#they both have had awful trauma at the hands of the joker

[scourgeofgotham]

Batgirl and Robin

Chapter 7

Warnings

Crying, Unresolved Trauma, Stalking, Begging, Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: okay so sorry it's taken me like three weeks to write this, and I've changed it to a span of 2 months from the first chapter to the end.

“I’m irrevocably in love with you.”

They were together again, Batgirl and Robin

It was October 31st, Halloween.

Jason was the Arkham Knight and was creating havoc across Gotham. He was relentless and only wanted to kill Bruce. She tried to calm him down and have him forgive Bruce, but there was no use.

Every chance Jason had, he tormented Bruce about his beloved daughter.

“Did you like the little home video I sent you Dark Knight?

“Your little girl is perfect for me… she's very obedient.”

“You know? She didn’t fight me… She begged for me.”

“To think, for you to adopt a little girl, and for her to love you and call you her father… then when she meets me, she forgets all about you…”

“It appears we have something in common, it's a sweet little name your daughter calls us.”

When Jason kidnapped Oracle he made sure to keep her away from his prize possession. He couldn’t risk her leaving him and his whole plan failing. He knew Barbara would tell her what he's been causing throughout Gotham.

Dick was trying to find them, while Bruce had him distracted. He had to help rescue both Batgirls from Arkham Knight. It was torturous enough seeing the video of his baby sister being violated by Arkham Knight, but not knowing what he was doing… killed him.

Bruce was going after Arkham Knight to rescue Commissioner Gordon. Then the Knight ambushed Bruce in the tunnels with his excavator. Thinking he finally had him ambushed, Bruce escaped and took down the Knights' militia. He walked towards Jim Gordon to untie him.

“Get me out of here Batman, we need to get to Scarecrow.”

Finally being able to rescue Commissioner Gordon, Bruce was interrupted.

“Turn Around.” Bruce heard the distorted voice.

He was standing in front of the Arkham Knight, who was pointing a gun at him.

“Who are you?”

“You really have no idea?” The Knight went up to hit the button on the back of his helmet. “Do you Bruce?”

“Jason? But... You're dead.”

“What's the matter? Lost for words? I expected more... I'm hurt."

Meanwhile, at Jason’s Safehouse

The little canary was watching all of Jason’s destruction. Several militia watch towers, drones, and tanks all scattered all over Gotham. She hardly recognized Jason. He was a completely different person...

She saw a distant figure jumping from the rooftops and looking around. She stared at him for a while, and all of a sudden a bunch of militiamen were after him. He managed to defeat all of them, and once he brought out his weapons she realized who it was. She went to go put on some of Jason’s clothes he left for her. Then when she was fully dressed, then grabbed her grapple gun. She went to go open the locked door. When Jason wasn't looking— she looked at him typing in the codes. She typed in the code and the door opened, she hoped that Jason wouldn't find out...

She found multiple militia guards protecting the safe house, and she took them out, silently. Once she found herself free, she made her way to the rooftop. She looked around for the person, trying to find them.

Then all of a sudden she feels two hands around her, pulling her into them.

“There you are pretty bird.” He spun her around to look at him, “Dickwad...” she giggled.

“What did that awful psycho do to you?” He sounded so upset.

“Dick... It's Jason.” She said to him, looking up at him. “Jason didn't die.”

“What do you mean? Bruce said he saw him die.” Dick sounded concerned.

“Joker had him wear body armor, it stopped the bullet. He paid Slade to get him off the island.” She explained. “He’s been planning this for years."

“Why? After what Bruce did for him? Why is he hellbent on destroying Gotham?” He spat.

“He was manipulated into believing that Bruce abandoned him and that he just replaced him with Tim right after. He even thought I forgot about him, he thought his girlfriend didn't love him anymore.” she started crying, it hurt her to see Jason had turned into such a relentless killer…

Dick wiped the tears that were running down her face, he then put his finger under her chin to lift her head and kissed her forehead.

“When did you two… become a thing?” He questioned, trying to distract her from what was happening. “I just turned 14, and Jason was 15. It was when he started going to the troubled teen's school— I stalked him.” She realizes how insane that last part makes her sound. “Once I found out that Jason was… cute, I ended up sneaking out a lot just to see him.” she grinned. “You stalked a street thug?” He was pissed, “He killed his parents and you thought he was cute?” and now he was furious. “Jay didn’t kill his parents— okay, he got them killed. But Cathy and Willis abused him and tried to sell him— Maroni killed them.” she corrected herself.

“He loaded the gun and he had someone else kill them.” She knew Dick was right, it was his right as her older brother.

“Jason still was a good person, he was misguided by rage. He still wants to serve justice, has just been guided by rage and he can’t see clearly.” she was perplexed. She loved Jason and she knew that inside he was still a good person—

however, reconsidering his behavior, she had no clue if he was beyond saving.

“I still love him, I never stopped loving him,”

she sighed. “Bruce didn't show him that he loved him. Jason thought Bruce was going to love him as his son, and then he felt like just his assistant. Even if Jason didn’t get captured by Joker, he still would have resented Bruce,” she spat. “Pretty bird…” Dick whispered. He ran his finger down her face and pulled her in. “I’m gonna keep you safe—away from Jason.” He confidently told. She pulled away from him, “I don’t want to stay away from him! I want to help him, I want to be with him forever! He saved me, he made me feel cared for! I’ve felt numb for the entire time that he was gone. Dad stopped giving me attention, you went off to Blüdhaven, and my boyfriend was being tortured and presumed dead! I could have brought him home if I thought I could take on Joker, or at least stalled enough till Bruce was there!” she screamed. “Jason is the only one that has ever truly loved me...” she sobbed.

“I'm sorry...” he sighed with sorrow

#jason todd #arkham knight #arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #batfam

[dreamsclock]

Season 2, meetings and partings and melancholy for forgetting 🌻

wanted to finish something i’d started writing months ago so HAVE THIS !! it’s a little c!diskduo from season two — the ending is a bit rushed but i like the idea :] thank you for the prompt, this was a lot of fun

warnings: scars, flashbacks, trauma / trauma responses, mentions of torture / murder / abuse, emotional distress

“So how’d you get those scars, Dream?” Tommy asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “Are you like the Joker?”

They’re sitting in their shitty makeshift home — shitty, because Tommy had built it; shittier, because Dream had helped — as night approaches, and Dream shrugs. He just hopes they’ve put out enough torches to stop mobs from spawning. That’d be the last thing they needed. “Scars?”

“Yeah, you know.” Tommy answers energetically, gesturing grandly. “The big ones all over your face. And your arms. And— Jesus Christ, pal, you look like you’ve been in a fuckin’ meat grinder. What happened?”

Dream feigns offence at the words, but pulls out a bucket of water from his inventory and peers into it with vague anxiety. He doesn’t remember any scars. Doesn’t remember… anything, actually, other than a fear driven deep into the very bones of him and the need to runrunrun lielielie.

Which is… very general. And unhelpful. But, staring in silence at the scars mapping his body, Dream can almost see his life story reflected there, just out of reach.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says in awe, “maybe you were like a gladiator or something. Like the Roman fighters. That would be fucking awesome. We should build something like that! Like— I dunno. A Colossum.”

“A Colosseum?” Dream corrects. One of his eyes is faded and scarred. He thinks he remembers screaming and blood.

“A Colosseum!” Tommy grins. “And we can build it huge, like, properly big, man. And charge people loads of money to watch fights in there. This is gonna be so fucking cool. We can use cobble and obsidian—”

“Not obsidian.” Dream’s voice cracks. When had he grown so still? The torchlight outside their safe haven wavers. For a moment, gazing into it, the lights flicker and blur into a curtain of lava. “Not obsidian, Tommy. No obsidian.”

When he turns, Tommy’s hands are raised placatingly, and the boy is scoffing, but there’s an unexpectedly sombre look on his face.

“No obsidian,” Tommy agrees, and Dream slumps, “Jesus, man. Thought you were going to attack me or something.”

Dream manages a scoff. “I’m only holding a potato,” he says wryly, trying for a teasing tone, “you think I could, what, beat you to death with a potato?”

For some reason, this silence is heavy and painful and thick. Both flounder under it.

“…How did you get those scars, Dream?” Tommy asks quietly.

Dream’s eyes rake over his own arms. A nasty burn snakes over one, practically covering his whole right forearm.

He doesn’t have an answer that he trusts to be true.

#c!discduo #dreblr #> c!diskduo #> sparrow’s writing !! #> that one clock guy #> mr plot armour innit #> 🌻 anon tag

[dc-and-arfrona]

Once or Twice

—-

Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Type: Angst

Word Count: 1k+

Masterlist

Summary: You are taken by the joker... once? Twice!

—

Darkness enveloped you as your eyes fluttered open. Disoriented and fearful, you realized you were trapped in a small, dimly lit room. The realization struck you like a bolt of lightning—you had been kidnapped by the Joker.

Panic welled up within you, but before despair could take hold, the sound of a door being kicked open echoed through the room. A figure, clad in a red helmet and armed with determination, burst in, engaging in a fierce battle with the Joker's henchmen.

It was Jason Todd—vigilante, known as the Red Hood. His movements were swift and precise, a whirlwind of calculated violence. His sole purpose was to save you, to pull you from the clutches of darkness.

Caught in the crossfire of chaos, you watched with a mix of fear and awe. Jason's expertise and unwavering determination left an indelible impression, igniting a newfound sense of hope within you.

In the midst of the ensuing battle, a henchman sneaked up behind you, a wicked grin plastered across his face. But before he could strike, Jason's sharp instincts kicked in, and he swiftly incapacitated the threat, sparing you from harm.

As the last remnants of the Joker's gang were defeated, Jason approached you, his intense gaze filled with concern. With gentle hands, he untied your restraints, freeing you from your confined prison.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of worry and relief.

You nodded, still shaken from the ordeal. "Thank you. I... I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come."

Jason's grip on your arm tightened, his eyes filled with a mix of compassion and determination. "No one should have to go through what you just did. I'll make sure the Joker pays for this."

You found solace in his words, his unwavering dedication resonating deeply within you. Despite the chaos that had brought you together, a connection formed—a bond forged through shared trauma and a shared desire for justice.

In the aftermath of the rescue, Jason stayed by your side, ensuring your safety and offering a comforting presence. Through the days that followed, he became a constant pillar of support, guiding you through the process of healing and recovery.

As time passed, the initial connection that had formed in the crucible of danger evolved into something more. Together, you found solace in each other's company, understanding the unique pain and struggles that came with the life you both led.

The bond between Jason and you became an unbreakable force—a beacon of light in the face of darkness. The shared experience of surviving the Joker's clutches formed the foundation of a love that defied the odds, reminding you that even in the most harrowing of circumstances, unexpected connections can blossom.

Because sometimes, amidst chaos and pain, two souls can find solace and strength in each other, rewriting their destinies and weaving a tapestry of love from the threads of adversity.

The cold, relentless grip of fear tightened around you as you found yourself trapped once more, a pawn in the Joker's twisted game. The memories of your previous kidnapping haunted your every thought, but this time, the danger felt more imminent, more suffocating.

As the Joker reveled in his sadistic whims, a flicker of hope ignited within you—a hope that Jason Todd, the Red Hood, would come to your rescue once again. You clung to that sliver of faith, praying for his arrival.

And arrive he did.

With a thunderous crash, the door to the dimly lit room burst open, revealing Jason, his piercing gaze fixed on you. A surge of relief washed over you, momentarily lifting the weight of your predicament.

But the Joker, ever the agent of chaos, wasn't about to let his prey slip away so easily. He lunged forward, a maniacal grin etched upon his face, his twisted joy amplified by the impending danger.

Jason's movements were swift and precise, a symphony of violence in the face of madness. Blow after blow, he fought with unyielding determination, his sole focus on ensuring your safety.

In a moment of respite, Jason extended a hand toward you, his voice filled with urgency. "Come on! We have to get out of here."

You seized the opportunity, taking his hand and allowing him to guide you through the maze of twisted corridors. Fear propelled you forward, but Jason's presence offered a sense of protection, a glimmer of hope that you would make it out of this nightmare alive.

But just as you were on the cusp of freedom, the Joker struck from the shadows, a weapon clutched in his hand. Time seemed to slow as he aimed his weapon in your direction, the ominous click of the trigger echoing in your ears.

In that fraction of a second, Jason leaped forward, intercepting the bullet with his own body. Pain etched across his features, but his resolve remained unshaken.

"No more, Joker," Jason growled, his voice filled with a potent mix of fury and determination. "This ends here."

With a final surge of strength, Jason unleashed a torrent of retaliation, striking down the Joker and bringing an end to his reign of terror. You watched in awe and disbelief as justice was finally served, but your heart ached at the cost it had come with.

Kneeling beside Jason, you cradled his wounded form, tears streaming down your face. "Why... why did you do that? Why did you risk your life for me?"

Jason's gaze met yours, a mixture of pain and affection in his eyes. "Because you're worth it. Because no one deserves to suffer at the hands of monsters like him. And because... I care about you."

As the sirens wailed in the distance, a bittersweet realization settled upon you—a realization that out of the darkness, a love had blossomed, forged in the fires of chaos and redemption.

In that moment, you vowed to honor Jason's sacrifice, carrying his legacy of justice and love in your heart. Together, you would heal, rebuild, and forge a path forward—one that would forever be intertwined with the shadows of redemption.

Because sometimes, even amidst the darkest of circumstances, love and sacrifice prevail, birthing a new hope that illuminates the path to a better future.

#Jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagines #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #red hood imagines #dc #dc imagines #dc universe #robin x reader

[p-artsypants]

Paint it Black (13) Diagnosing

Ao3 | FF.net

The Titans, Batman, and Alfred sat on the couch in a circle, as Black assumed the lotus position over by the window. For once, he wasn’t singing. 

“Let’s review,” Batman began. “Richard Grayson was volunteering at the Jump City hospital when he learned about Project: Duality, a rehabilitation project run by Dr. Jack White. He joined the project, and quickly found out there was much more to it than he anticipated.” 

“Richard recorded a series of videos on a Slade bot that shows the condition of the environment he was kept, as well as messages for us,” Raven added. 

“So you know who’s behind this?” Cyborg asked. 

“I’m fairly certain. I found it shocking at first, because the pair do not get along, and are rather hostile towards each other.” Batman threw down a pair of files on the table. “This is the work of Joker and Two-Face. That much I gleaned from the final video recorded. Two-Face works in duality. When Harvey Dent had his accident that left half of his body burned, he developed a dual personality. One of order, and one of chaos. In the video, one of the men is called ‘Harv,’ no doubt short for Harvey. I believe he hired Joker to create a toxin that would cause a similar effect so that he could create an apprentice.” 

“How did you know it was the Joker?” Beast Boy asked, fascinated. 

“As I said earlier, I recognized the alias Jack White, but more importantly, Robin said so in the video.” 

“He did?” Asked Cyborg. “I’ve watched it several times and I never—” 

“In his code.” 

