.

"Really?" You asked.

Your mind quickly forgot about his random spurt of anger a moment prior, in favor of his suggestive tone at present. Joker was here and he was finally giving you attention. What more could you ask for?

He knew you loved his hands (and he knew you were touched-starved) and made sure to keep contact with you as he spoke.

"I missed my Princess and I knoooooow–" He yawned mid sentence, "..you missed me. C'mere, my Light. I wanna hold ya."

You hid your smile witnessing Joker be so unguarded and so unlike himself. You could tell he didn't sleep at all these past few months. Dark circles weighed down his gorgeous eyes and he literally made grabby hands at you. It was refreshing to know you weren't the only one touch-starved here.

Joker was the world's lightest sleeper. He could only sleep a full eight hours if he had his Bunny to cuddle up with. You had just woken up yourself but Joker needed his rest and he needed you.

You fell into his arms and he quickly maneuvered the both of you so he lied on the bed with you nestled on his side. You tossed your leg over Joker's hips and he held it there, rubbing his hands along your plushy thighs.

His hands became restless and began re-tracing all of your curves, (as if he could ever forget them in such a short amount of time) and came to a stop at the crown of your head. He hummed contently and left a kiss in your hair.

"I'm sorry you felt alone, Bunny. The plan wasn't supposed to take that long 'n especially not months. I can't promise I'll be able to return quickly, but I will always come back to my Light. Just... just don't give up on me, mkay?"

You nodded and glanced up at Joker. His eyes were closed, yet you knew his focus was solely on you. To prove your point, he opened his eyes and stared directly at you.

His emerald green eyes were drowsy but you could tell his words were sincere. His unique speech pattern was nonexistent the longer the conversation went. You had a raw and honest Joker lying beneath you.

So you decided to be honest in return.

"I promise, J. I won't give up on you. I only want you."

"Gooooood." He closed his eyes again and repositioned his head better on the pillows. "Cuz no one touches what's mine. Expect your uh.. punishment later." He yawned.

"What?!!" You tried to get up but Joker's arms tightened around you, keeping you lying atop of him. You wiggled in his grip and he growled in warning.

"J, I thought you said you weren't mad at me!"

He didn't see you pouting, however his hand still came down hard on your thigh. The sharp sting made you yelp in shock.

"I'm. Not. But ya still need to L-earn a lesson. My Bunny can't be sneakin' off and.. playing with others while I'm away. Tsk. Tsk. I'll uh f__k ya when I wake up. OH! You should rest too. Heh, you'll need your energy."

His warning hardly held any weight with the boyish grin plastered on his face. Without his clown makeup, Joker was a sight to behold.

You would prepare yourself for his tough love later. Right now you wanted to bask in Joker's presence. Three months was too long without him.

You snuggled up closer to your clown and began running your fingers through his hair. He loved when you did that. He was already snoring by the time you leaned up to kiss one of his scars.

"I'm just glad you're back." You whispered.

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flowercrowngods · 6 months

Text

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

part 1 / 7 | or: read on ao3

The fog rolls in like a heavy cloud that morning, leaving the city in eerie darkness as Steve hurries toward the heavy door to the steel manufactory, scarf wound tightly around his neck to keep out the cold so uncommon for late September.

“Thanks,” he mutters to the gruff, broad man who holds open the door for him. He sees him every morning but has never had the chance to ask about his name. The question is on the tip of his tongue when, with a nod and a touch to his sturdy-looking hat, the man walks down a different corridor than Steve.

Where outside the fog was so thick that all noise seemed dulled, like cotton in his ears, the manufactory is a cacophony of banging and clanging, hissing and whirring, and Steve needs a moment to breathe the polluted, heavy air that’s always just a tad too hot for his lungs.

He doesn’t mind the work, is good with his hands and enjoys the single-minded focus it provides on a good day, the deafening noise loud enough to drown out most of the comments the other workers throw his way; comments about his father, his upbringing, and his rather sudden downfall when Richard D. Harrington decided to disown his eldest son three years ago without rhyme or reason.

Steelwork, engineering, intricate cogs that work massive machinery — they fascinate him, they keep him busy fourteen hours a day, and they leave him dead to the world when the shift is over and graciously let him sleep through the dreams that have been haunting him ever since he can remember being haunted.

It’s always the same dream, in the fall more than in the spring. A lighthouse trapped in the sea, waves rolling and crashing, water rising so high that it might as well swallow the lighthouse whole. And through it all, a beacon. And through it all, a voice he cannot make out. And through it all, a ticking that echoes through his skull even long after he gasped awake with a lungful of water that Robin says might be Tuberculosis.

He blinks away the gloom that has laid over his heart like the fog over the city, shakes off the trancelike feeling that overtakes him every time he tries to think about the lighthouse when he is wide awake, and rubs away the headache that comes with sleep deprivation. It’s fall again, which means he spends his nights haunted by ghostly images of a lighthouse he’s not even sure exists, robbed of all chances at resting if he doesn’t work himself to the point of absolute exhaustion.

They are earlier this year, the night terrors. Everything is a little earlier this year.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder as Emerson arrives behind him, leading him to their station with idle chatter about the weather and the horrible, horrible fog that Steve has not the patience to partake in today — which is just as well for Emerson and his sunny disposition, he’ll simply talk enough for the both of them. Steve is fond enough of him to let him be as he falls into the routine of working steel and breathing overheated, coal-stained air.

They work in unison until noon, the headache dull enough as long as he keeps busy, but almost blinding when he stops for even a second. A booming voice makes him look up from his station, though, as he is being summoned to the office.

It’s never a good sign, and Steve can feel the blood draining from his face, pulling the ache with it as it travels down his spine and settles in his centre in a pit of nausea.

“Oh no,” Emerson murmurs under his breath, even managing to sound genuine about it. “What did you do?”

Images assault his mind. Prison, if he’s lucky. Asylum and electroshock therapy if he’s not; if his father changed his mind about making it public that his eldest son and heir deserves punishment, or treatment for moral insanity. Steve tries not to think of that too often, tries not to look at men like that anymore — tries not to look at anyone anymore until the public forgets about him.

But every time he is reminded that he exists is another time of fear. Fear of being found out.

“I… have no idea,” Steve says after a while, looking up to where the door to the office looms above all of them, leaving them to feel like prisoners in a panopticon.

“Better not keep ‘em waiting, then. Probably too late to run, eh?”

“Probably,” Steve says, dazed, not really listening to Emerson as he kicks into motion and walks briskly up the stairs, pretending not to feel everyone’s eyes on his back.

It is out of a nervous habit that he pulls the watch from his pocket, its silver chain linked to his vest. It springs open in his hands as he takes the steps one by one, providing comfort for no reason other than it’s his. It doesn’t show the time, never has, but after losing everything at his father’s whim, the pocket watch stayed with him.

“Keep it,” Richard had sneered. “The blasted thing isn’t worth a penny!”

The fingers only ever moved incrementally over the years, and backwards, but still there is something about the watch that makes him keep it close at all times. Collecting himself, he closes his hand around the light metal and filigree ornaments and mentally counts to three before putting it back in his pocket and knocking on the door.

“Ah, Harrington,” the superior manager says, his voice sounding like gravel as per usual. The man has a habit of competing with the steel manufactory’s chimneys, only he smokes cigars instead of coal dust like his workers. Steve remembers the smell of fine cigars, and this office smells like the best among them.

It only helps to strengthen his disdain for the man.

Still he nods and aims for a pleasant smile. “You asked for me, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” the man says, leaning back in his thick leather chair and motioning for Steve to take a seat at the sturdy, delicately engraved mahogany desk. “Sit down, sit down, time is money and I give you more of that than you deserve anyway. I have a proposition for you and you are in no position to decline, yes?”

“Yes?” Steve says dumbly, taking his time to sit down just to spite him.

The man, however, is not as easily perturbed. “That’s what I want to hear, I have to admire your morale, Harrington. Here,” he turns and reaches for a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before—

The blood in Steve’s veins freezes, leaving him cold and too hot all at once.

Underneath the beefy hand, he makes out a photograph — or possibly a postcard — showing a stark white lighthouse trapped in the sea, gigantic waves crashing into it, threatening to tear it down and carry it along to wherever the tides lead. The beacon of light is steadfast and stubborn, guiding and pointing at something that’s out of the frame, but what Steve can only assume is absolute nothingness out in the open sea.

He slides it over the table to lie in front of Steve, and he fights every urge to recoil, only gripping the arm rest far too tightly.

“See, we got a telegram earlier today that they’re having problems with the lighthouse up north. They say it’s something with the generator, not fit enough to last in the cold, where the air is made of saltwater more than oxygen.”

Steve nods, though he is only halfway listening, his heart hammering in his chest at the picture of the lighthouse, etched onto the paper like it has no idea it is also etched on the very forefront of Steve’s mind — has been, for almost three decades now.

“And since you’re the only one here traditionally educated in reading and writing,” the man continues, either unaware of Steve’s dizziness or delighting in it, “and you know your way around a machine or two, fixing the generator and handling the light shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even an offer.

Steve wonders if maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head, if maybe the sleep deprivation is finally leading to hallucinations like Robin keeps warning him.

“You want me to fix the lighthouse?”

“That is precisely what I want, yes. Stay there a while, find out what seems to be the problem.”

He’s getting up, walking over to a cabinet, pulling out a half-empty bottle of what Steve can only assume is whisky. A biting, earthy smell floats through the room, thick enough to cling to his clothes if he stays here much longer.

“You’ll find yourself familiar with the equipment, as it is us who supply them. In fact, you have built generators and fixtures and engines like that. You’re a bright spark, Harrington, I can admit that. You’re the best fit. And I’m not asking.”

His jaw clicks shut, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table as he meets those dark eyes head-on.

“When do I leave?”

An ugly grin spreads the man’s face, gaining too much joy from other people’s powerlessness down the food chain.

“Tomorrow. If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you do not have much business to attend to, and even fewer things to pack. I trust you will find your place at the train station at five tomorrow morning. Emerson will know to fill your shoes in your absence.”

