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pricetagofficial · 3 years

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Pair of Aces -H.D. [18+]

Warnings: Language, I made Harvey too hot for words, NSFW smut, drinking, smoking, car sex, self sex, oral sex, sex sex, Harvey is a gift giver, I don’t make the rules, fluff, raunchy jokes and humor, sexy drink names

Paring: Harvey Dent x Reader

Masterlist

Part One Part Three

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: This is the official/unofficial part two to Baby Doll. You can find it in the link above! After writing the first one, I had so many ideas that I wanted to do so I made another and here we are folks. 5.6k words of complete self indulgence. Blame Elle, (who also made this fabulous banner for me, love you!)

Harvey had his arm draped over your shoulders, keeping you within reach. Sure, this was supposed to be a friendly poker game but that didn't mean he trusted these fuckers with being within ten feet of you.

It really didn't help that you dressed the way you did. The short leather skirt alone was enough to kill him. But when he saw the white sleeveless crop top with a golden chain laced across exposing your breasts, he swore his heart stopped.

Pressed close to Harvey's side, you shivered feeling the chain brush against your skin. You could feel several pairs of eyes trail over your body, only making Harvey tighten his hold on you.

The game was supposed to be between Harvey, Roman Sionis, and Oswald Cobblepott. Once a month, the three men put aside their differences for a couple of games of poker. No business was allowed, except potential info against a common enemy usually centered around a particular bat-obsessed freak.

The door at the end of the hall had several men standing guard, looking down at you and Harvey.

“There was nothing about bringing a guest,” one said.

“Didn’t want to leave her all alone, thought she could learn something tonight,” Harvey explained, tightening his grip on your waist. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, daring the guards to try and pry you away from him.

The larger one huffed and crossed his arms, a grin on his face. “We’ll have to pat you down before letting you in.”

Releasing his hold on you, Harvey stepped forward with his hands up as the guard patted down his chest and legs to make sure he isn’t hiding anything suspicious. Finding the gun in his coat, the guard gave Harvey a look before he raised a brow.

“Gotta protect my girl somehow,” he said, looking at him. “You never know the kind of creeps are out there.”

The guard shrugged and let him pass, putting a hand out to stop you from following him.

“Hey! You did your inspection, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The guard’s grin got wider, his eyes hiding something malicious in them. “I said I had to pat you down, both of you.”

“That’s a load of fucking bullshit,” he growled, stepping back to protect you. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you kissed his cheek.

“Relax baby, I’ll be alright,” you assured, stepping back and putting your hands in the air. You felt the guard’s hands start on your waist and make their way up your torso, moving to grab your breasts. Before he could, you lifted your foot and slammed the heel of your stiletto into his foot.

“Don’t you fucking think about it,” you frowned, listening to the guard hiss at the pain before finishing up and letting you through.

Harvey chuckled, watching you handle yourself before grabbing your hand and pulling you into his chest. Placing a kiss on your lips, he opened the door and led you in.

The room was filled with smoke from cigars and cigarettes galore, and there was a bad smell in the air that reminded you of the gym locker rooms. It smelled of sweat, meat, and something else you didn’t want to linger on.

Harvey’s eyes raked the room, eyeing Roman and Oswald already sitting in their chairs having what seemed to be a friendly chat. Walking further into the room, Harvey pulled out his chair and sat.

“Sorry it took so long boys, had some personal matters to attend to,” he said, unbuttoning his coat and pulling out a cigarette. He looked at you, an expectant look on his face.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned over his body the leather skirt riding up your ass. Reaching into his coat, you pulled out the lighter and lit the cig in his mouth. He knew you hated it when he smoked, but he couldn’t deny how unbelievably hot it was to watch you light them for him.

Taking a drag, he blew out the smoke, his eyes not leaving you. “Thanks, baby doll,” he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. Glancing to the side, he didn’t miss the looks Roman and Oswald were giving you. Wanting to prove that you were untouchable, he reached forward toying with the golden chain of your top.

“Why don’t you go get daddy a drink?” he asked, brushing the skin of your breasts with his finger ever so lightly.

“Yes sir, Mr. Dent.” you winked, standing straight. As you turned to pour him a drink, Harvey grinned and slapped your ass, earning a light squeal from you.

Roman’s eyes narrowed in on the sway of your ass as you walked, what he wouldn’t give for an hour alone with you. Leaning on the arm of his chair, his gaze raked over your body lingering on your exposed breasts. He swore Dent brought you along just to brag, not that he would complain. The sweet image of you bent over the arm of the chair was enough to satiate his wants for the time being.

Harvey narrowed his eyes, “Something on your mind Sionis?”

You walked back over, Harvey’s scotch in your hand not ignoring the looks all the men in the room were giving you. Taking a sip of it yourself, you handed it to him, your lipstick staining the glass.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with an ugly bastard like Harv?” Roman asked, a grin forming on his face.

“More than you could ever imagine,” Harvey responded, glaring him down.

Roman leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes watching you intently. Snapping his fingers to get your attention, he grinned. “How about a Kinky Blow Job, princess.”

Harvey looked as if he was about to explode, gripping the arms of the chair he was in. Roman caught his gaze, not missing your flustered state at his bold request. “I mean the drink, Dent. Your girl should know how to do a Kinky Blow Job right? Or were those personal matters over a Juicy Pussy?”

Not wanting to be rude, you walked over and made the drink Roman requested. If you weren’t so well versed in various drink names this would have been a very awkward position. Mixing the pink drink, you put a straw in it before making your way over to Roman.

His gaze alone was enough to give you shivers, Roman watched your movements like he was waiting for the right time to strike and make you his meal.

“Here you go, Mr. Sionis.”

Roman reached for the drink, his cold hand brushing yours ever so slightly sending shivers down your spine. “What’s the matter, princess, too cold? I know a way or two to warm my fingers up.” he winked.

Pulling your hand back, you could feel Harvey burning holes into Roman’s chest as he continued to openly flirt with you not bothering to turn his gaze away from your exposed chest.

“Will that be all, Mr. Sionis?” you asked, clasping your hands behind your back.

Deciding he had enough fun, he waved you away before looking at Harvey. “Such a polite little thing, how long did it take you to train her?” he asked, sipping his drink.

The second you were close enough, Harvey grabbed your waist and pulled you down to rest on his knee. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he threatened, placing a kiss to the back of your throat. Your hand came to rest on his knee, squeezing gently as he bit into the soft flesh of your shoulder enough to leave a mark.

“It’s a joke, Dent.” Roman chuckled, “Lighten up some,”

You felt his hand wrap around your middle, securing you against his chest resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Both of ya, shut the ‘ell up and play the fuckin’ game!” Oswald snapped, dueling out the cards. “Buch o’ bloody wankers.”

Picking up the cards dealt to him, Harvey kept you close. There was no way in hell he was letting anyone, especially Roman get their grubby hands on you. Looking at his cards, he reached into his coat and pulled out a wad of bills.

“Put half of that on the table for me baby doll,” he said, eyeing you as your body arched over to toss half the wad on the table. Handing it back to him, he took the bills, grinning as he stuffed them into your top. “Why don’t you keep that safe for me?”

“Yes, sir Mr. Dent.” you breathed, feeling his fingers lightly brush against your nipples through the top.

Content with your reaction, Harvey leaned back in his seat as you turned and draped your legs across his lap. Placing his hand on your knees, he pulled you close. Watching his hand, he glanced at the other two before setting his cards down.

“What’s with that look Dent, confident or scared you’ll lose?” Roman called, glancing up from his cards.

“What, worried you’ll lose to me?”

“I thought you liked to leave things to chance or was that all an act?”

Harvey didn’t like the fact Roman was trying to goad him into betting more money. Looking at his cards again, he still had a high chance to win. Turning to look at you, Harvey slid a finger into your top and pulled it back enough to pull out the bills and toss them onto the table.

You weren’t happy he fell for Roman’s obvious ploy at trying to rile him up. These poker games were meant to be simple fun between crime lords, but you knew how dangerous they could be. One second they were betting money, and the second someone’s ego got fluffed they gambled away their firstborn child.

Hours passed, and you watched as they played through three games already and dealt out the fourth and final round. Each man won a round each, and this one was to take home the cake to prove who was the best poker player. Roman had a dangerous glint in his eyes, and you didn’t like the results that could come of that.

Oswald was oddly the most generous of the three, offering you free champagne and even a platter of sandwiches that were prepared just for you.

Harvey however, refused to let you off his lap. He worried the second he let go, you would disappear. It said a lot when he didn’t trust his own men with you, but he trusted Roman and Oswald’s men even less.

“Final round boys, ‘ow ‘bout we up the stakes?” Oswald asked, tossing the final few cards.

Roman grinned, his teeth a shocking white against the dark of the room. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a folded piece of paper with his handwriting scrawled across it. “One free night with any girl of your choosing from my club.” Tossing the paper onto the table, his gaze turned to Oswald.

“Up that, you old bird.”

“Shut up!” Oswald thought long and hard, he didn’t have anything like that to bet. He didn’t dabble in sex clubs or prostitutes. He had more class than that, but he did have something a lot of people sought after.

Pulling a piece of paper out, he wrote his offer illegible from your distance. True to form, Oswald Cobblepott had chicken scratch handwriting.

“One free night, in the private secluded box in the Iceberg Lounge. Enough for you and two guests.”

Nodding appreciatively, Roman smiled and turned his gaze to you and Harvey. His smile didn’t waver one bit, as if he knew what was about to happen next. “What are you going to bet, Dent? It seems money isn’t an option, fuck knows we have plenty of it.”

“He could bet tha’ little ‘ore of ‘is?”

Harvey’s grip tightened on your waist, holding you protectively against him.

“What’s the matter Dent, I thought you were confident in your card skills?” Roman grinned, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“No.” he growled. “She isn’t for sale.”

“Oh come on Dent, why don’ you let the coin decide?” Oswald chuckled, knowing full well what Harvey would do.

You watched as he reached into his pocket, toying with his coin between his fingers.

“Harvey, you can’t be serious?” you asked, muttering into his ear. “I thought you said I wasn’t for sale, remember?”

“Relax doll,” he said, turning his gaze to you. Harvey knew it was reckless, but he couldn’t refuse what the coin decides. “Have a little faith in me,”

You watched with wide eyes as he set the standard. Heads, it was a no. Tails, you were to be placed on the betting table. The deal was one night, equal to that of the others and you had more than monetary value to Harvey. Or so you hoped.

Flipping the coin, you held your breath watching as he caught it and flipped it onto the back of his hand to reveal the damaged side of his double-sided coin.

Your voice died in your throat, looking at him with a concerned look.

“You fucking asshole,” you snapped getting off his lap to stand behind him. There was no way you could watch this hand play out, not when your virtue was on the line.

“Now that the bets have been placed, let’s play some cards, boys.” Roman grinned and began the round, his eyes not leaving your figure once.

The next twenty minutes were some of the most agonizing twenty minutes of your life. You watched in worry as Harvey played the game. His hand was pretty good, but did that mean it was better than the others? At some point, you had to stop watching, the anxiety making it too much to bear knowing your fate rested in the cards. Biting your nail, you watched as they finally folded and waited for the results.

Oswald flipped his card, showing that he had a full house. Not bad, but there were higher hands to play that could win.

Roman chuckled, flipping his cards over to reveal a four of a kind all in diamonds. That was a pretty damn good hand, if Harvey didn’t have a better hand it seemed you would be going home with Roman Sionis spending your night filled with Kinky Blow Jobs and Juicy Pussies. You couldn’t deny the man oozed sex appeal, but you wanted it on your terms and not from a fucking poker game.

Clenching your fists, you watched as Harvey tsked and turned his cards to reveal a straight flush. “Sorry boys, but Y/N is going home with me tonight.”

You watched Roman clench his jaw, irritated at the fact he lost a night with you all to himself. Getting from his seat, he put a hand in his pocket and adjusted his cigar. “Well played Dent, next time maybe you won’t be so lucky.”

Both Oswald and Harvey got to their feet and shook hands. “Good game gentlemen, same time next month?”

Harvey put all of his stuff into a bag before walking over to you. He didn’t miss the glare you were giving him, nor did he miss the way Roman sauntered up to you taking your hand and pulling you closer.

“Such a shame to miss out on a night with you, princess. Maybe Dent will bring you along again next time and we’ll see what happens then.” He pulled your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss to your smooth skin.

Giving him a hard glare, you bit your cheek. “You may be nice on the eyes Mr. Sionis, but you might want to remember you can’t buy the best things in life.” you snapped, pulling your hand away. “And I don’t come cheap.”

Harvey bit his lip to hide his chuckle at the sight of Roman’s face. Walking over he wrapped an arm around your waist, planting a hand firmly on your ass. He knew you were pissed at him, it seemed he had a lot to make up for.

“Later boys,” he called walking out with you on his side. As a silent promise, his large hand gripped your ass roughly while you walked, the skirt riding up to expose the underside of your cheek and black thong.

“That fucker,” Roman growled, walking out himself.

***

Harvey led you back to the car, where your driver and security detail waited.

“You have a lot of groveling ahead of you Dent if you even think about sleeping in the same bed tonight.”

Leaning to press soft kisses to your throat, Harvey wrapped both arms around you as he kissed your collar. “How about I start right now,” he muttered against your skin. “I know how much you love being fucked in the backseat.”

Gripping his hair, you tipped your head back breathing heavily from his onslaught of kisses and public display. His hands wandered lower, toying with the bottom of your skirt as he pressed you against the car door.

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Harvey grinned against your skin, before looking at the driver. “You go ahead with security, I have some business to attend to.” he grabbed the keys and unlocked the door, pulling away long enough to watch you slide in and spread your legs for him to see your dripping cunt on full display to him and anyone else around. Sucking in a harsh breath, he dove in after you and shut the door, locking it behind him.

His lips were on yours in an instant, hips prying your legs further apart, the skirt bunched up to give him access. Harvey mumbled soft apologies against your skin as he left open-mouthed kisses across your collar. His hands danced across your thighs, as they made their way up to your pussy.

Letting out a sigh, you arched your back feeling him swipe through your folds moaning at the sudden contact. His fingers entered into you, quickly stretching your hole to accommodate his cock to impatient to take his time with you.

Gripping the leather of the seat, you moaned his name. “Harvey! Please!”

Hearing your cries, his hand continued to thrust in and out of your pussy before pulling back and undoing his belt. Quick to pull out his cock, he fisted it several times watching you writhe and drip onto the leather beneath you.

“Hold on baby doll,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you.” Gripping your hips, Harvey pushed your thong to the side and thrusted into you, bottoming out in two strokes.

Your body spasmed, trying to take in all you were feeling. Sinful moans left your lips feeling him stretch you perfectly as he picked up the pace. All you could hear over your ragged breath was Harvey’s hushed apologies as his hips rutted into yours followed by the sound of his balls slapping against your ass.

You could feel the car rock back and forth from the force of his thrusts, Harvey desperate to make you cum. Reaching down, his thumb played with your clit making you tip your head back and kick against the door.

“Oh fuck, Harvey!” you cried, gripping the back of his shirt. “I-I’m so close, baby. So close.”

Hearing you gasp for air, Harvey thrusted harder into you knocking the air back out of your lungs watching as silent moans left your perfect lips. Your jaw was slack and your eyes rolled back at the feeling of Harvey driving into you.

Swearing as your walls clench around him, Harvey moaned your name, continuing his pace. “You look so perfect,” he praised. “So fucking perfect as your pretty pussy takes my cock.”

Feeling the build-up, your thighs tensed around his waist while you clawed at his shirt.

“Fuck! Harvey, I’m gonna--” your words were cut off by a loud moan as you came on his cock, feeling it drip down your exposed ass.

Thrusting into you twice more, Harvey buried his cock inside you as he came, marking you as his as your mixed juices pooled beneath you. The smell of sex filled the car, as he continued to place kisses all over your body.

Panting heavily, you pulled his head up to kiss him. “Oh fuck…” you muttered, resting back against the car seats. Harvey looked down at you, pressing kisses to your cheek.

“Let me take you home doll, really make it up to you.”

Barely hearing his words, you nodded and closed your eyes. Feeling him pull out of you, you whined at the loss of contact before feeling his lips on your neck. Letting out a hiss, you tilted your head to the side feeling him suck the skin between his teeth really marking you as his this time.

Tucking himself back into his pants, Harvey climbed into the front seat and started the car before driving off. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw you splayed across the back seat recovering from the orgasm he just gave you. He saw your lipstick smeared across his lips, chuckling at the thought of how fucked out he must look.

You could still feel the ache Harvey left between your legs, begging to be used again. Reaching down, you slipped two fingers into your pussy trying to convince yourself that it was Harvey. The ache resided some, but it wasn't enough.

“Harvey…” you whined, bucking your hips into your hand. “Please!”

Glancing at you in the mirror, Harvey swallowed hard as he watched your toy with yourself while begging for him. “I’m going doll, wait until we get home.” his voice strained, trying to keep himself from driving into traffic.

Sliding a hand up, you gripped your own breast and played with your nipple through the top, continuing to finger yourself. “I want to feel you, baby, please! It’s too much!”

Going faster than the speed limit, Harvey palmed his growing bulge as he listened to the squelching of your fingers pumping your mixed juices back into you. With every whine and moan, his pants got tighter until it was so painful he couldn’t focus.

Pulling into the garage, he all but jumped out of the car before walking over to the door and pulling it open to see you fucking yourself until you came. Loud moans left your lips, echoing across the garage as Harvey watched you pull your fingers out and lick them clean.

“Holy fucking shit doll,” he muttered, pulling you out of the car. Kicking the door shut, he helped you balance on your feet before leading you up to the bedroom, his hands not leaving your body once.

“When we get there, I’ll make it all up to you,” he promised, muttering against your shoulder. “I’ll worship every inch of you, give you a special gift and everything.” His hands roamed your body, reveling in the way you shivered under his touch. He’ll make you forget all about his stupid bet, and make you feel so good you won’t want to leave the bed.

Leaning into his touch, you walked with him as he opened the door. “You still have a lot of apologizing left to do, better get started.”

Harvey hummed into your shoulder, leading you towards the bedroom of your lavish apartment. Entering the room, he led you to the mirror and held you against his chest. You watched his hands as they traveled up your body before grabbing your breasts through your top and giving them a tight squeeze.

“You’ve been teasing me all night with this fucking top,” he grumbled, listening to your airy breaths as he played with your breasts. “Who the fuck thought it was legal to sell you this shirt?”

“The sales per-person,” you gasped, leaning into his touch. Feeling him pinch your nipples, you hissed pressing your ass into his crotch.

Keeping a hand on your breasts, the other slid down your body sending little bolts of electricity everywhere he touched you. “And this fucking skirt, so fucking tight around your little ass everyone was looking at what belongs to me.”

His lips trailed from your shoulder up to your cheek, not taking his eyes from your flustered form. You could see his eyes burning into yours as you turned your face to meet his lips in a passionate kiss.

You felt his hands slide the skirt off of you, the leather pooling at your feet. Trailing over the soft skin of your stomach, he pulled at the top trying to get it off you. You could tell Harvey was getting impatient, so you pulled away from the kiss and guided his hands into taking it off your body.

Standing in front of the mirror in nothing but your black thong and heels, you couldn’t help but admire Harvey’s hands as they traced over every inch of you he could reach. Slowly, you stepped out of your heels as Harvey’s fingers dipped into the straps and began to pull the thong down your hips.

Kneeling as he pulled it down, Harvey nipped lightly at your ass causing you to jump in surprise letting out a little squeal. Chuckling at your surprise, Harvey got back on his feet turning you to look at him.

“How about a present for the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen?” he asked, holding you against him.

Biting your lip, you gave him a nod as he led you over to the bed and made you sit.

“Stay put,” then he walked off and disappeared to get whatever it was he was going to give you.

It took a few minutes for him to come back, holding three boxes all wrapped in deep red bows. What could Harvey have gotten you this time? The last time he decided to give you something, it was the deed to a whole island that he named after you.