Beast Boy thought for a moment. “But he sings Cotton-Eyed Joe and Karma Police. How does that—?”

“Joe-karma. Joe-kar. Joker.” 

The team stared in awe. 

“You’re good,” said Cyborg.

“I’m Batman.” 

“Why were they all the way out here?” Raven asked, “You said so yourself that it didn’t make sense that they were across the country.” 

“It didn’t. Not at first. But then I realized they came out here for the same reasons Robin did. 1.) Jump City has the second highest psychiatric hospitalizations in the country, right behind Gotham, and 2.) It's far away from me. I was actively looking for both of them. If this experiment was a three month long ordeal, they needed somewhere they wouldn’t be interrupted.”

“Somewhere where they wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar,” Raven frowned.  

“Well, let’s find them and beat them up!” Said Beast Boy, punching his palm, an action he had picked up from Robin. 

“I’d love to, but we still need to focus on Robin. I have an idea, but it may take a while to work. Joker’s venom is never the same concoction twice, but he does use similar components. These, I’m familiar with. I may be able to synthesize an antidote for the toxin, but I have to have a clean blood sample. No opioids, no sedatives, just the toxin.” 

“But…won’t that…?” Cyborg began to ask, remembering the trickle of dark fluid Robin coughed up. 

“It’s not ideal, no,” Batman agreed. “And I don’t know if we can truly get a clean sample with how long Oxycodone stays in the blood. But we need to try.” 

“So,” Beast Boy began, optimistic, “if we give him this antidote, Robin will be back?” 

“Yes and no. The opiates stabilize whatever concoction the Joker made which suppresses Robin’s Ego. The result is this persona that was created out of trauma. I clearly see a lot of age regression in him as well, so it’s compounded on the childhood trauma he had. If we cure the toxin, we’ll probably see Robin a lot more, but there’s no guarantee he won’t just switch into Black at a moment’s notice.” 

“How do we fix that?” Raven asked. 

“We convince him that being Robin is ideal and that Black is the part he should suppress. Besides that…we might not be able to fix him completely.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. “Are you all going to be able to handle that?” 

“Whatever it takes,” Starfire said. “I am prepared.”  

“Ditto,” said Beast Boy. “I can handle the occasional crazy Robin.” 

“I’m in,” said Cyborg. “He was always a little crazy.” 

“Let’s do it,” said Raven. 

“Where shall we start, Sir?” 

“First,” Batman smirked. “We need to wear him out.” He turned to the corner. “Hey Black!”

"Yes Sir Hops A lot!" Black saluted.

"Would you join us for a workout this afternoon?”

"Psh, do bears ride motorcycles?"

There was a long pause before Starfire whispered. "Do they?"

—-

Out on their course on the beach, Batman prepared a set of skill tests to measure Black's abilities. He was curious to see what the dynamic change was, if there was at all. Cyborg supplied him with the most recent charts Robin had filled out.

Black came out, his hair slicked back from hair gel, sunglasses, and Robin's work out pants. His many scars were visible on his torso, despite the red beater he wore. He could care less though. Walking through the doors, he walked with a slouched posture and exaggerated shoulder movement. “Awright,” he spoke with a terrible, thick Jersey accent. “Who’s ass am I kickin’? Where’s the gabagool?” 

Batman narrowed his eyes as he observed the scars. Once Black was tired, he’d try to get a better medical assessment. For now, he wanted to see how Robin was recovering from his ordeal, and if he could go back into the field. 

“What is a gabagool?” Starfire asked him, indulging his stupidity.

“What? You don’t know gabagool? That’s a load of gaaawbage!” 

Batman didn’t look back up from his charts. “Gotham is in New Jersey, and many people there have that accent.” Then he tacked on, “Gabagool is a type of deli meat, like capicola.”

“I did not think Black ate processed meat?”

“It’s just a fun word to say.” 

“Gabagool…gabagoooool,” Beast Boy chuckled in the corner. 

“Alright, children." Batman said, louder. "Let's get started. Black, front and center."

The delusional boy skipped up and stood rim rod straight, his hand in an 'L' shape on his forehead.

"I want to see what you're capable of, so we have some tests to run. Cyborg, if you please..."

Cyborg spoke up from the control panel. "We'll start you out on our obstacle course. Starfire will do it first to show how it's done." Then he called over to her. "Remember Star, no flying!"

"Comprehended!" She called back.

A red light by Cyborg told her to get into position. Yellow, she crouched. Green, she was gone.

Black watched in admiration as she slipped through the obstacles, no problem. Lasers grazed past her hair, sharp claws swiped and missed her skin. At the end, she landed perfectly and elegantly on her toes, not a hair out of place.

"How did I do?" She asked Cyborg.

"Almost matched your best time, by two seconds."

She snapped her fingers. "Flortoga!"

“Alright Black, it’s your turn.” 

The boy scratched his chin, then while keeping in his Jersey character, he asked "Do I gotta do it like that?”

Batman considered. "No...I guess you can do it anyway you want."

"Great!" He happily tottered over to the starting point.

"You ready?" Cyborg called.

"Whenever you are, you delicious chocolate man!"

Giggling came from the rest of the Titans as Cyborg shook his head and reset the test. “He’s not sane, Cyborg. He doesn’t know any better.” 

"BumbumbumbumbumBUM. BUM. BUM. BUM. BUM." Black started singing. 

The green light signaled and Black started. Right from the start, he started showing a hidden cleverness and intelligence. He took a separate route, still through the course, but the less dangerous way. Each move he made was calculated, and didn’t waste any energy. There was little running, mostly acrobatics to get big air from spot to spot. Lasers were guided so they aimed at him, but he moved so that he not only avoided them, but they took out each other. Then he surprised everyone as he sang while he moved. "The sun is shining in the sky, There ain't a cloud in sight. It's stopped raining, everybody's in the play and don't you know it's a beautiful new day?” He even threw in a few dance moves. 

Batman frowned, though not in disappointment. “Interesting song choice.”

“Mr. Blue Sky?” Beast Boy asked. “It’s a classic, and a personal fav. What’s so interesting about it?” 

“It doesn’t fit his theme.” 

“You mean the Radiohead theme? I think that was Robin’s doing. I think this is just Black goofing around.” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Running down the avenue, see how the sun shines brightly in the city, on the streets where once was pity, Mr. Blue Sky is living here today.” Black took an unnecessary risk by leaping sideways and cartwheeled through the air. He was almost nicked with a blade, but managed to twist himself out of the way at the last second. 

Batman scowled harder. “It’s a routine.” 

“I have never seen him perform such a routine,” said Starfire. “It is not in our battle plans.” 

“It’s not a training routine,” he clarified. “It’s…it’s an acrobatics routine.” 

“I do not understand,” Starfire apologized. 

“I don’t get it either,” said Beast Boy. “Was Robin really into gymnastics or something?” 

Batman huffed, not thrilled that he had to divulge such things. “I’ll tell you later. All of you. It’s…not a short topic.” 

“Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why you had to hide away for so long. Where did we go wrong?”

The team watched in fascination as Black seemed to bend the rules of physics to weave through this course. And he did it effortlessly. 

Like he had done it a hundred times before. 

“Hey you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race. A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky's up there waiting and today is the day we've waited for!”

He came to the end, landing like a gymnast would dismount, up on his toes with his arms up. Then he lost all feigned composure. "Whoo! Didja see that, son?! Bang! Pow! Whoosh! Zing!" He laughed wildly to himself as he ran to Batman, grabbed his hands and danced around. "I did it! I did it! Are you proud of me, Bunny Man?” 

“Unhand me," Batman spoke stoically.

"What's next huh? Huh!? Huh?! Uh-huh?! Huh!"

Batman placed a heavy hand on his head, to still him. "Calm your tits, kid." He looked over his chart, his mouth ticking to the side. "Matched Robin’s best time."

“Yay! I'm a match! Just rub my butt, and I'm on fire!"

Batman narrowed his eyes as he stared at his old partner, his adopted son, this insane stranger. 

He was completely unrecognizable. 

They spent the day out there. Every variation of the course they could conceive, they made Black run it. Any information they left over from Robin’s charts, they compared with Black. 

He either matched them, or squeaked just beyond. 

“I’m impressed,” Cyborg admitted, looking over Batman’s shoulder. 

“I’m not,” said Batman. “Training courses are good and helpful, but I would like to see him in a fight, hopped up on adrenaline.” 

“I have some footage of him during the few fights we saw him in.”

Batman handed the clipboard over. “Actually, I think I’d like to see it in person.” He stood in the middle of the brawl ring. “Black!” 

“Aye aye Captain!” 

“I’d like to brawl with you. No holds barred. Give it your all.” 

“Are you sure?” Beast Boy asked. 

Batman gave him a flat look. 

“Fair enough.” 

“You wanna wrassle?” Black beamed. “Let’s tussle!” He ran into the ring, getting into a fighting stance. 

Batman didn’t wait for a countdown or anything, but lunged forward to throw a punch. 

Black easily dodged, and launched an attack of his own, throwing a jab to the side that Batman left open. 

Batman grabbed his wrist and attempted to twist it backwards, but Black did a standing backflip to go with the twist, then spun on his heel and nearly kicked Batman in the face. 

“Wow Bunny Man! You’ve got the groove!” 

Batman didn’t say anything, just attempted to kick Black in the ribs. 

Black blocked the kick with his arm, then trapped his leg against his body. He smiled widely at Batman before punching Batman in the thigh with the side of his fist. 

Batman cried out as a searing pain dug into his leg. He reached forward and grabbed Black by the face, and shoved him away. 

Blood was trickling down his thigh. “Who gave you a knife?” Batman snarled. 

“I’m a man of many secrets,” Black grinned again. Then his smile faded as he saw the rage on Bat’s face. “You said no holds barred. I thought I was allowed to stab you.” 

“You wanna play dirty?” He growled. 

Black’s eyes flashed in delight as he darted towards Batman, ready to strike again, but Batman simply grabbed the front of his shirt, turned, and used the momentum to guide Black over and onto the ground. 

Batman reeled up to punch him, but Black somersaulted backwards, getting to his feet, before leaning back and nailing Batman in the jaw with his foot. He twisted, landing on his other foot, and then kicked Bat’s in the face again. 

While Batman reeled backwards, Black darted forward and attempted to jab him in the stomach. 

The fight would have taken a horrible turn if Batman hadn’t grabbed his wrist at the last second. 

Black had the knife again, and almost stabbed his father in the stomach. 

“We’re done,” Batman stated sternly. 

The smile on Black’s face was malicious and sinister. “What’s wrong, old man? Don’t like losing?” 

With the grip Batman had on his wrist, it took no effort to lock it and throw it out of joint. 

Black swore a tirade of foul curses against him, his family, and friends.  

“Not so fun being in pain, is it?” Batman hoisted him to his feet. 

Black’s anger dissolved into tears, as he started throwing a tantrum like a toddler. 

Batman just shook his head. 

Cyborg picked Black up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Back to the med bay with you.” 

Black attempted to hug Cyborg around the waist as he was carried away. 

Starfire sidled up to Batman and lifted him around the shoulders. “Pardon me if I am assuming too much, but you are injured. There should be no reason for you to walk on your injured leg.”

Batman didn’t argue. He couldn’t afford an injury right now, and Starfire carrying him would prevent it from getting worse. “Thank you, Starfire.” 

She smiled at him and rushed after Cyborg. 

—-

In the med bay, Alfred got to work patching Batman up while Raven and Cyborg put Black’s arm back into place.

“Of all the times you’ve been stabbed, I did not think Master Dick would be one of them.” 

“Makes me wonder how many criminals he has stabbed,” Batman winced as another suture went in the wound. 

“Johnny Rancid got it in the leg too,” said Beast Boy. “Made him lose control of his bike and crash into a wall.” 

“Jesus.” 

Black laid back on the bed, his arm in a sling while Raven did her best to knit the muscles back into place. He pouted as he stared at Batman. “You cheated,” he grumbled.

“I cheated?” Batman frowned back. 

“You called the fight off, and then you dislocated my arm. That was cheating!” 

Batman shifted his jaw and then answered, shortly, “fine. I cheated.” 

Alfred finished up, and gave him some Tylenol. 

Black perked up. “Can I have some of those?”

“No.” 

He pouted again. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.” 

Batman simply took a sucker out of his belt and tossed it to him. That shut Black right up.

“You don’t argue with him,” Cyborg noted. “Why are you indulging him?”

“Not indulging,” Batman insisted. “Compromising. I’ve worked with the insane for 20 plus years, and I always have better results if I compromise on the small things. Especially if they aren’t committing a crime. I’ve gotten Mr. Freeze to stay complacent in Arkham because I have Wayne Enterprises working on a cure for his sick wife, with his input. Poison Ivy gets rare and exotic plants for her cell that she couldn’t get anywhere else if she behaves. And Robin decides to trust whatever I tell him to do because I ‘get’ him.”

Black scooted back on the bed to lay down. The exercising worked, and he was tired. 

“So what next?” Asked Cyborg. 

“Now, we wait. He hasn’t had any opioids since last night, correct?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Then we keep him hydrated and wait until they move out of his system.”

“How long will that take?” Asked Beast Boy. 

“Probably another day at least. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him. No matter how much he whines, we can’t give him anything.” 

Black ‘hrmph’ed from his place on the bed. 

“Alfred, why don’t you make these kids some food? In the meantime, I’m going downtown to conduct my own investigation.” Without so much as a ‘goodbye’ he turned and left. 

Once he was gone, Black let out a long whimper and pouted. “Mr. Bunnyman is mad at me…” 

“Well, you stabbed him, what did you expect would happen?” Beast Boy snipped. 

Black started sniveling. “He told me to fight hard! I thought it was okay!” 

“It’s never okay to stab someone,” Raven told him, bewildered that she even had to. “Where did you put that knife?”

He put his finger to his lips. “Izza secret.” 

“Hand it over,” she said sternly. “You don’t want me to find it on my own.” 

He blew her a raspberry and took the knife out of his pocket. “Fine, Mrs. Killjoy.” 

“It is for your safety, Black,” Starfire insisted. 

Black started bobbing his head, grooving, one might say, then sang, “You got some nerve, coming here.”

“And we lost him again,” Cyborg rolled his eyes. 

“You got some nerve coming here. You stole it all, give it back.” 

Raven ignored him and stowed the knife. “Let’s all move to the ops room and help Alfred with dinner.” 

“You stole it all, give it back,” Black sang. 

“Uh…I don’t think Robin liked that you took his knife.” Beast Boy pointed out. 

“Well,” Raven poked Black in the chest. “Robin can get over it. If he cares about our safety, he’s not going to let Black have a knife.” She huffed, then looked at Starfire. “Keep an eye on him, would you? When he decides he wants to join us, he can.”

She went to the hall, with a bit more anger in her step than she intended. 

Black’s voice followed her.“Good morning, Mrs. Magpie. How are we today? Now you've stolen all the magic. You turn your back, walk away.”