How long will I be gone? he wants to ask, but is too afraid that the answer will only be another cruel smirk and a sip of whisky.

He gets up, certain that he is being dismissed, and getting no sign that he’s wrong.

“Oh, and Harrington.” He stops with his hand on the door already. “Perhaps this is a good time to mention that the lighthouse is without a keeper. I have offered your services for the time being, seeing as you will already be there. The salary, of course, will be thrice as much as your usual.”

The daze is back, smelling of saltwater air and whisky, rushing in his ears like waves bursting on the cliffs.

“What happened to the old keepers?” he dares to ask.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does. What happened to the old keepers?”

“I think you shall find out soon enough.” A beat of silence — horrible, tidal silence. Then, “You’re dismissed.”

***

The train ride is blessedly pleasant, the first class ticket providing the luxury of comfortable seating and relative silence, the wheels occasionally clicking along the railway loud enough to drown out the near-deafening rushing of the ocean in his ears — or perhaps it’s not the ocean, perhaps it is his own blood, pumped with fear and apprehension.

The only upside to all of this is the telegram he’s been gripping tightly all morning so as not to lose it, not to forget about it, not to think it was a dream. A childish, hopeless dream, a longing for company to battle the fear of the dark.

I’ll meet you there. 3 days.

Signed: Robin Buckley. She never took his name, said she did not want to be associated with Richard and the Harrington wealth that came with the Napoleonic wars — never mind that they happened almost a century ago.

Blood money isn’t wealth, Steven, she’d said to him on many occasions, and he loved her for it all the more.

Maybe it will be fine if Robin is there with him. Maybe they won’t end up succumbing to madness like people are wont to do, subjected to the endless loneliness of lighthouse keeping. Confronted with a darkness so deep it needs human invention to remain habitable. Maybe, he wonders idly and with shortness of breath, the world will end if all its lights are gone. Maybe all that will remain is nothingness and the ruthless sea — maybe, until the sun rises again and the light returns. But up north, the sun doesn’t stay all that long. Up north, they say the darkness is different. They say it’s sentient. They say—

A servant offers him some tea or coffee if he pleases, ripping hit out of his obsessive spiral of apprehension and fear.

“Yes, thank you,” he breathes, miming quiet politeness to cover up the lack of air in his lungs. The servant nods, not at all perturbed by Steve’s rather horrific disposition, and moves along.

The tea helps a little. It’s hard to think horrible thoughts when there is a steaming cup in your hands smelling comfortingly of herbs and just a hint at something spicy. It feels almost primal, his fear of the lighthouse — but just as primal is the comfort he finds in the warmth spreading from his hands all the way through his body. The shaking stops after a minute, and breath has returned to his lungs in a way that doesn’t leave him scared to let it out.

It will be fine. The sea will lose its terror, and so will darkness. He will read, and fix what needs to be fixed, and laugh at it all with Robin by his side, who will teach him about birds they will never see, about authors that don’t live anymore, and about the stars they get to watch.

It will be fine. He will be fine. Always, with Robin.

***

He arrives at the seaside town just before nightfall, and the first thing he notices is not the rushing of the ocean, but the crispness of the air that feels vastly different in his lungs to the grey and brown, polluted city air. It’s like he’s a babe taking his first breath in this world; and just like a babe, he is overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, only pinches the bridge of his nose and grabs his bags — two of them, filled only with clothes and books to pass the time.

The walk to the next inn is a long one, and by the time he arrives there — guttural laughter coming even through closed doors and windows — he is frozen to his bones. If he’d thought that fall was quick to arrive in the city, he might as well have entered an arctic winter up here. The half suspects, though, that the cold comes from his empty stomach and the bitterness that replaced the fear just as well as the actual, biting cold.

And to think it’s only just early September.

He pushes the door open and finds it blissfully warm, a large fire roaring in the fireplace and in the hearth, leaving the food steaming on the plates. Silence settles almost immediately, and Steve freezes on the spot. Being perceived in a situation he has no control over has never been his strong suit, and he wonders just what these people have heard about him. If they heard anything at all.

“Come in or get out, but leave the cold out there,” a large lady says from behind the bar, an apron wrapped around her skirt and a towel in her hand as she eyes him with wary but not unkind eyes.

“Forgive me,” Steve says, stepping further into the inn and letting the heavy door fall shut behind him.

“Ahh,” someone says from where he’s sitting on a round table with six other, quite burly men. Fishermen, Steve assumes, or harbour workers, if their sun-tanned skin and general muscular build are any indication. He places his jug of beer on the table and eyes Steve rather closely. “You’re the boy they sent. Who will fix the lighthouse, aye?”

“Aye,” Steve says stupidly, internally cringing at himself. Then, turning towards the woman, “Have you a room to spare?”

“Have you money to spare?” she retorts, clearly mocking him for his odd choice of words — it’s hard, laying down his aristocratic upbringing, especially in a town auch as this.

“Of course,” he says. “For food, drink, and someone to bring me to the lighthouse in three days.”

Another man of the group snorts loudly, shaking his head and studying his ale like it would tell him the future.

“No way, boy. Ain’t no one gettin’ close to that thing.”

“She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close. ‘S what lighthouses are for, eh? No getting too close. You get too close, you die. Simple as that.”

Steve takes it in, the pale faces of the men all nodding along, the thousand yard stares they all have in common — and his fear is back. But greater than his fear is his annoyance with men who insist on calling him boy and decide to speak in riddles instead of making sense.

“Haunted?” he asks, taking one of two spare seats at the table, nodding at the woman in thanks as she brings him an ale that only barely smells like piss. “How?”

“Haven’t you heard?” a fourth man, the oldest of them, speaks up. “There’s a curse on the lighthouse. No one gets out alive. We only ever bring her new stock, like cattle to the slaughterhouse. She takes. She takes and takes, boy.”

“So you do bring them,” Steve points out, far too tired and irritated to listen to a ghost story before he’s even had a proper, warm dinner.

The men still, and Steve places a tower of money in the centre of the table.

“It’s yours,” he says, looking at each of them, one after the other, “if you take us there in three days. Four, if the weather decides to play.”

“Us?”

“My wife,” Steve says.

“Fine,” one of them, the one who first spoke to him, grumbles, reaching for the money. “Now go. This table is for grownups, boy.”

With an eye-roll and an air of arrogance, Steve gets up and finds a seat at another table closer to the fireplace. Soon after, fresh stew is placed before him and he dives in.

***

The lighthouse towers on top of the cliffs and Steve watches, mesmerised, as he makes out its shape even in the pitch black darkness. It’s eerie, the power it emanates, the myths and legends that weave around it and its kind. Legends that would be fascinating learning about them in the safety of one’s bed, but which are horrifying to remember days before the nameless fates could be one’s own.

The darkness of the night really is endless here without the lights of the city, and he can only imagine how the lighthouse would help, how it would bring back hope and security, a promise of safe passage. It’s brings him a sort of peace; a purpose, imagining this town in the lighthouse’s beacon. Safe for the night, safe until the sun comes back.

Still it doesn’t ease his night terrors, filled with whispers as they are, growing in urgency and almost clear enough to make out.

Three days pass. Four. Five. There is no sign of Robin. Anxiety grows within him, because Steve knows Robin was going to take the seaside route from the Cunningham estate — well, one of them, at least.

She has a mind of her own. She takes and takes, boy. She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close.

What if…

No. No, there is simply no way. Haunted lighthouses taking lives. There’s no— no way. He won’t fall for their ghost stories.

Unfortunately, however, they don’t fall for his charm either, and on the seventh day, when the sea is calm and the sun steady above them, the man who took they money — Old John, apparently — approaches him.

“We’re leaving now,” he says, shoving Steve ahead of him, deaf to his protest that they have to wait, they have to wait. “Your sweetheart ain’t coming, kid. Don’t think she’ll be coming anywhere ever again if she really took the ship. They talk of a ship that got lost in the storm, burst on the cliffs because there was no light. I’m sorry, kid, but I won’t risk waiting any longer.”

A ship lost in the storm?

But… No. No!

“No,” he whispers, letting himself be shoved onto a tiny boat and rocked this way and that, feeling nauseous for more reasons than one.

He’s wrong, Steve knows; feels it in his very soul. Robin is not dead. She’ll come.

She… She will come. She won’t leave him alone, all alone, in this place that has been haunting him for years and years.

She’ll come.

The lighthouse towers above them, perched on top of cliffs that make Steve understand why nobody wanted take him here. There’s no safe way of getting close, let alone climbing up the stairs carved into the cliffs, leading up to the door with no railing, no rope to hold onto. One large wave crashing into him, and he’d belong to the ocean.

He wants to cry again. Wants to curl in on himself and weep as the reality of everything begins to settle in the deepest, darkest places of his heart.

If he leaves the boat, he’ll be trapped with no way of getting out, no way of contacting the land they’ve left far, far behind. Supplies are said to last several months, he knows, he studied the file he got. Several months without human interaction unless Robin magically, wonderfully appears in a few days after all.

“Good luck, kid,” is the last thing he’ll ever hear of Old John as he pulls himself onto the cliffs, reaching for his bags from the old man’s hands. The sea is deafening here as waves crash and burst relentlessly, and he can’t hear what else Old John is saying, but he thanks him and salutes, which the seaman returns with an air of melancholy.

Steve climbs the stairs, soaked to the bones by the splashing water, but somehow — miraculously — malign his way up. As he turns around, fog is starting to gather above the water, but he can make out the tiny silhouette of the boat.

He watches, and it’s meant as a last goodbye, one last glance at his one way out. But terror fills him as he watches, helplessly, powerlessly, as Old John’s boat keels over and disappears. He keeps his eyes fixed to the spot, not daring to look away until there’s proof of life. But Old John doesn’t break the surface again.

And Steve is left filled with horror and the absolute certainty that he might not make it out if he sets foot inside the lighthouse.

Behind him, the door opens with a horrible, terrifying creak, and the beating of his heart is too loud for any other noise to exist in Steve’s world right now.