No one got to see this side of Harvey Dent, the side that truly loved you and strived to prove it with extravagant gifts, expensive trips, and more.

Giving him a playful look, You watched as he knelt before you and placed the boxes at your feet. Pressing a kiss to your knee, he handed you the first box. “Go ahead, open it.”

Taking the package from his hands, you lifted the top off and pushed back the tissue paper. Pulling the item out, you saw that it was a black and white lace lingerie set, complete with garter belts. Holding it up, you looked at Harvey to see his delight in you liking the first gift.

“Oh Harvey, it’s beautiful.” you praised holding it against the expanse of your body.

“I’d say try it on, but why don’t we save it for another night?” he chuckled, watching you move the box to the side only for him to place another on your lap.

Giving him a look, you could tell this one was heavier than the last and that probably meant it cost more. Pulling off the lid and unwrapping it, you saw that it was a beautiful necklace with several strands of pearls strung across.

You gasped, holding it up and looking at him. “Harvey, what did I say about expensive gifts?”

“That cost nowhere as much as the island.” he smiled. “I thought I could get some pearls for my favorite girl.” Leaning up, he took it from you and clasped it around your neck watching as they cascaded down your chest and over your breasts.

“Perfect,” he muttered, kissing your cheek.

Turning your head to meet his lips, you pulled him into a kiss running your fingers through his hair. The cold pearls sent shivers across your body as Harvey pressed himself against you. “Baby doll-- fuck.” he chuckled, feeling your hands trail over his chest trying to unbutton his shirt. “I still have one more present for you,”

“That can wait until you’re done apologizing,” you grinned, sliding his shirt off his shoulders.

Harvey gripped your waist, lifting you higher onto the bed as he crawled over you. “I was hoping you’d use it as an apology,” he groaned against your lips as you continued to undress him.

Your fingers danced along the waist of his pants as you unbuttoned them, sliding them down his legs. Raking your nails over his exposed skin, you helped him out of his pants and boxers moaning as you felt his mouth kiss everywhere he could reach.

Moving down your body, he kissed every inch until he got to your hips. Nuzzling your skin, he bit into you leaving teeth marks on your hip. Harvey loved to see you all marked up, further proving that you belonged to him and no one else.

Making his way further down, he propped your thighs over his shoulders and sucked on the supple skin enjoying the taste of your mixed juices and sweat. Leaving a trail of bruises up your thigh, Harvey licked between your folds holding your hips down as you cried out.

“Oh, Harvey!” Your hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer as he continued to lick you clean. Your hips continued to move against his face, as he brushed your clit with his nose.

Harvey’s tongue sent jolts all through your body, overwhelmed by the feeling of his ministrations through your folds. Your toes curled, feeling him enter a finger into you slowly pumping it in and out of you.

Moaning against your cunt, Harvey added a second finger pumping them in and out of you at a sensual pace wanting you to feel every bit of it.

“Please!” you gasped, pulling at his hair. “Please don’t stop,”

Hearing you beg made him chuckle, the vibrations against your clit sending you closer and closer to the edge. Between his warm tongue and cool fingers, Harvey had you dangling over the cliff as if he was daring you to let go.

You let out a scream feeling him brush the bundle of nerves with the pad of his fingers, massaging it until your throat was raw from your screaming. Glancing up at you, Harvey grinned seeing you so lost in the pleasure he was giving you.

“Fuck!” you tugged on his hair harshly, earning a soft moan from his lips sending more little shocks into you as he laid claim to your pussy. “Harvey! Baby-- oh! Don’t stop!” you pleaded, digging your heels into his back.

Curing his fingers again, he felt your walls spasm around him as you came coating his hand and face in your juices. Your voice echoed around the room from crying out his name, relaxing back into the bed.

Harvey’s face was still buried between your thighs, refusing to quit.

“Come on doll, cum on my face again.” he groaned, peeking up at you. You looked to see your cum smeared across his lips and chin, continuing to finger you trying to coax your body into another orgasm.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, getting back to it. You couldn’t hear much over the ringing in your ears, but you swore you heard the words ‘favorite meal’ leave his lips as he licked you clean.

“H-Harv-- oh fuck! I-I can’t..” you whined, feeling yourself being brought up again.

“You can do it, I know you can baby doll.” he muttered against your body, “Give me another, and I’ll fuck you properly until you beg me to stop.”

His words made your head swim, the thought of his cock buried within you while feeling like this was enough to make you cum again, screaming his name.

Harvey lapped up every drop he could, making sure he licked your pussy clean only for him to defile it again. Unable to take anymore, you pulled his head up and over to kiss you. You could taste your arousal on his tongue as it mingled with yours in your mouth.

His hands placed themselves on your breasts, kneading them as the pearls rolled around his hands and towards your cleavage. Harvey enjoyed seeing you wear nothing but the pearls, as they bounced around your breasts while you moved.

Not wanting to waste another second, Harvey lifted his hips before thrusting into you again. Your tight cunt was enough to make his hips stutter, feeling your velvet walls wrapped around his cock.

“Fuck doll,” he muttered against your lips. “You feel so fuckin--” his breath caught in his throat feeling you pulse around his shaft, cutting off his words before picking up the pace. You were nothing more than a blissful fucked out mess as Harvey continued to drive his hips into yours.

Feeling the ecstasy build up, you dug your nails into his back leaving marks that would last for days.

“Harvey!”

Not able to get out anything but his name, your body succumbed to the intense feeling as another orgasm took over you leaving you gasping for air.

Burying his face in your shoulder, Harvey continued to thrust into you before cumming deep within you. Unable to take anymore, he let his body collapse against yours, melting together covered in sweat and cum.

Brushing your hair out of your eyes, he cupped your face and looked at you. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and Harvey would never understand what you saw in an asshole like him. Carefully, he lifted his hips and pulled out before lying next to you.

Turning your head, you gave him a soft smile and kissed his lips. Wrapping his arms around you, Harvey pulled you close enjoying the warmth of your body.

“Did I do good enough?” he asked, brushing his lips against yours.

“Apology accepted,”

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nightcolorz · 3 years

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Random Gotham Rogues Headcanons

(In honor of all the wonderful people who wanted more after my last post, yes I see y’all)

*Jonathan has a huge sweet tooth, the poor bastard didn’t try sugar until he was like 12 and eats candy like it’s his last meal.

*He’ll forget he needs food to live for way too long and eat a gallon of ice cream or some shit that’ll give any sensible man heart palpitations and just be like “😐👍”.

*Selina tells the newer rogues she was raised by cats to freak them out, Jervis still believes her. (Tbf, Selina does walk around with a cat tail on hissing at people and purring on their laps, I don’t blame him).

*Edward has a tiktok account that he made to fule his own ego, he’s a fragile little shit, literally all of his hate comments have video responses (as you can imagine, Edward gets A LOT of hate comments).

*One time a teenager called Edward “submissive and breedable” and he was too baffled to make a clap back.

*The Rogues have a surprising amount of stans. Ivy’s fan base consists mostly of lowly simps, Joker gets stopped on the street daily by greasy redditors and zealous scene kids.

*No one likes Joker, he thinks it’s because he’s “Batman’s favorite” (it’s not).

*For a while Joker has been insistent that he fucked Bruce Wayne once at one of his many parties, no one believes him except for Harvey (begrudgingly).

*He says it’s “Perfectly in character for Bruce” as much as he may hate it.

*Selina denies everything.

*Oswald and Jonathan share solidarity as “the weird bird people”. At first Oswald was a little put off that Jonathan only held knowledge of crows but soon got over that when he realized that now he had an excuse to infodump on someone who might actually be interested.

*Every time Jonathan visits Oswald’s aviary to pick up Nightmare and Craw Oswald jumps at the opportunity to talk about his numerous birds in excess, Jonathan’s a surprisingly good listener.

*Despite Edward and Joker’s long term rivalry Edward has remained relatively civil when faced with Joker’s constant egging on. That is until one iconic day in Arkham Asylum when Edward beat the absolute, ever loving shit out of Joker in the cafeteria. To this day no one knows what exactly got him to snap, not even Joker.

*Harley keeps a scrapbook about all her misadventures + friendships as a rogue, she has a habit of taking pictures of the others at the most inappropriate times (during a heist, while being beaten to a crisp by Batman, ex).

*One time Harley asked Batman to pose for a picture to put in her scrapbook, he obliged to everyone’s surprise.

*Edward is wholly insistent that he doesn’t belong in Arkham, and is convinced he’s completely sane. He’s weirdly obsessed with the fact that Oswald is sane “as well” and will make unprompted snide remarks like: “Blackgate sounds terrific, unfortunately I’ve been misplaced among MORONS, it’s a shame that the system is too incompetent to properly judge my un-categorizable psyche.”

*Oswald usually responds with a simple “🙂👍” or “ok” to avoid conflict, disagreeing with Edward could be catastrophic.

*Art therapy is an occupational hazard for all the Arkham staff. (Seriously, who thought giving super villains an outlet to express themselves was a good idea).

*Edward can’t draw so he spends his time harshly criticizing the other rogues art, that’s caused more than a few fights. The one time Edward’s ever actually done art in art therapy was when he drew a green triangle and explained in complex detail how he colored it to perfection.

*Jonathan is no longer allowed to share his art with the group before having it reviewed by a staff member after emotionally scarring a few patients. He’s one of the few rogues who presents his art every time, just to see the disturbed looks on the others faces when he explains whatever twisted art piece he came up with this time.

*Jervis is probably the most dedicated artist of the bunch, he‘s not allowed to make himself any hats (for obvious reasons) but he’s still a very skilled seamstress and has a very interesting art style (Jervis tries not to draw anything explicitly linked to Alice in Wonderland in fear of getting repercussions, as rogues often do when they engage with their ‘personas’).

*Harvey isn’t very technically skilled in drawing, but Harv usually spices their art up enough to make it interesting. Their drawings are always two themed, as expected. One time Edward criticized a painting of theirs for being “too unrealistic” and Harv had to manually restrain himself from kicking Edward in the teeth.

*Victor can’t draw either, but he writes pretty good poetry. His writing is excessively melodramatic and flowery, and his themes even more so. Half of the presentation period is spent listening to Victor muse about the meaning of life or some shit, his poems are VERY long.

*Waylon and Ivy are the obligatory pretentious painters, both have a fondness for flowers (for very separate reasons). The two will often compare their paintings and wax poetics about the beauty of nature or some bullshit before never speaking again. That’s one of the positives of Art therapy, it brings rogues together who would otherwise not grant each other a passing glance.

*Group therapy is just as (if not more) atrocious than Art therapy.

*The only one who ever talks is Joker (and sometimes Harley, but way less).

*Joker is the embodiment of an irl troll, he does a much better job at getting responses from the other rogues in therapy than the therapists ever could (usually hostile responses but still).

*Occasionally a new and bright eyed therapist will try and coax childhood memories out of the rogues, it never ends well (usually with the rogue or the therapist in hysterics).

*The majority of the Arkham staff are either terribly unqualified or terrible period.

*Music Meister lived with Edward for a short while after escaping Arkham together but he was promptly kicked out because he wouldn’t stop singing.

*Selina and Ivy had a huge argument once because Selina’s cats nibbled on Ivy’s plants.

Okay this post is all ready super long so I’m gonna end it here, as I said last time I can always make more if you guys like these (I’m not running out of headcanons anytime soon!)

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

Text

Blackout (Edward Nygma x Reader)

WARNING: Mental Illness themes and mentions are strong throughout. Death!

"(Y/N)?" A nurse with a shrill voice said making you flinch and turn to face her. She was smiling, one that was rather malicious. That made you nervous as to what was her next words would be. "Doctor Strange wants to see you. I believe he has a new treatment for you." Your blood ran cold before draining from your face.

Just about every patient at Arkham has figured out that those who catch Dr Strange's attention either never returned or were never the same. You felt pairs of eyes on you, some over hearing, just by the very mention of his name got everyone's attention. It was like being in a slaughter house and you had no doubt that such an environment wasn't helping your mental state.

"No..." You said quietly, curling into yourself slightly as though it would change her mind. "Come now, (Y/N), you've been so good this past week. Don't you want to get better?" The nurse moved a hand to your shoulders, her grip tight but not painful. "It won't be long. By the time you're done, it'll be time for dinner. That's very soon." You still didn't budge. The nurse's demeanor changed ever so slightly, a bit of aggravation tugging at her. "(Y/N), do you really want to undo all of the hard work you've done and lose day time privileges? You'll risk solitary confinement and things will be a lot more difficult for you. This treatment is happening whether you like it or not!" You knew you couldn't push any further and so slowly you stood up and the nurses attitude changed to the once again pleasant nurse who gently guided you. Before she could nudge you out the door, you halted turning back to look at the other inmates within the cafeteria. "They're not going anywhere." The nurse assured you with another soft tug. You complied.

"What's with that one again?" Edward raised an eyebrow watching just like everyone else had as you left the room. "Well they don’t know, they have many theories but there's always something else that’s unexplained." Jonathan said smoothly. "Something else?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "They are aware of everyone's surroundings, better than ordinary." Jonathan explained. "What?" Two-Face furrowed his brow and Jonathan sighed. "Think of Arkham as a doll house and every person is a doll, (Y/N) knows what everyone is doing, what's happening even when they aren't there, a spectator to real life." "How can someone know what's happening when they aren't there?" Harvey pressed. "Well...security cameras if they had access but that's the point, how can someone know what's happening if they aren't there?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh I get it!" Harley suddenly spoke up. "They don't! They imagine it!" Jonathan gestured to Harley sending a pointed look to Two-Face. "So they daydream? That's it?" Two-Face said gruffly. "No, Harv! They stare at everyone, watching us all day long so they predict what we would do and where we'd go!" Harley continued. Two-face shook his head. "They say I'm crazy." "Crazy... or smart, smarter than many of the crazies in here." Jonathan responded. "I personally would say they're in a better position than most of these meat heads." Edward said. "Wow, complimenting someone other than yourself Edward? Looks like your treatment is working." Jonathan smirked. Edward scoffed. "Hardly! It's not difficult to outsmart these dimwitted goons. It's not even a challenge! If anything they've barely proven that they've got more than one braincell!" Jonathan sighed in response but Edward continued. "Besides, I would know, I'm the smartest man in Gotham! If not the whole world." "Oh clam it, bozo!" Harley rolled her eyes. "Now, now Harley...the clown many be in solitary but keep your cool." Jonathan said smoothly. "So I can sit here I listen to the cucumber spout Riddles and call me a dumb broad!?" "No one is calling you such things Harley." Jonathan responded all the whilst Edward gawked. "Cucumber!? Seriously!?" "Hey! Check the facts yourself, you wear green, your green with jealousy half the time when Batman is around and you’re made of mostly water! Now who's the dumb broad!?" "Harley, again, no one is calling you that. No one doubts your intelligence, we only doubt how willing you are to use it." Jonathan finished. Harley huffed.

You hurriedly looked around the room to find nothing out of place, the walls dirty and barely resembling the white painted walls. They hadn't been cleaned in at least a decade, grime filling every corner as well the random stains that likely had a grotesque story behind each one. No doubt the asylum blamed all of this on a lack of funding rather than admitting to Gotham city that the asylum isn't fit for purpose and hasn't been for years.

Dr Strange sat at a steel table in the middle of the room that was big enough for two people to work at either side. A bulb hung down from the ceiling which no doubt would explode any given moment just to add to the worn down Arkham aesthetic. "Ah, finally we meet at last." Strange's voice gave you the chills. You didn't look in his eyes, keeping them on your now seated lap. "Your name is (Y/N) (L/N), yes?" You nodded. "I'm told you have been very well behaved over the week. You've been working on social boundaries of sorts, yes?" "Do you mean not spying on people?" You asked. "Is that what you'd call it?" "No. It's what the nurses call it." You retorted. "I understand you were in some trouble when you broke in-" Dr Strange began but didn’t get to finish. "I didn't break in." You interrupted. "The door was open and I didn't break anything." "Yes, you left everything untouched, but nevertheless, you know you can't be in the security room. What were you looking for?" Dr Strange asked. "You know that." You retorted. "I need to hear it from you." Strange pressed. " I wanted to see the security cameras." "Why?" "So I could see what people were doing." You said flatly. "Do you know why you care so much?" Slowly, you shook your head. "That's your job though, right? Your job is to help me figure that out and move on?" You replied. He seemed to think about this statement momentarily. "Indeed. For now though, we are working towards really understanding your mind to get an idea of a diagnosis. I see in your file that there is mentions of multiple possible disorders?" You shrugged slightly. "Although this wasn't confirmed due to your...obsession." Dr Strange finished. "Is that what they call it?" You asked lightly. "No." Doctor Strange said flatly. "That's what I call it." Finally you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. "Dr Arkham missed the 'g' in 'diagnosis'." Strange looked at the file in his hand to realise there was that typo but wasn't certain how you could have seen it at such an angle. "Now, let's see about these blackouts." He began.

Dinner had come and gone and you hadn't returned, not that it surprised anyone at all. The expectation was that if you did return, you were lucky. Even if you had completely lost your mind.

At ten thirty, the lights were always out, other than the very dim ceiling lights that were solely for staff to maneuver in and out of the corridors without disturbing the patients. Despite lights going out at ten every week night (and at ten thirty on weekends), patients didn't actually go to sleep at that time. The staff didn't seem to care, as long as they were in their cells. That made the routine rather redundant in terms of creating a daily routine for the patients. So ten thirty rolled around and a nurse was pushing a patient on a wheelchair, seemingly back to their cell.

Harley wanted to have a look and recognised the patient. It was you, slumped over yourself and unmoving. Harley kept quiet, watching intently as you were wheeled past her cell. You were a lucky one. You had made it back here in the end.

You woke up the next morning with a very bad headache. It reminded you of your blackouts but judging by your 'treatment' that was likely the cause. Your limbs felt heavy, your brain working on empty. There was many times that you stumbled over yourself on the way to the cafeteria. The same nurse from yesterday was in charge and awaiting your arrival as she moved her attention from Harvey Dent to you. She immediately tugged you to sit next to Jervis Tetch. Across from you sat Jonathan Crane and Harvey Dent. You jumped slightly when Harleen Quinzell no so gracefully sat beside you. However the nurse kept your attention in her with a wide almost menacing grin. "Good morning, (Y/N)!" She said brightly. "How are you feeling today?" She was too happy and by far too loud. Her voice grated against your ears, making you wince though the pain if your pounding headache. "My brain has exploded and my heart is racing like a train." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. "Oh is that so? Well, I'll get you some painkillers for that head whilst you have breakfast. How does that sound?" You grumbled with a nod, anything to get her to stop talking.

As she walked away, you rubbed your aching temples, eager for some kind of relief. "Oatmeal and toast, it seems to be today...as usual." Harvey grumbled. "My puddin' still ain't here!" Harley scowled, making you wince slightly. "Hey, do that one a favour and don't make such a fuss." Harvey gestured to you, sending Harley a look. "Give it a rest for today won't you?" Harley rolled her eyes. "Fine!" She turned to look at you with a sweet smile. "Sorry, dollface!" You nodded. "Don't worry about it, Harley." You groaned, putting your head on the cold table. "That bad, hm?" Two-Face asked. "I don't even remember what happened." You grumbled against the table. "My hands hurt. My head hurts...everything hurts." The nurse caught Jonathan's eye, she was briskly approaching that sadistic grin still on her face. "Well, your saviour and your hell is approaching. Someone actually did get you something after all." Jonathan nudged your side. You groaned. "Maybe it's rat poison." "It's pills by the look of it." "Arsenic then." "Here you are, (Y/N) dear. For all of your cooperation last night and as well as your behaviour." You picked up the glass of water in front of you as she handed you two pills. You cast a quick glance at Jonathan who was also looking back at you. "C'mon arsenic." You mumbled, popping them in your mouth. Jonathan smirked. He understood, you weren't the only one who thought Arkham Asylum was worse than death and hell combined. The nurse grabbed your jaw, opening your mouth and making sure the pills were gone before she left you alone. "Why wouldn't I take the painkillers if I'm in agony?" You asked dumbfounded. Jonathan shrugged. "Probably checking you still have that initiative." Two-Face smirked.