#teen titans #animated tt #fanfiction #dick grayson #koriand'r #batman #robin #starfire #paint it black

[alicepooryorick]

Hey, I’m reaching out to you in an ask so you don’t have to share this publicly if you don’t want to. I know you probably didn’t mean any harm, but I’d recommend deleting your post about Oracle!Jason because it comes off as unintentionally sexist and ableist. Idk how familiar you are with The Killing Joke, but in comics there’s a long-standing issue regarding the “refrigerator woman.” When a woman is “fridged” in a comic, it means that she is the victim of something horrific (i.e. torture, rape, murder) but the storyline focuses only on how her experience affects the men around her, with no regard for how it actually affects her. The Killing Joke is one of the most infamous examples of this, because Babs’s assault is very graphic and sexualized, but the narrative is focused on how her father (Commissioner Gordon) and Batman are affected, not her. (For more information on fridging, I recommend this, this, and Gail Simone’s website, which coined the term.) Following the events of The Killing Joke, Babs’s character was discarded for several real life years. Her reemergence as Oracle is important because it allowed her to reclaim her trauma and reframed the narrative; she was no longer a victim, she was a survivor. I know that, at first glance, Babs’s assault and Jason’s murder can seem comparable because they were both at the hands of The Joker, they were both senseless acts of violence, etc. but the sexual nature of Babs’s torture and the lack of respect she was given as a character before she reemerged as Oracle separates these stories. (Also, I’m not disabled, but it’s my understanding that the word “crippled” is offensive.) I know you probably didn’t mean any harm, but sexism and ableism are really big issues in comics (and irl), and it can be easy to lean into unconscious biases when you aren’t fully aware of the harm your words may cause. I would also urge you to read The Killing Joke, it’s a tough read but it’s important to experience it firsthand in order to fully understand just how far the sexism and ableism go. There’s an animated movie adaptation from a few years ago, but it’s worse than the graphic novel (there’s an unnecessarily added rape scene) so I’d avoid it. Feel free to respond to this message or ignore it as you please. My DMs aren’t usually open, but send me an ask and I’ll message you first so we can talk about this further if you have any questions.

Hi there, first off thank you for bringing this to my attention. I really appreciate it.

Looking back now, yeah. My choice of language is bad. I'm not fully sure why I chose crippled over any other word that's FAR better. Nothing really to say there but sorry. Even as someone physically disabled that word isn't like faggot. It's not going to get better.

And yeah. I've never read the Killing Joke in its entirety. Alan Moore himself said in an interview he wishes people would not read it because he thinks it's a really bad book that has to many issues. But maybe after this I will go read it. I knew it was a horribly awful book, for godsake it's about the assault physical, sexual, and mental of Barbara and her father. All to get rid of Barbara Gordon from the role of Batgirl.

I agree I had bias here, this isn't the first time I've said shit unintentionally about Barbara Gordon. If you look back far enough there's probably still some posts I made lamenting that she didn't become like Marvel's Silhouette. I'm not proud of those either. And now that I look at it, as much as I do think the idea of seeing how two of my favorite characters swapping positions and how they'd interact with eachother's position... It's the same as my old posts about Barbara and Silhouette. It's pretty hurtful.

And again, thank you. I really appreciate your kind words while explaining the issue. It really helped, and I hope you have a great rest of your day <3

[out-of-context-batfam]

Batman Eternal #19

#BABS HAS BEEN TRICKED INTO THINKING JASON WAS THE JOKER #JASON DOESNT BLAME BABS ONE BIT FOR HER VIOLENT REACTIONS... HE KNOWS FIRST HAND WHAT ITS LIKE TO HAVE TRAUMA AT THE HANDS OF THE JOKER... #WHOEVER DID THAT JUST STUPIDLY INSULTED TWO PEOPLE WHO HAVE SOME OF THE BIGGEST GRUDGES AGAINST JOKER ON THE PLANET #THAT GUY IS LUCKY THEY NEEDED HIM ALIVE OR JASON WOULDVE MURDERED HIM AND BABS WOULDVE BEEN MORE THAN WILLING TO LOOK THE OTHER WAY HERE #dc comics #batfam #batfamily #out of context #batman eternal #red hood #jason todd #zombie robin #batgirl #barbara gordon #hackerbat #funny #dammit jason #mind manipulation #what a dumb move by the bad guy #they both have had awful trauma at the hands of the joker

[pancake-angst]

Publicity Stunt

Here is my gift for @ar-lasa-mala-revas for @masseffectholidaycheer! Shakarian fake dating be upon ye!

"Okay, you're on, Vakarian. Tali, gimme your straw wrapper." Once she passed it over, Shepard dropped to one knee in front of him, and Kaidan made a strangled noise, which Shepard studiously ignored.

"Did you injure yourself somehow, Shepard?" said Garrus, looking at her blankly.

"It's a human courtship ritual, Garrus," said Tali, after a long slurp of her drink. "This is the part where she tells you she's pregnant."

"I am absolutely not pregnant," said Shepard, deliberately focusing on twisting the straw wrapper into a ring as if that would distract from the blush heating her cheeks.

"She would have to get laid for that, Tali," said Joker, in an overexaggerated whisper.

"Thank you, Joker," said Shepard, in a tone that made it clear thank you meant I will kill you slowly and leave pieces out for the reapers. "Anyway. Focus, guys. Garrus Vakarian." She held up the straw wrapper, now hopefully large enough to fit around one of Garrus's huge fingers.

"That is, in fact, my name, Shepard. I'm glad you haven't suffered head trauma in addition to the knee injury." Despite the dry tone of his voice, there was something odd in his eyes—not the usual giddy, lunatic glee he got whenever he realized they were about to do something ridiculous together. Was he having second thoughts for once?

Oh well, no going back now. "Will you put on a terrible turian suit to match my terrible human dress uniform and do me the honor of accompanying me to a bullshit fundraising dinner?"

Garrus finally seemed to catch on—took him long enough—and let out a hoarse little laugh. "I get it now." He pressed the back of one hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon. "Oh, Commander! This is so sudden! I'm just not sure."

"Aw, Garrus, don't we always have a good time together?" She caught his free hand. She wasn't used to touching him outside of battle, with his fingers bare instead of covered in thick gauntlets. "This way we can actually sit together instead of having to try and mime ways to beg for death all night from across the room."

"And Shepard will keep your dance card full," said Tali. Shepard couldn't make out her wicked smirk through the faceplate, but she definitely heard it in Tali's voice.

Garrus blinked. "Spirits, I didn't even think about the dancing. I might have to say no in self-defense."

"Aw, c'mon! I'm on my knees here! What more do you want? I don't do this for just any guy, you know." Shepard asked. (At this, both Kaidan and Joker burst into undignified laughter. Shepard took one hand away from Garrus's to flip them the bird.)

Garrus looked at her for a long moment, so long she thought for sure he was trying to find a politer way than usual to say no. (In which case, she wasn't sure why he was bothering—it wasn't like she expected eloquence from him. She could make a big damn speech when she felt like it, but Garrus did better with one-liners.) "On second thought," he said, almost hesitantly, "I need to consider the rest of the people at the dinner. If I let you dance with anyone else, you might hurt them, and then we'll have a diplomatic incident to deal with on top of all the rest of the bullshit."

"Is that a yes, Vakarian?" Shepard cupped one hand around her ear.

Garrus put his other hand on top of hers, the same way he had when she first saw him again after six months apart on Palaven. She still thought about that touch sometimes, at odd moments of the day, like if she spotted him at a distance in the Citadel or remembered something she needed to tell him. "Yes, Shepard. I will take on the burden of keeping everyone else safe from your dance moves."

Read the rest on AO3

#shakarian #mass effect #mass effect holiday cheer

[redhoodssweetheart]

Blackbird | Three

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader slowly turning into a Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2K

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing, angst, some fluff, talk of having a dark soul and not being a good person, death mention, shot with a gun

Description: You were once a member of the BatFam known by the moniker Blackbird.   You and Dick Grayson were close, but when a tragic accident left many members of the team thinking you were dead you went into hiding and tried to build a new life for yourself. But now Dick is back and he’s about to find out your secret.

Dick was lying awake in his hotel room thinking about her when his phone buzzed.  He grabbed it off the bedside table and looked to see who had messaged him.  He was almost certain it was going to be Bruce telling him to get his ass back to Gotham, but instead he saw Kor’i’s name.

Kor’i: Damian said you were out of town on a mission.  Is everything okay?

He wasn’t sure how to tell Kor’i that he had found Y/N, his lifelong friend that had been murdered by the Joker right before his eyes.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her yet.  She was still deceased in the eyes of most of the League and he knew she still wanted to keep it that way.  He was half expecting her to up and vanish again, but before he had left her apartment the night before he had made her swear not to leave.

Dick: Something came up and I’ll be in Preston City for awhile.

Kor’i: Do you need back up?  I can be there in a few hours if you need me.

Kor’i was a good friend, Dick hated lying to her, but he didn’t need her coming here and scaring Y/N off.

Dick: I can handle things here.  Just stay with the Titans.

Kor’i: All right, just call if you need me.

He shut his phone off and went back to staring at the ceiling wondering what he should do now.  Y/N was adamant about staying in the shadows and operating as she had been since her death.  She didn’t feel like she was worthy enough to come back out into the light.  Whatever she had done after she had been reawakened from the Lazarus Pit had messed with her.

He was going to get to the bottom of this and try to help her work through whatever trauma she was still holding onto.  He got up and got ready for the day.  He wasn’t sure where she was going to be today, but he didn’t want her to be alone.

“What do you mean he just showed up out of the blue?” Jason was on the phone with Y/N as she punched away at one of the punching bags in her apartment.  “Did Bruce tell him?”

Y/N and Jason were in similar situations.  They had both been killed by the Joker and resurrected in the Lazarus Pit.  Jason, however, had returned to the fold in a sense rather than staying in the shadows as she had.  Though she had chosen to reach out to Jason after her sanity had come back because she needed someone to talk to that had been through the same thing she had.

“Bruce didn’t tell him where I was, Dick figured that out all on his own.  But once he discovered me, he managed to pry the truth out of Bruce.”  She threw another punch that managed to knock the punching bag off its hook and send it flying across the room.  “Fuck,” she cursed.

“Destroy another punching bag?”  Jason asked in a teasing tone.

“Shut up, Todd,” she hissed.  “You would think I would be better at controlling the super strength by now.”

Jason was quiet for a moment, “Maybe you should leave Preston for a while and come stay with me.  I can keep Dick off your scent for a bit and you can get used to the idea that he knows you’re still alive.”

“He said he loved me,” she whispered.

Jason sat up in his chair and nearly spit out his coffee, “He what?!”

Y/N felt like putting her fist through a wall, “He told me that he loved me and nothing could ever change his mind about that.  I told him that he was in love with a memory of me, but he doesn’t want to believe that.  He wants to think that he can love this newer, broken version of me.”

Jason knew that when Y/N had died she and Dick had grown closer and that there was more to their relationship than friendship.  Dick had never gotten the chance to tell her that he was in love with her before she died and then went into hiding.  Y/N had never really spoken of her relationship with Dick, just comments here and there.  The memories tended to be too painful for her.

“Do you still love him?”  Jason wasn’t sure if that would get a response, but he thought he should at least see what her response would be.

“You know what?  I’ll be at your place in a few hours,” she hit the end button on her phone and went to get in the shower.  

The warm spray of water against her skin helped relieve some of the tension in her muscles as she went through the habitual routine.  It was familiar and comforting when her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts.  She needed to get away from Preston and Dick for a while and just clear her head.  Staying with Jason wasn’t the best idea, but he was all she had right now.

She would suck it up for at least a week and see if that helped.

She dressed and packed a bag with the essentials.  She jotted down a note to Dick because he would undoubtedly be by to check on her and when he discovered she wasn’t there he would break in to find clues.  Then headed to the train station downtown to catch the first train to Gotham.

When the train began to move she put her earphones in and listened to music that helped soothe her restless soul and watched as the city passed her by.  Dick was out there somewhere looking for her, hoping that he could bring her back.

But she was a lost cause and she hoped that he could see that.

Dick knocked on Y/N’s door an hour after she had gotten on the train.  He hadn’t wanted to go over to her apartment too early, but he couldn’t wait any longer.  He wanted to continue their conversation from the night before and hopefully talk about other things as well.  He didn’t want to focus on all the bad that had happened since they had last seen one another, he wanted to know about the good as well.

There was no answer the second time he knocked and dread settled in the pit of his stomach.  Why wasn’t she answering the door?

He pulled out his lock picking set and managed to get the door open.  The apartment was quiet as he pushed the door shut behind him.  “Y/N?”  There was no response as he moved deeper into the apartment.  

He noticed the punching bag laying on the floor, sand spilling out of it, and then headed for her room.  Lying on her bed as a single sheet of paper.  He picked it up with trembling fingers and read the two words that made his heartbreak.

I’m sorry.

She had left and it was his fault.  He had pushed her to leave because he had scared her by discovering where she was.  He sat down on her bed just staring at the two words written on the sheet of paper.

Y/N stepped off the train and saw Jason waving at her from down the platform.  She smiled and ran toward him, throwing her arms around him.  Sometimes Jason was the only thing that managed to make her smile. “Hey Blackbird,” he whispered against her ear.

She shoved him, “Shut up, you know I don’t go by that anymore.”

“Yeah what is that pretentious name the media gave you?  Phantom?”  He slung his arm over her shoulders and began steering her toward his motorcycle.  “I’m pretty sure you could come up with something better.”

“Having a name implies that I’m a superhero, and I’m not.  I’m just a concerned citizen,” she shot back.  

Jason smirked at her, “Concerned citizen my ass, you just like the thrill of kicking the ass of men twice your size and laughing as the cops and media sit back scratching their heads about who the hell you are and if they should consider you a hero or a menace.”

“Oh, I’m definitely a menace,” she said with a nod to her head.  ���There’s no room for heroes in my life.”

“You wound me,” Jason said with mock hurt.  “Am I not a hero?”

“More like a major pain in my ass,” she poked him in the ribs.  

Jason pouted and said, “If I had known you were going to be so mean to me then I never would have agreed to let you stay with me while you get your shit together.”

“You’re a dick, you know that Todd?”  She said as she placed her bag on the back of his motorcycle and grabbed the helmet from his hands.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” he said as he climbed onto his bike and waited for her to join him.  When she had her arms wrapped securely around him he took off, zooming through the streets and heading to his small apartment in the east end.  They managed to make it without any accidents and Jason led her up to his apartment.  “Home sweet home,” he pushed open the door revealing his place.

It was surprisingly cleaner than she thought it would be.

“Aw Jay, did you clean for me?”  She sauntered into the home and tossed her bag on the couch.  “Because I’m pretty sure Alfred was always getting on you for having a messy room when we were teenagers.”

Y/N wasn’t an official adoptee of Bruce Wayne.  She had been friends with Barbara and then the others when she learned their secret.  She had a room at Wayne Manor for those nights when she couldn’t go home because of the night time activities.  It worked out okay, her parents were never really home to begin with and they never paid much attention to what she did as long as she wasn’t arrested.