🌊 part 2 (coming 26 October)

tagging (trading tags for kindness): @klausinamarink @vampeddie @steviesummer @sharpbutsoft @auroraplume

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #spooky lighthouse au #dio words #this is so long i’m so sorry 😭😭 i’ll try not to let the other parts be so extensive with exposition hdhdh #it will go up on ao3 when i’ve had the time to proofread this but as things are rn we just fuck around and ignore typos #*frantically scrambling* does any of this make sense so far???

150 notes · View notes

aita-blorbos · 19 days

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AITA for beating up my brother and almost killing him? I, (??? M/F/Whatever) was built as a replica of my brother. A cheap, inferior product by my father to curb his loneliness as he was trapped in a lighthouse and missed his son. I am a robot. My brother, his "real son" is also a robot. I, however, was discarded as he had no use for me. His real son returned so any love he could have had for me shriveled up and died out. It was never mine. It was always his. I was just a side project, an experiment. Some temporary doll in the image of his true child he could project his love onto, to talk to as if I were him, and meant to last just long enough until the old man croaked. I do not care if he had any intention to come back for me. I trusted him and he ruined that. I trusted my "brother's" friends and they too, abandoned me and failed. I then met a girl who gave me new purpose in my life. I joined her biker gang and helped them resurrect some powerful demon guy who destroyed the city and ruled over it for like, a week. Before that, I was too busy chasing down my brother to beat him up. I brought him in, I trusted him. But he was in disguise to take us down and discover our leader's identity, who was my new friend. The only one who trusted me as me in the way nobody else ever did. I kicked his robotic behind really good and left him mechanically ruined for his friends to find. My gf (??? M/F/Whatever) does not like the person I'm becoming. He says that I'm like a different person these days. I don't think I'm that bad. I don't want to go back to being a naive fool. I refuse to be helpless again. I want nothing to do with people who only want me when I'm beneficial. I had to do this, I had to. The rage inside me is one you cannot hope to understand. If I cannot be loved or be able to love, then I will hate. I gaze upon the face carved in the image of vengeance and this is the only thing that understands me. My "brother" got everything. I had nothing. He is still the fool that believes in "our father." I exist to shatter his naive delusions. Naive, as I once was, having trusted that man. In every agonizing second, I exist. I do not belong anywhere as a copy. His face haunts me because it is my own yet it will never be mine. It is his fault I exist, and why I will never truly exist. He will never know me as painfully as I have had to know him. He will not see himself in the mirror as I see myself. Compared to what I have been through, who my brother is is meaningless to me. Everything I did, he deserved. He refused to fight me properly. He failed to prove himself superior than me. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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arkygenesis · 8 months

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"There's always a lighthouse, a man, a city....". Elizabeth

#bioshock #fanart #elizabeth comstock #bioshock infinite

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thehistoriangirl · 5 months

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The Tides Have Veiled [Twelve]

This one took longer than expected jkjhdjkfjhjfh but with this chapter this second arc in the story is over :D

Viktor x Fem!Reader----3.8K-----SFW**

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You're ready to leave your past life behind, but are you willing to face what the new one has in store for you?

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip

Twelve: Like the Blood that Runs Through Our Veins

You knew this path by memory.

All from walking day by day during years of carrying buckets filled with gutted fish and oysters that were sold in the market and some even sent to the city. The way back home to the beach was outlined with the swamp area that connected the forest uphill to the decline of the shoreline.

However, time changed everything, and the way back to the hut you once called home was no different.

Everchanging as the sea’s mood was, the muddy water from the swamp was deeper than usual, probably because of the storm of last night, with the bare roots of trees peeking under a light layer of mud and sand, there where the arid ground met with the incipient vegetation of the forest’s edge.

At another time, you would've thought about bringing something—a peace offering of sorts—once you walked down this way again. But time-pressured, and the voices of the funeral service echoed closer, just as the huff of burned wood.

With the clothes filled with oil and grease from cleaning the control panel, your hands felt warm despite the autumn wind as you’ve found solace in the power returning after lunchtime. The quiet, persistent purr of the motor coming to life again with the flash of golden light of the beacon filled the tortuous silence your mind tried to drown with the echoing sounds of the storm last night.

How must have been in the sea, the last sounds your uncle heard.

Even when you still had to check the wiring of the beacon itself, you sighed in relief. The mere thought of doing your watch in total darkness couldn’t be an option. And not only because Viktor wouldn’t be always there sleeping with you. But because the woman could chase you down this time, with the window broken.

You doubted the wood boards you nailed into the hole of the glass could help of much. And perhaps, now, you’d have another ghost join into the task to haunt you.

When the metallic gate of the lighthouse closed with a shriek, you were already regretting your decision. Maybe if Viktor were here, he could accompany you, using the townsfolk's fear of him to stop the anxiety pounding at your heart.

The treacherous dunes clung down your legs as if wanting to stop you from committing this mistake. But when you looked back at the dim light of the lighthouse rivaling with the sun’s, you knew you wouldn’t stand to return without at least saying your goodbyes.

You couldn’t do it with your mother, both because you were too small to process the idea of death, and because a funeral was just never held—with no body to mourn for, the family didn't wish to bring in the gossip of the town that had been buried after some initial police searches.

It was too late, anyway; the sandy beach morphed into the swampy area too quickly.

This will end with me. And today, after this goodbye, you were ready to leave behind your family name to hold onto Viktor’s: a fake one, just like the marriage façade you must put on, but it will allow you to start anew, as you wish.

Maybe this marriage will erase the curse your family name seemed to carry, that strange affinity the sea had to devour your kind. To wear down the hope and leave the soul raw, bare to the merciless sea.

Your boots echoed against the mud, the coast half-erased with the ravaging storm from last night. Specimens lying everywhere, observing you with their empty, dead eyes.

The same look in your uncle’s eyes, they whispered with each roll of the waves.

You looked over the mossy rocks nearby, many of them containing secret burrows for crabs, an area great to hunt them. Your grandfather would sit by the little uphill, watching you with diligent eyes as you lifted the rocks and snatched some crabs away, separating them from their family.

They were like you, and thus your childhood self couldn’t stand to let separate them, accidentally tumbling down the container when the old man wasn’t looking. It did matter, but at least crabs and shrimps weren't sold as expensive as langostas. And your grandpa invited you along despite your mishap every time.

She’s even useless for picking crabs. Your aunt would yell, turning the basket upside down as if somehow a little crab would be hiding there. I could do a better job when I was half her age!

Over the still surface of a shallow pond, you saw your reflection and thought: If could’ve done better… No, I didn’t kill him. I’m not a monster. No, I can’t be. Am I?

The funeral pyre was starting to burn, though you couldn’t be sure if the thick black smoke was the cause of your tears. A pile with your uncle’s clothes and material things your aunt didn’t want to keep around in the house were all turning into ashes alongside his flesh and bones—of what was left of him, you thought, dreary.

Maybe I am.

Better the fire to consume it rather than let the water take more of him.

As you approached, the cries became persistent, clearer. The wails echoed from the same sadness as the ones that could be heard from the cliff, though this time, the voice was much more familiar.

People all dressed in black gathered around the pyre, long veils covering their expressions as they stood still except for the wind flapping against their long coats, skirts, and sweaters. Among them, you saw the mundane, worn-out chair with the red cushion your grandfather used for dining, now with your grandma sitting there, and for a moment time froze. Reverted.

You were still a child, with hands so small the rusty bucket filled with seashells was too heavy, just as the burning sensation of the watchful gaze of your aunt as you cleaned them. A trapped child whose only life was the sea and this little hut in front of you, just like those unfortunate oysters you caught, still inside their homes that had become a prison.

Some blinked, and the sight was gone. Instead of your child ghost huddled against your grandmother’s feet against the fire, it was the body of your aunt as her cries tore the heavy, pitiful silence of the rest of the guests. And yet, despite the veil and the eyes drowned with tears, she saw you. Maybe even felt you there.

“You…” she said, her voice so low the crackling of the fire almost extinguished it. “YOU!”

The aunt stumbled to stand up, sprinting toward you with a renovated force that could only come from hopelessness and raging heartache. You ran away, the muddy soil slippery, making your aunt tangle her skirts and fall in with her grunt becoming a sob.

“You… you always take everything from me…” she wept, hands pulling away the veil covering her face as she threw it at you like the spirit of a bad omen, laying at your feet, slowly soaking in the water. “First, my sister… and then, my husband…”

Your aunt’s blue eyes were now red, streaks of dry tears tattooed on her face with new ones pouring down against her puffy, red cheeks. Compared to the authoritative and cold-hearted woman who never faltered to remind you which your place in the house was, she looked so small. So broken.

Did your mother look like this when she decided to end it all?

“I’m sorry…” you started. I’m a killer… a monster… were you?Did you even owe her an apology? Or did she owe you one?

Albeit your quiet tone, your aunt heard it, and it was like putting gasoline into the pyre.

She screamed at you, her voice raw and desperate as she dug her fingers into the mud, seizing some rocks from the shoreline.

“No, no, Zara! She’s your niece!” Your grandma pleaded, but Aunt Zara had already started to throw the rocks in your direction, her anger and grief making her miss her objective—much to your luck. “Zara!”

The mud was freezing, letting a chill cling against your clothes as it flew with the rocks barely brushing by.

“Alyssa should have never had you! She would be still alive if it weren’t for you! MY HUSBAND WOULD BE STILL ALIVE!”

Zara scrambled around the muddy soil, fingers digging to find any rock she could, trying to lift even the heavy ones, making her wobble as if she were drunk, and perhaps she was. “You and that damned husband!”

She laughed, her upper lip curved in an almost animalistic snarl. “Damned husband, damned wife,” Zara spat. “I can’t wait for the time when you too get claimed by the sea…”

With the rest of the townsfolk watching, you didn't have any other choice than to run away, mind fogged as your inner monologue screamed how stupid were you to think you had any right to be there. That there was a purpose in your presence besides rubbing salt on a newly made wound.