As trays of oatmeal were given out, you couldn't help but notice that whilst you had been sat with this particular group, one of them were missing. "Where's Edward?" You asked. "He's usually one of the firsts to get here." "He was put in solitary confinement." Jonathan said, making a look of disgust at the greyish, blob on his plate. "Solitary confinement? Why?" You asked. Two-Face shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe riddled one of the docs to death." He snickered. "He was taken for his own treatment, going crazy!" Harley grinned at the fond memory. "After some time, you were brought back to your cell and minutes later he was covered in blood and being almost dragged to Solitary Confinement." Harley explained.

You couldn't help but notice that during this time, Jervis hadn't looked up from his lap, not even so much as glanced at his food. Although you had been around long enough to know that Jervis had some days like this. Perhaps running around in wonderland in his mind. You turned back to Harley. "Blood?" "Yeah, news has it that two guards were killed a few rooms down. I say good on him. No idea he had it in him! " Two-face responded. "Damn...and I missed it." You said eyes wide. "You were out like a light when I saw ya!" Harley giggled. "You could have been that bozo's puppet and never had a clue!" "Who's?" You frowned. "The-The puppet guy! Y'know, talks through that puppet. Scar-face? Damn what's his name!?" "Arnold Wesker." Jonathan replied. "Yeah, him!" Harley said excitedly. You turned to the other side of the room.

You'd seen Arnold Wesker a couple of times but never actually spoken to him. Across from him was someone you were had spoken to many times. Peter Merkel Jr. Also known as Rag Doll. He was mostly known for being triple jointed, a contortionist. Well...rumour had it that being triple jointed ran in his family. A trait he didn't inherit and in the end, he supposedly had many life-threatening surgeries to allow his joints to move in inhuman ways. He could actually be a decent funny guy...once you got past his creepy communication skills. You turned back to the group around you.

"Group therapy today, shit I forgot." Two-Face said suddenly. "How could you ever forget such a momentous occasion?" Jonathan said sarcastically. "It's you, me and (Y/N) in this one. If Edward is there, who knows. Don't know about who the others will be though."

As each patient was situated in a seat within the circle of chairs, a guard approached you. "Hands out." He commanded gruffly as he took out hand cuffs. "Are you kidding me? For what?" You nodded to the cuffs as Dr Vern approached. He was one of the more patient and less brutal doctors who seemed to actually somewhat want to help patients, rather than torture them. Since observing that many times, you learned to somewhat trust him. Especially since he had treated you a couple of times and actually considered you a person. "It's just a precaution due to your therapy last night, (Y/N). I can assure you, it's nothing to worry about, they'll be off as soon as the session is over." He put a hand on your shoulder and you looked uncertain before showing your hands and wrists. You noticed Edward was getting the same treatment, looks like he made it out of isolation after all, even if it's only for a brief time. Although he was cuffed because he was in isolation and therefore deemed just as unpredictable.

Dr Vern sat on the opposite side of you and at the top of the circle. "Alright..." He hummed to himself as other inmates began to settle, whilst he looked at his clipboard. "...we have Arnold Wesker, Peter Merkel Jr, Edward Nygma, Harvey Dent, (Y/N) (L/N), Jonathan Crane, Victor Zsasz ...Jane Doe and last but not least, Roman Sionis." He looked over everyone with a small smile. "How is everyone today?" "Is that a legitimate question?" Edward huffed. "Of course, it is. It's the whole point of these sessions." Dr Vern responded. "Honesty is encouraged, there is no wrong answers." "Well then, I've felt like crap all day and to top it off, I'm now handcuffed." You grumbled. "I know, (Y/N). As I said, it's only a precaution whilst we wait to see if your treatment worked. Please don't take this as a punishment, you've been doing so well as of lately." Dr Vern turned to his right. "Roman, how are we doing today?" "Everyone is wearing their masks today." Roman responded quietly, as though distracted, not entirely present in the room. "You've been keeping to yourself, more frequently lately. Are you feeling okay?" Dr Vern pressed. "Yes, doc. In truth there is nothing new with me. Although that shouldn't be a surprise when it's clear that I am not insane." "Yes, so you've said but unfortunately your results say otherwise. Psychosis, remember?" Dr Vern responded. Roman grumbled. "Whatever." "Forgive me, Doctor but I can't help but notice Jane is here." Edward narrowed his gaze on the masked woman across from him. "We all know she doesn't respond as herself and hasn't said a word since she's got here. So pray tell, why exactly is she in a group therapy session where the whole point is to talk?" Jane continued to look down at her lap as though she hadn't heard anything. Her mask covered her entire head. She had two, that were known, this one was Arkham's 'finest'- hardly of her collection. Accommodations were made for her after discovering she tended to become violent and otherwise catatonic without a mask. So whilst she was usually in a straight jacket, they kept the mask on, she was more cooperative with it. Arkham figures it would be a process that eventually shed no longer need the mask. You begged to differ. You were willing to bet that it's simply Arkham giving her exactly what she wants. She was good like that, you admired it. "Jane is more than welcome to these sessions, Edward." Dr Vern responded, almost scolding in his tone. "She is more than welcome to break her silence at any time and if being here encourages her then she'll have overcome a great milestone. Leave her be." Edward rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Dr Vern looked towards Peter Merkel Jr, who wore a ghost of a smile on his face, all the while, his eyes wide. "Hello Peter, I haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing today?" Peters head flopped to Dr Verbs direction. "Hello, Dr Vern. I am doing just fine." His tone dripped in sarcasm. "I assume you are still in a lot of pain. Have you received those ointments today?" Peter hummed, rolling his shoulders further back than should be humanly possible. Then again, Merkel went through a lot of surgeries to make sure of that. "Yes, but only recently." "Ah, I see. Well, I'm certain you'll begin to feel better soon. What have you been doing since I last saw you?" Dr Vern asked. Peter hummed again. "Nothing. Staying in my cell. If not there-" Peters head snapped to look at you with his wide eyed smile. "- I've spent most of my time with (Y/N)." "I see. Are you two friends?" Dr Vern asked looking between you both. You shrugged. Peter responded. "Sure. Something like that. They are very intriguing." Dr Vern nodded as he scribbled on the clipboard, immediately you tried to see what he was writing, the cuffs making a clang.

It was like an impulse, you had to know what he had written. Whilst you were excellent at keeping secrets, things went south if you were kept in the dark about anything, even the tiniest of details. Peter's grin widened in amusement and Dr Vern looked up at you. "It's alright, (Y/N). I'm just noting down what Peter has said. It's good progress for the both of you. If you two don't mind, might I ask Peter a question about this new friendship?" Your eyes narrowed but sat back on your chair whilst Peter agreed. "Peter, I hope you're encouraging (Y/N) to continue this good behaviour and not reduce it." Peter cackled. "That is your job, Doctor! I neither encourage one or the other. They appreciate my talents and I appreciate theirs." Doctor Vern didn't seem to like that answer much but continued. "(Y/N), why don't we move on to you? We have a lot to talk about." Dr Vern leaned forward in his chair. "You say you weren't feeling well this morning?" "Yes." You responded simply, shifting your wrists in the cuffs. "Describe it to me." Your face contorted as though remembering something suddenly. "What time is it?" Dr Vern caught on immediately. "I'll tell you after today's session, (Y/N). That's not important right now." "Yes, it is. I need to know." You insisted with slight panic. "No, you don't." Doctor Vern responded. "There's no need to be anxious, (Y/N). It's not necessary." "It is to me. You-you know that." You said shakily, fidgeting. "I'll strike you a deal, hold off for as long as you can, I guarantee by the end of the session you will know the time." Dr Vern responded. The distress was sudden upon your face, as you shifted against your cuffs. "Looks like the doc is gonna make them cry." Two-Face smirked. Dr Vern ignored him as your knees bounced with anxiety, looking almost uncontrollable. "(Y/N), focus of me." Dr Vern said soothingly. "I know why you want to know. The treatment has had you a little foggy and you've remembered about others outside of this room. You're trying to pin point where they are what they could possibly be doing. That's why you want to know the time. I promise you, you're stronger than the urge to know. You've not known all morning and everything is fine. Push through this urge." "Oh, now I get it." Jonathan thought aloud. "Put some volts in them and who knows what else you did to them last night and then torture them now. Very helpful indeed, doctor." "Jonathan, that's enough." Dr Vern looked at Jonathan. "You're agitating them." "Of course, they're agitated!" Edward said loudly with a roll of his eyes. "You'd think you'd take it easy on them after all that but no let's push them and wonder why they lash out! Morons!" "Both of you. Enough." Dr Vern said sternly. "You're encouraging them whilst I am trying to reason with them."

Suddenly, your shaking stopped. You leaned back into your chair once more, oddly stoic. The shift was most definitely noticed by everyone in the room. "What's going on!?" Scar-Face snapped. "This'll be good." Two-Face smirked whilst Peter giggled with glee, eyes wide and unblinking. "It's between eleven and twelve. We haven't had lunch yet. Group therapy always happens at that time." You said quickly, answering your previous question. Dr Vern blinked with unease. "Alright, good. You've got your answer, now lets-" Suddenly, you spoke again, staring at nothing whilst your words came out rapidly."If it's eleven fifteen- the nurses will be going for their coffee break. Nurse Jill will be sneaking away with William Dean, the guard for the other ward probably for a quickie in the closet. If it's eleven thirty, Nurse Gillian will be preparing the next round of meds and wondering just where the hell Nurse Jill went." "Stop it." Dr Vern said quickly. Jonathan and Edward couldn't help but smirk at you but you didn't seem to notice anyone, lost in your own head. “If it's eleven forty-five, Nurse Jill will be hurrying back to her post before Doctor Strange leaves his office to head for the staff room for his own coffee. No milk, no sugar. Then he'll take a detour for the cameras, have a look at what we're all doing whilst Dr Vern rounds up today's group session, before Edward and I get the cuffs removed, we'll all be led to the cafeteria. Then Dr Vern will call his wife, and not get an answer, especially when his erratic patient reveals that his precious Sandra has been sleeping with the neighbour, fourteen blocks away. No doubt he'll rush home because he can't ignore what his patient said-" "(Y/N), enough!" Dr Vern snapped in anger whilst you finished your sentence "-even though he'll lose his temper at his patient." You finished in unison with Dr Vern's outburst.

After a moment of silence, Dr Vern finally spoke. "You know where I live?" You smiled simply. "Of course. The security room isn't the only place I can get into. Dr Arkham's files are more than interesting to read. Although I'm certain he has just as many mental issues as the rest of us." "You've been sneaking in there too? Where the Asylum's files are kept?" Dr Vern asked. "Would you like to know the combinations for the locks?" You asked lightly. "You're asking for isolation, (Y/N)." He earned in response. "Am I? It says on your clipboard that I only get isolation if I black out." You shrugged. "I am perfectly conscious. Whilst I'm at it, that is not how you spell my last name." You said flatly. "See? Fun." Peter grinned at Victor Zsasz. "Now how about you don't put a recommendation in for another one of those nasty therapy you wrote down next to my name. My head is foggy as it is and I don't want to be a vegetable." You wagered. "So you can see what I've written?" Dr Vern stared you down. You smiled. "First, you can spell my name right, then you can score out that recommendation and then you can stop pressing me about every little thing I do or else I will do a lot more than prove how much I know. I'll also prove how I can use all of that really screw up your life." Dr Vern's eyes narrowed on you. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means, your life wouldn't be the first persons I've ruined. My family tries to keep that quiet, pay off anyone who will speak out but not even they weren't safe in the end." Dr Vern was quiet for a moment. "You were doing so well, (Y/N). We had really really hoped you wouldn't ruin all this good behaviour. So is this what you were doing last night? Spying with the security camera's again when you were supposed to be in bed?" Your face changed to confusion. "What?" "You were found out of bed with Mr Nygma last night. Have you been pretending all this time?" "I wasn't out of bed." You glared. "Ignore him, (Y/N)." Edward spoke up. "What do you mean I was out of bed!?" You glowered. "(Y/N), leave it." Jonathan said quieter. "No!" You said sharply. "You've already asked me about the incident and I told you what happened!" Edward glared at Dr Vern, ignoring your protest. "What happened!?" You snapped. "You and Nygma were found covered in blood last night." Dr Vern responded looking between the two of you, his pleasant demeanor long gone. "Two staff members were killed in that very room you were found in." "They deserved it!" Edward snapped. "They were hurting them!" "You expect anyone to believe that you defended (Y/N) and effectively killed those two people when you've shown almost no interest in (Y/N) before?" Dr Vern asked lightly. To his surprise, Jonathan responded. "I do. Your staff members are deplorable. I speak through experience on both ends. I think (Y/N) to be very lucky Edward was there." "Too right!" Harvey agreed. "The shit that goes down in this place is downright evil and that's coming from us!" Edward's jaw clenched. "Besides, (Y/N) was in an absolute state after that so-called ‘therapy’. They were wandering around and those two guards were going to take advantage of that. I would know since they were supposed to take me to my 'treatment' and suddenly (Y/N) wanders by and the things those men were saying... disgusting! I intervened the moment I saw that (Y/N) was beyond confused and dazed and instead growing distressed!" "Forgive me, doctor." Roman spoke up. "Isn't it Arkham's finest of staff's job to ensure the safety of all patients?" "Of course, it simply adds to the poor reputation of this place that they simply do not. So much so that other patients have to step in." Jonathan responded with a smirk. Your gaze was locked into Edward as you struggled to believe the story.

He was narcissistic at the very least and didn't spent much time on you. Edward Nygma just didn't strike you as the saving type and you would have known if that was the case.

You were waiting for Edward at this point to come out of isolation. You had asked almost every one Edward spoke to in the asylum. No one seemed to know anything and even confirmed your suspicions, Edward wouldn't just jump in to save an inmate but for whatever reason Edward had to lie, they'd support it.

When Edward got out of isolation it was like a tease, you barely saw him, Arkham staff doing it's best to keep you apart. However whilst this was irritating, it got to a whole new level when Edward’s associates seemed to know exactly what had happened and weren't willing to share. Just the thought made you tremble, that Edward and his friends knew what really happened that night...and you didn't have a clue.

You usually had taken satisfaction when Dr Vern handed in his resignation, he had to now that he knew how much you knew about his life. However, you noticed how disheveled he was and it dawned on you he must have confronted his wife. Dr Vern couldn't ignore such accusations, you knew that. It would have chewed away at him but you didn't get to enjoy the satisfaction. Not even when he glanced at you with unease when quitting. You couldn't enjoy it because your own thoughts were chewing away at you. You needed to know what happened that night and the longer you didn't get answers, the more drastic measures you'd take.

By Saturday morning, you couldn't take it anymore. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep, or indigestion...or it was the question that had been tearing you apart for days. You knew you'd have to force Edward to talk. He was incredibly intelligent, he didn't slip up or give things away like the others did and in that moment, it simply drove you mad.

When Edward locked eyes with you, his stomach dropped. To put it simply, you didn't look well. Clearly you hadn't been sleeping, there were dark circles under your eyes and you slightly curled into yourself, as though barely having the strength to hold your body up. Edward also couldn't help but wonder if you had been eating. From what he had seen you were in a foul mood, nearly getting yourself isolation multiple times. Each time Edward, Jonathan and Two-Face got you out of it.

"Alright (Y/N), you can calm down now. Jervis picked up your book by mistake." Edward had said once, sliding the book towards you before you could get into serious trouble with the nurses. It seemed to distract the nurse more than it did you and his action, yet again caught you off guard.

The second time he set off Harley, distracting the nurses, all because he insulted the joker who had still not gotten out of isolation.

Your piercing stare could have surely killed him if he hadn't been across the room. He knew immediately that you were hitting your breaking point and so when you stormed off, he followed.

You led him to an empty lab. A lab with no camera. That left Edward on edge but held onto the fact that you were still very much coherent. The empty glazed over look in your eyes like that night was far away. "Do you know that I killed two people in a blackout once?" You asked, your back still towards him. "Yes." Edward responded.

Many Arkham patients had murdered. So much so that two was virtually nothing in comparison to the number that many inmates had, Edward included. "Do you remember when I first got here?" You asked. "Yes. You weren't responsive for four days. The one that got you to break your silence was Dr Vern." You were impressed although not so surprised that Edward knew so much. Of course he knew. "I couldn't believe what I had done. When they told me my father and stepmother were..." You looked over your shoulder. "They put me in here, undiagnosed as well as not knowing a motive as to why I'd ever murder my father and the one woman who had been the closest thing to a mother I had ever had." You blinked back a memory. "I don't know why they painted such a picture that those two were so wonderful. They weren't." "Reporters and the justice system love their innocents." Edward replied in disdain. "My parents weren't innocent. If the GCPD looked a little further. They'd have known the motive." You finally turned to face him. "Why?" Edward asked. "Because they deserved each other." You responded icily. "They were committing fraud, wanting the extra money and expected me to play along regardless of how nice they were to me. They began to put their problems on me, expecting me to fix them. They never thought about what that could to do their kid." You swallowed. "Every mistake they made, I was blamed. To the GCPD I was a difficult child, it wasn't that my step-mother was trying to steal multiple bottles of alcohol and convinced me to carry them in my bag. Every single time, my parents chose each other, every time it was at my expense and I never got even as much of an apology. That's what I was there for. To hide their mistakes, I was to play the problem. So I accepted that. I accepted this is what they wanted, what they deserved. It hadn't been the first black out I had but it was the most brutal. Their bodies were side by side." Your gaze met Edwards eyes. "I couldn't forgive myself when I found out what I had done. I didn't speak a word after that, not until that day after some time here. Dr Vern was the first, as you said. Look where that got him." You couldn't help but smirk. "I actually liked the guy but, I knew where his loyalties lie." Your smirk vanished, your brow creasing. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I don't know what happened that night Edward but you do and you lied to Vern, you lied to Strange and you're lying to me. You're getting your friends to do it too." "(Y/N)-" You cut Edward off. "No!" You said sharply. "I want the truth. I need it. You're going to give me the truth."

Edward stayed silent. "Damn it, Edward!" You snapped, digging into a drawer behind you before pulling out a very large syringe. "Don't do this." Edward said lowly. His hands raising slightly to calm you. "You know something I don't!" You snapped. He thought this over. "I know many things you don't." "You know what I mean!" You yelled. "You didn't care before. Why now? What changed? Are you using me?" "No...no, I'm not." Edward said. "Then what is it!?" You cried. "Put that down and I'll tell you." Ed nodded to the syringe in your hand. You looked at the syringe before back at him as he hesitantly took a step closer. "Give me the syringe and I'll tell you." "You won't lie?" Edward shook his head. "I have no reason to."

After a couple of seconds you dropped the syringe and it clattered to the floor. Edward immediately lunged, taking your hands and pulling you into his arms. You gasped, panic setting in. The Riddler was one of the most dangerous people in Gotham and he could kill you in a heartbeat. Although it took you a moment to realise that he was simply holding you to him, almost like an embrace. A quiet voice, almost a whimper escaped him. "They were hurting me." He began and you heard a slight quiver in his voice. "They were hurting me and you helped me. I know you don't remember that night but I do."

Edwards plans for the night didn't include electric shock therapy. Regardless if it was Arkham's so he kicked and screamed creating a fuss along the way. The more he struggled, the more assistance was needed. He had even caused a few other patients to cry out from their cells, a minor but pestering bother for Arkham staff.

By the time they reached the room with the chair, the guards had enough and immediately surrounded him for a beat down. Edward curled into a ball, covering his head and ribs as much as he could as doctors and nurses hurried away from the room. Typical.

Suddenly there was a yelp that didn’t come from Edward, everyone seemed to freeze, Edward looking up to see what had happened. One of the guards were stunned, frozen in shock, staring at the other guard who looked horrified. In his neck was a syringe of what was previously a sedative for Edward. The thumb pressed down, plunge the contents into his neck. A laboured breath escaped the guard before he fell to the ground before Edward, who was slightly alarmed and wondering just how strong that sedative was, if it even was that. The hand had been yours, eyes glazed over and very still.