A blessing and a curse.

“Hey, a man can change his ways,” he grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and tossed it to her.  “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” she shrugged.  Her phone lit up and she saw that it was Bruce calling.  She held her fingers to her lips and answered, “Hey Bruce.”

“Where are you?”  He asked.

She sighed, Dick must have called him.  “If I tell you then will you promise not to tell Dick?”

“Where are you?”  He repeated his question.

She felt a little bit of anger bubble up inside her, “You don’t get to demand things from me anymore Bruce.  I’m not one of your kids and I’ve been doing fine on my own for a while now.  I’m safe and okay, I’m not gonna go on a murder spree if that’s what you’re worried about.  I just need some time.”  She hung up the phone and turned it off.  “God, I forgot how annoying he can be.”

Jason came over and wrapped his arms around her, “Just stay calm.  Everything will be okay.  You’ll stay here for a bit, relax, get your head on straight, and then head back to Preston to be your badass self again.”

“Maybe I won’t go back to Preston,” she said as she looked up at him.  “Maybe I’ll go to France or Germany.  Somewhere else that isn’t here.”

“Well if you go overseas then how am I ever going to see you?”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you’ll figure out a way.”  She patted his chest and pulled away from him, “Now what about pancakes?  There’s that place downtown that I loved as a kid that makes those birthday cake pancakes.”  She hummed, “I would kill for some of those right now.”

“And here I thought you weren’t gonna go on a murder spree after promising Bruce you wouldn’t,” Jason headed for the door.

“Hey, no one gets between me and my pancakes,” she said as he opened his door.

He was smiling as he shook his head, “I’ll be back.  Just don’t trash the place while I’m out.”

“No promises,” she said in a singsong voice as the door closed behind him.

#Dick Grayson x Reader #Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader #Dick Grayson x Reader angst #Jason Todd x Reader #Jason Todd x Fem!Reader #Jason Todd x Reader angst #Dick Grayson #Dick Grayson fanfic #Dick Grayson fanfiction #Dick Grayson angst #Jason Todd #Jason Todd fanfic #Jason Todd fanfiction #Jason Todd angst

[kinsey3furry300]

5 ships I hate, why I hate them, how to (kinda) fix them, the better ships you should be doing in that universe, and why you should ignore me and keep writing them if it makes you happy.

Note: this is done for amusement, please don’t be offended; I’m not attacking your ship, I’m just listing some ships I do not always care for, and how I think they could be improved, and maybe made brilliant, by clever writing.

In no particular order, and focusing on ships that often annoy me, with no attempt by me to say anything meaningful or popular about the current state of any particular fandom. I’m also a firm believer in the idea that there’s no such thing as a bad ship, only a badly executed ship, so my objections to these is less a dislike of shipping, or the paring, and more that they raise writing issues that I think are difficult to fix in a satisfying way. That’s why in a lot of the examples below I prefer AU ships to ones that try to messily work it into the cannon. Anyway, enjoy... I guess?

 Marco x / anyone (Animorphs)

Why I hate it: Animrophs is an intensely character-driven story, where the tension of each book comes from the conflicts, external and internal, that the five Animrophs (and Ax) face during a long, hard, traumatic war.  And while several of the character are paired off romantically, it’s always to emphasise character conflict over their different points of view. Jake and Cassie are a pair because Jake’s struggle with having to make hard, grey, morally ambiguous choices as leader is highlighted by Cassie’s burning need to make the right choice, the lesser evil, the choice that leaves some small shred of humanity and dignity and kindness left in this bleak world. Tobias and Rachel are a pair as their arcs deal with literal and figurative loss of humanity, as the slow accumulation of trauma over time turns these happy(ish), normal kids into psychologically ruined husks of their former selves and destroys them slowly, one fight at a time.

Marco’s arc, isn’t about either of these things: Marco’s arc, is about the bright, clear line between A and B, between problem and solution. Marco is a utilitarian, a pragmatist: his concern isn’t the burden of leadership, or the cost of the decision, but about how to put that all aside and make hard decisions that actually work regardless of cost. It’s not about what to do, the path is obvious: the bright, clear line of ruthless logic, but how to do it. His match, his counterpoint, the other character who’s all about the logic of taking awful decision in a way that actually works for the team, and his foil, his female counterpart in this, is not a romantic partner, but his mother: Visser one, making the exact same hard, difficulty ruthless decisions using logic and maths, but for the other side of this war. A romantic paring gets in the way of this arc because a partner doesn’t help him with that bright, clear line, and worse, any attempt to pair him of with either Rachel or Cassie breaks up not only a cannon paring, but their respective character arc.

How to (kinda) fix this: Marco’s arc is, at the end of the day, a trolly problem. So make sure whoever you ship him with is one of the people tied to the tracks. Introduce a character he crushes on, and then in the second act reveal that they are either a Controller, or in the family of a Controller or the proximity of the target of their next mission in a way that will make them collateral damage ,and let Marco struggle with what happens when that bright, clear logical line from A to B cuts through someone he actually loves; you know, like it did with his mother. See, even trying to fix this ship is weirdly Freudian.

The far better ship you should be doing: Ax x / EVERYONE. Ax in human form is described as a worryingly pretty, worryingly androgynous male of indeterminate race. He is a literally Bishonen alien hedonist with no familiarity with human senses, poor impulse control in human form, and no knowledge or understanding of human courtship rituals, and he can shape-shift, including into other members of the core team if needed to compel a mission, he calls Jake his prince,  and he is incredibly close to Tobias, the lonely outcast woobie that the LGBT fans adopted as their poster boy. Come on, the potential for shipping, both with wacky hijinks and sad, tragic star-crossed lovers’ trope is endless. Every line dedicated to Marco shipping is a line of text that could be dedicated to Ax trying to eat a Cinnabon erotically on his first date as a human and hulking out mid way because he forgot just how good they are. What could be better than him leaning into to erotically kiss a team-mate, and then fucking up due to his failure to understand human mouths, making weird mouth sounds, and then licking crumbs of the table in the middle of the mall, in front of the entire school, while his crush awkwardly tried to pretend this is normal? What’s wrong with you Marco-shipper people, do you hate fun?

 Riz/Tem (beastars) Why I hate this ship: Okay, just to quickly ask a question, to people who un-ironically like this as a serious ship and not a dark joke, just one little question: What’s wrong with you? I mean,are you okay? Keep taking the meds: the show is VERY clear on that point.

It’s like those people who say Joker X Harley Quinn is their ideal dark, edgy relationship: no it’s not, it’s abusive! Morticia x Gomez is dark and cool but CONSENTUAL and HEALTHY. This… this is a deeply imbalanced person murdering someone and telling themselves after that fact it was special and rare and magical. ITS HOMICIDE! And even if you write that out (and you shouldn’t, because that changes the character arc of every other major character) it’s still got more red flags that a soviet military parade. This is the botulinum of a toxic, one-sided teenage infatuation. Riz’s entire arc is about how he projects his thoughts and feelings about himself onto this idealised, made-up version of his and Tem’s relationship which, from Tem’s point of view, never existed. Riz never loved Tem: he loved the idea of Tem, the idea that someone would see the real him, see his inner pain and accept him anyway, but he never once told Tem this. He didn’t warn him “Hey, because of you I don’t feel I need my meds any more, do you mind if I try not taking them and we can meet and talk about this in a safe, well-lit pace?” He’s not honest with Tem, and on top of that It doesn’t make sense from the point of view of either of the characters for them to be actually, romantically in love (although  they were clearly close friends), because it undermines and cheepens Riz desire to just be seen and accepted for his real self, and the cannon Tem X Els ship. It also doesn’t make sense from a story point of view: Riz is a shadow archetype for Legosi. He’s what Legosi would have become if someone hadn’t interrupted his attack on Haru. That’s why Legosi needs to beat Riz with his own hands: because then he’s beating the darker version of himself he’s been carrying with him, and he can finally move on with Haru guilt-free. Having Riz and Tem’s relationship actually be what Riz imagined it to be undoes that. It undoes Riz’s interesting, dark inner struggle between truth and fantasy, it turns Tem’s tragic, unsolved murder that sets the entire story in motion into a just sort of weird Romeo-and Juliet suicide. It’s ruins the character arc not only for Riz, but for Legosi, and also, by extension, Louis and Haru, because Legosi’s internal angst over whether or not herbivores and carnivores can have a relationship as true friends needs this example of a tragic, flawed, toxic, failed friendship to bounce off of.

How it could (sort of) work: an AU where Riz’s attack on Tem is interrupted and Tem lives with a slight arm injury, and doesn’t tell anyone out of his complex feelings for Riz. Meanwhile, that bunny girl from the gardening club had been brutally devoured and Rz and/or Tem are so horrified with how close this was to their own near-miss, they start to investigate the murder, and in doing so get caught up in Louis’ inner struggle. Because that’s how the story needs to work, it’s about duality and struggle: and if Riz takes Legosi’s role, and by dating a herbivore he de facto takes the role, so Legosi must take Riz’s. This could be a great AU!

The better ship you should be doing: Pina/Riz (with a dash of Pina x Els), no, seriously, I’m not shitposting. You want to give Riz a redemption arc with a cute woolly boy? How about a story where Pina, out of a need for closure about at happened to him, starts to visit Riz in jail and they talk, mockingly at first, confrontational at first, but later Pina slowly becoming more fascinated in Riz and Tem’s life and asking Riz for more and more detail until they both bond over their shared traumatic experiences and their sense of loss for Tem’s senseless death, Tem’s unfished life casting a shadow over both off them. Eventually, the two of them find, from Legosi who still has the diary, that Tem had planned out an elaborate and beautiful first date with Els that he never got to take her on, and Riz, guilt ridden and sad than Tem never got this beautiful moment, decides to ask Pina take her on that date for Tem, with Riz coaching him by phone cyano-de-Bergerac style, Riz finally getting some closure that he helped one of Tem’s wishes come true and finally acknowledging to himself that Tem had a life and loves outside of him that were cut of short by his actions, and just crying over his lost friend, as Pina and Els slow-dance in Tem memory. Or if you just want to see Tem awkwardly date a carnivore boy from school, why not something less creepy and more wholesome and ship him with Jack? That would be cute AF, and more importantly, not romanticize brutal murder. Or an AU where everything is happy and nice, I’d argue at that it’s no longer Beastars at that point, but if it makes you happy, go for it. Let’s not shame anyone here.

 Snape X Lilly (Harry Potter)

Why I hate this ship: honestly, it’s not for the reason you think; I just like Snape too much as a tragic character, and making him in any way happy destroys his arc in my opinion.  The objection’s others have raised: that Snape acts in a worryingly possessive stalker-ish way towards Lilly, and that if Voldemort had gone for Nevil rather than Harry as a child Snape would have remained a loyal death eater, are true and I acknowledge them as having some validity, but that’s not why I can’t stand this ship. Snape is supposed to be a morally and emotionally complex, tragic figure. That “After all this time?” line was the best line in the Deathly Hallows.  Snape is supposed to show the equality destructive and redemptive power of  love. It’s sort of trinity: Lilly shows the pure power of true, unconditional love in her sacrifice to save Harry, Voldy shows what self-destruction and cruelty a life without understanding love leads to, and Snape sits somewhere in the middle: his one-sided  un-requited love being both the cause of his darkest, and his greatest actions. His curse, and his redemption, fall and rise. Making him happy messes that up.

How to (kinda) fix this ship: make them miserable. Make them fall for each-other only to be pulled apart by circumstance (you know, like they were in the darn original source material). You’re serious about making this a tragic, dark romance? Don’t ship them when they’re at school: Ship them during Voldemort’s rise to power, in the 80’s, after Lilly is married. Have the original Order of the Phoenix send her to meet with Snape and use their previous relation to try to milk some information out of him. Have her feel conflicted about it, have James furious about it, but have her do it anyway for the greater good. Have her meet up secretly with Snape who is angry and distrustful, knowing his must be a trap, and talk. Have the relationship slowly build over time against the backdrop of a cold-war spy thriller, as Lilly slowly realizes that she has some lingering feelings for Snape, but can’t reconcile them her loyalty to the order and her family. Make this a love story of conflicted feelings, divided loyalties, and spy-work against the background of drawing war-clouds. Have Snape offer to leave Voldemort, if she’ll leave the Order, and run away with him, but by that point she knows she’s pregnant and chooses to stay, out of loyalty even though she’s crushing on Snape. Have him show up at the rendezvous expecting for her to be there only for James to lead an Order Ambush, and a fight to ensure, on top of Tower Bridge in the howling wind and rain, Snape surviving but having his spirit crushed and fleeing before Lilly can tell him her true feelings. Make it big, and melodramatic, but above all, make it tragic.  Because that’s the only way Snape works as a character. Always.

The better ship you should be doing: Ginny X Nevil or Luna x Nevil: You want tragic lovers, at school, with divided loyalties, who never get together in the main cannon because a Potter ruins it and gets the girl? Ginny X Nevil. Write what was happening that final year Harry wasn’t at school when they took Dumbledore’s Army and make it work in earnest. Heck, you could even have Snape, as headmaster, hated by them but secretly trying to protect them as a secondary character to their secret, forbidden love. You don’t want to break up Harry X Ginny? Luna X Nevil is sweet and wholesome, but also tragic as they never get a chance, having their school life taken over by the horror of that final year and the need to fight for their very souls in a school run by Death Eaters and the trauma of the Battle of Hogwarts meaning that in order to put away the past and move on, they need to leave each other behind. Hell, do an AU where they canonically end up together, why not? They deserve happiness.

 Dean / Sam AKA Wincest (Supernatural)

Why I hate this ship: They’re brothers. The show even makes a joke about how squick this is. Several times.

How you could (sort of) fix this ship: You can’t: They’re brothers. The show even makes a joke about how squick this is. I guess a body-swap arc could fix this, as it’s less squicky if its just their bodies with someone else’s minds,  but seriously, the reasons why this shouldn’t exist are extensively covered in the show, and it was hilarious.  To be honest, I don’t hate this ship done as a joke, but I have seen some dark spots on the internet, and I can say with all honesty it’s not always treated as a joke. Some folks are really invested in this, and all I can ask is, is your home life okay?

Now, done as a joke, I’m 110% behind this. This is exactly the sort of insane wacky bullshit that makes for a good crack-fic. For example imagine that the supernatural threat of the week was book that made anything written in it come true, and the brothers are trying to find and destroy it, but they keep getting distracted by their burgeoning romantic feelings for each-other, and suddenly realise that the owner of the book is a fan on the in-universe novels, and writing slash-fic in the book. They need to find the writer before they make them do something they’ll both regret, but it’s just so distracting when Sam’s beautiful eyes are right there and- dammit, Sam, it’s happening again! Make Sam less concerned and even a little amused, with it, but make Dean hate what’s going on. Especially when the writer’s description suddenly makes Sam noticeably better hung that him. Make the villain turn out to be Becky from “Sympathy for the devil” and end with them trying to take the book away as she writes frantically to force them to do her bidding, and you’ve got yourself a good fic.