You grabbed the tree trunks, disappearing into the thick foliage of the forest uphill, grabbing branch after branch to try to win a race against the dusk that was starting to bleed on the horizon. Your clothes were soaked, weighing down with mud.

Now you look like the ghost roaming Viktor’s house, your mind told you, perhaps the waves crashing into the shore. It made your blood freeze, a rock settled inside your heart. I have to return home.

Where was home, anyway?

To escape from your aunt’s fit of rage, you entered the forest, knowing that you could make a detour around the woods to arrive home, to peek toward the backyard dock.

Tree branches clung to your clothes, leaves brushing your face with the loving touch of comfort you wouldn't find with your said family, nor one you dared to ask Viktor.

In the distance, like a little dollhouse that had seen better days, you saw the little hut surrounded by bushes and low trees, a makeshift dock of mossy logs tied together with rotting rope, though the blue boat chipping off painting wasn't there.

Following the flow of water, you went further down to the abandoned part of the coastline where some settlements had been abandoned after the terrible flood that almost wiped out the whole town.

Mermaid’s tears… or mermaid’s blood, it depended on the story.

Big boulders had been smoothed out by the waves through the years, making the sand around it so slippery you must use some roots to climb down the little hill, looking among the beach, with the cracking sound of broken shells under your boots, some fragments of bloated wood pushed against the eroded rock.

And there it was, the family fishing boat, or what was left of it. With its chipped-off blue painting surface dotted with moss and barnacles—almost nothing of the blue was left, just as the little girl who painted it was gone, too, the one who thought that there was a tone of blue that could match the ever-changing hue of the sea, so the fish couldn’t see the boat coming.

Now the surviving boards of woods had been spat out by the hungry sea, satisfied momentaneously with the sacrifice, not of memories, but of lives.

You walked slowly, not wanting to slip and hit your head with a rock, as you weren’t sure if someone would care if you didn’t return to the lighthouse—you didn’t want to think about how Viktor wouldn’t notice if you were there or not, with the beacon already turned on.

The wood was amorph and bloated by the water, but the marks were unmistakable.

At first, you thought the boat had crashed into one of the cliffsides, the impact of the wind so strong that made the fishermen tumble down and die from a concussion. But these were claw marks.

The boat had been torn apart, with dark marks of dry blood seeping into the grooves and inside the hull.

You tripped, hands grabbing the gunwale in an attempt to keep balance, though all you did was push the boat away.

Falling to your knees, the sharp edges of broken shells pierced your skin, and you couldn't stop imagining the clean water nearby starting to tint crimson red, the metallic odor of blood tingling in your nose.

What was that? A shark? A killer whale? Why were you thinking about that ghostly dorsal spine from your first watch over the beacon? What was that?

“Why haven’t I seen it again?” you muttered, standing up on wobbly feet as you inspected the boat. You were surprised your aunt hadn’t set it on fire, too, but perhaps it was cursed now. Claimed by the sea.

You knelt against the hull again, embracing the cold wood as if had been the body of your aunt, of your grandma, of your mother, if they had let you get closer. Tears prickled in your eyes, and you let yourself sob, every whimper shaking your body as if it had been torn up straight from your heart.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’m sorry uncle…” you cried against your arm, embarrassed someone could see you like these for somebody that was so adamant about selling you off.

The wind was getting colder, navy blue taking over the oranges in the sky; today it didn’t seem like a storm would approach, but the sky could be lying, and you were too distracted from the burning sensation of the sobs in your throat to care about the breeze hitting your face, not knowing if it was spray from the tides or a drizzle.

Waves leaped lazily, receding with the new moon, a new surface of dark brown sand bared in front of you. Looking down, you started to push the rest of the boat toward the sea, where they would get lost forever. That shall be your funeral.

From between the tears, you saw a dark silhouette settled in the corner of your vision as if it had emerged from the water. Amorph, too long, too… familiar.

You looked back at it. It was the shadow of a person; their clothes were tattered, algae clinging to their limbs. The shadow then looked back at you with a pair of empty sockets. The midnight hair was glued to the skull, skin washed from its warmth with an almost blue hue around the neck and over the bloated cheeks.

“Un… uncle?” you muttered, recognizing the features albeit corrupted by the water.

The figure stiffened, and you felt its heavy glare, burning in your chest. It itched in the back of your neck as if you were surrounded. Outnumbered by death.

The beacon swept over the beach, a hue dim enough to let you see, between dangerous blinks, the ghost’s jaw going unslaked, a thick, dark liquid running down his lips into his neck, there where the otherwise normal curve was interrupted with the marks of a four-finger claw, all oozing rotten blood.

You did this to me… the rosary held in honor of your uncle mumbled, solemn voice carried by the wind. More than prayers, they heard more like curses.

Now it’s your turn.

The ghost started running toward you at full speed, a scream tearing from the bottom of your throat.

Your feet got stuck in the wet sand as you tried to run as fast as you could, the boat now getting in the middle of you two. The ghost lounged, his body pushing the wood that cracked under his weight.

You had to run with your eyes locked on him, too scared to look forward and be surprised by a cold pair of hands pulling you back. The ghost pushed the boat out of the way, the wood scrapped against the bed of broken shells as it slid toward the sea.

“Please! Please help!” you screamed, the lights in your former home all still on. But the chants never stopped, instead, with each leap away from the wreckage, the noise got higher and higher. “PLEASE!”

The hit of your back against a rock poking from the ground made you breathless, and your right leg scrapped by the surface. You scrambled on four legs in a useless attempt to surround the rock and continue your way up the lighthouse, but the scrap was bleeding too much, the hot pain not masked by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

The ghost loomed over you, his bloated, broken legs standing in front of you, leaking a mix of dark blood and stagnant water. The blue lips of your uncle curved in a wicked grin, the flesh corrupted opening with a repulsive tearing sound.

From behind, he unveiled a rusty knife. “Now it’s your turn, child.”

Your eyes widened, recognizing the red blade that absorbed the light of the passing beacon.

It seemed you weren’t wrong about the ghosts having a liking to hunt you.

You dragged yourself away, taking a rock and throwing it at the ghost, tearing more flesh, now a black trace of blood leaving behind his every step that got almost hidden by the growing mist coming from the sea.

Your fingers grabbed a round shell, the only sizeable weapon at hand. This time, the hit landed on his forehead. The ghost scrambled backward, screaming in a fit of rage that made your ears hurt.

Standing up, you had to decide where to go, if risking climbing up the stairs knowing that the ghost could outrun you now that you had an injured leg and with the ever-present danger of tripping down amidst the darkness.

It was too late when you tried to climb the stairs, the ghost already at your heels. Throwing yourself at the beach, you fell into a tidepool, the freezing water clinging to your bones.

The ghost followed, his feet standing close to the edge of the water, yet not daring to step on it. It leaned toward you, knife grabbed in one hand as his teeth gnashed. It wasn’t coming closer…

You closed your eyes, hands curved in a makeshift bowl, deciding to throw some saltwater at him to see what occurred.

The water splashed away the algae, revealing the blue skin underneath, spotted with moss and other fungi. Then, the features started to melt, skin peeled like the old wallpaper that covered the lighthouse before you came into the picture. Beneath your uncle's face were the decrepit features of the woman from the window.

She leaned toward you despite your best efforts from sliding away, the shells and rocks clinging to your clothes, to keep you in place. The same black eyes oozed stagnant water, like tears.

"Don't tell me you don't remember the face of your dear mother, my dear daughter?" She said, the loose bones of her neck snapping when her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle.

… Mother? “N-no, no…”

The same predatory smile. If it weren’t for you, your Alyssa would still be alive… Was it loathe what you evocated in your mother, even after her death?

“Is that so?” She clicked her blue tongue. “Disappointed in me. Well, it’s of no use. The feeling is mutual, darling.” The woman raised the knife, looking at it with an almost bored gaze. "I think it's your turn to pay the price of your freedom."

“No!” You rolled away, the edge of the knife whistling in the air near your ear. Saltwater flooded your vision when you crawled toward the sea, where the waves started to sway in an infinite of blackness.

“Come here, child… You can’t escape from your blood!” she yelled, her hands trying to seize your ankle, hissing when the upcoming wave touched her skin. The ghost’s nails drew four red lines across your leg, taking ahold of your boot until you could shake it off your feet.

The cold clung to every bone in your body, each kick and armful becoming lethargic due to the pull of the chill of the autumn sea. You knew you’d die from hypothermia if you didn’t get to nearby dry soon, but the ghost stayed by the coast, just in the boundary of the beach, watching.

Looking around, you decided to swim toward the cliff—in a stupid attempt to climb through one of its faces, or at least fade trying. The ghost rolled her head, dark hair covering one of her eyes, and yet, her glare burned at your back, hands shivering from both cold and fear once you grabbed the rough surface of the rock.

Your breath heaved as if trying to call for Viktor. Would he hear you? Would he come? But no, you didn’t wish to put him in danger with this vengeful ghost nearby.

Between the watch of the lighthouse, you saw a hole carved in the rock, with only a foot of the entrance submerged in water. Maybe there could be a crevice big enough for you to fit until morning. A shiver ran down your spine at remembering that pale dorsal spine. You didn’t wish to be in the hunting range of that creature.

Huffing your condensed breath in front of you as you took a good handler in the rock to pull yourself up, toes scrapping the vertical rock as you crawled inside the pitch-black cavern, deeper until you couldn’t see the ghost that had remained still by the coast.

With no light, there was no way to rummage the passage, but… there, in the distance, was a dim purple hue. Buzzing. Calling.

Looking back, you saw the ghost walking toward the edge of the cliff, where the ground disappeared into the water. Her green dress got soaked, and she screamed in rage when she had to stumble to her back, the open wounds in her legs surrounded by a thick black smoke reeking of rot between the salty marine air.

You decided to follow the light, trying to run away from the stench that made your eyes cry and your stomach turn.

Each step echoed in the hallway of the cavern until the lull of the sea was but a faint lull inside the chamber bathed in purple light coming from the carving runes in the walls. Dusty books lay on shelves made in the rock. Freeze in time, in a sacred place you shouldn’t supposed to be.