Without warning, as soon as your eyes locked on the other guard, you lunged towards him. He had no time to process what had happened or even prepare himself for the attack. He fell to the ground, you on top as you ferociously beat his face with your hands. Your strength was astounding and it was the clearly why you were such a threat. You were like an deranged animal, it wasn’t enough even when he was out cold. Edward wasn’t even sure if the guard was still alive. However, you moved onto the next guard just as quickly. Perhaps you hadn't noticed him.

He stood corrected when you halted your attack and turned your sights on him. Slowly he stood up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. You followed suit, your eyes still wide and empty. Slowly you moved forward. Edward went to move back but something blocked his path. He felt panic run through him but did his best not to show it. Something he often did with the Bat. Although you didn't lunge, as a matter of fact you were incredibly slow.

You seemed to notice his pain. Edward stiffened as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. You were so gentle he didn’t even entirely feel the hug. He looked down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were looking at the ground as though feeling guilt. In that moment, Edward took charge. ”Give me your hands.” He said quickly. He did his best to wipe the blood from your hands and onto his own as well as his arms. Edward always did have a soft spot for you. He never allowed it to show but he couldn't deny it to himself that it was there. So in the moment you had saved his life, he knew he had to protect you. No one had ever helped him yet you had, whether it was consciously or not didn't matter. If he didn't do something you'd wake up in isolation with possibly even more deaths.

Edward knew you better than you thought, killing wasn't something you were proud of. You didn't want to add more to the list. So maybe in this way, he was protecting you just as you had protected him. Edward also noticed something that seemed to trigger your violent tendencies. It was violence itself. If you witnessed it, it seemed to drive you to be violent to the point of deadly. So he took the fall for it and eventually, they seemed to buy his story and take you back to your room. Throughout all that time, you didn't speak a word and the next morning you didn't remember a thing. Just as suspected.

"I couldn't tell you." He said, looking into your eyes. You had never seen him so vulnerable. "I couldn't risk Strange finding out. It was better for you if everyone thought it was me." "Why? Why protect me?" You asked. "Because you protected me...such a thing is very hard to find in Gotham." "I...I killed those people." You whispered and Edward nodded. "You saved my life." He corrected.

#batman #gotham #the riddler #edward nygma #arkham #arkham asylum #one shot #oneshot #warning

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roguish-gallery · 4 years

Note

I just love these rogue headcanon questions so here is another! beach day head canons! what are they all doing on beach day together!

OFC!!!! This was so much fun to do, thank you for the request!

Rogues + Beach Day HCs!

Bane:

He’s just trying to have a good time but… he can’t help but feel as if he’s being watched….

He may not think he’s doing anything sus, but dudes got stacks on stacks on stacks. SO MUCH BEEF. people will be ogling at him. He’s not a big people-person, so he’s a little shocked at the amount of people calling him over to play volleyball, or why so many moms are asking if he could help them put sunblock on that “hard to reach spot”. No, he will not rub lotion on your back, Linda. Your husband is literally right there. idiots.

Eventually, he just grabs his towel, some beer from the cooler, and he finds a quiet, secluded spot to tan or he goes out to swim.

Catwoman:

Selina easily puts the most effort in her beach outfit, but that’s hardly a surprise.

She looooooves setting up her towel close to random groups of moms so she can listen to the gossip. She doesn’t know who the FUCK they’re talking about, but that arguably makes the tea even better. Susan did WHAT with her poolboy? Unbelievable, what a bitch.

Anyone who catcalls her will get their tires slashed before they leave. No one knows how Selina is figure out which car is the right one... but they decide to not question it

Clayface:

Have you FELT the heat??? Have you SEEN the water?? All that fucking SAND??? This literally sounds like hell no fucking thank you.

He spends the day wandering around the nearby stores and bars. He has a genuine soft spot for tourist traps that sell kitschy souvenirs, and he can literally spend HOURS in one shell shop alone.

He WILL go home with at least one hideous mermaid clock and that’s a promise.

Harley Quinn:

Harley is living her BEST life. She brought ice cream, she brought a boogie board, she misplaced her flip flops so she had to borrow an extra pair of Ivy’s, (but Ivy didn’t get mad so it's alright). The beach trip was more than likely her idea, and if it wasn’t, Harley most certainly was responsible for getting the other rogues to come.

The QUEEN of beach volleyball!!! She’ll literally just join any group that’s playing and will absolutely wipe the floor with the other team!!! She quickly becomes super popular amongst beach-goers.

She tries soooo haaaaard to convince her friends to get more active because they’re either reading, sleeping, or not even ON THE BEACH. Some of them humor her, but the others just double-down on whatever they were doing prior.

Joker:

He literally spends the entire day bullying people. He’s kicking sandcastles, getting sand in people’s picnics- he doesn’t care.

When he’s not being a public menace, he’s out trying to surf. He’s frustratingly competent. No one knows where he learned how to surf.

Because he’s an IDIOT he thought his chemical-bleached skin was too good for sunscreen. Wrong.

Killer Croc:

He literally can’t go swimming in a somewhat crowded area without some teen mistaking him for a sea monster or some shit. It really sucks, because Waylon is the best swimmer of the rogues, and he genuinely enjoys getting into the water (He does get to venture out for a few hours once it gets dark!)

Actually, CAN Waylon even do anything at a public beach without freaking people out??? What the fuck???

In the meantime though, he’s content to take a nap because the sun feels fantastic on his back and the sand is warm and ough,,,, snzzzzz,,,,,snnnnzzzzz,,,,,

Mad Hatter:

He tags along with Basil and they go explore the shops together. He doesn’t particularly care for the beach, but unlike SOME PEOPLE (Eddie) Jervis doesn’t sit around and bitch about it, so he looks for something to do.

Jerv eventually gets bored, so he spends the rest of the day doing some light people watching. There’s SO many different hats in one place! It’s fascinating!

He 100% falls asleep at around noon and he has to get woken up several times to reapply sunscreen before his white pasty-ass burns.

Mr. Freeze:

Penguin:

(I was very tempted to just link the robot chicken DC special where Oswald convinces half of the Legion of Doom to strip at the beach but! I shall not! Also… realistically, I know that Oz would Literally Rather Perish than take his shirt off somewhere public.)

As usual, he has to be the responsible one. He brought sunblock, reminded everyone to bring their towels, and he brought extra towels because he knows people will forget. And yes, even though he was teased relentlessly for it, he DID provide the beach umbrella.

He’s got a nice shirt, some Gucci shades, and a pair of beach trousers. He will NOT get in the water. “Harley, I am serious. Do you know what’s in that water? I will not get these clothes wet.”

He just wants to read a book on the sand and relax. Please let him rest. please.

Poison Ivy:

Finally… she can get some proper tanning done…

The only reason she’ll get up is if Harley is drowning, or if she needs some backup on a volleyball match. The MOMENT she isn’t needed, she’s going back to sunbathe.

She’s been around the other rogues long enough to know that half of them won’t properly apply sunscreen and it’s for that very reason that she refuses to share any of her hyper-potent aloe vera. Play shitty games, win shitty prizes.

Riddler:

HE IS WHINING CONSTANTLY WHY DID HE TAG ALONG??? ITS SO HOT OUT AND HES SO SWEATY AND THE SUNSCREEN IS SO OILY AND THE SUN IS TOO BRIGHT SO HE CANT LOOK AT HIS PHONE SCREEN AND AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

Surprisingly tho he does venture out into the water to cool off, but once he gets completely wiped out from a wave he crawls back to where The Umbrella and The Cooler are located and sulks there for a while. EVERYONE saw him and laughed.

He eventually decides to do the one thing he KNOWS he’ll enjoy doing, and he moves his towel next to where Oz is sitting, and they spend the rest of the day idly chatting. He perks up later when he gets to help with the grill during dinner.

Scarecrow:

At first, he GENUINELY doesn’t understand how he got talked into coming. There’s nothing for him to do except read (Which he could have just done at home)... Maybe if he walked along the shore he’ll find a beached jellyfish. Or a dead body… Alas, no such luck. What a terrible day…

That is… until he comes across the seagulls. He is fascinated. No, enamoured with them. They have so much potential… for anarchy… he’ll find a flock and feed them bits of his sandwich until more join in and they start to follow him around… and then he’ll throw the rest of his food into a large group of beach-goers and watch the ensuing chaos.

After that, this literally becomes the best day ever. Jon has a smug fucking grin, and he’s openly nice to the other rogues. He gets himself a BIG ASS frozen margarita with salt on the rims AND a novelty umbrella. He REFUSES to explain his good mood, but the others begin to suspect it may have something to do with the influx of people leaving the beach at around noon.

Two-Face:

Harv’s burnt skin is very sensitive to heavy sunlight, so he’ll just throw on some sandals and he’ll hop around the bars near the beach and watch some sports. Once it gets darker and cooler, he’ll rejoin the rest of the rogues.

Once it gets dark? Guys? Barbeque. King. He’s got the grill. He’s got the meats. He’s got the cooler of beer. He is unstoppable.

He used to be That Dude With The Guitar back in college (y’all fucking know who I’m talking about, every campus has one of them), so mayyyybeee,,, if the mood strikes him,,, he miiiiiight pull out his old uke and play some tunes. maybe.

#headcanons #rogues gallery #Edward Nygma #Jonathan Crane #Harley Quinn #Oswald Cobblepot #Bane #Selina Kyle #Harvey Dent #Basil Karlo #the joker #Jervis Tetch #Victor Fries #dc comics #dc headcanon

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schweeeppess · 5 years

Text

Jason was the one who discovered Dick was missing, and damn him Dick just threw all of Jason’s careful planning out the fucking window.

He hadn’t figured it out because Dick had missed a meet up, or because Dick wasn’t answering any imaginary calls, or because he was in Blüdhaven and hadn’t seen Nightwing around.

Nah, he’d figured it out because—for whatever reason Jason couldn’t even begin to fathom—he’d gotten an e-mail from the Iceberg Lounge, inviting the Red Hood as a guest of honor.

An e-mail.

It was ridiculous the amount of time he’d sat there, staring at the screen and debating on showing up or not. He wasn’t one to make decisions lightly, and there was a lot to consider in the invite. If Jason showed up, he’d be intermingling with the heart of Gotham’s criminal dealings; he’d have quite the chance at assessing high-level threats and the ones there wasn’t much to worry about.

On the other hand, was going really worth it? The Iceberg Lounge was a high-class establishment. Jason hated dressing like he had people to impress, and he would definitely need to impress the crowd that hung around the Lounge.

He’d decided there were several ways to impress people, and as a result was sitting at the bar of the Lounge in his uniform, helmet resting in his lap and domino ever-present to conceal his identity. Jason was pointedly ignoring the stares he could feel on his back and the whispers of his name he kept hearing, very patiently waiting for Oswald to show up and explain just what the fuck he was doing that warranted an invitation to Red Hood.

Being drunk wasn’t ideal, so Jason didn’t touch the glass he’d been handed five minutes into his wait, instead cataloguing criminals he could identify as targets and possible competition, picking out the worst of the riff raff and the easy ones to crush.

Eighteen minutes into the wait, Jason stood up and picked his way around the Lounge, a few onlookers stepping aside when they noticed his approach, and others sneering or turning their noses up a little at him. Jason spoke to persons of interest and people he was already planning on erasing from the world, warning both parties subtly and being a little sterner with the weak ones. He wanted to avoid spending resources on such petty and unimportant matters, so fear was his solution.

By the time a built guy in a tuxedo Jason had labeled a guard-slash-escort approached him with a, “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Hood,” Jason had half the guys he’d spoken to pissing their pants, and was finished with that step in his plans.

For him not to laugh in the guy’s face took an incredible amount of willpower, so Jason was very proud of himself for not commenting as he threw a peace sign over his shoulder and walked with Mr. Shades Indoors to Look Cool.

Mr. Shady for short.

“I’m a busy man,” Jason said, once they were in a hidden elevator, arms crossed as he stared up at the lights in boredom. He wasn’t really lying, as in, at all. These days Jason had quite a bit on his plate. “Cobblepot better have something worth my time.”

Mr. Shady nodded once. “We understand M—”

“Call me ‘Mister Hood’ one more time and you’ll find your kneecaps missing.” The kids of the Alley called him Mister Hood, and only they could. He needed to remember to get them to call him Red or something the next time he saw them.

Mr. Shady swallowed nervously, and Jason cracked a smirk as he lifted the helmet over his head and put it on.

Mr. Shady continued. “We understand, sir, and rest assured; what Mr. Cobblepot has to offer will definitely interest you.”

Jason turned his head to face Mr. Shady and raised a brow, which Shady couldn’t see, and drawled, “An’, if I may ask, just how do you know what I would be interested in?”

He didn’t get a response as the elevator doors parted and Shady gestured him forward.

Rolling his eyes, Jason walked out of the elevator and again let himself be led by Shady, who was wiping his palms on his pants. He didn’t have to memorize the path they were taking since it was just a straight line to a door and therefore didn’t even consider bothering to.

Ah, simplicity.

Shady unlocked the door with a keycard—really, Oswald? Keycards?—and held it open for Jason, who growled in irritation. He could open a goddamn door for himself, thanks.

Regardless of his irritation, he stalked through the doorway and entered a large room. It reminded Jason of a prison courtyard, with seats all suspended above and around a cage in the center of the room, many of the seats already occupied by familiar faces that Jason did not like seeing.

Shady led him to his seat—front-row and with a very good view of the cage—and was quick to leave.

Jason scowled at he sat down, propping his feet up on the railing in front of him and crossing his arms. He firmly ignored the fact that Harvey Dent was in the seat to his right, and that Roman fucking Sionis was to Dent’s right.

Only one person was between Jason and the man he’d been harassing. The incredibly powerful, rich, and no-nonsense man that Jason had shoved nonsense and frustration upon.

Roman seemed busy talking on his phone—business call, if the audio receptors in Jason’s helmet were working correctly—so he hadn’t noticed Jason’s presence (he hoped), and Jason thus forced himself to catalogue the rest of Penguins “esteemed” guests.

Mario and Alberto Falcone, Carmine’s sons if Jason’s intel was on the money (which it was), were sitting with Tony Zucco and Sal Maroni, a seating arrangement Jason was sure was intentional. The Maroni family and the Falcones were notorious rivals.

Hopefully they’d make the evening a little more interesting than it was going to otherwise be.

Aside from them, Two-Face, Roman, and who would appear to be fucking Jonathan Crane, there were no other big names Jason could see, and honestly that Scarecrow had shown up meant that whatever Oswald had was actually worth showing up.

Then he’d seen Edward “Eddie” Skeevers, and things got even more interesting.

Oswald’s little auction was now much more serious, and much more intriguing, and Jason wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be concerned or excited. The inner Robin in him said concerned, but it also said a general ‘what the fuck are you even doing here, you should be kicking their asses and carting them off to Blackgate’, so Jason wasn’t sure it had much credibility. The inner Lazarus in him said excited, but it also said to rip everyone’s throats out and display their corpses like trophies, so it also had no high ground.

Jason was met with a conundrum and warring emotions.

“How much longer is Oswald going to keep us waiting,” Dent growled, and Jason hoped he’d been talking to himself because he didn’t react at all.

I feel you, Harv, Jason thought to himself. He was a patient guy—had done stakeouts that lasted at least eight hours without moving a muscle in any and probably any weather one could imagine—but this was a senseless waste of time. Jason was extremely busy nowadays, and even if Cobblepot hadn’t cared about his agenda he would have taken Eddie Skeevers’, Black Mask’s, Two-Face’s, and Scarecrow’s into consideration.

So if he was trying to get himself killed, he was doing a spectacular job of it.

And Jason would know.

Harvey glowered at the fenced in cage and leaned forward, muttering, “I give ‘em three minutes, then I’m leaving.”

Then plotting murder, Jason’d bet.

Luckily enough, Penguin chose then to make his appearance on the stand beside the cage, waving his cane at some guards who disappeared behind double doors hidden in the walls around the circular area around the cage, then looking up at his invited guests and smiling hideously.

God, that guy was ugly.

“Cobblepot,” Eddie said, the first to speak up. “This had better be worth my time.”

“Yeah!” Harvey yelled, and Jason mentally spat curses at his volume. No need to fucking yell, jackass. “I’ve been sittin’ here for too long for this to be somethin’ dumb.” Thank you for lowering your voice.

Roman hung up on his call, and Jason felt his shoulders stiffen, but he didn’t dare move. He kept his gaze on Cobblepot.

Penguin raised his hands placatingly, and said in that disgusting voice of his, “Calm, friends. Believe me when I say that what I have to offer is more than worth your wait.”

“I dunno, Ozzy,” Jason drawled, deciding to risk Black Mask making this whole deal hell and lowering his legs so that he could lean his forearms on his knees. “I’m a picky guy. You’re lucky I even showed up to this freak show.”

Oswald clearly didn’t appreciate Jason’s mouth, but Jason didn’t care. He was who he was, supervillains and mobsters be damned, and he wasn’t gonna change anytime soon. They could kiss his zombie ass.

“I suppose I am,” Cobblepot flatly retorted. “At any rate, the bidding starts at fifty.”

“What the fuck could you possibly have gotten your paws on worth fifty thousand dollars.” Ah Roman, speaking the words on everyone’s mind before they could.

Bastard.

The two guards returned dragging someone between them, then tossed the person in the cage and on the solid concrete ground carelessly, closing and locking the door behind them as they took up their posts beside it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Jason breathed, immediately on his feet, hands on the railing as he leaned forward to make sure he was actually seeing who he thought he was seeing. “Fucking, Nightwing?”

And it was him. The dumbass, too fucking happy, always upright on his feet, irritating piece of shit older brother of Jason’s. He was just lying there, not obviously injured but not stirring at the same time.

Concern and fear reared its traitorous head and sucker-punched Jason in the gut. He felt like he was gonna hurl.

Oswald smiled that disgusting smile of his again.

“The bidding starts at fifty.”

“A hundred,” Jason barked, all his careful planning with his money out the fucking window. Fucking fuck, Dick, you just had to let yourself get caught.

The Falcones stood at the same time, and Alberto bid, “A hundred fifty!”

Fuck.

“Two hundred!” And oh-ho, Harvey seemed like he felt compensated.

Jason couldn’t afford to keep bidding, he really, really fucking couldn’t, but God damn Richard John fucking Grayson.

“Two seventy,” he called, forcing his tone lackadaisical and his body language indifferent as he eased back into his seat, crossed his arms, and kicked his feet back up. This situation was more than stressful, and Jason hated Dick Grayson with everything in him, tapping his finger on his bicep to try and relieve some of his anxiety.

“Three hundred,” Roman finally tossed out.

Jason swore a blue streak under his breath.

He tried, “Three eighty,” but was quickly overbid by the Maroni representatives with four hundred.

The price was far too high for Jason to be able to continue bidding. There was nothing he could do but watch as his brother was auctioned off like an animal, nothing he could do but sit and observe.

For the first time since his return from the grave, Jason felt completely and utterly helpless.

And he hated Dick for it.

Jason stayed throughout the duration of the auction, long enough for Eddie to out bid everyone with a price of seven hundred thousand dollars. Nobody was willing to pay that kind of cash but him. Jason couldn’t afford to pay that kind of cash. He just didn’t have enough money to spare—he didn’t have any fucking money to spare.

Oswald jutted his cane at Skeevers and said, “Sold, to the trafficker with deep pockets!”

Everyone gradually trickled out, but Jason was the first to leave, already in the elevator by the time Cobblepot had finished his sentence.

When the doors slid shut and Jason was safely out of view, he slammed his fist into the metal wall, denting it a little, stinging pain racing up his arm as a result of his idiocy. He ignored it and pressed his hands to his face and screamed in frustration.

Not only had Jason just lost Nightwing, he’d lost him to a professional trafficker, importer, and exporter. International, if Jason had his facts memorized correctly.