The better ship you should be doing: Cas/Sam or Cas/Dean or Cas/Sam AND Dean fic. Duh. Once again the show-runners beat the fans to the mark and pointed out that this is the best ship, and then they took it away just to fuck with us.

 Any Katniss ship that ignores her obsession with Emotional Security Logic. (The Hunger Games)

Why I hate these ships: Katniss is, briefly put, a mess before the books ever start, her father’s death and harsh upbringing have arguably given her PTSD before she ever volunteers for the reaping, and it doesn’t get better from there.  In psychology, Emotional Security Theory (EST) is a hypothesis that the heightened emotions surrounding repeated violent exposures leaves children vulnerable to dysregulated distress responses and eventual psychopathology, aka, why Kat be so messed up.  Her internal monologue makes the books completely clear that her choice in partners is not motivated by normal affections, but by deep, deep fear. A fear of loss, abandonment and death that leads her to make every decision about what minimises her, and her sister’s, exposure to potential physical and emotional harm. It’s frantic, fraught, cold survivalist thinking. And the other characters in the book notice and acknowledge it! “Which of us will she pick?” “She’ll pick whoever she can’t survive without.” Kat doesn’t like herself for it, but she does eventually admit to herself that she makes her decisions like this.

How do we fix this ship: Ship Kat with whoever you like, but give her a good reason to pick them: and in Kat’s mind “A good reason” is based on Emotional Security Logic, she needs to have a pressing reason why this ship makes her and her sister safer. Do that, and you’ve got yourself a good Katniss story. Don’t do that, and while you may or may not have a good story, the person staring in it isn’t Katniss Everdeen anymore.

The better ship you should be writing: Finick X Annie. Or, Haymitch prequel ships

FinAnn. This, this ship has some real potential to it, and is criminally underutilized. Finick and Annie’s relationship is one of the most tragic and romantic in the story, and has so much to offer. Or, if you want to have a hard-bitten character from district 12 struggling with trying to find love in the hellish combat of the games, do a prequel in which Haymitch finds love in the capitol during training, but loses then in the area and turns to drink as a result. Heck, you could even have some fun with this and turn it into a dark comedy, or a great tragic love story, whatever you like. It’s got potential, and his backstory is vague enough you could do a lot with it.

So, tell me below why I’m wrong, and have fun with your writing: just because I hate that ship doesn’t mean you should. Enjoy yourselves.

I’m off to write awful Ax/Pina/Luna Polyjuice’d into Nevil/Cas/Finick fiction set at an anime high-school that fights a magical war against other fictional schools, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

#Shipping #Ships i don't like #animorphs #beastars #harry potter #supernatural #hunger games #im wrong so tell me #i ship bad things #you like what you like #lets not judge #Unless you ship Bellatrix and Hermione that’s just wrong #and you should feel bad #but not as bad as me #riz/tem #snape/lilly #sam/dean #No such thing as a bad ship #enjoy your fics #i can't spell for shit so the edit history on this will change every 10 seconds as i spot typos sorry

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Rivalry

requested by @micapearls (ed hearing jon full body laugh for the first time)

Ever since he first met Jonathan Crane, Edward has had an unshakable fixation on eliciting any type of emotional expression from the other man. To the untrained eye it would appear Jonathan was unable to experience any human emotions beyond displeasure and annoyance. Jonathan doesn’t cry, he doesn’t shout when they argue, he doesn’t allow any facial expression to inadvertently cross his stoic features. Over time, Edward has been able to get a better feel for the subtle cues that indicate his partner’s emotional state, but Jonathan still makes an effort to hold his feelings and opinions close to his chest. Edward wants so badly to break him of this habit. He’s lost count of the amount of meaningless arguments he’d blown out of proportion in the hopes of making Jonathan visibly angry. But perhaps that’s just trauma reenactment.

It was after one such failed attempt to goad Jonathan into an argument that Edward finally got what he was looking for. He had unsuccessfully tried to get a rise out of the other man, throwing out the cruelest, most spiteful things he could think of. Things he didn’t mean, things he doesn’t want Jonathan to think he meant. Unfortunately, this only resulted in Jonathan disappearing off into the lab, leaving Edward to sulk alone in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, staring absently at the television when Jonathan finally reappears from the basement, his expression as austere and unreadable as ever.

“I’m having a drink,” the older man announces, breezing past Edward and into the kitchen. He removes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and holds it up for Edward to see. “Do you want one?”

Edward doesn’t particularly care for whiskey but he can recognize a peace offering when he sees one. He nods wordlessly, sliding to one end of the sofa to make room for Jonathan to sit if he wanted to.

Jonathan pours the two drinks, bringing them into the living room and handing one to Edward. He accepts. Takes a small sip, trying to ignore the unpleasant taste.

“What are you watching?” Jonathan asks as he sits down a respectful distance away from Edward.

“News,” he says. “I’m looking at it more than I’m really watching it.”

Jonathan studies the screen for a few moments, sipping his own drink steadily. “Turn up the volume,” he says abruptly.

Edward obliges, directing his own attention to the TV as well. The reporter onscreen is standing in front of the Gotham University campus. There are cop cars and officers crowded around the building, many of them with heavy tactical gear and weapons.

“Shit, I hope whatever this is doesn’t screw up the heist I had planned for next weekend,” Edward mutters as he puts his drink down on the table.

“…As you can see the police are behind me attempting to negotiate the release of the thirteen hostages currently being held on the University grounds.” The camera cuts away from the reporter to show a closer shot of the police officers at the scene. Edward can make out commissioner Gordon speaking into a walkie-talkie at the front of the group. Bullock stands beside him, looking generally burly and gruff but otherwise not contributing much. “The location and condition of the hostages is unclear; all we know is that those thirteen students and faculty members are trapped somewhere in the Joker’s sadistic maze. More updates on the way as we continue to document the most recent criminal exploits of Gotham’s most fearsome criminal.”

“Ouch,” Jonathan says dryly. “Seems unfair that I’m not the most fearsome criminal in this city but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Edward, in the meantime, is too busy trying to navigate the mixture of anger, surprise, and jealousy that has begun burning in his chest to even register Jonathan’s comment. “He—I feel like I’m having a stroke, I mean, did that reporter say what I think she said?” he splutters, standing up from the couch to gesticulate wildly at the screen.

“What’s your problem?” Jonathan asks. “Joker does something like this every week, you can’t be surprised at this point.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps, ignoring the heat he can feel rising into his face and ears. “I was going to do a sadistic maze at the university. Me! That fucking clown stole my idea! I mean, am I the only person with any goddamn integrity in this vile city?” He collapses back onto the couch, throwing his arms up. “I had the whole thing planned out, all the pieces built and ready to be set up and he just swoops in with his dollar store makeup and awful dye job and ruins everything like he always does. I mean, do you know how hard it is to build a maze from scratch and make it appear with fully functional traps and people in it before the cops show up? It’s not easy, I’ll say that. And it’s not cheap either!”

Jonathan watches Edward’s hysterical monologue in silence, takes a few moments to digest the entirety of the rant, and then bursts out laughing.

Edward’s jaw drops. Usually when Jonathan laughs it’s little more than a sharp exhale or the hint of a smile. But this laugh is a loud, unrestrained cackle, so raspy in places it almost sounds like a wheeze. It’s the first time he’s ever seen his partner seem genuinely tickled by something and he can’t even enjoy it because it’s at his own expense. He can’t tell if he’s more shocked to see his partner’s entire body wracked with laughter, or more indignant that he’s being laughed at in the first place. He snaps his mouth shut, his face screwing up into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“It absolutely is. Your whole thing with the Joker is hilarious.”

“It is not! He’s completely destroying my reputation, my career in this town. I mean, now I can never do that heist I had planned because the Joker already did it and everyone’s already accusing me of ripping off his costume and gimmick. If I even mention that I had the same idea, then people are going to try and accuse me of stealing his fucking intellectual property too.” He gets up again, pacing almost frantically around the room. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to do something with a school, I mean, I’m the one whose whole aesthetic and MO has to do with knowledge and learning. He should go terrorize a fucking comedy club or something, leave the higher education to those of us whose brain cells haven’t been fried by a vat of acid.” He glares at Jonathan who is still doubled over with laughter. “Stop laughing at me, I’m serious.”

He raises a hand to cover his mouth, though it does nothing to soothe his amusement. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit, you sound ridiculous right now.”

“I fail to see how this is ridiculous.”

“You’re demanding artistic integrity from a man who dresses like a clown and kills people for fun.” Jonathan manages to stifle his laughter a bit, but Edward knows he’s never going to let him live this down. “Besides, neither of you went to college so I don’t see how you have more of a right to a university based maze heist than him.”

He rolls his eyes. Jonathan loves to point out that Edward never went to college because it’s the only real accomplishment he has that Edward couldn’t easily replicate. Just because Jonathan suffered through nine years of higher education that would have driven Edward into a murderous rage doesn’t mean he’s better than him. “A maze is a type of puzzle is it not? Last time I checked I was the prince of puzzles which, in my eyes, makes me more entitled to use mazes in my traps. I also think it makes me sound cooler. I mean, ‘clown prince of crime’? How pathetic is that.”

“They’re both pathetic,” Jonathan says. “I don’t know why people keep trying to call us princes like we’re not all broke psychopaths.”

“I’m not broke.”

“But you don’t deny being a psychopath?”

Edward continues to glower at the other man who is still fighting against a smile. “I can’t believe you’re not on my side right now.”

Jonathan shrugs. “I mean, you have to admit your costume color schemes are remarkably similar.”

“They are not! My preferred color scheme is green and purple, his is purple and green, okay, they’re distinctly different!”

“Edward,” he says, using that tone he always takes when Edward is acting irrational, “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too seriously?”

“Not in the slightest,” he insists, knowing that this is arguably a stupid thing to care about. “You’ll never know what it’s like to always play second fiddle to everyone’s favorite costumed criminal. At least people are scared of you. Everyone just thinks I’m some kind of joke thief.”

“Well, maybe you need to give them something to be scared of. Show them you mean business.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you propose I do that in a way that is both on brand and not derivative of the Joker’s own crime sprees?”

Jonathan’s smile changes, becoming less humorous and more devious. Edward can see the familiar gleam in his eye that indicates the Scarecrow’s mind is hard at work. There’s the Jonathan he’s used to. “I bet I could give you a few ideas,” he says slyly, finishing the rest of his drink in a single swallow. “If you don’t have any qualms about torturing people.”

Despite the fact that he’s still annoyed with Jonathan for making fun of him, Edward can’t help but flash a smile back at the other man. There’s just something about those clever, sinister eyes that always draw him right back in. “What did you have in mind?”

#i know this was a long road to walk to fulfill the prompt but I hope u enjoy #scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #batman #dc #my writing #joker #just a reference tho bc he's stinky

[littleoddwriter]

Scared of Losing You | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

"Hello there! Your Roman X Reader fics are awesooome! And I want to suggest a request: an Roman Sionis X Male Reader when the reader is caught in a fight between Sionis, the Joker and the Bat family, and gets badly hurt (Joker 's fault). Roman had to deal with the Batman to save his love from death - Angst and fluff at the end + The Batman trying to save reader as he sees him as the only person who can calm Roman. Thanks in advance!!!" @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama

A/N: Thank you so much! That means a lot! <3 I really hope you like it and that I managed to do your idea justice! Thanks so much for this delightful request!!

summary; Basically what it says above: You’re badly hurt by the Joker, Batman helps you and Roman basically, Roman is afraid of losing you.

notes; TW/CW // Hospital; Severe Injuries; Flesh Wounds; Broken Bones; Stab Wounds; Violence (none of these things are really explicit, though, but if any of this triggers you, please be cautious!). Male!Reader; Angst; Fluff; Anxiety; probably non-accurate descriptions of hospitals and such, because I suck; Roman’s usual nicknames for Reader in my fics.

Never in his forty-plus years of living, had Roman thought he'd end up in a situation such as this. It all happened far too fast for his liking; and in retrospect, he should have guessed this would happen. The clown just wasn't to be trusted. Nobody was. Not in this line of business anyway. The Joker had some specific connections that Roman needed in order to acquire a special kind of weaponry. Of course, upon discussing this with the clown prince of crime, he had been a little too agreeable, which should have made Roman more suspicious of him than he had been in the end. Either way, they had made a deal and discussed when and where to meet to get the business going. Now, Roman found himself in a fight with the backstabbing son of a bitch, namely the Joker, and also the fucking Batman and his little birds. Of fucking course! The latter had come in addition, as they had gotten wind of the ruckus caused by Black Mask's, and also the Joker's, underlings. It had already been bad enough, but with the bat and his birds there, Roman had been distracted, busy fighting the one and only Batman, who had gone between him and the Joker. All the while, the clown had taken the opportunity to snatch you away from the corner behind some wooden boxes, where Roman thought to have placed you safely. He hadn't thought the deal to be too dangerous, nor for it to take long, so he had allowed you to tag along, whilst being surrounded by his men. Unfortunately, those precautions hadn't been enough, when the fight had started.