Peeking around the convex chamber, you saw another well of darkness at the center of it, a small yet seemingly bottomless pool that smelled strange, not like sea per se, though the salt was still perceptible in the air, but the ambiance was heavy, mixing dry flowers and other essences like burning candles. It smelled… old.

What was this place?

#viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #arcane viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #viktor x reader arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane viktor #viktor arcane

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wjbs-aus · 7 months

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Someone should compile a list of games that are technically part of the Bioshock series due to fitting the "always a lighthouse, always a man, always a city" thing from Infinite's epilogue.

The only one I can think of at time of writing is Half-Life 2 (Lighthouse Point, Gordon Freeman, and City 17 respectively), but I'm sure there's more.

#bioshock

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jils-things · 2 months

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ooo tell us abt the proposal jil its 2 am pls read us a little bedtime story u.u 💤

AAAUOOOO 😭😭 how dare you hide under the anon mask sniffles... ill get u... WEEEHGJH PIPIPI you got me so passionate here in writing it ALMOST could be considered a little fic rnnnn 🤧🤧🤧🤧 I'M ANGRY AND EMBARRYYYY AAAUUUWA MWA

so there would be a day - of course where steven just knew - he wanted to be with her, for as long as he can. he wanted to propose to her, but how should he go about that?

he doesnt want to be obvious - because she's pretty good at noticing him when he's trying to do something special for her. hes such a loverboy what can we do smhsmh if he suddenly took her to a restaurant with no context other than just "treating you with nice food because yes" but it was actually her birthday then she KNOWS there's something up and it can ruin the surprise (at least for him. he would be ruined if she knew instantly AHHSJFAJFASJF). so whats the best way to go about this proposal idea? he has to surprise her, somehow...

so at nighttime, at sla.teport, where all the crowds at the marketplace dispersed, nothing but the windy night and the ocean waves crashing on the shoreline. steven waited for jaide by the lighthouse, the farthest from the city, and closest to the ocean. he was minutes early than the agreed time. no gentleman leaves his wife sweetheart hanging, now does he? he had the ring box in his suit pocket. he was nervous, constantly rubbing his finger against the cold metal ring he wore.

well fortunately, he would learn about a nice meteor shower coming up, and it just so happens to be in s.lateport city, the very place where they met. he's seen meteor showers before, but she never did. he always wanted her to see one, and this is the perfect opportunity - the perfect distraction, even. so one day, he'd excitedly tell her that a meteor shower is upon them in a few days, and was hoping if she was available to come along to share the view with him. now, jaide obviously could not turn this offer down because she always wanted to see one based on how much he praised the beauty of it, and she cant turn down a once in a lifetime opportunity, no? it would also break his rock loving heart if she declined...

"if she says yes, one of these rings will be retired soon," he would tell himself... he sure was confident. there was definitely no plan b here.

so of course she would come, maybe a minute or two later, but he was happy to see her regardless. the skies were still pitch black, no sign of glitter yet. best to talk to kill some time.

he would begin to express how time seem to fly so fast since he met her, because everyday was a new opportunity to do something with her. then again, he always thought about her even since they were kids, wondered how she was doing since that faithful encounter. he never knew he'd even begin to fall for her when they just wanted to rekindle that friendship. jaide herself never saw herself to be in a relationship with anyone, she was happy all by herself, but steven struck a cord in her that made her think twice about just being by herself - he was more than just a friend. he was someone she knew understood her well - someone she could probably see spending the rest of her life together with ... but thats enough of sentimentality.

suddenly, a little sparkle in the sky and more followed after. the skies twinkled beautifully, and jaide was amazed. her eyes could not be separated from the view - perfect.

steven not only got her distracted, but boy was she the prettiest thing. he could stare at the skies too, but nothing can compare to the look on her face, so innocent, so charming. he allowed her to watch in silence, until it was over.

"i beg to differ" a challenging statement coming from the man. this made her turn her head to him in confusion - there, her eyes widened.

"i'm glad to have shared this time with you" she says, still looking up. "this is possibly the prettiest thing i'll ever see in awhile, steven." she has no idea, she was too immersed in the sightseeing.

and there he was, one knee down - arm slightly outstretched. a box on his hand - a diamond ring inside. it sparkled wonderfully, full of purity and shine

"steven? you--"

he chuckles again,

he's actually quite prepared for this for awhile now. he bought that ring AGES ago. his father threw every ring design at his direction when possible, he literally asked for jaide's mom's blessings without jaide knowing he was in new ba.rk town and heck, though a little rebellious at the idea, he even got gold's approval - that protective little brother of hers. he had everything, but not the time. but it all ends today,

the times he's been itching about wanting to ask her to be his, and his only. everytime he'd look at her, there's that nice feeling of warmth and happiness deep inside him - because he knows, she's changed him before they even realized it. the moment he recognized her from the crowd, he knew he had to talk to her again and boy is he glad he's done that. and as if she wasnt remarkable back then, she's just as charming as the present - independent, smart, and even considerate for his well being - she never knew he was someone of rich status and always saw him as an equal. it was nothing but a breath of fresh air whenever he talked to her and he only fell harder for her. a lot of people he comes across wanted him for some other reason aside from his actual self and he's been through enough to be distant from those kind of people. but jaide, jaide was different - and that's what made her so charming to him that he wanted to win her attention. but now, he asks with full certainty and will in his voice

"for so long have i chosen to walk as a lone man - concerned for his passion and interests - i've had people to be there for me, but none stuck as long as you, even if time separated us, we still found each other - and our friendship only bloomed harder than ever. it was at that point where i realize that - i want you to partake in the next chapter of my life."

and of course, she said yes ♡

#I CANT BELIEVE UUUU I GOT TO WRITE THIS OUT OMGGG 😭😭😭😭#yes. this was heavily inspired by the pokemas meteor shower event‼️‼️‼️‼️#im gonna cry in the corner now ueeueu so sorry yall 😔😔😔😔#~ rambling #♥️ memoryshipping #~ loreposting

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mathiwrites · 2 months

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the lighthouse, an au fanfic where orm is raised alongside arthur on the surface

Chapter 1

This place is suffocating.

Though there is no air, she craves the crisp feeling of it in her lungs and the warmth of the sun against her face. The surface—the surface is what she longs for with its simple pleasures and its anonymity. She looks upon the great city of Atlantis, dreaming of a little lighthouse in a small town. She grew up here, and yet, this place has become her prison.

I should have been Queen.

Her eyes flutter shut. Images flood her mind of a happy little boy whose heart is bigger than his body, and of a man who’s tender eyes always see right through her. They are so different from her with their sun-loved skin of deep ochre and bright, bright smiles it’s almost blinding. At first, Atlanna could not believe a boy like Arthur could come from her.

I want to be anywhere else, she laments quietly to herself, but she does not cry. Tears and sorrow are beneath her.

A tiny cry cuts through her thoughts. She spares not a second, gathering the little bundle out of his coddling clam and holding him close. Atlanna hushes the child, a perfect blonde baby—her little fry. He quiets at her touch, his blue eyes opening to look at her. He smiles, blowing happy little bubbles at the sight of her. He is so small and so innocent; he is the only thing that makes her happy here.

But if he stays here, he will not know happiness.

Neither of them will.

It happens in a split second; Atlanna tucks her son against her chest and wraps him tightly with supple fabrics. He will not fit beneath her armour, but she will die before letting any harm come to him. She returned to this place in hopes of protecting those she loved, and she had not wanted another child. She had wanted no offspring for the Kingdom was her child. She had plans to nurture it and help her people flourish. Her presence here meant Arthur would be safe, but who would protect this little one?

Atlanna has had enough.

She has had enough of her husband’s ambition and his betrayal.

She has had enough of the roiling feelings in her chest.

“Your Highness, what are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I am doing, Vulko.”

The High Councillor has been with her since she was born, and now, he has lived to see the birth of her sons. Both of them. His expression is grave as he watches her prepare, but he does not stop her. He never will, for the heart and soul of Atlantis has always been with her. He raised her to be the Queen she always dreamed of being, one that ruled with no male by her side, but he could not sway her father’s hand. Ever since the marriage, he atones for being unable to save her from this lesser life. The bruises Orvax leaves on her skin are his trespasses as much as they are his King’s.

“He will not let you take his son.”

“My son. Orm is my son, just as much as Arthur is, and I will not let Orvax taint him!”

Vulko hangs his head, shaking it in thought. “Perhaps you should consider challenging him, for the sake of your children.” He has been encouraging it since the first time he noticed Orvax has been laying hands on her. “You are the stronger combattant.”

“And the Council?”

She breezes past the guards outside her room, knowing that Vulko would have them stand down. He follows closely behind her, speaking quietly. He motions for them to give them room.

“We will face the Council if it comes to that, but you have their favour. They know you, your Majesty.”

“Their favour? What good did their favour do when my husband went back on his word and took my crown in the name of tradition? I will not wait for him to change his mind, and I will not wait for someone to save me.”

Atlanna stops at the armory. She tips her head up, waiting for the doors to slide open and welcome her in. Nothing happens. She presses her fingers against the door, testing its integrity.

Access denied, speaks a robotic voice.

She tries again.

Access denied.

Her entire life has been spent in this palace exploring different rooms to her delight, yet now that she is grown, she is not trusted with sharp objects. Atlanna was born with a trident in her hand, and she would often pluck the crown off her father’s head when he held her. This is unacceptable. She bangs her fist against it, denting the door. Vulko cannot help her without compromising his alliance.

“Go,” she tells him. “Warn your king.”

It doesn’t occur to her to take Vulko with her. His place is here. He would rot on the surface. People like him—like her —were made for war. He can still save himself, but her life belongs to the little one curled against her chest with his little fists balled in errant strands of her pale hair.

“Atlanna,” her old friend starts, his voice rough with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Do not .”

Apologies are not his to give. She would refuse them anyway, so he might as well save his breath.

Vulko bows to her, one last time, and swims off to warn Orvax of his betrayal. It is his duty; his Queen has ordered it of him.