He couldn’t try to steal Dick away from Eddie, because the guy was a pro. He knew what he was doing. Jason couldn’t steal Dick away from Penguin, because Jason was not prepared at all for a fight of that magnitude, and it would take him at least a full day to get the intel he’d need to take Cobblepot on if he wanted to win.

Dick could be anywhere in the world in under ninety-six hours.

Jason had under four motherfucking days to figure out who Eddie was going to sell him to, what he was going to be transported on, when he would be leaving, and where he was going to go.

The estimated ninety-six hours would start in about three, so Jason had three hours to prepare for all the information gathering he was going to be running himself ragged for over the next forty-eight. That gave him a total of ninety-nine hours to work with.

As he walked out of the Lounge, his brain was flying to scrape together some sort of plan, and Jason mourned the loss of sleep for the foreseeable future.

“Fucking hell, Dick,” Jason muttered, swinging a leg over his motorcycle and starting it before tearing through traffic.

He had a plan he needed to formulate and a dumbass brother to get back.

---

@a-dreamed-dreamer won a fic, and hoo boy! this one’s gonna be multi-chap y’all, and PLOT TWIST It’s not Jason and Dick centric. *cackles*

hope you enjoyed :D

#my writing #my work #my fanfiction #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #part one of a multichapter fic #oh wait #i meant chapter one #*cries* im so goddamned tired #*sobs quietly*#why am I like this #*I can't think of tags*#*I can't think of things period*#***I broke my brain***

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

Text

For 900 Followers! Dr!Tim: Arkham Breakout

So, there was once upon a time this Ask aaaaand then this Ask. Then babe asked how things are going for a certain Dr. Drake, so...you know, it’s really a standard Wednesday when he’s literally caught in the middle of a massive Arkham breakout :D

Some day, he’s really going to have to reevaluate his life choices.

Volunteering for rounds at Arkham Asylum is definitely going to be on the list for review.

Sure, at the time, no one else from Mercy General was stepping up to volunteer (honestly, you’d have to be a patient here to willingly step up for this assignment. It’s fine, he’s been called worse).

Sure, he might have gotten friendly with some of the less insanely deranged inmates because really, considering how many times some of them had come through his ER to be patched up after a confrontation with one of the Bats, it was only a matter of time before they knew him by name.

Sure, he actually started to like wandering around the halls, talking with the inmates when they weren’t clutching stab wounds, contusions, and broken everything.

Sure, he might have been doing some side research on MacGregor's Syndrome (just some fun with genetics and incurable diseases), so the guards let him talk with Victor Fries a few times. And though short, their conversations were amazing, giving him a second thought about cryogenics.

Sure, maybe he enjoyed sitting outside Poison Ivy’s cell to ask her questions about her publication on cellular regeneration in plant hybrids.

(He brought her a sad, droopy orchid in thanks. She was actually smiling when he left, so he’s already got a resource when he needs it.)

Sure, he didn’t think it was dangerous enough to mention it to Dick or Jay.

The sounds through the Bluetooth in his ear, the lowly muttered curses from the Red Hood, the muffled boot falls, the rev of a massive engine, all of it is soothing in the fact they’re on the way to help him out here. Ass-kicking vigilantes for the win. But, still.

He’s well aware there’s going to be some conversations about why the hell he’s in Arkham in the first place once this is all over.

None if it makes him feel any better about the current sitch, not when the Joker, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, the Clock King, and Poison Ivy are moving through Arkham Asylum’s cafeteria, looking like a whole lot of shit has hit the proverbial fan in the works.

How do I keep getting myself in these situations? Is the real question here.

But Dr. Drake just focuses on the emergency at hand, fumbling through his doctor’s bag for more gauze with one bloody glove since what he’s pressing against the awkward stab in Jim Newman’s belly is already saturated, and his other hand is in mid-stitch.

He gives a customary glance to where the Mad Hatter is rolling around on the floor after someone took out his face with one of the trays.

The mashed potato mess is going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later. Tim is pretty sure the perpetrator is one of the Hatter’s previously employed thugs, probably pissed off his 401-K got cancelled when the last heist didn’t really pan out.

Really, bad guys don’t have good medical insurance. Shouldn’t that just be, you know, a requirement?

He stays hiding behind his circle of protectors with the snatch-and-stich, most of whom are still tensely watching the progression of the Rogue Gallery through the general population, probably wondering if even one of those crazy fucks has some kind of mind-altering drug, high-test explosive, or some other painful way to die hiding in their jumpsuits.

Tim tries to make it fast, feels the pressure of the situation just by glancing down at Jim’s terrified eyes rolling back while he gets his side sewn back together without general anesthesia. It probably beats bleeding out all over the floor, but Tim knows that’s little consolation. At least the scar won’t be too bad.

(Probably.)

The guard with the nasal fracture in the circle with them is crouching low, fingering his side arm, looking pretty on the edge of terrified himself at the group of other guards with their hands up, prodded in the back with their own guns by some inmates that have obviously chosen crazy to side with.

Perfect.

They’re probably all going to die.

“Well, well, boys. We have a golden opportunity here,” the Clown Prince of Crime chorts with his sickening smile, makes Tim literally cringe with two more to go.

Even if his hands are shaking and the comm in his ear blanks out because they must be on the way (please, God, let them be on the way), Tim is quiet about it when he presses a fresh gauze pad from the already opened package and tapes that sucker in place without drawing too much attention to himself.

Mike Monohan, an inmate in his circle of protectors, plays a mean game of Uno, and flicks his fist open to a flat hand, the international sign for stay back and shut up.

Staying back and shutting the hell up it is.

“We could have so much fun now that we have the Warden here with us,” the Joker is saying, gesturing to the narrow-eyed Warden thrown down on the floor, right on top that wasted pasta salad.

While the rest of the formerly-fighting, raging inmates are wary and listening, Tim crab-walks back, finger over his mouth aimed at Jim. Sliding his arms under the inmate’s, he slowly, quietly, starts pulling his patient back in short bursts, trying to get them under a table without catching anyone’s eyes.

Dr. Crane has found his mask, is pacing around the frozen inmates and guards with the creepy mask, and the Clock King is standing behind the Joker like some kind of Enforcer.

Dr. Fries is leaning against the wall in his suit, the freeze gun holstered.

Dr. Isley is close to him, the two of them talking low whenever the Joker’s back is turned.

Harvey Dent shoves the Warden down on the floor, gives him a very pointed No moving, or it’s curtains for you.

Shauna Belzer waits serenely behind the Joker, the sock puppet on her hand snickering, eyeing the inmates over his shoulder.

Temple Fugate is tapping his foot impatiently, the glint by his right side is a pocket watch.

The inmate’s face is almost white with the effort to slide under the heavy table, even with Tim to help push him under.

“Fun, boss?” One of the inmates eagerly pushes through the frozen crowd, “is it the kinda fun what might break us outta here?”

“Chucko!” The Clown seems happy to see his previous henchmen, and from his point crouching by the edge of the table, Tim can see that sick smile gets wider. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hiya, boss,” the orange-clad henchmen seems just as happy to see the villain, “M’ sorry Mister Joker, but the cops took away my mask.”

“That’s all right, Chucko! The Gotham City Police never did have much of a sense of humor, but we’re all going to have a little fun before we break out of here anyway, huh huh huh.” It’s kind of sick how the Joker pats the henchmen on top the head like a dog, even worse considering the henchmen grins dopily back.

“As long as we stay on our time table,” Fugate interjects, “we have approximately one hour and thirty-seven minutes before the next shift arrives. Less if anyone makes it to the control room and radios for help. The, we will have Police and Special Forces descend upon us. Not to mention the Bat and his brats.”

“Hu-hu-hu, I guess you’ll have to keep an eye on the time, then, won’t you, Tempy?”

The Ventriloquists’ sock scrunches up, “we need to be out of here as soon as possible, Clown. I have a very important person to pick-up out of a locker in the bus station.” Which explains the sock instead of the creepy puppet, Ferdie.

Two-Face sneers at the circle of inmates effectively shielding the shaky doctor from first glance, turns to look at the gathering of other super villains, “I want out of this shit-show, Joker. I don’t get out, you are gonna have a bad fucking time on the inside. Any questions?”

But unruffled as ever, the Clown Prince of Crime just smiles at the group, eyes taking in the terror from half of the inmates, “of course, of course, Harv. We all want out, don’t we? And we’re going to do just that!...After we have play a little game with the Warden and his numbskull guards. Won’t that be worth sticking around?”

A hand tugs at Dr. Drake’s scrubs, and he glances down at the injured inmate, his eyes probably wide and terrified as he feels hearing the Joker talk about shit like games–

(Not fun for the whole family. Really, just your faces getting cut off, no big deal.)

“– gotta get to the infirmary and hide,” Jim hisses up at him, “who knows what they’ll do to ya. All of ‘em are nuts.”

“I can’t just leave,” he whispers back, eyes for the real problems here.

“Doc, there’s nothin’ you can do against these guys. They’re the real deal, and they will straight up murder you. I work for Two-Face, and you don’t wanna dick around with him.”

He’s listening, but his eyes are all for Fugate helping Jervis Tetch to his feet, trying to see if he’d broken his face in the first round of rioting–

And the idea, the plan, on how he could get everyone in this cafeteria out of this alive is right in his brain pan. Risky, but really the only shot he can think of.

“Stay down no matter what,” he tells Jim, pats the inmate’s hand gripping the hem of his scrub top, “I think I’ve got a way out of this.”

His legs shaking, knees knocking, Tim pulls away from Jim’s grip and takes a few steps closer to the inmates hiding him. He pockets the comm in his ear, leaving it on for when his vigilante boyfriends might actually make an appearance.

He takes a deep, trembly breath, watches intently as Fries walks over to look at what is obviously a very broken face.

“He probably has a nasal fracture,” Tim says loudly, cringing internally when everyone, everyone turns and stares right at him. “I’m a doctor. I can help.”

Mike is glaring at him, eyes narrowing in displeasure that he gave himself away, but, you know, thwarting break-out attempts means he needs to be able to move around the baddies.

None of that stops the painful lurch in his chest when that sick grin is absurdly delighted.

“Oh! I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?” The Joker throws his head back to start laughing.

“What question?” One of the inmates interrupts the maniacal peals of laughter, looking around confused.

The shiny barrel, one of the guard’s side pieces, goes off like a bomb exploding, and the body drops with a hard thud in the sudden silence.

“That’ll teach you. Never ruin the punchline!”

And that sickeningly delighted grin turns on him, the barrel with a whisp of smoke still curling from the barrel.

“And as for you, well, I suppose there is a doctor in the house!” The laughter is loud and manic, echoing off the walls, a cacophony of insanity.

But.

Tim sees Victor Fries straighten noticeably, and hopes that maybe he can play his cards right to avoid getting himself killed.

“This is really going to hurt. There might be pain meds in the Infirmary, but I have no idea. I’m not permanent staff here,” he tells Jervis Tetch and Temple Fugate, gloved up at, looking critically at the mess that is currently the Mad Hatter’s face. “We can also check if they have a portable X-Ray because you are seriously going to need it.”

Tim clicks off the penlight and palpates the swollen area gently, “from what I can tell without any secondary evidence to support it, is you have a crack in the maxillary, which is why your eye is almost swollen shut. Yes, the swelling will go down, but cracking a bone this close to your eye could mean shards are going to cause more problems than you would want to deal with if you like being able to see.”

And even if the Mad Hatter is–

One. Scary. Mind-Controlling. Psychopath.

– his squashed face is obviously panicked.

“If you are a doctor as you say, then you will fix it – or you shall pay.”

“Mr. Tetch, I don’t know if Arkham is even equipped to do major surgery. Without the right tools, I could run the risk of permanently blinding you.”

He finally releases the swollen area, completely bullshitting with a straight face and intense eyes (he’s done more complex surgeries in a few back alleys and rooftops, but no one really needs to know those details), pointedly takes the villain’s pulse while glancing at his watch.

“Not to even mention your risk of infection here. Considering the number of organic material that could get into an incision on your face, it’s too much of a risk here at Arkham. There’s a reason why the Warden stopped allowing major surgery on inmates twenty years ago. One of them being nearly impossible to keep a sterile enough room in tact after the many escape attempts.”

Temple Fugate makes a strangled noise he covers up with a cough.

“Next issue is appropriate staffing. You’ve got RN’s, psychiatrists, one other medical doctor. But to be honest with you, Dr. Isley would be the best choice to keep you under during general anesthesia, taking her knowledge of chemicals into account, I mean. But, we run the risk of infection since her current state was caused by a combination of pesticides. That is not enough people to assist during major surgery and monitor your vitals while you’re under. If you code while you’re on my table, I don’t have enough qualified people to bring you back.”

While the Mad Hatter goes pale, blinking his good eye, Tim folds his arms over his chest and gives the villain his most sincere look.

“Your best bet to save vision in that eye is to take two inmates in an Ambulance and have them drop you at the hospital. They can say you got in a fight and the on-call here told them to get you to Gotham General immediately. Their OR has more state-of-the-art equipment than Mercy, and they could reconstruct your ethmoid flawlessly.”

He breaks a disposable ice pack and works it with his gloved hands, gently applies it to the area, and picks up the villain’s limp hand to hold it himself.

Jervis tries to slouch his eyebrows down, but flinches at the pain radiating from his injury, holds the ice pack tighter.

“After all those fights with the Bats, this certainly won’t be my last.” The neuroscientist mutters to himself, “Very well, Doctor, I’ll take my business into the city as you suggest, but don’t think this gets you any immunity from that pest.” And well meaning head nod to the Joker, gun still at his side while the Warden of Arkham is tied to a support pole in the center of the cafeteria.

“Perish the thought,” he closes up his doctor’s bag, giving the villain a wave before going back to where the inmates injured in the dinnertime scuffle were laid out on tables waiting for him. He figures it’s fine because he’s pretty sure he know how to handle that guy.

(Again.)

He leaves Fugate and Tetch to talk out the details, relieved neither of them realizing he dropped the tiny tracking device from his stethoscope in the band of Tetch’s hat when he turned the villain’s face to look closely at his injury.

He’s on his way to his next emergency because Jim is breathing hard and rapidly losing color, surrounded by four other inmates, but the dangerous gangster slash lawyer hovering by Jim’s hand is the real danger, not the muck they call potato salad still painting the walls.

“All right, let me through,” while he’s sliding between Rodney the Hammer (for obvious reasons) and poker-playing macrame enthusiast, Big Earl McCalister (a name from Jay’s life in the Narrows).

He re-gloves, puts his Arkham-specific bag down by Jim’s shoulder and unwinds the steth to check the usuals.

“Doc,” is the deep rasp of Two-Face’s I’m not happy tone. “This is one of my guys, you get me?”

“Read you like a book,” he replies without looking up, checking the skin around his stitches, “none of that changes the fact I don’t have what I need to help him.”

Tim curses softly, eyes going to Jim’s, noting the profuse sweating. The blade went in at least two inches, so they could be looking at intestinal perforation, which he is in no way equipped to handle in the fucking cafeteria of Arkham Asylum. He could possibly do a peritoneal lavage verify fluid out of his bowel is spilling into his abdominal cavity, but the slight swelling and discoloration are sure signs Jim needs laparoscopic surgery.

Now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he starts haltingly, but a hand on his forearm stops Dr. Drake cold.

Like he’s in a horror movie, his eyes go to where Two-Face has leaned over the injured thug on the table, and the ruined side of his face is prominent enough for him to see the excessive scarring.

“Yer gonna tell us what you need to take care of my man here,” is a not-fucking-around kind of dangerous, making Tim suck in a deep, deep breath just to try and keep himself calm.

(They’re on their way. They’re coming for him. They wouldn’t leave him here.)

“He needs an actual hospital with medical staff,” falls out of his mouth firmly, “I don’t have the people or equipment or the surgical staff I need to operate on him here. What I can tell you is that his lower intestines have probably been punctured, and he’s going to die of sepsis shock in less than an hour if we can’t get him into an OR.”

The sickly yellow eye narrows on him, assessing, and the pilfered gun in the gangster's other hand makes a soft click.

“There’s an ambulance here somewhere. Arkham has one for emergencies. Your guys can take it to Gotham General and no one would be the wiser,” Tim shrugs and looks back down at his patient. “As is, you can threaten me all you want, but attempting surgery here, is only going to end up in infection and probably death. I have no supplies of blood, IV fluids, antibiotics, or qualified staff. The nurses and MDs you do have here are good, but not trained at all for major abdominal surgery. There’s no way I can open him up and repair the perforation without killing him.”

And it’s a tense moment when Tim finally looks up at the gangster’s face, his own jaw set

“Then we gotta get ‘im out,” and Two-Face looks down at Jim Newman’s face.

Jim, eyes glassy with pain, reaches out a bloody hand, “ ‘Face?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries, Jimmy. We’re gonna take care a’ ya.” And in what is an impossible-to-predict move, the burned side of the gangster’s face tries to lift up in a half-smile.

“M-My little Tracey, ‘Face. If I don’t–”

“Hey,” and it’s Tim drawing the sluggish eyes, “we’re going to get you taken care of, right?” And he glances up at Two-Face, swallowing hard, but keeping his gaze steady.

“Yeah,” the mass murderer looks back at him, an assessing something in his bulging eye, “yeah, we are. You, Doc, you gonna tell my man Vinnie what ‘cha need, and he’s gonna get it.”

The hulking thug still in his orange jumpsuit steps up to Jim’s side while Two-Face makes his exit, going straight for the laughing mad man gleefully shoving pies in the Warden’s face.

“Is your real name Vinnie?” Because honestly, his mouth is going to get him every damn time.

The thug just smiles.

Welp, okay then. “I need a gurney to transport him to the ambulance. I’m going to check his wound and re-wrap it.”

He’s already reaching in the bag for more gauze pads, pulling back the layers he’d already applied, checks the skin around the stitches, wishes he had a cuff to get Jim’s systolic pressure but estimates it’s down to 80 and dropping.

All it takes is for Vinnie to nod and two lackeys are scrambling to get down to the infirmary.

“Thought...thought I told ya ta get gone, Doc,” Jim wheezes, gritting his teeth as Tim gentle presses just his fingertips against the slight swell.

“Couldn’t leave you,” he replies without looking away.

After long seconds when he hurriedly pulls a syringe and antibiotic, hoping to give them some time then scrambles for a notepad and pen, scribbles instructions quickly while muttering aloud, “administered augmentin...probable perforation of intestine or bowel…”

He scribbles something at the very bottom and tears the paper off his notepad, slides it in Jim’s jumpsuit pocket.

“Make sure the ER doctors get that. It tells them what I’ve already given you so they don’t mix other antibiotics or painkillers.”

He pointedly ignores the fight breaking out between Two-Face and the Joker, but notices Vinnie turns completely away to watch the proceeding shouting match ending in guns pointed at other another.

“Fuckin’ stand down Clown, or I’m gonna make ya a stain.”

“C’mon Harve! Where’s your sense of humor? Ha ha ha haaa!”

“He’s going to get us out of here you ass!” Crane shoves his creepy mask right in Two-Faces peripheral, something probably dangerous clenched in the fist behind his leg.

“We can get ourselves out,” Belzer replies serenely, “we’ve all done it before after all.”

“That means we need to get going,” Fugate is pulling Tetch along with an arm over his shoulder, the other holding the ice pack against his face. The pocket watch makes an appearance, and Tim tapes fresh gauze pads down, mentally preparing to roll Jim off the table and shove it over if bullets start flying.

(Please, please, please hurry.)

Vinnie seems to get the tension suddenly in the room, milling inmates all freezing in place, eyes for the boatload of crazy in the center of the cafeteria by the salad bar.

“But we were just starting to have some fun!” The Joker almost screams, gesturing wildly with the gun to the hacking Warden.

“As usual,” Dr. Isley sighs, calmly walking in the middle of the two villains in the middle of the showdown, “you aren’t using your brain.”

“C’mon Red! I know you want to get out and visit our little Harl, but we have a golden opportunity here!”

Tim sucks in a hard breath when Dr. Isley’s eyes narrow dangerously, and oh God, oh God, oh God.