Roman hadn't even noticed what had happened until he had heard your anguished screams, the agony and bone-chilling terror in your voice. His stomach turned almost painfully as he finally registered those sounds, suddenly frozen in place. Graciously the bat had noticed it too, and stopped the punch he was about to land onto Black Mask before it actually made contact with him. When he finally turned his head to seek you out, he saw the Joker looming over your bloodied, twisted and bruised figure. Rage, anxiety and hurt filled Roman to the brim. His sight narrowed in on the Joker, his vision red, his posture tense and dangerous. With a rapidly beating heart, he stepped towards you in quick, booming strides. Holding his gun against the Joker's temple, Black Mask spoke lowly, hissing his commands, "Let go of him. Right now! Or else I will blow your fucking brains out." "As if you aren't planning on doing that anyway," the Joker replied, grinning maniacally with blood splattered on his face. Your blood. "No, actually. I'm planning on fucking torturing you to death some other day. Let him fucking go. I won't fucking repeat myself!" To his chagrin, the Joker's grin only widened, especially when he noticed that Roman's hand was a little unsteady. This never fucking happened! He was a good shot! He always had steady hands! In quick succession, the clown had suddenly grabbed onto Roman's arm and twisted it, making his grip loosen and the gun clattering to the floor. Fuck! Not too long after, Roman wrenched his arm out of the Joker's hands and swung fist after fist into that ugly grimace of the other man. With sickening cracks resounding from either Roman's knuckles and the Joker's face, the Black Mask kept punching until he was suddenly pulled off the other man by a strong pair of arms. "You need to stop," the Batman growled into his ear. "Fuck you! You don't fucking tell me what to do, you fuck!" Roman yelled, trying to get out of the steel grip the bat had on him. The Joker was coughing and wheezing, as he writhed on the grimy, bloodied warehouse floor, a grin still spread on his battered face. He was dragged away by the little birds. Then Roman was suddenly let go of, and he collapsed to his knees. You laid only a few feet away from him. You hadn't moved at all, couldn't possibly. From the looks of it your one leg was broken, an open one, one of your arms was twisted sickeningly, and there was way too much blood all over you to have only been caused by those two limbs. "I'll help him," the Batman rasped, looking at Roman, who swallowed thickly, barely even looking up for a second, his mouth slack. "How? Why?" "I believe he's the only one that will keep you from going on a killing spree right now. I'll take him to the closest hospital. The staff there is really good and can be trusted, I promise. But I need to take him immediately, or else he won't make it." Cautiously, Roman looked at the bat for a few moments, assessing, then he looked back down at your mangled body and nodded weakly, whispering his broken agreement. After that, everything happened in a rush, a haze, Roman couldn't possibly piece it all together. He just knew that the Batman carefully picked up your almost lifeless, quietly whimpering, body and brought you outside to his car. He instructed his birds, Roman couldn't remember what he said, but he knew for some reason he was let off the hook that night, as Nightwing helped him away and to the hospital, after the other birds took care of the Joker and his men until the police would arrive. It certainly wasn't one of his best moments, Roman had to admit. He was trembling, unable to speak, shaken up. This wasn't like him at all. Nothing had ever made him feel quite like this. He hated it. Yet, the thought of losing you was something he hated even more. Hours and hours later, in which Roman had paced around the waiting room of the hospital, thinking up the worst possible scenarios that could have happened from then on, a doctor finally came in to update him on your status, "The surgeries were a success. There weren't any major complications. Obviously, his leg and arm were broken, quite cleanly even, so it was easy to fix those. He also suffered from some stab wounds to his abdomen and thighs, such as cracked ribs, and many bruises and open wounds due to impact from dull objects, probably. We were able to fix him up well enough, though. He's in CCU now and will be put into a general room, when he's woken up. You can go to him now, of course, Mr Sionis." "Thank you," Roman rasped, nodding curtly and then following a nurse to the CCU and your room there. As he went in, Roman had to halt for a second and take a deep, steadying breath. You looked awful, mangled, still so lifeless. Tubes and wires were connected to your body, your broken, twisted arm was in a cast and a sling, such as your hurt leg. Your body was basically all bandages, up to your neck, from what was visible to him outside the blanket and hospital gown. Your face also had some bandages and plasters on it, such as swellings in various sickening colours and some crusted blood. Roman never wanted to see you like this ever again. Thanks to his money and influence, he was allowed to stay, and you were given a sizable bed, so both of you could fit on it. Cautiously, Roman laid down on the mattress, on your 'better' side, without the broken arm and leg, which were both on your left side. He kept a few inches between himself and you, carefully lacing your hands together. Gently, he stroked his thumb over your knuckles, lifting your hand up to his face and kissing it softly. Not for the first time that night, he wondered what exactly the Joker had done to you. He wondered why he had done it. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it sooner, why he hadn't been able to stop that fuck before it had gotten so bad. Shaking his head slightly, he tried to get rid of those thoughts. They were of no use. It was done now anyway. You were still alive and that was all that mattered to him. He didn't care if you were immobile for a while, or perhaps forever. He didn't care if you had to be fed by a tube for a while, or perhaps forever. He just cared that you were still here, alive. And wasn't that a weird thing for him to feel and think- to want? Looking at you like this, he focused on your chest and it's gentle rise and fall. The proof that you were still here, still alive. The beeping of the monitors underlined it, but it wasn't the same as seeing you breathe. Even if it was helped by the tubes in your mouth and throat. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered into the nearly silent room. Roman has never told you that. He started to regret that now. It was something that didn't pass his lips easily. It was something that was tinted with lies and trauma for him and you knew that. He had explained it to you one day when the two of you had gotten into an argument about this whole thing. He knew it had hurt you that he couldn't say it back, whenever you uttered those sacred words. Neither of you had wanted to have a fight ensue, but in the end it had helped to make the two of you understand each other better. Ever since, it hasn't been a problem anymore. Yet, Roman had to admit that perhaps he should have tried harder to make those words work for you at least, after all. Even a variation of synonyms could have been an idea, but he didn't really think of that before. He couldn't be happier for you to still be alive, so he could make up for it. At least he hoped he could still say it, when you woke up. Those words always got stuck in his throat, when he had tried to say them before, and then he had given up. With a heavy sigh, he kept watching you in silence, trying to stay awake until you would finally wake up, but as time passed, his eyes slipped shut and he fell asleep next to you, your hands still intertwined. After two days of constant anxiety, regular check-ups from the doctor, and sleeping as restless as he never had before, Roman finally felt and saw you stir, your eyes fluttering open. The night before, the tubes in your mouth and throat had finally been removed, now you had breathing aids through your nose instead. "Hey, baby," Roman whispered softly, grasping your hand in his, gently stroking over it with his thumb. Blearily, you turned your head and looked at him, a grimace of pain on your face. It made Roman's heart clench painfully. A weak grumble left your lips. With a sweet kiss to your knuckles, Roman leaned over and pressed the button to call the doctor. They checked you over and then put you in your own room on the general station. There, Roman lay down next to you again, gently taking your hand into his once more. Fortunately, the doctor said you were bound to recover completely, and so far there were no complications or anything, but you would have to rest a lot. "Roman," you rasped quietly. Smiling slightly, Roman leaned into you and kissed your bruised cheeks softly. "Welcome back," he whispered against it, his lips brushing over your skin. "What even...?" "You don't remember what happened?" "Not entirely. I kind of, I- I don't know. I know we were in the warehouse to meet the Joker and that something went wrong. But I don't remember much after. The doctor said it was normal, and it would probably come back soon, though," you explained, your voice raspy and broken from not having used it and having had tubes down your throat. "Alright, 'kay. It's probably for the better that you don't remember it, right now." "Yeah, I can see why. Even through the morphine, I can feel the pain, ugh. I must have caused some shit, though. I'm sorry." "Is it bad?", you shook your head. "And don't you fucking apologise. Fuck, you haven't done anything wrong, I'm sure. I don't know exactly what happened or why he did it, but that fucking clown was suddenly on you and---" Roman couldn't continue that sentence then. The thought alone made him choke on the words, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed thickly and squeezed your hand tightly. "Oh, alright. Are you okay, Roman?" "I'm alright. Don't fucking worry about me. Oh my fucking God, baby! I'm not the one, who is fucking attached to tubes and wires!" "Right, right, sorry!" Shaking his head, Roman leaned into you and shut you up by capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, pecking your lips repeatedly. "I was--- really fucking worried about you. I'm just glad you're alive. And especially awake again." Smiling slightly, though it pulled more into a kind of grimace, probably due to the bruises all over your face, you looked at Roman. Even though your eyes were so bleary, they held so much adoration in them. It was truly breathtaking to him. The words were climbing up his throat, wanting to get out. Roman opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it once more. Patiently, you looked at him. "For fuck's sake!" Roman muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before opening them back up and looking at you with tears shining in his eyes and an open expression on his face. He heard your breath hitch. "I- fuck! I love you, Y/N. I was afraid of losing you. I never fucking want to go through that again. 'Kay?" Tears gathered in your eyes and one slipped out and down the corner of your eye. Gently, he wiped it away with his index finger. "I love you, too, Roman. So much. I- I'm glad I'm still here, as well, my love," you whispered, a watery smile gracing your chapped lips, "And I'm very proud of you for saying it, y'know?" "You better not get too used to it, my sweet boy," Roman rasped, grinning, but quickly sobered up again, "Enough of those heartfelt moments, though, ugh!" "Hmmm, not really, but yeah, okay. I'm tired anyway. I think I should sleep some more, right?" "Definitely. Go to sleep, my little prince. I'll be here when you wake up, 'kay? I promise. I'm not going anywhere." Your eyes fluttering shut, you were still smiling, when your breaths slowly evened out, while Roman was looking at you like a hawk, making sure your chest kept rising and falling, despite now having evidence of you being alright. It didn't feel like it just yet, but it would have to do. You were alive and going to be better. He just had to keep telling himself that. At least he could now sleep with the knowledge that he's been able to tell you that he loved you.

#tw hospital #tw injury #tw flesh wound #tw violence #x male reader #x male!reader #male reader #male reader insert #roman sionis #roman sionis x male reader #roman sionis x y/n #roman sionis x you #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis imagine #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor x male!reader #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #ewan mcgregor imagine

[kgraces]

Atlas

@badthingshappenbingo​

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Buried in Rubble

For @ithilgalad75​

Read it on Ao3 here! 

Jason is practically a deadweight against Dick’s side, arm slung around his shoulder. Of course things had gone sideways during a routine case. Of course Joker had decided to show up. Dick had gotten caught up in fighting off the hordes of arms dealers while Jason took on his worst nightmare by himself. Jason is more than capable of keeping himself safe, but the Joker is his greatest weakness, and the worst part is that Joker knows it. 

It hadn’t been a problem until the monster brought out the crowbar.

Jason had clung to his fury, beating past the panic underneath his skin to shoot Joker's kneecaps out and get the hell out of there with Dick in tow, but he hadn't gotten away unscathed. He's definitely got a few cracked ribs, and one shoulder took a heavy hit with the crowbar. His left ankle got completely shattered, too. Dick helps his brother limp along, cursing the damned clown under his breath as they go. 

They're making their way to one of the lesser used entrances to the Cave, but even though it's narrow, which won't do Jason's claustrophobia any favors, it's the closest way home. Dick just needs to get them somewhere safe.

The tunnel’s ceiling is low—walls cramped and dark. Dick isn’t sure this passage has ever been used before now. Jason slumps a little more against him, and Dick casts an uneasy glance at his little brother, taking a moment to stop and run his fingers through the messy curls. Jason leans into the touch, but he doesn’t speak. 

“C’mon Little Wing,” Dick murmurs. “Almost home.”

They manage to walk a few more feet before the ground starts to rumble beneath their feet. Dick’s hold on his brother tightens for a moment before he tumbles over, losing his balance as the earth underneath roils dizzyingly. Earthquakes aren’t uncommon in Gotham, but this one is stronger than the last few minor ones they’ve had. Both boys tumble to the ground, and for a long moment the only sound is the rumbling all around them. 

Then, a loud crack slices through the air, and the ceiling crumples on top of them. The only reaction Dick has time for is a wordless shout before the rubble falls, a cloud of debris obscuring his vision for several painstaking moments. Dick coughs, trying to breathe around the pulverized rock as the cloud of dust begins to dissipate. Somehow, he’s escaped without injury, lying a few feet away from the pile of stones blocking the tunnel. 

“Jay?” He croaks, voice tightly controlled to conceal his worry. He hears a pained sound and levers himself up onto his elbows, scanning the ground for any sign of his brother. 

There.

A tuft of black hair—white streak grey with dust—is barely visible underneath the rubble. Dick’s heart leaps to his throat. His little brother is stuck. Buried under rubble after facing a beatdown from the Joker. His next breath shudders on the exhale.

“Jay, I’m right here,” Dick calls softly. “I’m here, and we’re going to get you out of there, alright?” 

A sniffle, a sob, and Dick feels like his chest is being torn open. He wants to scream, to cry with Jason, but he can’t. He has to be the calm one, here, because if he lets himself get swept up in the fear and worry, he won’t be of any use to his brother. Jason is more important right now. 

He shuffles closer, studying the stone crushing his brother’s prone form. He reaches out and combs a hand through Jason’s hair, waiting patiently until green eyes meet blue. Dick offers him a small smile, relieved to see him at least semi-coherent.

“Dick?” Jason murmurs, voice rough from smoking and the poor air quality. “This...this isn’t real. I’m dreaming you came to save me.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Dick says tremulously. He smoothes the hair back from Jason’s face, smile turning sad. “I wasn’t there the first time, but I’m here for you now.” He starts to prod carefully at the rubble trapping his brother’s torso and legs. “We might need to call B over.” He says with a hum. “I’m going to start to dig you out while he’s on his way, alright?” He activates his emergency beacon, and at Jason’s nod, he starts to move some of the rock as delicately as he can.

Jason’s still crying, tears dripping from his face onto the cave floor beneath him, and Dick starts to hum an old Romani lullaby he remembers his mother singing to him, hoping to calm him down. He’s always found noise more comforting than silence, and he knows Jason can’t begin to believe he’s alone right now. Eventually, Jason speaks up.

“I never wanted to go through this again,” he croaks. “The warehouse explosion hurt, Dick. Everything was hurting, and it burned. There was all this rubble, and warped, super-heated metal landed on me. I felt it before I finally died, and it was awful. Waking up in my coffin and digging my way out was worse.” He takes in a shaky breath. “God, I hate small spaces.” Dick hums again, passing a hand through his little brother’s hair again. Smiling sadly as Jason leans into the touch, almost desperately seeking out the comfort.

“It happened to me once, too,” Dick says. “Getting buried alive, I mean.” Jason makes a soft, inquisitive noise, and Dick lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, it wasn’t fun for me, either.” He shifts another rock, eyeing the largest piece of rubble pinning Jason to the ground. “But guess what, Little Wing? I got out, and you did too. This time won’t be any different.” 

His words and tone are soothing, but Dick’s heart is racing with the fluttery energy of panic. He hates reminding himself of that time, when he’d been attacked, knocked unconscious, and placed in a coffin—left to die. He pushes those memories aside. Jason needs him, and he can’t break down yet. Later, maybe, when they’re both safe, and Dick is alone in his room. He falls back into his usual role—big brother, caretaker, protector. 

“You’re okay, Jay. We’re going to get you out of here as soon as B gets here, and then maybe we can get Alf to make you some hot chocolate. How does that sound?” He keeps working to distract his brother until he hears footsteps running toward them, echoing across the cave walls. “Hear that, Little Wing? The cavalry's here. You’ll be free in no time, alright?” 

He’s freed one of Jason’s hands now, and he reaches out to give it a gentle squeeze. Jason’s fingers twitch and curl around his, and Dick’s strained smile grows a little more genuine. He’ll be okay. Bruce kneels at Dick’s side, clapping a hand to his shoulder in a brief display of support before he moves to examine the rock keeping Jason in place. 

“Keep him calm,” Bruce murmurs, and Dick nods. He’s the eldest, the emotional support for his brothers. It’s a role he’s taken up many times, no matter the toll on his own heart. 

“Jay, can you look at me please?” Dick asks, smiling when they make eye contact. “Hi there, Little Wing. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Ethiopia,” is the choked reply. Dick sighs and runs a thumb under Jason’s eye, wiping away a few stray tears. 

“You’re not there, Jay. You’re in the Cave with me and B. You’re safe, and you won’t be stuck for much longer, okay?” He talks in low, hushed tones, doing his best to soothe the sharp edges of his little brother’s worry. His own chest feels tight, like he’s the one being crushed, but he ignores it in favor of taking care of Jason.

Finally, finally, Bruce manages to get Jason free. He and Dick carry him over to the medbay, where Alfred is already waiting for them. Bruce and Dick get shooed away, and once he’s showered and changed into civvies, Dick can safely sequester himself in his room and let himself break down. He’s held it off for long enough. He makes it to his bedroom without incident, a small mercy.