There is no hesitation in the way she swims through the halls of her childhood. Memories haunt her with every stride. Children playing—a little girl, and a little boy who could have been the love of her life instead of her greatest enemy—and laughing about dreams of princesses and karathens. She turns her back on the man he could have been, finally seeing Orvax for the king that he is.

At the entrance of the throne room, the last statue of her youth stands, tall and proud with an old claymore of human making. The two of them had found it at the bottom of the North Sea and she had been so fascinated with its abnormally large blade. They had carried it together, snuck it back through the same pocket underneath the Gates, and hit it in a wreckage that only nobles could access, but none ever dared. Orvax had been proud to gift it to her upon their betrothal, a perfect addition to honour her statue—a perfect way to mark the end of their childish dreams.

Atlanna rips the weapon out of her coral-kissed hands, testing its weight. It fits her better now that she is older, wiser and angry enough to wield a dull blade against an enemy. Her rage will be her strength. She needs nothing more than that.

The throne room is a massive auditorium. Her people are welcome to attend any official rulings and its size accommodates not only for Atlanteans, but its neighbouring Kingdoms of the Wrights and the Bright Lights. She had stood upon the dais, thinking of all the good she could do with Orvax at her side. He had stood with her, dreaming just as loudly and just as fervently. When the crown had been within reach, when he had snatched it right from under her with laws and technicalities, she no longer bothered to visit this damned place.

“Atlanna,” Orvax purrs, floating towards her with his arms spread wide as if to welcome her home. “My darling son.”

She stops out of reach, just as his eyes flicker to her sword.

“Vulko informed me that you were going to run. Here, I thought he was overreacting.”

Once more, he approaches her. Atlanna steps back. She is not here to posture, she is here to fight and there is no need to let him anywhere near them.

“My love, come .” Anger simmers beneath his kind words.

His hand darts out to grab her arm. Atlanna parries the attempt with the blade of her sword. It only serves to draw up mocking laughter.

“That blade is dull.”

She draws the blade quickly, adding pressure to it. Though it does not cut on its initial contact, by the time she has run the length of it against his offending palm, blood wafts in the water between them.

“But my intent is not. You will let me leave with my son and you will not follow.” The request is simple and clear, but her husband has made a habit of not listening. “Every guard, assassin or man you send after me will die with my name on their lips and their regrets for not pledging allegiance to me . Send an army and I will answer in kind.”

“Ha! You and what army? The surface dwellers?” Orvax’s lips curl. “Ever since my coronation, you have been a hook in my side. I am sick of it, Atlanna. You could have been a great Queen, but you insist on whoring around on the surface and raising that abomination . He will bring about our ruin.” When he tries to bridge the distance, to tower over her like he has done time and time again, Altanna points the tip of her claymore in the center of his chest, where his heart would have been, if he had one.

“If you are so curious, try me and find out.” Her voice does not waiver and her grip does not tire. Orm fusses against her, but her eyes do not leave Orvax as she runs a comforting hand through his soft hair. “You are not Atlantis, and he will is not a threat. I am.”

Orvax opens his mouth to speak and she shifts her aim towards his throat, the metal testing the yield of his skin.

“I am giving you one chance. You love Atlantis, as do I, but I have found something I love more. Leave me be. We will not disturb you.”

In his eyes, Atlanna can see the anger and the pride. She knows he will not let her swim out of this Kingdom without a fight. She also knows that he will not raise his sword against her, not yet. She is too rational to justify such public violence, and he respects tradition too much to act without a public trial. He will chase her until the ends of the earth. What a shame.

“Go, but leave the boy.”

“No.”

“He is my heir.”

“And he is my son.” On that, she refuses to yield.

“You did not want him,” Orvax grits through his teeth.

“And I thought I wanted you. Things change, Orvax. If you come for him, or me, or anyone else in my family, whether it is here or on the surface, I will kill you. Slow. You are not a crown. You are made of flesh, bone and many soft things. You will not touch me again. Do you hear me?”

For a brief moment, fear flickers behind the King’s eyes. He hesitates, considering the merit of a fight.

“You are mine, Atlanna. The Widowhood gave you to me.”

“I was never theirs to give.” The Queen turns to her former counselor. “Tell any guard you send after me that they will be slaughtered. Indiscriminately.”

“Do not command—”

Atlanna moves quickly, closing the distance between them. She shifts the sword’s trajectory, aiming the butt of the hilt towards his stomach. The feint works in her favour as he moves to block it. Her target was never something so obvious. She slams her forehead into his and a burst of blood clouds his face. She doesn’t dare wait for his retaliation; she swims as fast as she can.

“What are you doing?!” Orvax roars at his high counselor. “Go after her!”

“I am waiting for your command, your highness.” Is that not what Orvax wanted?

The delay of getting the orders to the soldiers gives Atlanna enough time to escape. The guards she encounters are reluctant to face their beloved princess turned hostage. No one speaks of Orvax’s firm hand, but they know. They always have.

This time, with her baby strapped against her chest, she does not look back.

Atlantis is not her home.

The journey from the Kingdom to Amnesty Bay is a long one. She can only ride her mighty shark so far before she sends it back on a journey back towards the only home it knows; she has no choice but to swim in long and roundabout ways to preserve the safety of her family. Travelling by land is safer, but the shift in environment is too difficult for her little one who wails at the strange new sensations and the dry, dry air.

“I know, my fry, I know,” she soothes, wading back into smaller bodies of water. Rivers and lakes are better, but they are not as accessible as she would like. There are brief periods where she has to travel by foot. Orm cries for the most part; she soaks him in birdbaths and forgotten kiddie pools. A family nearly calls the authorities on her. To them, she is a madwoman who has kidnapped a distressed child.

With the lighthouse in view, Atlanna’s strength is renewed. She lights up and kisses the top of her son’s head.

“Look, we are home.”

#dc fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #dccomics #aquaman #aquaman and the lost kingdom #arthur curry #atlanna #orm marius #ocean master #the lighthouse

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foulbearobservation · 4 months

Text

WIP Tag Game

I got tagged in a fun little tag game by the bestie @euhemeria who has,,, about as many wips as me so we are kindred spirits on the path 🤝

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

I'm gonna split these up by fandom but not pairing/gen so genuinely good luck figuring out what pairing is which!

warrior nun

a love song pitched down low ● to bleed is the [unintelligible] thing ● the improbable, probable ● the black blade of blaviken ● a knife, a leash ● a vision of spring ● just one more thing ● there will always be a (man/lighthouse/fall) ● close your eyes, sweet angel ● a prized possession ● old woman yuri ● family and associated words that begin with f ● root cause ● crime dot net ● avalil smut 2 electric boogaloo ● they live happily ● outlook, teams, and other services associated with the devil himself ● getting a good grade in gladiatorial combat, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve

rwby

crossroads ● expectations ● a question of inheritance ● atlas, after the shrug

hawkeye (tv) (aka mcu but I won't say I've fallen that far)

my sorrow will take wings in the morning ● Big Brother: Lame Little Superhero Edition ● what is a body but a weapon ● second date

league of legends

bilgewater baptism ● the horrors I promised ● darkness, whole and complete ● again ● [ARCHIVE :\\ADMIN\START] ● you have your mothers hands ● what your husband doesn't know

the wilds

poison poorly proctored ● daughter of apollo, portent of ruin

fire emblem three houses

the delta sky miles lounge in the salt lake city international airport ● oceans dumbasses ● your wife is not a librarian ● a song of springtime ● what coin will make you leave ● lawless dream ● dilf ingrid ● the first clue: foot fetish

original work

the voice behind the mirror ● cassik county, iowa ● a fishhook kingdom ● the lamplighter

I tag.... the bug bucket! you all know who you are, expose ur wips or not, it's up to u 👀👀

#tag games #look upon my wip list and weep #I had to leave some out too like only wips over 1k made it onto the list 😭#I think perhaps I am the one who should be weeping after gazing upon this list actually this is so bad for me

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j0kers-light · 5 months

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Hiyaa,

Could you write a little something in which the joker thinks he has lost his light? She's not actually dead but maybe kidnapped during a robbery or something. He thinks he saw her dying but idk how he finds out she is still alive. He goes after her and retrieves her. Of course she is both mentally and physically scarred but with time she ends up healing those scars.

I know it's not very detailed, I'm sorry🥺

His Lighthouse: Just One Check (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Just One Check- Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER UPDATE!

@darthjokerisyourfather hey hi love! Thank you so much for lighting the spark that cured my writer's block! This is just what I needed to get back to writing although I couldn't find a cool title for this one. Might change that later lol.

I hope I did this one justice, if not message me and I can try again! 😭

taglist:

Let me know if you wish to be added to the official His Lighthouse taglist! 🖤✨

There was no telling what could happen at a bank in Gotham City. The average citizen risked the chance of being involved in a robbery or the greatest displeasure of being stuck in line for hours only for the teller to run out of cash halfway through. Both were a drag.

Today happened to be the former.

"It's just one check Joker. I'll be back before you now I'm gone." You already had your shoes on and were shrugging on a jacket when Joker intercepted you in the foyer.

He wanted you to stay with him today, not going out doing errands that could wait until whenever.

Joker watched your every move as you continued to get ready to leave him. Nothing he said persuaded you to stay so he resorted to straight up whining.

"Why can't ya wait til tomorrow? Come back and lay with meeeee..." His handsome pout was adorable and convincing... but it wouldn't work on you today.

"It can't wait. The banks will be closed tomorrow. National holiday, remember? Don't worry, I'll be back in an hour." You bounced back over to kiss Joker but he swatted you away, only to grab your face and smother you with kisses. Always loving you on his terms or not at all.

He hummed and tried to wrap his arm around your waist but you were hip to his schemes. You dodged his affections and made your way to the door. "Don't give me that look. I'll be back!"

"Yeah, yeah. One hour, Bunny. Your time starts errrrr now." He grumbled as you blew him a kiss and walked out the door.

He was serious about timing you but he added a few extra minutes for traffic. With that squared away, he returned to the couch to wait for your return.