His eyes dart to the corner of the salad bar where Dr. Fries is leaning, the goggles over his eyes not showing at all what he’s thinking. But, but, Tim notices the ice gun is not longer in the holster at the side of his leg, instead it’s in hand with the doctor’s finger on the trigger.

A subtle shift, upper body moving because that suit has got to be heavy, and Tim isn’t imagining Dr. Fries is looking right at him around the Joker’s back.

Tim’s eyes shift down to his patient, muscles tightening in preparation for something.

“That’s enough,” is robotic through the suit’s speakers, kind of like Jay’s syths Tim thinks crazily when his heart starts to pick up when the Joker tilts his chin down and narrows his eyes right back at Poison Ivy and Two-Face.

If he wasn’t suddenly terrified about a Rogue Gallery Throw-Down, he would be fanboying right through the mashed potatoes.

“Stay out of it, Freeze Pop,” the Joker’s voice is low and utterly fucking terrifying.

“This accomplishes nothing but waste precious time,” Freeze deadpans, “it gives us less time to get far enough away from the Batman.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to remedy!” And the Joker straightens, easily lowers the gun, smiling right at Two-Face’s shiny .45. “We just take some hostages along for the ride.”

Because, of fucking course, the Joker’s head swings over to stare him right the fuck down.

“Especially Gotham’s little darling, here! Why my stars and garters! I believe it’s the indomitable Doctor Drake! AH HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!”

And his heart jumps right up into his throat, choking him on his next breath.

Leaning to talk out of the corner of his mouth, the Joker’s eyes are all for the frozen civilian, “He was on the news, Harve, remember? The little do-gooder on the bridge.” The low drop of the Joker’s tone on that word, on bridge, hits Two-Face in the right way, making the gangster’s attention shift.

(Oh shit. This is bad, getting more bad, getting so, so, so bad.)

“That was you?” The other gun falls and Two-Face turns on him while the Joker is doing that cliche steeple-fingers-and-look-insane kind of thing, and that just really makes him want to take a step back. He should probably run, but it’s more likely Two-Face would shoot him in the back if he tried, so he’s got no other choice but to improvise.

With the copper taste in the back of his mouth, with the possibility he’s about to die horribly depending on the level of utter crazy in the room right now, Tim Drake straightens his spine, crosses his shaky arms to hide the fact.

“There were children, Mr. Dent. Children that didn’t deserve to die on a collapsing bridge.”

Jim Newman tenses on the table under him, still going pale, still on a ticking clock, and some of the other inmates are cowering back. The Ventriloquist looks eager to see what happens, her sock puppet whispering in her ear; Scarecrow, the Mad Hatter, and Clock King are looking at him intently, uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy sighs and arches a put-upon brow.

“I patched people up and put them in cars to get off the bridge. Your bombs did what they were supposed to do,” is more accusatory than he feels. “I just tried to keep the victim count down.”

“The other one didn’t go off. You have something ta do with that, Doc?” The question suddenly very, very important to how the next six seconds are going to go.

So Tim calculates what he’s going to say for a split second, “I was being hit with debris and pulling little girls out of cars,” which is true, “I only saw the Batman for a few minutes, and I didn’t have anything to do with another bomb.” Mostly true. B already knew it was Two-Face before Tim ever got a surprise ride on the Batplane courtesy of the blood-loss-and-shock express.

The new train leaving the station is I-might-die-in-Arkham-Asylum.

All Aboard

“Now Harve,” the Joker starts, tisking.

“Shut-up, Clown,” because the glint is the famous coin appearing in Dent’s unblemished hand.

Some crazy instinct makes him step away from the gurney, eyes all for the inevitable flip, hoping, praying his luck is going to hold out long enough to get a message out to the ER staff and stall long enough to keep them here until the vigilantes make a dashing, in-the-nick-of-time entrance, and really just save the day.

(Please please please save the day.)

“Got a fifty-fifty chance, Doc. I’m hoping ya got some extra luck.”

His breath gets caught in his chest at the twing when the coin rolls off Two-Face’s thumb into the air, is hyper-focused in the moment, doesn’t even notice Victor Fries straightening from his slouch to watch the proceedings. Fixes his eyes on the palm of that ruined hand–

–and the arm holding the gun slowly, surely rising.

The coin doesn’t make it back to that hand, gets slapped out of the air instead, and the gangster actually chokes.

“You-you son of a–!”

“Harve, Harve,” and for the first time, Dr. Drake can say he’s seen the Joker actually frowning, miffed that his plan is going sideways, anger simmering under the insanity, but it just goes to show he’s special kind of psychopath when he stretches his neck out to put his face less than an inch from the ruin side of Two-Face’s, and smile.

It’s telling how the Joker doesn’t even flinch at the cold rage across from him.

“He has more potential in the ‘hostage’ category, than the ‘dead’ category, Harve, and we need a nice little nest egg.” One white finger carelessly, comically pushes the barrel of the gun down to the ground with that sickening grin in place. “You and I both know–”

The he-he-he literally makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“–those caped do-gooders roll over for a nice hostage.”

The stare-down is like something you read about– the Joker is intense while Two-Face glares silently back, that yellow eye fixed.

The inmates around the Rogue Gallery are shifting, trying to stay out of the way in case the guns come back into play, and everything Dr. Drake has been trying to do seems to go immediately, irrevocably sideways.

The stand-off is interrupted when one of the inmates hurriedly scoops up the coin and brings it back, holding the scratched surface up, presenting it like a gift.

Two-Face doesn’t bother looking at the inmate, just snatches the coin, eyes narrowing on the Joker’s grin.

“As much as I fucking hate you, Clown, you got a point. We’re gonna need some leverage.”

“Oh, you flatterer. You don’t have to hate so much that I’m right, hu hu hu. Good! Now we can get this show back on the road and execute the Warden, right?”

The childish stomp jars Tim out of panicky brain-freeze, lets him suck in a choking breath at the crazily entertaining back-and-forth, and his knees wobble a little in weakening relief.

(He keeps himself calm by running through the last year of crazy shit he’s gotten his hands into since he’s been dating certain adorable, entertaining, and very, very late, vigilantes. He’s been up against some of these psychopaths, ninjas, and is the go-to guy for every kind of strange alien bacteria Booster Gold could possibly pick-up during his travels.)

Out of his peripheral, he sees Dr. Fries slouch back, head turned and looking at him, utterly unreadable with the goggles and glass dome.

The Ventriloquist, however, is pouting like she’s missing out on a good show. Great. At least someone wants to see him dead in the next few minutes.

“You have approximately forty-five minutes before the next shift will begin showing up for work,” Temple Fugate inserts, “and we need people to drive our Hatter friend to the hospital along with Dent’s right-hand man. It’s a perfect cover to get us through the gates without alerting authorities. Thus, whatever you intend to do, do it now.”

The impatience draws the Scarecrow’s attention, “expediency is preferable, ladies and gentlemen. I still have reserves hidden in Gotham, and I don’t need Bats on me before I get to them.”

“Fantastic!” The Joker laughs loudly, back arched, “then we get to–” and he spins on the heel of his spat, finger out to point at the Warden still tied up in the center of the cafeteria, pie remnants dripping off him.

But the Joker trails off with a “eww,” when the Warden is obviously gasping for air, his lips turning an unnatural shade of blue.

Like his life wasn’t hanging in the balance a few seconds ago, Tim snatches up his bag without looking away from the distressed Warden and takes off around the table while the guys waiting for Vinnie’s signal with the gurney move in to load up Jim Newman.

He skirts around the inmates, and already has his stethoscope in his ears, listening to the sickening sound of arrhythmia.

“He’s going into cardiac arrest!” Tim turns to shout at the gathered criminals, and his eyes slide up to the panicked Warden.

“...heart attack...last year,” the Warden gasps weakly, leaning into the ropes.

The Joker sputters, “I can’t kill him if he’s already dying! Where’s the fun in that?!”

And it’s a terrifying moment when the villain stalks up next to him to glare in the distressed Warden’s face, pointing a finger like he’s berating a naughty child.

“You’d better not shuffle off this mortal coil until I have the perfect joke to send you out!”

Tim ignores the villain fairly vibrating with anger, and keeps calculating, rooting around in his bag for a similar medication to the one he gave Nightwing back when the fear gas almost killed him, one that will help thin the blood and hopefully make sure the Warden survive the night.

He fills the syringe and quickly injects the Warden in the side of the throat, not bothering to waste time untying him to look for a vein.

“This medication is hopefully going to put him back to a normal rhythm,” Tim fills in as Dr. Crane, Dr. Isley, and Dr. Fries join their little pow-wow. “I don’t know any of his history to know if this is going to even work–”

Dr. Fries gets closer to the Warden, goggles seemingly fixed on his face, “do you have a history of arrhythmia, or a family history of heart problems?”

Still gasping for air, the Warden just nods.

“Give me a few details,” the villain demands. “Start with your parents.”

To Tim’s surprise, Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane listen intently to the Warden’s details about his family medical history while Tim keeps two fingers on the Warden’s pulse and listens closely, hoping the uneven pitter-patter evens out to at least under 100 beats per minute.

“I doubt they have an echocardiogram here,” Crane snarks to Isley when the Warden is gasping and Fries turns to a random inmate, demanding water and aspirin immediately.

“Of course not,” Dr. Isley sighs with a shake of her head, “anything more involved than a bandage is too much for these nitwits to handle.”

Multitasking like a boss, Tim looks at the biologist, psychologist, and geneticist over his shoulder, “there’s not even an electrocardiogram here to monitor his sinus rhythm. There might be defibs in the infirmary if we hit worst case scenario–”

“Those were removed the last time we broke out,” Scarecrow shrugs nonchalantly. “I think someone used it on a guard.”

Ivy steps up, fingers moving in a gimmie motion until Tim hands over his stethoscope. “It’s still faster than 100 per minute. What was that you injected? Beta blockers?”

“Yes, Dr. Isley,” he accepts his stethoscope back, not mentioning how there was a little more than just Beta blockers in that syringe.

“Good,” and she turns back to her fellow non-medical doctors that seem to have opinions on treatments. “If they get him to Gotham General in time, they can perform–”

“For now, we must get him down and elevate his feet. The staff can take necessary measures from there,” Fries is already behind the Warden, untying the ropes. “It will give them time to escape without impeding treatment.”

“Agreed,” Crane and Isley turn together and very pointedly stalk toward the mass of inmates still standing around the cafeteria waiting for how this little sitch is going to pan out.

The Joker and Two-Face flank them, making it an utterly terrifying meeting of bad guys.

“Listen up,” Crane makes a terrifying figure even still in his orange jumpsuit. “You are going to let the medical staff treat the Warden. If any of us find out he died, then there is going to be a reckoning.”

The Joker’s laugh punctuates the severity of the message.

“We’re the ones that get to kill him, understand? And once he’s back to his normal, healthy self, we’ll give this another go!”

“Until then,” Poison Ivy’s eyes glint dangerously, “we expect everyone to behave.”

Tim is helping Dr. Fries lay the Warden on his back, “since when has everyone been moonlighting as MDs?” He asks breathlessly while Ivy heards the full-time medical staff away from the general population and closer to the panting Warden.

“You would be surprised how much time one has for reading in here,” Fries fills in. “On a different note, I am impressed with your latest article on McGregor’s Syndrome.” Fries holds a hand down to help him stand, “Nora’s case is too far advanced, but your preliminary findings are exciting nonetheless.”

Shaky, Tim allows the medical staff he’s familiar with take over with the Warden and accepts Dr. Fries’ hand. “Everything is based off your research, so really, I’m the one that should be grateful for your help.”

The supervillain makes a humming noise and squeezes his hand, “whatever you do,” is low, just between the two of them, “do not antagonize any of them. You will make it out of this alive if you are careful, Dr. Drake.”

The hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest really has nothing to do with things that are hilarious.

“Staying alive is my top goal tonight,” but the bravado doesn’t cover up how badly his hands are shaking.

“We shall see if you manage to accomplish it,” Fries deadpans as the huddle of supervillains breaks up.

While he’d been assessing the Warden, Jim Newman has been loaded onto the gurney, already prepped for the ambulance ride, and the Mad Hatter’s ice pack finally melted, so he’s really feeling the need to be in a hospital with plenty of nice narcotics.

“We are out of time,” Fugate flips his watch closed, facing the rest of the escaping Rogue Gallery, “we leave now or risk getting caught.”

“Well, when you put it that way–” and the Joker turns on him, reaches out to wrap bony fingers around Tim’s wrist, clenching down tight. “I suppose you’re out of time too, right Doc?”

Two-Face has no problem getting close enough that Tim can see the residual scarring, can trace the deep grooves, wonder if a second try at plastic surgery would be helpful or destructive at this juncture in the supervillain’s life. “You don’t make trouble, you’ll see tomorrow. We have an understanding here?”

“Yes,” he replies breathlessly in the face of two utterly terrifying murderers. “I’m going to do what you say.”

“Stay smart and I’m not gonna have to flip for you again.”

And as Tim manages to snatch his doctor’s bag while he’s pulled behind members of the Rogue Gallery, he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, hopes Dick and Jay can follow wherever in the hell the villains are taking him.

Which is to the ambulance bay where two rigs and a car with Arkham Asylum on it are housed. He almost facepalms when the keys are hanging up on a wall hook.

Temple Fugate is already dressed in EMT clothing while Crane takes off his mask to put on another set as Jervis Tetch and Jim Newman are loaded in the back.

Shuna Belzer hops in the driver’s seat of the other ambulance while Tim is shoved up into the rear by Joker and Two-Face. Dr. Isley and Dr. Fries join him, sitting on the opposite bench with the empty gurney between them.

“Now, now, good Doctor,” the Joker’s manic grin is even creepier in the lighting, the madman holding the doors almost closed. “If you try to misbehave, our Plant Queen and Freezy Pop are going to have to spank you for being naughty. And trust me, kid. You don’t want that kind of spanking.”

Tim’s eyes are wide as the doors close, his chest getting tight when the Joker locks him in, and for the first time since this whole mess started, his eyes feel heavy and hot without an emergency to focus on (but he still has a plan). All he can do is blink rapidly, try to stop it before it starts, before he gets a little hysterical about everything.

(What if they just leave you here?)

At this juncture, he has no idea what their plans are for him, if he’s riding along just to get shot in the head and left in a ditch somewhere outside Gotham City limits, or if the nice psychopaths really might let him go.

With all of them, it’s a 50/50 really.

(A toss of Two-Face’s coin...)

So he doesn’t feel bad leaning over, bracing his forearms on his knees, one hand over his eyes to keep Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley from seeing it while the ambulance roars to life and jerks forward.

“You did well back there,” Poison Ivy’s voice floats over his head, makes him look up with his nose still pink and eyes still watery. “Most doctors are intimidated around criminals like us. You are...a refreshing change.”

“Everyone is a person when they’re sick or injured,” he replies lightly, scrubbing at his face.

He doesn’t see her mouth curl up in a smile. “Criminal or not doesn’t matter in my line of work.”

“He is quite accomplished,” Fries isn’t looking at either of them, idly staring out the windows in the ambulance doors. “Anyone taking on genetics would have to be.”

“Hm,” Dr. Isley hums, “a simple medical doctor also taking on genetics–”

“Botany isn’t that much different,” he defends lightly, eyes narrowed.

It’s telling when the terrifying criminal leans forward, one fist braced on her knee, and draws him in with the history of Physiology and the mind-blowing chlorokinesis.

She pauses when he calls her Dr. Isley respectfully when he disagrees, and eventually even Dr. Fries joins them on the discussion when they move to microbiology.

It’s close enough to talking with colleagues that he almost forgets about the whole hostage thing for a few minutes while the ambulance rolls down from the mountains and splits ways with the other rig going toward Gotham General while their rig is heading toward Midtown, probably to pick up that puppet the Ventriloquist was yelling about.

He’s in the middle of arguing mitosis with Dr. Fries when the obvious sirens cut through the air. The ambulance jerks forward, accelerating.

Tim doesn’t hit the floor, but only just.

Dr. Fries opens the small window to the front, “what is going on?”

“We’ve been made, Tasty Freeze,” the Joker snarls with the EMT cap pulled over his forehead. “Someone ratted us out!”

“Step on it, Bells. Get us gone,” Tim hears Two-Face saying.

The sock puppet on her hand turns to look back at Fries. “Might wanna buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

In a creepy movement, Fries and Isley turn to him.

“Sit down down and hold on,” Isley tells him, wiggling her fingers. Something up her sleeve moves, worms down her hand and fingers while Tim watches with clinical curiosity.

Tim gasps, watching the small plant growing under her mental coaxing, the long stem dividing, wrapping around the bolted legs of the bench he’s sitting on and form a makeshift harness around his shoulders and chest.

When he expects the vines to be thorny and coarse, terrifyingly restrictive, it’s actually kind of okay. The plant is warm and alive almost a heartbeat against his chest and arms, securing him to the bench.

The sirens on their ambulance start to wail and the Ventriloquist shoves her foot on the gas to make the rig lurch and speed faster, dodging around traffic.

“Where are you going?!” He can hear the Joker shriek, “the docks are that way!”

“I told you,” is the nasally voice of the sock puppet. “We’re going to get Ferdie first!”

“Oh no,” Dr. Isley mutters a second too late.

Because the Joker reaches over and jerks the wheel out of the Ventriloquists hands, yelling “getting away from the cops first, idiot!” and the ambulance careens sideways, skittering across the busy highway and smashing into a sedan minding its own business, and a tire on the rig blows while the villains in the front are fighting over control.

So Tim expects the rig to to smash into something, maybe even flip over and skitter across the pavement while the plants keep him from being thrown all over the back. He doesn’t expect Poison Ivy to lunge across the empty gurney just before the ambulance is airborne, throwing her arms around him, and shoving his face in her shoulder to protect him from the next few minutes of grinding metal and breaking glass.

The side of the ambulance splits on impact, twisting metal cuts through the vines holding him, severing the makeshift harness, and not even the remaining tendril could keep him and Dr. Isley from being thrown out of the rig onto the hot Gotham street.

The jolt of the landing drives the breath out of him, is when he slams his head hard enough that moving immediately is a real bad idea. The road rash is going to be shitty, but the blood in his eyes and woozy quality to life once he can raise his head probably means he’s just hit concussion city.

“D-Dr. Isley? Dr. Fries?” Sounds rough from his throat, sounds choked.

He’s dizzy when he pushes himself up, trying to keep from vomiting at the abrupt turn his stomach takes when he sits up, blinks at the the too-bright street lights.

Dr. Isley is laying a few feet from him on her side, breathing but not moving.

“No! No, no, no,” but his limbs feel heavy and sluggish when he tries to stand up and fails. He settles on hands and knees because at least he’s not going to throw up now, so he’s already winning for the night.

“Dr. Isley!” But he’s already assessing before he even touched her shoulder to roll her over, shaky hands assessing her neck, cracking open her eye lids, and by some miracle, he’d been wearing his Arkham-Only medical bag when they were thrown from the ambulance in the first place.

It proves to be moot when Pamela’s eyes flutter over while he’s taking her pulse and blinking rapidly to keep his vision clear, trying to be gentle but firm when he presses on her belly, and looks over every inch of her jumpsuit to make sure he hasn’t missed any indications of injuries.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers when her eyes dart up to him, and Tim leans back just a little to swipe his forearm over his eyes to make sure he doesn’t, you know, cry all over a patient.

“Dr. Isley, are you able to sit up? Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?” He doesn’t realize he’s gone from taking her pulse to holding her hand.

“No,” she replies faintly, pushing herself up, “I believe I’m all right.”

“Okay...okay, that’s good. That’s so good, but I’ve got to check on Dr. Fries and the others. Just-just call for me if you start to feel worse, or sleepy or anything! I’ll be right back.”

Standing the second time is really a win when adrenaline hits him somewhere in the spine, and that small secret smile of hers convinces him she doesn’t have any serious injuries. But the vines flattened and slightly writhing under her makes him hope they cushioned her fall.