The door shuts behind him, and Dick slides to the floor, resting his head against his knees. He’s exhausted—emotionally drained from staying strong for his brother. The panic he’s been keeping at bay surges forward, clutching at his lungs until he can’t breathe around it. 

Jason is safe. He’s alive, and he’s going to be okay. The nightmare is over, and Dick can just ride out the adrenaline crash by himself. He’s going to be okay, too. Eventually. 

It could be minutes or hours later when someone knocks on his door. Dick mumbles out his permission to come in, shuffling to the side so he isn’t blocking the entrance. To his surprise, Jason hobbles into the room. There’s a cast on one arm, and he’s moving stiffly, but he’s in one piece, and that’s enough to send relief flooding through Dick’s veins. Logically, he’d known his brother was okay, but seeing it with his own eyes makes it feel far more real.

“Hey Big Wing,” Jason says softly. The room is dark, shadows broken up by the thin moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Jason slumps onto the floor next to him. “You okay?”

“Am I okay?” Dick asks, chuckling a little. “I should be asking you that.” He smiles at his little brother and tries to put some cheer into his words. “I’m fine, Jay.”

“You’re full of shit, but that’s okay,” Jason replies. Dick lets himself rest his head against Jason’s shoulder. “Thanks for being there,” he says. 

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Dick admits. “I know how it feels to be trapped like that, and I know I don’t have the same traumas you do, but it sucks going through that kind of thing alone—reliving it and all.” 

“You’re too selfless for your own good sometimes,” Jason says. “It’s okay to not always be okay. You know that, right?” 

Dick sighs, sniffling a little. Jason wraps his uninjured arm around Dick’s shoulders, and Dick leans against him, mindful of his injuries.  

“I’ve always had to be the strong one,” he says, choking on the words. “It’s my job to be there for my little siblings.”

“Not if it hurts you in the process,” Jason says evenly. He mirrors Dick’s prior actions and runs his fingers through Dick’s hair. It’s soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. “We care about you as much as you care about us, Dickie. You don’t have to carry that burden all alone.”

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Dick insists.

“Tough shit,” Jason retorts. His tone is sharp, but the hand in his hair is unfailingly gentle. “It’s okay, Dick. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.” 

Dick sighs again, tears sliding down the planes of his cheeks. The day’s events and their consequential emotions weigh heavily on his shoulders, as they often do when his family is hurt or in danger. But for right now, everyone is safe. Jason is here, by his side, and his brother isn’t going to let him collapse under the weight of his own heart. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Dick says, after a long moment of quiet. 

“I’m glad I had you there to make sure I was okay,” Jason replies. 

“Always, Little Wing. I promise. I’m not going to fail you again.” 

It’s a heavy burden to bear, but it’s worth it, Dick thinks, if it leaves him with his little brother at his side, safe and steadfast. And really, that’s all he wants: his family safe and happy. Contentment curls in his chest, a warmth to chase away the cold fear he’d been feeling since the tunnel collapsed. He’s safe, and he’s happy, and that’s more than enough for him.

#bad things happen bingo #prompt: buried in rubble #my writing #batfam #dc #nightwing #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #batman #bruce wayne

[shapeshifting-wildcard]

By this point, the Phantom Thieves were well practiced in how to handle Jails. It didn't take them long to reach the birdcage at the top of Konoe's tower. Even if they were a little surprised to see it there.

"Why would Konoe's Jail possess one?" Fox wondered aloud, gaze focused on the telltale lock above them. "Is he not the mastermind behind all of this?"

"I don't know," Mona admitted. "Konoe's supposedly the one who created the Jails, so he'd have to know how they work. It wouldn't make sense otherwise. Which means the only explanation is that he's trapped himself here with trauma of his own."

"Which brings us back to the original question," Mitsuru, codename Amazon, noted. "If he knows how these Jails work, and is the one responsible for creating them, why would he even need to keep himself trapped?"

"It might be a necessary component to creating a Jail," Mona said.

"So, if someone didn't have something traumatic to create a cage from, they wouldn't be eligible to become a Monarch?" Fuuka, codename Peacock, mused.

"It's possible," Mona said. "The only time we haven't encountered a birdcage was when the original Monarch was already dead."

"Wasn't that also experimental, anyway?" Violet pointed out. "We did encounter the Warden in the same part of the Jail, so it might have had a different layout to begin with."

"That's true," Mona said. "All we can really do is speculate at this point."

"You mentioned that we need a key to unlock this cage," Naoto, codename Emperor, said. "How do we go about finding it?"

"We can get a hint to its whereabouts by touching the birdcage," Fox explained.

"I'll do it," Joker volunteered, taking a step towards the cage.

"No, let me do it," Wolf piped up. "I could use the experience."

"Good luck," Panther said. "Make sure you don't let go right away."

"Don't go crying on us, Gramps," Skull added.

Wolf shot them confused looks as he approached the cage and held up his hand. The moment his hand connected, he let out a howl of pain, nearly jerking back reflexively. Emperor and Amazon both looked alarmed.

"Uh, should we...?" Emperor glanced towards Tailor, who shrugged.

"He'll be fine," he reassured him.

Voices filtered out of the cage, echoing around them like they had countless times before.

"Abuse?" said one older male voice. "Please, that's ridiculous. We do have a dog. Maybe that's what they heard? Right, Akira?"

"Whose voice is that?" Skull wondered.

"It isn't Konoe's," Amazon remarked.

"But he said 'Akira,'" Noir pointed out. "Isn't that Konoe's given name?"

A second voice responded to the first. "Whether it was your dog or not, Konoe-san, we got a tip that you've been physically abusing your son."

Skull's eyes widened. "What...?"

Oracle moved a little closer to Joker, lightly pressing against him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Apparently, Akira-kun has a scar on his arm to prove it—"

"Look," the first voice cut in, sounding impatient. "He fell over. How many times do I have to say it?"

Noir shuddered while Skull, Crow, Wolf, and Emperor all grimaced. All of them had some sort of familiarity with that unfortunate phrase. Though Skull's was perhaps more personal than the rest.

"Are we done here?" the first voice continued. "I'd like to be left alone."

There was the sound of a door closing before the first voice started up again.

"You little shit!"

That got a noticeable wince out of Skull.

"You see all this trouble you're causing me?! Keep your goddamn mouth shut and do as I say!"

Judging by the sounds that followed, it seemed reasonable to assume that the rumors of abuse were not, in fact, exaggerated.

Wolf backed away from the cage, distractedly rubbing his hand as he eyed the space he had just been touching. "What the hell was that?"

"Konoe's past," Fox explained. "We were viewing the trauma he keeps locked away in his heart."

"Utterly deplorable," Amazon muttered, glaring at the cage as if she wanted to stab the owner of the voice.

"Dude, that guy sounded even worse than my dad," Skull remarked.

Several people stopped and turned to Skull with a certain amount of alarm.

"Your father is like that too, Skull?" Wolf asked, the concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah," Skull said, shrugging. "Or he was, before ma and I left. That was a pretty big reason why."

Wolf relaxed only slightly. Tailor walked up and pat Skull's shoulder.

"That sucks," Tailor remarked. "I'm sorry, Skull."

"It's in the past, anyway," Skull shrugged it off. "Haven't seen or talked to the guy in years, and I much prefer it that way."

"One of those voices mentioned abuse," Noir said, bringing them back on topic.

"It sounded like a social worker," Crow said. "Presumably someone following up on a report someone made on Akira's behalf."

"You think he tried to tell someone what was goin' on at home?" Skull said. "Possible," Crow replied. "Though it's also just as possible it was simply a particularly attentive teacher."

"That man seemed convinced that Akira said something," Amazon pointed out.

"That doesn't mean he actually did," Crow said. "He could have been jumping to conclusions... or else using that as a tactic of control. Possibly both."

Joker, Skull, and a couple other Thieves shot Crow some concerned looks, but no one decided to say anything.

"Either way, I think it's reasonable to conclude that was his father, and that Akira suffered physical abuse at his hands," Crow casually continued.

"That's awful," Violet remarked.

"It's pretty messed up, but it doesn't justify all the skeevy shit he's been doin'," Skull pointed out.

"Indeed," Fox said. "What's past is past. Nothing changes the fact that Akira Konoe is an incredibly dangerous man who changes others' hearts and robs them of their free will."

"I'm glad you're being sensible about this," Crow said with a hint of sarcasm.

"So if being abused is the source of his trauma," Mona wondered, "then what exactly is his plan here?"

Several Thieves turned to Crow, who glared back at them with a certain amount of irritation.

"What are you looking at me for?" he snapped.

"Well, you and Konoe have a lot in common—" Skull started.

"Don't compare me to him," Crow huffed. "Besides, don't you have more in common with him anyway?"

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Skull snapped back.

For once, Crow paused instead of immediately snarking back. He shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, that was... unnecessarily harsh on my part."

Skull and many of the other Thieves stared at Crow in shock. Him? Apologizing? And not just apologizing, apologizing for being a jerk?

"Uh, well," Skull rubbed the back of his head distractedly. "It's... whatever. A-Anyway, we still gotta figure out where the key is."

"Right," Mona said. "Let's head back to the real world and look for the source of that voice."

#!drabbles #!long post #!abuse #!event: Summer Scramble #((catch me actually bringing up the parallels the game refuses to touch))

[johnputignano]

Big Jim’s Big Secret (Short Story)

When Big Jim Anderson finally uttered his final breath, well, King’s Creek had lost a true legend. That son of a bitch was renowned for his ability to drink anybody under the bar. No shit. And when Big Jim started tossing back cold brew, there was no way of knowing whether you would get the friendly old man or the cocksucker who loved to tease. Regardless, it was all in good fun.

I swear to god, there had been this one occasion when these degenerate punk rockers rolling on through. Apparently, they had a show that night in the valley, their name was “The Shit Kickers” but they pulled into town and made a short pit stop off at Mitch’s Pub to wet their palate. Clarissa had been tending the bar when the Mohawk weirdo began making a ruckus.

These punk rockers just love to get under the skin of working-class folk in the Bible Belt, and so there he was, spouting off obscenities and blasphemy for shock value. The spectacle was nothing more than the run of the mill asinine, juvenile behavior.

Big Jim heard the whole thing but felt that this wast his battle. So he ignored the punkers the best he could, but throughout the night they continued to get louder, drunker and more obnoxious. Enough was enough.

“I’m going to ask you boys to bring it down a notch or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Clarissa spoke loud and clear so that there was no mistaking anything.

“Fuck you, redneck slut.” the one with four lips rings responded before pouring his beer all over the floor. “You better clean that up less you want a lawsuit.”

This made Big Jim get all crazy. That big fucker rose from his barstool, picked it up in a calloused mitt and began to bash one of those jokers in the back of the dome. The Punker went down like a sack of horse shit, I mean knocked out cold. Another pulled out a switchblade.

“Oh, so you want to play games.”

Big Jim retrieved his large sheathed blade. The sight of this menacing bastard was sufficient enough to make a Civil War veteran shit his knickers and piss all over himself. That fellow knew full well that he was fucked. Luckily so did Dennis Lee, who quietly got up and bolted shut the bar entrance, ominously flipping the sign around, letting patrons know that they were closed.

“Big Jim, carve this fucker up real nice.”

And he did, ramming that mean steel blade right into the city boy’s esophagus. He was deceased before he knew it. Big Jim then made his way over to the unconscious man, yanked his head up by his hair and slashed him ear to ear. That night Clarissa, Dennis, and Big Jim would haul those bodies to Robert Turner’s farm to get rid of them.

Yeah, Big Jim was no joke and when he passed from a heart attack, well it just brought every eye in town to tears. The funeral was held at his house. Understandably, the better part of the town showed up to pay their respect and all were in the bark yard where the service was being held. That is, except for Big Jim’s grandson Waylon. That’s because he had snuck off to the basement.

Big Jim had a heart, and he was an open book, more or less, that is except for his private room in the basement. This room is where he spent a considerable amount of time and when he was in the basement, the old man was not to be disturbed.

The mystery of that room captivated the young boy’s mind. What was in that room? All sorts of scenarios went through the kid’s head. Hell, at one time he thought that his grandpa had a space alien locked up in there. I’m serious, that’s how secretive he was about how he spent his time.

Waylon knew that the room was fastened by a simple padlock and luckily for him he knew just where to get a pair of bolt cutters, which he snuck over there and hid in the bushes close by. As he stood in front of that ominous door all sorts of shit went through Waylon’s twelve-year-old head but he knew that this was his only chance he’d get.

The bolt cutters worked like expected, but Waylon froze for a moment. What if something so awful was being imprisoned behind this door that his grandfather took it upon himself to shield his family from it? And what if, by opening this door, that evil were to escape and wreak havoc? There was no point of contemplating at this point. The lock was busted and his hand was already on the door knob.

Now, before we proceed any further with this story, there is something we should address about Big Jim. His wife was Bridgette and in her day she was hell on wheels. As Big Jim told the story, he fell in love one night way back when they were both in their early twenties. Brigette was a Tom Boy and boy did she love to fight men. I mean, she was ruthless, and she had a particular distaste for pedophiles and rapists. That year Frank Reed had been arrested for molesting a sixteen-year-old girl, but since we all know that the court system is a joke, he got off on a technicality. Now Brigette never would admit to it for obvious reasons, but it is presumed to be true that she went to Frank’s house one night in the summer and cut his dick off. Frank lived, but she took the dick with her and fed it to her dog. The police never could get an answer out of that man as to who done it but when Big Jim caught wind of what Brigette had done he knew that this was the woman for him.

Brigette saw Big Jim as a wildcard with a heart, and that appealed to her. So when he announced that he was going to have a secret space for himself many years ago, she asked no questions. She trusted her husband was doing nothing more than blowing off steam, probably drinking beers and tinkering with the model cars he was obsessed with making.

Despite all the young Waylon’s planning, he did not anticipate Brigette’s keen sense of awareness. So when she saw her son’s kid sneak back into the house, she knew damn well what he was about to do. For fuck’s sake, everyone in town knew about his secret room and we all wondered what was in it. Brigette didn’t care that her husband was dead, she intended to keep the promise she made to him years earlier, to never step foot in that room. She’d be damned if she was going to let some snot-nosed brat disrespect her deceased husband.

By the time she found an opportunity to slip away unnoticed, she took it. Once in the house she moved quickly to the basement but when she got there, it was too late. The door was open, and the boy had disrespected a dead man’s wishes.

“Now you really did it Waylon.”

He seemed unfazed by her voice. The boy wasn’t even startled by the unexpected company, he was too focused on what he saw. As Brigette descended the stairs her anger turned to curiosity. What was in that room to steal her grandson’s attention so much that he couldn’t even hear the ass whooping he was going to get when she told his father? When she saw the tears in his eyes her curiosity turned to concern.

“Waylon?” she called out. He turned his head toward her and she saw trauma. It was that same look Frank had on him when she sliced off his willy.