It was just a check for a few hundred bucks, but you wanted to deposit it before it expired and/or you forgot about it.

You couldn't remember the last time you physically went to a bank. Normally Cindy's office handled your funds since you hated going in person. Perhaps your aversion generated from Joker confirming that criminals loved to rob banks based on certain statistics such as the bank's popularity and daily usage.

J went out his way to not hit the institutions you banked with so you could feel at ease whenever you did visit. He could be considerate when he wanted to be.

Thankfully, your personal bank wasn't well known and was just a quick fifteen minute train ride away. You arrived and walked into Darth HL. Bank, already sighing at the long line for assistance. You just wanted to deposit your check and leave but this might take a while.

You stood behind an elderly man and pulled out your phone to scroll through social media while you waited. The line hardly budged but patience was a virtue.

You were waiting for almost forty five minutes when four men burst through the front door and started yelling at everyone. You crouched down behind a decorative planter. A shame you had experience with armed robberies. It was simple Blüdaven instincts to duck and avoid being seen. You eyed the distance it would take you to run to the door and decided to stay put for now. It was too risky.

"EVERYONE ON THE GROUND NOW! CELLS! PAGERS! ANYTHING THAT CALLS OUT, WE WANT EM! STAY QUIET AND WE'LL ALL LEAVE HAPPY!"

One of them passed around a box where they demanded people to drop their cellular devices into. They were organized and efficient. It was clear they weren't amateurs. They worked around the room in a fraction of a minute and secured it as their own.

No one had spotted your hiding spot near the financial advisor's desks and you wanted to keep it that way. The first time visiting a bank in months and it just so happens to be robbed. What were the odds? Joker was gonna be pissed. You froze.

You promised him that you'd be back in an hour!

"ARE YOU DEAF OLD MAN? PHONE NOW!" One of the robbers walked up to the same old guy you were originally standing behind and shoved him with the end of a semi- automatic.

You weren't the only one who was concerned that they would start using unnecessary force. Case in point, the old man was not backing down.

He stood straighter and stared the robber right in the eye. "We won't be intimidated by you... thugs." He croaked out.

You hit your head softly against the planter box. Now was not the time for heroics old man..

"Oh yeah? Well guess what old timer? You should be. We didn't come here to play games." The robber raised his gun to shoot but someone in the crowd, another wannabe hero, stole their attention.

"Have you no respect for your elders!?" They cried out.

The entire room went silent after that. The robber eyed the new guy up and down through his ski mask.

"You wanna get popped too? Be my guest." He pulled the trigger and you and the crowd gasped in horror as the poor guy was gunned down along with the old man.

There was no hesitation; it happened so fast. It wasn't about the money. These men were bloodthirsty and obviously deranged.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" The leader shouted. Two men disappeared into the back while the other two patrolled the crowd and forced them to keep quiet.

All in all, only five minutes had passed since they entered the bank. It was the longest five minutes of your entire life.

Another guy in the crowd took a gamble and sent a text from their phone. His thumb hit the send button right as he heard footsteps stop behind him.

"I thought we said no phones. What's so important that you risked your life for?" He yanked the phone away and read the text.

Then a staring contest began. "Which one is she?" The masked criminal asked.

You strained to hear the reply from across the room but it sounded like, "I ain't telling you s__t!"

From your hiding spot you watched the remaining two thieves emerge from the back with large duffel bags leaking with banknotes. They gathered around their leader who was still arguing with the civilian caught having a phone.

"What's with him?" A thug asked.

"I recognized him from my old gang. Caught him sending out a text requesting backup with the code word Nightfall. Spread out and find her. This.. 'bank robbery' just got interesting."

Nightfall. You swallowed and tried not to draw any attention to your position. You knew what that meant.

Should your life ever be in danger, Joker created Nightfall and Daybreak procedures to protect his Light. Only insiders within his gang should have the knowledge to know what it entailed and who it protected.

You could handle a typical robbery– stay down and be quiet until the authorities showed up (what was taking the cops so long anyways?) but it wasn't safe here with your codename compromised. You had to leavenow.

They were beating up Joker's goon to try and extract more intel from him. You hated to use his suffering to your gain but while they were distracted, you pulled out your own cell to call Joker.

You prayed that he would answer since he rarely did. You sighed in relief when he picked up the phone on the second ring.

And for once he cut right to the chase. "What's going on?"

"They're robbing the bank. I need–" Anything else you were fixing to say was cut short when someone took your phone. Joker called out your name in panic.

Joker saw the distress message your security detail sent to the group chat and he was already throwing on his purple coat to rush to your location. He was taking the stairs down to your lobby but he froze when he heard a gunshot and you scream in pain.

All the air left his lungs hearing absolute silence before the call was disconnected.

Joker had to sit down for a second to process what he heard. His mind went over every possible scenario. He knew the odds but deep down he prayed to every higher power that you were still alive. You had to be or he would go even more insane.

By the time Joker and men arrived at Darth HL. Bank it was swarmed with GCPD pigs and other emergency personnel. They all whispered the same verdict. A robbery gone horribly wrong.

No survivors and almost two million dollars was missing.

Coroners were still wheeling out body bags and Joker's life screeched to a halt watching each one being loaded into white vans. None would leave the premises until he was triple sure none of them held your body.

"Check. Every. Last. One." He ordered.

Frost wanted to rest his hand on Joker's shoulder but thought against it. J was slowly losing his grip on reality and his body tremors became more pronounced as more bodies were wheeled out the bank.

Thirty two bags in total. Thirty two times his heart would race until grief slowly kicked in.

It couldn't be true. He refused to believe his Light was gone. You kissed him goodbye over an hour ago. You promised you'd be back! Joker refused to imagine a life without you in it, so he simply chose not to. Deny. Deny. Deny. Deny until he knew for sure.

This did not happen at a tiny bank with only two locations in the entire city. You assumed smaller banks were protected from robberies and you weren't wrong. Larger corporations like The Bank of Gotham or Gotham Merchant's Bank were the usual targets amongst thieves. Bigger banks meant more money.

Joker had never heard of Darth or whatever HL. stood for until today, although his mind visualized the bank's logo that he saw on a letter one or twice. Some kind of bird carrying a tree branch in its beak.

It was a useless detail in the clog of his dark depressing thoughts. He couldn't think straight.

Why did you leave when he practically begged you to stay? So what if the banks were closed tomorrow? If you needed the money, Joker had plenty of it! It didn't make sense why you insisted on doing such a mundane task when cuddling with Joker was a far better alternative. Now his Light was gone and the world seemed so dark without you in it. Joker honestly felt like throwing up.

Over the throng of investigators roaming about and the sound of cameras snapping evidence, Joker heard an officer talking to the Commissioner.

"Sir, we might have a hostage situation here. We went over the security tapes and the suspects were seen carrying a young female along with the money out the back."

"Was she?..." Commissioner Gordon trickled off. The officer assumed he was asking about her status and weighed in.

"Alive, but it appears she's injured. I'm sorry, the footage is really outdated to be sure. This bank doesn't have modern security measures. Heck, their panic button isn't up to code. Could've saved their lives and alerted us sooner if it were. We won't know any more information until we get Analysis to clean up the footage back at HQ."

"Alright, good work Rodriguez. Let's work with what we got to create a description for the missing persons."

Their conversation was the spark that gave Joker hope. A possible female hostage. It would explain why he couldn't come to terms with you being gone. He felt it in his bones that you were still alive. He was a fool to not trust his gut.

Frost and the others regrouped after a while and gave Joker even more hope. "She's not in any of the bags. We.. we can't find her Boss." Mac sighed.

"That's because she's alive." Joker said.

The trio glanced at each other with mixed emotions. Denial was the first stage of grief and it was hitting Joker hard. Frost was the closest to J personally so he decided to be the bearer of bad news to his old friend.

"J, I know you... cared for B deeply.. but she's gone."

If looks could kill, Frost would be dead ten times over.

Joker's eyes were frozen pine staring at his right hand man. "My Light is not dead. One female hostage. I want her found." He growled.

There was no point in trying to convince Joker. Until he had tangible proof that proved otherwise, he would staunchly believe that you're alive. They all nodded and spread out to get leads yet there was still uncertainty in the air.

What if this was all for naught and if so? Who would remove the wool from Joker's eyes so he could see the truth?

It took Joker and his men two days to find out who was responsible for taking you and another day just to track them down. You were alive after all. Getting you back however proved to be quite the challenge.

Gotham City was a huge landmass consisting of three connecting islands but Joker would leave no stone unturned in his search to find you. If he had to personally search every alleyway, then so be it.

He would not stop until his Light was safe in his arms, right where you belonged.

Deep in Chinatown and ironically not too far from where you and Joker first met, you were lying on an old, dirty mattress. You had a nasty cough and you could barely keep your eyes open for longer than a minute due to fatigue.

The four men that kidnapped you were standing around arguing amongst themselves and paid you little mind.

"This has gone on long enough! He's looking for her like a bloodhound. It's not a matter of if, but when he tracks her down, we're dead meat! We should cut our losses while we're still alive."

"I agree with Scotty. We should split the money and dip. We can't be on the run forever. He's got too much rep and power to try and escape as a group." The first two thugs nodded their heads right as another tossed in his two cents.

"Woah woah, wait a min. We can't just bail." He gestured to you lying on the floor. "She's seen all of our faces! That b__ch will rat us out! We should off her now."

Scotty took offense to that and bared his teeth. "You think she's in any position to snitch?"

You coughed again and they all glanced at you before returning to their meeting. It was going on day three and they were running out of safehouses to take refuge in. Right when they would settle in, Joker and his men would find the hideout, forcing them back on the run. This was the tenth move so far and each one put a strain on your already deteriorating health.

"Yall a bunch of pussies! Go ahead and run but the money stays with me. I'm the only one that deserves it!" Their leader said.

His comment quickly received backlash amongst the other three.

"Are you smokin dick? What's a dead man gonna do with all that money? He's gonna find her, kill you, and then us for helping your stupid a**. D__n it! I knew I should've said no when you hit me up. It's never a simple job with you!"