He uses all the strength in his weak arms to pull at the ambulance doors until they damn things open, and he can see Dr. Fries laying in a sprawl of metal suit and limbs, weakly gasping since the glass dome of his helmet has been broken.

“Dr. Fries!”

And the concussion has to take a back seat for the moment because time really isn’t on their side.

His brain starts working while he makes his way back into the ambulance, stumbling before righting himself, and gripping the villain under both arms, straining to drag him out of the ambulance and lay on the Gotham street.

The dome has a broken piece with frigid air escaping, and with the goggles askew, he can see the pupils are almost blown.

“Hold on, hold on,” he’s chanting and pulling everything out of his bag, searching for–

Duct tape and a Bolin Chest Seal.

Without any idea if the seal can stand-up to the frigid temperature of Dr. Fries’ suit, Tim makes his hand stop shaking to peel the backing off and apply it around the broken area, ripping the duct tape with his teeth to help reinforce the cracks.

Dr. Isley falls to her knees beside him abruptly, watching him apply a final strip. Together, they hold their breath while his breathing evens out and the visible eye flutters.

Luckily for them, police cars and a legit ambulance are quickly closing in on the carnage, so he can finally, finally, rest.

–or would have, but Two-Face kicks the door to the front of the wrecked rig open and stands out with the gun still in hand.

“It was you,” the gangster is dragging one foot, snarling wildly, “you got us caught. I shoulda gutted ya back at the nut house while I had a chance!”

The Joker woozily climbs out after him and just face plants into the street, something slurry like “anyone get the number of that bus?” while Shauna Belzer is already running away from the scene with the sock puppet leading her way.

“Harvey,” is a warning in Dr. Isley’s tone.

“Shut up, Pam. You know it was him!” The gun is wavery, but Tim is still one hundred percent sure the shot is going to be accurate enough to be bad news for him. “There ain’t no other way!”

“I was in the back the whole time,” he tries, subtly sliding an arm up in front of Dr. Isley, and the other over Dr. Fries. “There’s no way I could have alerted anyone about anything.”

“I ain’t taking anymore chances on you, no more flips, no more hiding, just curtains,” and the hammer goes back–

The next second, a blast of light takes over the sight of the gun barrel pointed at his chest, and the gangster’s hand and weapon are instantly encased in a block of ice.

“What the hell!?”

Dr. Fries pushes himself up, his freeze gun in hand, the seal around his domed helmet still working to keep him breathing. “It would be in poor taste to allow you to kill the young man that saved my life, Dent.”

Wearily, Dr. Fries drops the freeze gun while Two-Face falls to his knees with the heavy block encasing his fist and the gun.

Tim automatically winds his arm around the shoulders of Dr. Fries’ suit, helping the villain stay upright while the slamming of brakes and opening of doors signal the GCPD to the rescue.

Commissioner Gordon himself questions the young doctor, eyeing him critically when he insists Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley weren’t really trying to escape, but went along with the Joker’s plan to make sure he, the civilian, didn’t wind up dead.

“I’ve worked with Dr. Fries before,” and even though he told the young uniform no about the blanket and ride to Gotham General, he’s regretting it now because he’s starting to get cold his head is aching, “I published a paper about McGregor’s syndrome a few months ago. Early stage treatment. He helped me with the background, so yeah, he didn’t want me to get hurt. And Dr. Isley protected me when the ambulance flipped over. If there were trying to escape, they wouldn’t have saved me, or stopped Two-Face from killing me.”

“All right then, Doctor,” Gordon eyes him while he closes his little notebook, “I’ll have a word with the judge and the Warden. He’s fine by the way, and asked me to thank-you. He’s in Gotham General, about to go into surgery.”

“What about Jim Newman?” He asks quickly, rubbing his arms when a light dusting of rain makes him even colder.

“They were still working on him last time I checked, but everything looks good from what they said.”

And since the Commissioner is taller than him by at least a few inches, he can look over Tim’s head to signal another officer to their little pow-wow on the back of the intact ambulance.

Tim had immediately waved the gaping EMTs off to pick up Two-Face and Joker, had slapped a bandage on his own head and did a quick saline wash of his road rash.

He’d personally helped Dr. Fries and Dr. Isley into another ambulance, his expression troubled when the double-doors closed on them, and the rig took off through Gotham. It had been enough for him to seek out the Commissioner and tell him exactly what had gone down tonight so Poison Ivy and Dr. Freeze wouldn’t face further jail time.

(The flutter in the night, gold and black of Robin’s cape, or well, maybe he’d just imagined it. He’s got a pretty rocking concussion after all.)

Detective Renee Montoya is someone he’d worked with on more than one occasion. When she whistles low at the obvious damage, he knows the bruises are probably going to be beautiful tomorrow.

“Montoya, Dr. Drake doesn’t want to go to the hospital. Can you give him a lift when you head back to the station?”

“Absolutely, Sir–”

“To Arkham,” he interrupts blearily, “my car is still there. I need to pick it up.”

Both cops arch a brow at him, but Tim just stares back without further comment.

“All right. To Arkham it is.” Montoya grins at him and crooks a finger, leads him to her car sitting on the outskirts of the accident.

And really, Detective Montoya is a kind soul, stops long enough to get awful drive-thru coffee for him to sip on while they drive back to the Asylum, and she listens intently as he tells the story with a little more depth the second time.

“I’m glad you aren’t badly hurt, but you still should consider going to the hospital, Tim–”

“That’s not necessary, Detective.” Concussions not withstanding, he thinks as he sips his coffee. “I would probably go to work instead of rest anyway, so moot point even I went to Gotham General instead. But, I mean, how did the GCPD get control of Arkham and come after us so fast? I didn’t expect anyone to come after us.”

Except certain masked vigilantes, but, you know, prison breaks are really time consuming.

Montoya side-eyes him again. In her career, she’d brought more than one perp into Mercy Hospital’s ER, guarding handcuffed suspects, usually sporting a variety of injuries tangling with the Bats of Gotham. More than once, it was her or Bullock or another cop on one of Dr. Drake’s gurneys bleeding out, and the guy was absolutely unshakeable, pulling miracles out of his ass.

So yeah, she knows the Doc and his odd tendencies to get tangled up in too many...situations. Many of which lead right back to the city’s resident vigilantes.

(As a detective, she put together at least seven incidents in the last 24 months connecting their good doctor with the Bats. Crane taking over the hospital, kidnapped by the Joker, the bridge. Reported sightings of JLA members in Gotham hovering over Mercy General, and she would bet her badge it was the superheroes bringing their Batman to see Drake. Then the question as to why else would the Batman come out during the day and save what appeared to be one person? Unless that person was his personal physician. Not to mention that time someone got a few pieces of security footage with a Robin that was...taller, not as smooth jumping from rooftops. Oddly enough, some unknown masked crusader running with the Red Hood chasing this, what, fourth kid wearing the tunic? Given the evidence, Renee has theories.)

She might smirk a little at his very obvious deflection, but it also triggers every instinct she’s cultivated as a cop in Gotham City.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you, Doc, but it looks like the night crew had a hand in settling down things at the Asylum. Not to mention we got a call from the Head Nurse of the ER at Gotham General about a note you apparently left. That was probably after an anonymous tip to the station made us aware the Clock King, Mad Hatter, and Scarecrow were on their way to the hospital in disguise.”

He smiles into his coffee and appreciates the blasting heat all the way back up to the madhouse on the hill. She notices he doesn’t ask who the night crew is, and just adds it to the list of evidence.

It nice when Montoya walks him back inside, apparently not trusting him to get through to the infirmary at the back of the Asylum and get the keys to his car without another incident.

(She probably has a good reason.)

He makes an effort to keep it together in front of the detective when they make their way through the throng of police officers, extra guards, and personnel filling the hallways. The itch on the back of his neck could be the events of the night catching up to him, the anxiety on the edges of his consciousness that looks a lot like smeared cream corn and stab wounds, aching palms and exhaustion in every bone of his body.

It could also be how closely Montoya is watching him while they walk further into the compound.

His keys are on the same hook by the keycard access door, and it’s finally a spark of luck when a uniform on the premises catches her on their way in, pulls her aside to talk about something. (“They were here from what the inmates say,” the uniforms tells her low, “Red Hood and Nightwing were pretty brutal this time. The Bat had a hard time wrangling them in.”)

He gives a small wave with keys in hand to let her know he’s on the way out.

She puts a hand on the uniform’s shoulder to pause their conversation and give him another long look. “You should get some sleep, Doc. Take a few days off. I’ll bet you’ve got some… people looking out for you that will agree with me.”

For absolutely no reason, his face starts to get warm. “Thanks again for the ride, Detective.”

With her card in his pocket (not that he doesn’t have a collection of them from GCPD back on his desk at Mercy), he calmly adjusts his bag over the blood stains on the side of his scrubs and makes sure his badge is visible.

He keeps it the fuck together when he walks out of Arkham through the thinning throng like nothing is out of place, like he hasn’t just gone through half of the Rogue Gallery and lived to tell about it.

He absolutely doesn’t notice the vigilantes going through a particular vent as he starts down the maze of hallways to get the fuck out.

His battered Civic (because the nice car is only for special occasions, why chance getting it blown up?) looks more like safety than he’s ever associated with it before. Maybe that’s why his knees abruptly go out on him when he’s at the driver’s door, but it’s fine, fine to just take some time to sit, get his lungs full of air for the first time since this shit-show started.

(They had to take care of things like good saviors of the city and he survived, he’s good. He’s good. He’s good. He’s going to go home, make coffee, get a shower, and wait up for them to ask how the night went on their end. Just as soon as his knees get strength again–)

The crunch of gravel somewhere behind the car is what shakes him up from the blank time since he sat (fell) down to now. Before he can be up and moving, it’s Jason, his boyfriend, kneeling there beside him instead of the dangerous vigilante, the Red Hood.

He barely registers when Jay reaches for him, wraps him up in a tight embrace, talks gently against his hair

(“S’all right, Baby. Gotcha all caught up now, don’t I? Time ta go home, yeah?”

“J-Jay, what-what are you...?”

“Sorry, Timmy. They already gotcha out by the time we got here, n’ by the time we got those fuckers back in their cells, we gotch word there was an accident and GCPD was on the scene! Dick lost his fucking mind when we heard it over the radio.”

“O-Oh. It’s...it’s okay. I’m okay. I-I’m okay.”

“Mmhm. We’ll be the judge a’ that, won’t we, Baby?”)

It’s so easy to slot himself against the front of Jay’s body, the leather against his cheek is cool and worn and the smell of brimstone, gives him a reason for another deep breath.

It’s so easy for Jay to slide the driver’s seat back to make room for longer legs, to maneuver Tim in the passenger seat and buckle him in without complaints, stupidly lifting him instead of helping him stand.

E - we’ll go with Edmund, he thinks lazily when exhaustion sets in and the movement of the car keeps him aware enough to know Edmund isn’t going to be the worst concussions he’s ever had, so the night ends on a high note after all.

It’s better because Jay drives with one hand while the other has a grip on his wrist that is just this side of a little too tight, just what he needs to be able to drift because that hold is safe. At some point he’s burrowed down in the Red Hood’s famous leather jacket with the belt over his chest, and it smells like Gotham and brimstone enough to keep him grounded, so all he has to do is stare at the comm in Jay’s ear and drift.

“I got ‘em, Dick. He’s movin’ but he needs one hell of an aftercare hour if ya know what I mean.” Pause.

“Get the fuck off this wave, Demon. Ain’t nobody asked yer ass nothing anyhow.”

Another pause and a side-eye.

“There’s blood on ‘im, Alf, don’t look life-threatening, bruises n’ scrapes more n’ likely. Prob’ly a concussion ‘cause he ain’t trackin’ well, are ya Baby?”

He’s down in a soft, sleepy place, doesn’t feel like he really has to answer if it brings him closer to the surface. He manages to wiggle his fingers up to rub at Jay’s wrist, checks in as well as can really be expected.

Seriously, it’s been a rough fucking night.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. S’okay, baby, ya done good t’night, yeah? Me n’ all the Bats are proud as fuck, you feel me? Some a’ the worst of the worst n’ ya kept the body count low. Whazat? Naw, Dickie, we’re almost there. Gonna be waitin’ on us? Not you, Rob, got school inna morning, ain’t cha? Time fer little birdies ta go back ta the nest.”

Tim cracks his eyes open when the soothing roll of movement finally stops, but Dick is already there opening his door, barefoot with sweats and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt, bodily lifting him even though he’s all kinds of awake now.

“Oh my God,” and those arms get so, so tight.

(It feels so nice.)

“C’mon, put me down,” is huffed more by habit than conviction because really, he’s good with the damsel in distress act this time.

“You’re taking years off my life, Tim, and I’m a seasoned vigilante,” is about as deadpan as mother-hen Dick Grayson can get.

“If I ain’t a’ died already, ya’d be getting me close t’ it,” a soft kiss to his forehead, “no more gettin’ caught up with murderin’ psychos.”

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

“Apparently, it ain’t been stickin’.”

He hums a little and lets his eyes flutter closed again, lets them talk over his head while they take the fire escape up just to slide in his window.

He rouses enough to get a shower, tries pushing them bodily out the door to stop hovering, but it’s not like that’s going to happen.

It’s still feels really nice when they’re absolutely gentle with him, sliding his clothes off, touching the bruises and road rash with soft, hurt noises. It gets worse because he takes the time to really wash in case there’s residual debris, finally gets pulled under the hot water with a wall of muscle and security bracketing him in.

Jay washes his hair while Dick holds him by the hips, the two of them talking gently about what happened after they left the Cave and headed to the Asylum for pound the baddies into pudding time.

They had just worked their way to the cafeteria when they get word some of the Rogues escaped in ambulances, alerting the GCPD while they wrangled inmates back to their cells and took care of the captive staff.

B himself took the Warden to Gotham General once they had things well in hand, and the bats monitored the police radio when mentions of the accident heading toward Dixon with Gordon on scene. Rob jumped outta the big car fast enough to intercept GCPD to see Tim moving. It’s more hilarious than it should have been when Jay clucks his tongue and tells him to stop making friends with bad guys.

“I ain’t saying Pam n’ Vic are bad ta have on yer side,” a wet kiss to the top of his head, “but why don’t cha stick wid’ Ives and leave ‘em ta us?”

Dick is kneeling down gently washing his battered knees, “not to mention the conversation we’ll be having tomorrow about why we didn’t know you were moonlighting at Arkham and working with Victor Fries.” The warning in his tone makes Tim just sighs and lean back against Jay’s chest to let the two of them hold him up.

“Demon brat’s got something ta say ‘bout it, too,” said in his ear, “little asshole was worried as fuck. Don’t let ‘im tell ya any different.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow, let him know I’m okay,” and he absolutely will, if anything, to avoid Robin showing up at Mercy with another sandwich and soup to shove at him.

“Good idea, Baby. He was fighting like hell until we found out you weren’t even there.”

He doesn’t laugh at the insinuation, but he might just snicker a little.

He manages to step out on him own, but Jay takes the towel from his hands to get his back and Dick lifts him by the hips to set him on the sink so they can put salve and gauze on his injuries themselves.

They keep him distracted through the process with easy kisses and updates on Jim Newman, Hatter’s face, and Fugate’s excuses of coercion because, “I’m clinically insane. Of course I went along for the ride.”

They tell him they’re sending Pam a nice fern and Victor some data sets from B’s own trials with McGregor’s since it’s just good manners to thank supervillains for saving innocent civilians. He mumbles back about pasta salad and guns in his face. How playing Uno with some of the inmates has somehow made him cool enough not to die during a breakout, which they should take as a win considering the circumstances.

He must look about as bad as he feels because they get more gentle when he finally gives them what they desperately want, details about what went down. It’s woozy ramblings more than his usual high-level short and sweet because Shauna Bellzer is probably still out there looking for Ferdie, because the Joker apparently remembers him and is actively checking out shit like YouTube, and because now Two-Face is probably going to want him dead since that whole bridge fiasco is a point of contention.

He might wobble enough or sound shitty enough for Jay to take it as a reason to steer him toward the couch and cuddle the hell out of him, do that thing where he kisses the back of Tim’s neck in the right spots to make him shiver.

Dick runs a hand through his hair while he answers B’s wave with the last tag-up of the night, listens to the Dark Knight ranting about the clean-up at Arkham and going over the damn place yet again to check how the crazies keep escaping. But whatever Dick says in reply is lost on him when the world around him gets fuzzy at the edges again. He doesn’t realize how tight his hands are fisted in Jay’s shirt until fingers are trying to massage them open.

He might mumble something payment in kind because really? He did the job for them this time. One less shit show for them to fight (you’re welcome), so he really does deserve cuddles and warm showers dammit.

He totally earned it this time.

Dick eventually hangs up and unapologetically smushes him further down against Jay and coos softly, so he might have said it out loud, but can’t be bothered to care when he finally sinks down, comfortable and safe with that he’s just suddenly–

–out.

When he blinks again, arms over his hip and warm bodies bracket him in. It’s still early enough for him to sigh and sink back down for a few more hours, the ache in his bruised muscles secondary when his bed is full. It’s enough for him to sleep without nightmares of guns in his face and echoing laughter.

And if they wake him up with kisses to his stomach and chest, with bare hands sliding under his pajamas, with oh so gentle lovemaking, with talking against his throat and hip about how relieved they are, how brave he is, how strong he is, how he really oughtta have a Kevlar suit all his own and a domino on his face just on principle.

If they coddle and cuddle him, demand he tell them everything again from the beginning, take him back to the bedroom when his chest stutters at the most frightening parts, if they make him stay close until nightfall when they have to move into the shadows and be the protectors Gotham City needed. If they argue with him about resting instead of leaving to run the Gauntlet at Mercy with Steph and his team. If they check in on him half-way through the night and maybe just kidnap him for an hour to check his knees and the road rash. If they make him take two aspirin and drink a bottle of water, claim mid-patrol sandwiches for the win.

If they tell him they love him before they go back to it and leave him on the roof of the hospital with a fully belly and stars in his eyes, mouth still swollen from their kisses–

–then he’s going to to back to work with a stupid smile on his face and fight harder to save lives, to beat back the darkness of Gotham in his own way. He’s going to run until his lungs are on fire and his legs are wobbly. He’s going to answer calls from fucking space, and race the clock when the heroes of their world are facing mortality and need a doctor with hobbies. He’s going to keep track of the ninjas spying on them and be a safe place when the night life is killing his most important people. He’s going to do everything he can to keep moving. He’s going to fucking fight the good fight and it’s going to be by his choice every time.

Because this?

This is his life.

#winter writes #900 Followers #dr!tim #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #Rogue Gallery #dc comics #dickjaytim #I'm so proud of this fic #I can't even tell you #bad ass civilian tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 5 years

Text

Chapter 10

Title: Falling for the Holidays

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 2685

Summary: With October ending and the holidays underway, that only meant one thing for Dean Winchester. It meant returning to his childhood home and spending time with his family. It meant listening to his parents, especially his mom, ramble on and on about when he was going to find himself a nice girl, bring her home for the holidays, and then eventually get married and have children. However, Dean wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, so in order to get his family off his back, he comes up with an elaborate scheme! But like the saying goes, “sometimes lies become truths.”

Warnings: Slight Angst, Some Explicit Language, Arguing, Misunderstandings.

A/N: HOLY SHMANOLY!! I took forever and a half on this chapter. I’ve just been on a major writer’s block, where I can think of the story and where I want to go, but when I make sentences, they’re just crap! UGH! I hope this chapter is decent, and I am so sorry for the wait. Thank you all for being so patient with me!! xx

Series Masterlist

The smell of coffee aroused you to consciousness. A smile spread across your lips as you thought about Mary starting up a fresh brew. Still a little incoherent to the world and reality, you stumbled out of bed in nothing but an oversized flannel, courtesy of one Dean Winchester, and underwear. As you exited your small space, you were interrupted from your morning daze.

“Nice outfit,” a strange yet familiar voice pierced through your eardrums. It only took a second for everything to come rushing back, and your body went stiff.