“Grandma, I’m sorry, but I had to know.”

“Well, you went on and opened it. So what’s in there that has you so upset?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Boy, you better tell me.” Anger was returning, but when she got to the doorframe she too froze. “Holy shit.”

Big Jim’s secret room was a secret no more, and what the two of them saw was nothing short of disturbings. The room contained a shrine of sorts. Every inch of wall space was covered in Polaroid pictures, and in those pictures were children. In some pictures she could see parts of Big Jim which she identified by his chest tattoo, which was of a confederate flag. In all the pictures, the kids are naked, some crying. As horrifying as these were, they didn’t compare to the ones of her husband performing various sexual acts. Big Jim was a pedophile.

How does one recover from such revelations? She knew that Waylon couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut and once word go out that she was married to a kid diddler, well, she couldn’t bear the embarrassment.

“Waylon. I want you to go back to the funeral. Say nothing.”

The poor kid was so shocked that he obeyed without so much as a whimper, making his way back like a soldier suffering from shell shock. Once alone Brigette dropped the touch act and began sobbing. Her entire life with Big Jim was a disgusting lie. She slept in the same bed with this filthy monster. There was no stopping this. Word was sure to spread but what she can do is make certain that nobody ever sees the contents of that room.

After getting back her composure, Brigette made her way to the garage where she retrieved two cans of gasoline. With a broken heart, she poured it all over that room. Every inch was dripping with gasoline. Once both cans were empty, she grabbed a box of matches from the kitchen. Without hesitation, she struck a match and tossed it into the room.

Brigette stood there, watching the room burn with all its contents until she no longer could stand the heat. As she made her way back to the funeral, the flames began to spread to the rest of the house.

[pocket-clown]

Physical & personality traits Arthur & Joker would like in a partner;

// original request: What are the ideal personality and physical traits Joker/Arthur would look for in a partner?

thank you, anon!

I tried to keep these somewhat vague; I didn’t want to list specific traits because I do not want anyone to feel excluded.

Arthur;

Personality;

Kindness, without a doubt, is the biggest thing. Arthur, down to his very core, is a softhearted man, and his life has had such a lacking of that sort of thing that he needs a partner who could give him what he’s been missing. He wouldn’t be able to be with anyone cruel.

Someone who’s gentle, both physically and behaviorally. It’s sort of like kindness; his life has been so burdened with the harsh roughness that is Gotham and trauma, so having a partner that contrasts that - a solace, if you will - and is able to shush his overwhelming thoughts just ever so slightly enough that they aren’t absolutely suffocating is a must-have for Arthur. He loves affection from you. 

Patience, understanding, and open-mindedness. With the stigma that surrounds mental illness and his struggles regarding his disorder, he feels even more isolated than he may have if he wasn’t mentally ill. Knowing that he has you, someone who’s there for him, who’ll listen to him, who won’t judge, or rush, or yell at him just for being Arthur means more to him than he’d ever be able to express.

Humor!! This is an obvious one. You don’t need to be a complete goofball 24/7 or anything, but a partner who’s able find humor in things is a big deal to Arthur. If his partner was someone who never laughed, or was someone he couldn’t make laugh, then he’d feel that he was, in a way, not doing his job. 

Someone who can empathize (or at least sympathize) with others. Like kindness, sympathy and empathy are scarce in Gotham, so it would be one of the first things that would draw him to someone. Seeing you actually care about someone other than yourself would make his heart throb with love as it was such a rare occurrence in Gotham - especially if it was directed at him.

Physical;

I’ll say this - at the end of the day, looks are inconsequential to Arthur. He loves you for you; so pure in essence are you that it makes your physical appearance beautiful to him - and the beauty of the heart trumps the beauty of the face, to Arthur. Looks matter very little to him, at the end of the day, so I’ll give you this;

Soft, warm skin. Something tangible that he could touch whenever he needed to ground himself; something to prove that yes, you really were there with him, and that no, you weren’t a delusion. Something warm and soft to combat the cold, grittiness that’s made up the majority of his life.

A bright smile. The way your smile lights up your face whenever you see him after a long day could kill him with how beautiful it was, and knowing that he was the cause of it never failed to make his day. He’s got a soft spot for dimples, so if you’ve got those, it’s a bonus!

Kind eyes. Harsh glares of nothing but judgement and disdain are what’s dished out regularly in Gotham, so having someone truly look at him with eyes full of nothing but warmth makes him feel that maybe, just maybe, he’s worthy of a little more kindness than what he’s been given in life.

Gentle hands to hold his, to comb through his hair, to rub his back during his fits. No one, aside from his mother, has ever touched him, unless you consider the countless beatings he’s taken, and he’s touch starved beyond belief. Once he’s warmed up to the relationship, he’ll never be able to get his fill of your touch - even if it’s just your hand brushing against his shoulder for half a second as you pass by. 

Joker;

Personality;

Someone who’s kind and empathetic. It was made loud and clear in his tirade on the Murray show; Gotham is awful. No one ever puts themselves in the shoes of the other guy - no one ever thinks what it’s like to be the person they’re beating down on. Kindness is rare, and empathy even rarer, so those are major things for Joker when it comes to finding a partner.

Gentle. Gotham is rough. Life is rough. Arthur Fleck knew no gentleness, and neither will Joker, now; unless his s/o is just that. It’s one of the only consolations for him; to be able to return to your gentle, loving arms at the end of the day, and it’s one he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Humor - but preferably a dark sense of it. Humor and laughter are things that remain important to him - but his humor is much drier, much darker, now, so having a s/o who could appreciate his oddball sense of humor is ideal.

Someone who isn’t afraid to take risks. Joker would never do anything that put your life in danger - he places the value of your safety and comfort above everything else - but having a partner who’d be able to just say fuck it and let loose every now and then would be magnificent. 

Someone who isn’t afraid to speak their mind. Though he gets it; when he was Arthur, he kept his thoughts, his opinions, his wants and his needs to himself for the most part as to not burden others, but to him, for you to be able to open up and share your thoughts with him, to tell him what you needed, what you wanted, what you desired - to him, it meant that you trusted him. He'll encourage you so gently to open up; not wanting to rush you, but also wanting you to know that it's okay for you to be honest with him. 

 Physical;

Soft, warm skin. He’s much less shy about touching you now, and he loves seeing what his touch alone does to you. Unless you’re uncomfortable with it and/or ask him not to, he’ll almost always have his hands on you in someway; resting on your thigh as you’re seated on his lap, underneath the hem of your shirt as his fingers gently brush along the skin of your hip, rubbing your back as you two cuddle at night; he just loves to feel you and know that you’re safe.

Soft lips. Unsurprisingly, Joker would love to kiss his s/o. His absolute favorite way of greeting you is going right up to you, cupping your face in his hands so he can press his lips to yours until you're practically melting against him, your hands clenching the lapel of his suit jacket as your legs trembled.

A gaze that sees him for him. Now that he’s Joker and no longer just Arthur, a large amount of Gotham’s citizens view him as a symbol; they see him as the leader of their rebellion, a symbol against Gotham’s rich - and those that don’t, view him as a villain - but regardless of which of the two someone views him as, they never truly see him. He can tell when someone’s looking right through him and seeing only what they want to see, so if someone were to look at him with eyes that saw him as he truly was - someone in pain, someone who never wanted things to turn out how they had - it would actually stun him. He wants to be seen. 

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taglist;

@tahliamalfoydepp @tsukiakarinobara @smol-nari @ajokeformur-ray @lavenderheartz @lady-carnivals-stuff @darknessisafriend @emissarydecksetter @soulsdontbreaktheybeeend​

(let me know if you'd like to be added!)

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x you #joker #joker 2019 #joker x reader #joker x you #joker 2019 x reader #joker 2019 x you #arthur fleck headcanon #joker headcanons #mine

[bigjimbigsecret]

Big Jim’s Big Secret

When Big Jim Anderson finally uttered his final breath, well, King’s Creek had lost a true legend. That son of a bitch was renowned for his ability to drink anybody under the bar. No shit. And when Big Jim started tossing back cold brew, there was no way of knowing whether you would get the friendly old man or the cocksucker who loved to tease. Regardless, it was all in good fun.

I swear to god, there had been this one occasion when these degenerate punk rockers rolling on through. Apparently, they had a show that night in the valley, their name was “The Shit Kickers” but they pulled into town and made a short pit stop off at Mitch’s Pub to wet their palate. Clarissa had been tending the bar when the Mohawk weirdo began making a ruckus.

These punk rockers just love to get under the skin of working-class folk in the Bible Belt, and so there he was, spouting off obscenities and blasphemy for shock value. The spectacle was nothing more than the run of the mill asinine, juvenile behavior.

Big Jim heard the whole thing but felt that this wast his battle. So he ignored the punkers the best he could, but throughout the night they continued to get louder, drunker and more obnoxious. Enough was enough.

“I’m going to ask you boys to bring it down a notch or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Clarissa spoke loud and clear so that there was no mistaking anything.

“Fuck you, redneck slut.” the one with four lips rings responded before pouring his beer all over the floor. “You better clean that up less you want a lawsuit.”

This made Big Jim get all crazy. That big fucker rose from his barstool, picked it up in a calloused mitt and began to bash one of those jokers in the back of the dome. The Punker went down like a sack of horse shit, I mean knocked out cold. Another pulled out a switchblade.

“Oh, so you want to play games.”

Big Jim retrieved his large sheathed blade. The sight of this menacing bastard was sufficient enough to make a Civil War veteran shit his knickers and piss all over himself. That fellow knew full well that he was fucked. Luckily so did Dennis Lee, who quietly got up and bolted shut the bar entrance, ominously flipping the sign around, letting patrons know that they were closed.

“Big Jim, carve this fucker up real nice.”

And he did, ramming that mean steel blade right into the city boy’s esophagus. He was deceased before he knew it. Big Jim then made his way over to the unconscious man, yanked his head up by his hair and slashed him ear to ear. That night Clarissa, Dennis, and Big Jim would haul those bodies to Robert Turner’s farm to get rid of them.

Yeah, Big Jim was no joke and when he passed from a heart attack, well it just brought every eye in town to tears. The funeral was held at his house. Understandably, the better part of the town showed up to pay their respect and all were in the bark yard where the service was being held. That is, except for Big Jim’s grandson Waylon. That’s because he had snuck off to the basement.

Big Jim had a heart, and he was an open book, more or less, that is except for his private room in the basement. This room is where he spent a considerable amount of time and when he was in the basement, the old man was not to be disturbed.

The mystery of that room captivated the young boy’s mind. What was in that room? All sorts of scenarios went through the kid’s head. Hell, at one time he thought that his grandpa had a space alien locked up in there. I’m serious, that’s how secretive he was about how he spent his time.

Waylon knew that the room was fastened by a simple padlock and luckily for him he knew just where to get a pair of bolt cutters, which he snuck over there and hid in the bushes close by. As he stood in front of that ominous door all sorts of shit went through Waylon’s twelve-year-old head but he knew that this was his only chance he’d get.

The bolt cutters worked like expected, but Waylon froze for a moment. What if something so awful was being imprisoned behind this door that his grandfather took it upon himself to shield his family from it? And what if, by opening this door, that evil were to escape and wreak havoc? There was no point of contemplating at this point. The lock was busted and his hand was already on the door knob.

Now, before we proceed any further with this story, there is something we should address about Big Jim. His wife was Bridgette and in her day she was hell on wheels. As Big Jim told the story, he fell in love one night way back when they were both in their early twenties. Brigette was a Tom Boy and boy did she love to fight men. I mean, she was ruthless, and she had a particular distaste for pedophiles and rapists. That year Frank Reed had been arrested for molesting a sixteen-year-old girl, but since we all know that the court system is a joke, he got off on a technicality. Now Brigette never would admit to it for obvious reasons, but it is presumed to be true that she went to Frank’s house one night in the summer and cut his dick off. Frank lived, but she took the dick with her and fed it to her dog. The police never could get an answer out of that man as to who done it but when Big Jim caught wind of what Brigette had done he knew that this was the woman for him.

Brigette saw Big Jim as a wildcard with a heart, and that appealed to her. So when he announced that he was going to have a secret space for himself many years ago, she asked no questions. She trusted her husband was doing nothing more than blowing off steam, probably drinking beers and tinkering with the model cars he was obsessed with making.

Despite all the young Waylon’s planning, he did not anticipate Brigette’s keen sense of awareness. So when she saw her son’s kid sneak back into the house, she knew damn well what he was about to do. For fuck’s sake, everyone in town knew about his secret room and we all wondered what was in it. Brigette didn’t care that her husband was dead, she intended to keep the promise she made to him years earlier, to never step foot in that room. She’d be damned if she was going to let some snot-nosed brat disrespect her deceased husband.

By the time she found an opportunity to slip away unnoticed, she took it. Once in the house she moved quickly to the basement but when she got there, it was too late. The door was open, and the boy had disrespected a dead man’s wishes.

“Now you really did it Waylon.”

He seemed unfazed by her voice. The boy wasn’t even startled by the unexpected company, he was too focused on what he saw. As Brigette descended the stairs her anger turned to curiosity. What was in that room to steal her grandson’s attention so much that he couldn’t even hear the ass whooping he was going to get when she told his father? When she saw the tears in his eyes her curiosity turned to concern.

“Waylon?” she called out. He turned his head toward her and she saw trauma. It was that same look Frank had on him when she sliced off his willy.

“Grandma, I’m sorry, but I had to know.”

“Well, you went on and opened it. So what’s in there that has you so upset?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Boy, you better tell me.” Anger was returning, but when she got to the doorframe she too froze. “Holy shit.”

Big Jim’s secret room was a secret no more, and what the two of them saw was nothing short of disturbings. The room contained a shrine of sorts. Every inch of wall space was covered in Polaroid pictures, and in those pictures were children. In some pictures she could see parts of Big Jim which she identified by his chest tattoo, which was of a confederate flag. In all the pictures, the kids are naked, some crying. As horrifying as these were, they didn’t compare to the ones of her husband performing various sexual acts. Big Jim was a pedophile.

How does one recover from such revelations? She knew that Waylon couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut and once word go out that she was married to a kid diddler, well, she couldn’t bear the embarrassment.

“Waylon. I want you to go back to the funeral. Say nothing.”

The poor kid was so shocked that he obeyed without so much as a whimper, making his way back like a soldier suffering from shell shock. Once alone Brigette dropped the touch act and began sobbing. Her entire life with Big Jim was a disgusting lie. She slept in the same bed with this filthy monster. There was no stopping this. Word was sure to spread but what she can do is make certain that nobody ever sees the contents of that room.

After getting back her composure, Brigette made her way to the garage where she retrieved two cans of gasoline. With a broken heart, she poured it all over that room. Every inch was dripping with gasoline. Once both cans were empty, she grabbed a box of matches from the kitchen. Without hesitation, she struck a match and tossed it into the room.

Brigette stood there, watching the room burn with all its contents until she no longer could stand the heat. As she made her way back to the funeral, the flames began to spread to the rest of the house.