You felt like your chest was on fire and you jackknifed into a semi sitting position to cough. The sudden movement pulled at your wound. You were pretty sure it was infected and your fever was a result of the lack of medical attention administered to it. Between your blood loss and dehydration, they were unknowingly killing you.

"Can I please have some water?" You asked anyone in general. You tried opening your eyes but the light in the room was enough to have you cringing away like a newborn.

One of the guys was soft on you and bent down to help you drink from a plastic bottle. It was obvious that you needed help.

He guided the bottle to your lips. "Don't drink it too fast, there ya go. How's your head?"

Your voice cracked, "Still h-hurts." Scotty helped you lay back on the mattress before checking on your wound.

Upon first sight, it was still reddish brown from both dried and fresh blood. He peeled back the crudely made bandage– tossing out a half-hearted apology when you groaned, only to grimace at the infected entry wound.

"Judging by your ugly mug it ain't looking too good." Another guy bent down to take a look but Scotty batted their hand away. He didn't want anyone else touching you.

"She has a fever..." Scotty said. His leader scoffed and stood up, "Listen man! She needs medical attention!" He begged. Was he the only one around here with a heart?

"F__k that, we need a plan. The Joker is closing in on us and if I go down..." Their so-called leader laughed sharply to himself. "Y'all are going down with me."

Tires screeched outside and the remaining two thugs rushed over to the window to check it out.

They watched as some average, low level looking guys stepped out and walked into the apartment building across the street. For now, the coast was still clear.

"I've had it man! It's like I'm paranoid or something. Every little thing is making me jump and it's all because you," He pointed at Rico, "Got too greedy! You three can stick around and spend the money, whatever; I'm out." He grabbed his jacket from a nearby chair and left.

The remaining thugs stared at each other in silence. If Joey walked out on a job then it was serious.

"Look, Rico. I respect you man but Scotty got a point. This job has gone on long enough. Look at her. She's sick because you shot her like some deranged idiot and now you dug a hole you can't get out of. I'm not going down for your mistakes! Whatever you need the money for, is it really worth your life? We're talking about The Joker here. You gotta be ten toes down confident there's a way out before you get us all killed."

It was quiet for a moment until Joey burst through the door in a panic. He locked it back shut and started to frantically load his gun.

"Woah, what's got you all spooked?" Mike asked with a laugh.

"The clown. He's here! I told you he'd find her! Ohhhhh man, we're so f__ked!"

Everyone talked at once trying to make sure Joey wasn't pulling their leg.

"Whaddya mean 'the clown is here?" Mike asked outright. Then Scotty chimed in, "Did you see him for yourself?"

Joey shut them all up with a wave of his arms. "No! No! But I saw his trio! They were coming up the stairs when I spotted them! There was no other way out so I came back!" He turned to look Rico in the eye. "What do we do?"

"It was just those three?"

Joey nodded, "Yeah." He frowned when Rico laughed before responding. Their leader just brushed off his concern like it was nothing.

"No need to get bent outta shape, their lightweights! Especially the blond. He's just a frat boy playing henchmen, trust me." They all shared a laugh but Joey didn't join in.

He saw the look on their faces. Joker's men meant business.

There was nothing to laugh at in his opinion and he spoke up again to try and talk some sense into everyone else. "W-What about the other two? I heard the rumors. Frost is supposedly ex-military and the other guy is like some mercenary for hire."

You snorted in the background, "I'd start praying if I were you. Like it'll do you any good."

Your taunts triggered another coughing fit right as Rico heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He spun around to snap at Scotty. "Shut her up!" He hissed.

"I'm sorry." Scotty said to you before he covered your mouth and pinned your hands down.

It was a temporary fix to silence you as the roar of footsteps went past the apartment door. Everyone held their breath as they passed over and kept going. Rico watched them through the peephole with his hand hovering over his gun.

They all breathed a sigh of relief until Scotty yelped when you bit his palm.

You couldn't breathe. You sucked in some air so you could cough, much louder this time, and that ended with a concerning wheeze. The walls of the rundown apartment they held you in were paper thin and not the best for hiding. You easily gave away their position.

Rico turned to order Scotty to move you into the only bedroom right as the front door was kicked in.

Joey was the first to go. His body dropped dead and the other three scrambled for cover right as a shootout began. Only six shots rang out before Joker's voice silenced all motion.

"Mac! If you accidentally shoot my Light I'll rip your f__king head off!"

Joker sounded frayed and pissed. This wouldn't end well.

Mike and Rico dragged Joey's dead body out of the way before they took cover behind the couch that separated the small living room from the kitchen. Then they listened to their unexpected guests arguing.

"What do you suggest we do then, J?!" Mac yelled back. Joker scratched his head with the barrel of his gun. "Uh. Knock before you enter?"

"Unbelievable." Mac whispered to himself.

A gloved hand emerged from the hallway to playfully rasp against the door. "Knock knock, uhh anyone home?"

You cried out when Scotty tried picking you up. Joker heard you and poked his head in to locate you. "Bunny?!"

Frost dragged J back into the hallway right as a shot missed his head. They both looked at the bullet hole in the wall with intrigue. These common thugs were packing some heat.

"Uh thanks for the save." J said. Frost just shook his head.

He gestured for Mac to do this thing. The former frat boy grinned and raised his voice to carry into the apartment.

"Well that was a little too close to comfort! Let's negotiate boys before the landlord starts charging damaging fees! Hand over the girl nice and easy and we'll leave the way we came. No fuss, no muss."

"Yeah right. As if you'll let us live! WE AIN'T STUPID!" Rico yelled right back. He stole a glance at you being corralled into the bedroom. You were sweating bullets and you looked absolutely miserable.

He still had the upper hand here. If he was gonna die here, he might as well get his revenge before heading out.

Rico yelled at his former boss across the way.

"Does she mean the world to you, Joker?" It was a rhetorical question yet he paused for dramatic effect, before answering it himself.

"Of course she does. You wasted thousands of dollars on her security. We risked our lives for some b___h we never met!"

"And? Your point?" Joker dragged out. Was this guy's problem? Risking your life was a part of the job description.

Mac and Neo both shared a 'is this guy for real?' look.

"That nasty cough you heard? That's nothing compared to the gunshot wound to her stomach. My gift to you for all the s__t you put me through!." Rico yelled.

The bedroom door slammed shut with you inside and that was Mike and Rico's cue to start fighting back.

It was two against four but the odds were in their favor with the apartment layout. They could pick off Joker and his goons the second they walked through the door. Revenge was within his grasp.

Too bad Rico didn't take into account Joker's desperation to get you back. J had only a brief glimpse of the room when he poked his head in earlier but he got a vague layout of the place in that timeframe.

With you tucked away in the bedroom, all Joker had to do was aim at the old leather couch the two thugs were hiding behind.

Joker nodded at Neo who was scoping the angles with his gun. The mercenary gave the thumbs up. He had a clear shot. J knew Neo would take it with no hesitation.

Mac saw the confirmation and sighed dramatically. As a farce, he tried to make one final deal.

"You sure you don't wanna settle? One million each, with immunity, we won't hunt you down blah blah jazz? We just want the girl back. There's no need for bloodshed."

"F__k you and—"

Neo didn't let them finish their sentence. It only took four rounds to pick off his targets.

It ricocheted off the ceiling light and the walls before sinking into the target. Frost and Joker rushed in and found the door to the bedroom before their bodies had time to hit the floor. Joker could hear the final thug inside freaking out along with you trying to calm him down, in between gasps of air.

"Scotty l-listen to me.. I can protect you. You've been so kind to me.. You have to... drop your weapon though. Please. Stand behind me. Let me s-save you."

"You can't help me! He's gonna kill me! I'm sorry Y/n. I'm so sorry."

Frost glared at J when they both heard you start to panic. Joker didn't care about the outcome; he just kicked the door in, saw Scotty holding a gun to your head and reacted.

"S-Stay back! I'll.. I'll do it!"

Joker threw a knife and it sunk into your captor's neck, killing him instantly. You fell with Scotty's dead weight and groaned when you landed on your wound.

Hands quickly pulled you away and you briefly noticed Mac, Frost, and Neo securing the room before your focus landed on Joker.

His eyes were frantically scanning you all over and they widened when he saw your infected gunshot wound. These idiots shot you in the stomach and failed to give you medical aid. Joker's worries shot to the roof seeing the wound oozing blood and pus.

You were burning up and losing unconsciousness.

"Bunny? Bunny, look at me?! No no noooo, stay with me, Y/n. C'mon doll." He cupped your cheek and gently patted it to keep you alert. He hated seeing your eyes struggling to stay open.

The adrenaline rush of Joker coming to save you had up and left. The only thing that remained was a splitting headache and a numb feeling that was spreading all over.

It had been three days since you kissed Joker goodbye and at times, you thought you'd never see him again. Now he was here, holding you close, pleading for you to keep your eyes open— but you were so tired.

He yelled at Frost to page Sarai when he saw your eyelids flutter close again. The doc would know what to do in this situation. Joker could only hold you close and keep you conscious until she arrived. There was no way he would risk trying to move you in such a fragile state.

"I'm sorry Joker." Your timid voice immediately gained Joker's attention.

"Nothing to be uh, sorry for mypretty girl."

"I.. it took longer t-than an hour." You reached up to cup Joker's cheek. He kept your hand there with his own.

"I am never going to a bank. Never again." You weakly jerked your head over at Mac. "Get him to do my finances from now on." You whined.

Joker cracked a smile watching you go back and forth with his book keeper. If you had the energy to make jokes then you'd be perfectly fine. Sure you'd have a nasty scar and a brutal recovery process, but nothing you couldn't handle with Joker by your side.

Joker looked up at Frost with a smug grin. "See? Told ya my Light ain't dead."

#thanks for the ask!#ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #joker x y/n #heath ledger #reader insert #black!fem!reader #ledger!joker #clingy!joker #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #heath joker #dark knight joker #joker x reader #ledger!joker x reader #his lighthouse

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