“Ketch!” You squeaked, running back into your room, peaking through the door. “I’m so sorry. My mind was elsewhere. For some reason, I thought I was back in Lawrence,” you bashfully confessed.

“Oh. No need to apologize. I very much enjoyed the view,” he grinned.

“Alright, mister. You think you’re so smooth,” you giggled, earning an even wider grin from the man in your kitchen.

“Actually, no. But I will humbly accept the compliment,” he winked. You rolled your eyes shutting the door, hearing him laugh as you did.

Changing into something more appropriate, you wondered into the bathroom to do your business. As you fixed your hair, your eyes landed on the spare toothbrush you specifically left out for Dean. Your stomach dropped and you felt your eyes swelling at the thought of him, but you forced it down. You and Dean were just friends. That was all you’ll ever be.

“Just friends, Y/N. Just friends,” you told your reflection, sighing in defeat.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you heard Ketch on the phone. “I know. I’ve got everything under control. It’s going just as predicted so would you calm down?!” His tone was soft, as if he was whispering. “I told you a deal is a deal. If this is my way out, then I’ll do it. You can have your little family, and I can finally be a free man.”

Free man? You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to. What did he mean by free man? And what deal? Who was he talking to? What little family?

“Ketch?” You called his name. It was barely noticeable, but there was no denying that he flinched at the sound of your voice.

“Oh, Y/N. One second,” he smiled before resuming his conversation. “I will check in later. I need to go.” He hung up the phone, smiling as he took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. That was a client of mine.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“No, it’s fine. I was talking in your home anyways. No need to apologize.”

“What did you mean about being a free man?” The words easily slipped out, your curiosity taking over. “Oh, sorry. You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s fine. Uh, you see… my client has been trying to get their hands on… a certain artifact that would… uh, I guess you can say, complete a collection of sorts. Once I get it, I’ll be a free man. She is just so anxious to have it before Christmas for her family. It’s a little frustrating. She doesn’t understand that I’ve got it all under control. I am the best at my job, so… I’m sorry. Look at me venting about my work. It must all seem rather boring.”

“Actually, no. Some times you just need to talk to someone, right?” You gave him a pointed look, reminding him about what he had done for you on the plane.

Ketch scoffed, the smile on his lips returning. “You’re right. Thank you for listening to me.”

“I usually am,” you joked, “and you’re welcome.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that. You seem like a smart and capable young woman. Any man would be honored to have you by their side. This best friend of yours made a terrible mistake by letting you go. I just hope the next man that gets to hold your heart, treats you the way you deserve.”

“Oh yeah? And how do I deserve to be treated?” You asked, shifting all your weight to one hip and crossing your arms.

“Like a queen,” he stated, as if it was the most natural answer to give.

You felt your cheeks heat up, turning your face away from him and distracting yourself by making a cup of coffee. “With charm like that, I bet you get all the girls, huh?”

“I like to think so. But I’m sure a woman as attractive as yourself have all the men flaunting all over you.”

“If you mean creeps, then yes,” you rolled your eyes, sniggering with disappointment.

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope this creep,” he pointed to himself, “isn’t making you uncomfortable.”

“No! No, no, no! You are definitely not a creep,” you laughed, lightly hitting him on the arm.

Ketch chuckled. “That’s good to know. Unfortunately, I need to get going. If I could spend the whole day with you, I would, but my parent’s are wondering where I am. You’d think, now that I’m an adult, they’d worry less.”

“Tell you parent’s I said hi,” you smiled, earning one back from Ketch.

“Of course.”

Before Ketch left, the two of you exchanged numbers, making a promise that you would meet again. Once he was gone, you let out a drawn out sigh, shuffling towards the couch and flopping yourself down. You were feeling conflicted. All your mind could think about was mourning your chances with Dean, but with Ketch in the picture, it all seemed to conveniently perfect. You lost the love of your life, only to have another man show up that could possibly pick up all the pieces.

Suddenly, there was a loud and frantic knock on your door. It made your whole body jump, causing you to fall off the couch with an ungraceful thud.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” Jo called from the other side of the door. “What was that noise?”

You rolled your eyes before picking yourself off the floor. With an immature huff, you headed towards the door, opening it to find a very worried Jo.

“Good Morning,” you smiled, the sarcasm easily portrayed in your tone of voice.

“Oh don’t give me that. I got a call from Sam this morning, saying I should go check up on you. What happened? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” If there was one thing Jo got from her mother, it was that sometimes she turned into her.

“Jeez, Mrs. Harv, everything is fine,” you mocked, “I don’t know what Sam told you, but I’m all good.”

“First of all, I am not my mother. So don’t call me that. And if everything is all honky-dory like you claim it is, then why are you and Dean home early?” Jo’s question surprised you a little. Dean was home? You thought you saw his truck last night, but Was that really him you saw?

“Dean?” you asked back.

“Yeah. Sam said he left a few hours after you.”

Jo’s confession made your stomach flip. The thought that Dean raced back to Dallas for you made you believe that, just maybe, he was going to choose you. That he was going to leave his first love and take a chance on a new one… a riskier one. One that had so much potential to be amazing and catastrophic.

“Look, Jo. Everything is all good, I promise. I appreciate you dropping by, but I just want to relax at home and get some homework and studying done before classes start up again tomorrow.”

Jo gave you a pointed look, one that let you know that she was judging you. “Okay… nerd.” She whispered the last part.

“Hey, Joanna Beth Harvelle, I heard that!” You scolded despite the smile on your face.

“Whoops! See ya later,” she smiled before leaving.

The rest of the day had you occupied with texting Ketch and your mind overthinking about Dean. You felt a little bad for dumping all your problems on your new friend, but you didn’t have anyone else that you could talk to about it. You didn’t know how to start to explain yourself to Sam or Jess, and you didn’t think you could ever face Mary or John ever again, without telling any of them the truth about yours and Dean’s relationship. Ketch, on the other hand, already new everything that happened aside from the real names of Dean and Lisa. At the time, you felt that he didn’t need to know anyone’s real names, but you were starting to rethink it. If Ketch somehow becomes a constant in your life, he’d eventually figure it all out. Might as well save him the confusion and lay it all out on the table.

The next day, classes resumed. You got ready for school and waited for Dean to pick you up, as usual. When the time started to get a little late, you called and texted him, but never got a reply. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d forgotten his phone, but he’s never been this late. By the time it was five minutes before your first class started, you relented to wait any longer and dashed out of your apartment… sprinting.

It was extremely cold out. Despite your strenuous travels there was no sweat dripping down your body. You were actually freezing, unable to feel your nose from it being unprotected to the winter air.

When you finally made to the campus, you were already seven minutes late. You weren’t angry, but you were frustrated that Dean failed to give you any sort of warning that he wasn’t going to show up. You were also angry at yourself for waiting for him as long as you did, but there was nothing you could do now.

Ten minutes. You were ten minutes late for class. Ten minutes didn’t seem like a lot, but when your first class was intense, you’ve practically missed three chapters.

Stepping through the door as late as you were, brought all the attention to you. “Miss Y/L/N, you’re late,” your professor scolded.

“Sorry Dr. Visyak. It won’t happen again.”

“I hope not. Ask one of your classmates if they’re willing to lend you their notes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you nodded, quickly taking your seat.

“Hey, what happened?” Your classmate, Clara, asked.

“Dean didn’t show up, so I ran here,” you briefly explained.

“That explains your red cheeks,” she noted. “Also, that doesn’t seem like a Dean thing to do.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he forgot.”

“Dean? Forget about you? I mean, the man always walks you to class.” Clara was right. This was very uncharacteristic of Dean, but you had no explanation.

“I don’t know. Maybe something happened? Now I’m getting a little worried.” Panic stirred within you. It didn’t even cross your mind that there was a possibility something happened.

“Why don’t you text one of your other friends,” Clara suggested.

“Great idea. Thanks.”

Pulling out your phone, you immediately texted Jo.

To: Jo Harvelle Hey Jo, did you see Dean this morning?

It took a while before she replied, which you understood. She was in class as well.

From: Jo Harvelle Yeah I did. Something happen between you to? Cass and I were wondering since you didn’t come with him. When we asked about it, he just changed the subject.

You stomach sank with worry. Was he mad at you? Did you do something wrong? Was it because you left so suddenly from his parent’s house?

To: Jo Harvelle Nothing happened, just caught a ride with a classmate of mine. Everything is all good.

Lies. It was all lies. Something did happen between you and Dean, you had to run to school, and nothing was good, because now you were sure Dean had to be mad at you.

From: Jo Harvelle OK. If you say so.

That was the end of your texting. Class went by in a blur and you had no idea what the day’s lesson was about, but thankfully, Clara was an intensive note taker. When lunch came around, you saw your group of friends, Dean included. He had his head down, not really interacting with the others, which was weird. Dean always had something to say, always had an opinion, or always had a bad joke up his sleeve for any given moment. Something was wrong.

“Hey guys,” you greeted with a smile, taking a seat next to Jo, not bothering to ask Dean about earlier that morning.

You were greeted by everyone present, beside Dean. Even Meg acknowledged you and you only met her a handful of times.

“Hey De—” You didn’t even get the chance to finish his name before he stood up to leave. In your group of friends, you never got embarrassed, but this time you did. Dean was supposed to be your partner in crime and here he was, pretending that you didn’t exist. It felt awkward, and you already knew that Jo, Cass, maybe Meg, were starting to make up their own assumptions. “Dean, hey!” You called out, but he ignored you again. “Dean!” When he didn’t respond, you went after him.

“Dude, where are you going?” You asked, walking beside him. “What’s wrong?” When he didn’t answer, you asked again.

“Nothing,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Now that’s a bunch of bull. C’mon. Talk to me.”

Suddenly he stopped, still close enough that the other’s had a clear view. “I said nothing!” He barked in your face, your eyes going wide.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?!” You retorted back. Never had anyone talked to you like that, and you weren’t going to start now, even if it was Dean. “Jo told me you came back for me and this is how you’re going to act? Like a fucking child?!”

“You know what? Yeah I did come back for you but clearly it was a mistake!” Dean shouted, gaining more than just your group of friend’s attention. “I thought you were better, but boy was I wrong. You’re just like all the other girls I fell for. Just a bunch of insecure girls who keep playing games.”

“Games? When the hell did I ever play games on you?” The audience growing around you didn’t bother you or Dean, in fact, it didn’t even register. You were too pissed with Dean to care, and Dean really didn’t care at all.

“I hope Ketch doesn’t get caught in your games?” Dean gritted, venom laced in every word. You were shocked.

“K-Ketch? How do you even know who that is?” You stuttered, surprised that he knew Ketch.

Dean scoffed, taking your speech impediment as a sign of you being caught. “I came over last night. It was late. Now I know why you couldn’t wait to leave Lawrence. Just so you could screw some guy like a slut! You chose some British douche bag over me and my family!”

Rage overtook you, and before you knew it, your hand swung across his face, leaving a vibrating sting coursing through your hand and up your arm. You were so overwhelmed with anger that you didn’t realize you were crying.

“Dean Winchester…” you started, your voice gravelly low, eyes looking down at your shoes. When you looked up, Dean’s wrath quickly turned into guilt. He hated seeing you cry, and now he was the reason for the tears. That was one thing he never wanted. He never meant to hurt you, but he was hurt too which didn’t allow him to think straight.

“Y/N…” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper.

“No,” you hissed, flinching your hand out of reach when he tried to grab it. “I never want to see, or speak to you, ever again!”

Dean took a step back, almost as if he had gotten shot, which would have been better than knowing he had hurt you really bad. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Before Dean could finish, you were already running off. Dean wanted to run after you, but he couldn’t. He felt too dead inside to do anything.

Say Something Nice Here!!

Falling for the Holidays Tags: @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @winchesterprincessbride @amanda-teaches @dancingalone21 @a-winchester-fairytale @dolphincliffs @oneshoeshort @brewsthespirit-blog @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @atc74 @natasha-baggins @heavymetalhauswife @linki-locks11 @spnwoman @veevm @chameleah86 @kdcollinsauthor @claitynroberts @roonyxx @rainflowermoon @ladylaylo @closetspngirl @mirandaaustin93 @salt-n-burn-em-all @flamencodiva @fangirlanotherjust @tabbyjane @shamelesslydean @couldabeenamermaid @alexwinchester23 @algud @gracefultrenchcoat494 @prettyinplaid94 @shhhs3cret @cookiechipdough

#dean winchester x reader au #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean series #dean winchester series #spn #supernatural #falling for the holidays #squirrel-moose-winchester

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years

Text

The Day Arrives

Title: Tales from Gotham Academy

Previous chapters: 1/2/3

Summary: The day of the field trip arrives. Pray for these poor, damned souls.

Friday, May 5th, 2019

The Day of the Field Trip

The Day of Infamy

It was a bright, sunny morning at Gotham Academy. In the parking lot in front of the school, two long buses were pulled up, with a crowd of freshmen students and their parents milling about, preparing to board. As usual, Jonathan and Jervis were among the first of the faculty to arrive, standing in front of a bus and waiting for the others to show.

"Well, here we are, old friend," Jervis said, shuffling a bit. "Another year, another horrifying trip. How bad do you suppose it's going to be this time?"

Jonathan shrugged his bony shoulders. "Well, Kerr ain't here. That's a plus."

"I'm more worried about Dormouse," Jervis muttered. "He's been in such a mood about this trip the whole week. I'm half expecting he won't show up."

"Well, you'd be wrong," Jonathan said, pointing behind them. "Here he comes now."

Indeed, Edward and Ellen walked through the growing mob of people, Ellen wearing her knapsack on her back and shaking her head. "Do you have to wear socks with your sandals, Dad? You look like a dork!"

Edward sniffed. "Well, you know how I feel about bare feet!" The father and daughter came to a stop in front of Jonathan and Jervis, and Edward gave them a nod. "Gentlemen."

Jervis politely greeted him, while Jonathan took a critical look at the tacky Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts his friend was wearing. "Which way to Margaritaville?"

"Oh, har har," Edward bit out. He pointed at Jonathan's own chicken legs, exposed as they were thanks to his own shorts. "When was the last time those saw sunlight? The Reagan administration?"

Almost on cue, the Dent family showed up next to the Nashtons, Harvey, Gilda, and Duela. Duela made a beeline to Ellen and the girls started whispering to each other. "Jesus Christ," Harvey growled. "We're not even on the bus yet and you're already starting a fight Nashton?"

"Oh, who asked you, Harv?" Edward asked, rolling his eyes.

Harvey growled again, but Gilda put a hand on his shoulder. "Sweetheart," she said. "Mind your blood pressure."

Harvey's face softened as it only did around his wife. "I'm fine, honey."

Edward turned his attention back to his daughter. "Ellen, did you put sunscreen on before we left the house?"

Ellen looked away from her best friend to look at her father. "You saw me put some on!"

"Well, you need to put on more! You're already turning pink!" Edward pulled a bottle of sunscreen out of his pocket and squeezed some onto his hand. "Come here!"

Ellen groaned but came forward. "I hate my ginger genes," she complained. She moved to take the bottle from her father, only for him to slather it on her face himself. "Dad!" Ellen wailed. "Do you have to do this here!?"

"Oh, how horrible! A father doing his best to make sure his only child doesn't get skin cancer! Someone call the media!"

Ellen looked beseechingly at Jonathan. "Uncle Jon! Make Dad leave me alone!"

"Edward, leave the child be," Jonathan chided. "You're embarrassin' her."

Edward finished and Ellen scurried off back to Duela, who was trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

"Duela," Gilda called out. "You be sure to wear sunscreen too."

"But Mom, I tan!" Duela protested.

"Doesn't matter," Harvey said. "Put it on when we get on the bus."

"When are we getting on the buses?" Jervis asked, taking a look at the ever-growing mob. Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown appeared by Ellen and Duela and became involved in whatever conversation the girls were having. "I think all of the freshmen are just about here."

"Just waiting on Gordon to show," Jonathan said. By the other bus, he saw Victor Fries and Miguel trying to get the kids lined up. "It's damn near nine now. Aren't we supposed to leave at 9:30?"

"Jim's going over the plans for the day with the teachers who are staying at the school," Harvey explained. "He's also probably telling Bolton to go easy on the discipline."

Edward snorted. "That'll be a first!

You might as well ask Goodman to stop being over-dramatic, or Karlo to stop being pretentious-"

"Or you to stop being such an obnoxious pain in the ass!" Harvey interrupted.

Edward's face darkened, but immediately lit up when he caught sight of someone approaching. "Darling!" Penelope came up to the small group, her usual serious expression only just softening as she approached her boyfriend. "Did you come to see me off?" Edward asked.

"Yes," she admitted. "Actually, I also wanted to ask you to-"

"'Try to have a good time'? That's not happening and we know it," Edward glowered.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Actually, I was going to ask you to try not to get into any trouble today."

"Me? Get into trouble? I am a paragon of virtue! A role model for the children to aspire to!"

"You threw a big hissy tantrum the other day when the vending machine in the teacher's lounge ran out of orange soda," Jonathan drawled.

"After it already ate my money, Jonathan!"

Penelope shook her head, then grabbed gently onto Edward's hand, drawing him away from the group a few feet. "If you're right and this Mockridge is at the park," she said in a low tone. "Than he's probably going to try to bait you into a fight. Just for today, ignore it. Be the bigger man."

Edward huffed. "Fine. For you and Ellen, I'll try."

Penelope smiled softly at him then. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? I'm sure Jonathan or Jervis would be more than happy to trade places."

"No," Edward said, kissing her hand. "One of us deserves to get through this day with their sanity intact. Just promise me that you won't get involved in whatever mischief the Sirens have planned for the day."

"Have I ever?" she asked with a bemused expression on her face.

"No, but they'll try."

While the two had their conversation, Ellen watched them with an intent expression on her face. Duela gently elbowed her. "You think she might become your stepmom?"

Ellen shrugged. "Maybe."

"Where are you on the little brother or sister front?"

"I asked Dad again on Christmas if I could have one for my Birthday and he turned really pink and wouldn't talk about it." Ellen pouted. "I'm probably not gonna get one until college at this rate."

Tim scoffed. "Ellen, trust me. Siblings are overrated."

"Nashton!" Harvey called. "Jim's coming! Get back here!"

Edward's face darkened, but he and Penelope came to rejoin the group just as Gordon, trailed as always by Kristen, made his way through the crowd. As soon as got to the front of the bus, he cleared his throat and began to speak. "Good morning everybody! In just a few minutes, we'll be taking off, so we need all students to line up single file in front of one of these buses."

"Speaking of," Jervis pointed out, turning to his friends and colleagues. "We're all getting on this bus, right?"

"As long as Neil isn't on it we are," Jonathan replied.

"Where is Neil?" Jervis asked, taking a quick look around. "I haven't seen him or Basil yet."

"Maybe we got lucky and they called out," Harvey muttered. "Or they murdered each other."

"Harvey," Gilda lightly scolded.

Penelope shook her head. "Neil and Karlo on the trip together? What was Gordon thinking allowing that to happen?"

A loud whistle blew, interrupting Gordon while he was still addressing the crowd of students and their parents. The crowd turned as one and saw Neil at the school's entrance, in front of a portion of the school's marching band, dressed in a spiffy summer outfit and waving a baton around. He led out the band to an instrumental rendition of 76 Trombones, a wide smile on his face the whole time.

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jesus. Tap-dancing. Christ."

"Well," Edward said. "If nothing else, Neil certainly knows how to make an entrance."

Neil continued up to the second bus, the children falling into a single-file line behind him. As soon as he was at the front, he turned and bowed to the marching band. "Thank you, boys and girls! Enjoy your day today!" The band dispersed and the assembled crowd broke out into loud applause.

Basil Karlo chose that moment to make his appearance. He walked up next to Neil, looked at his outfit and sniffed. "Not bad. For a rank amateur."

Neil's face turned bright red. He looked like he was about to say something when Gordon spoke up again. "Anyway. We'll be arriving back on campus at 5 pm. Parents, please be here to pick up your kids. That being said, it's time to board." The students by the first bus finally began to line up after saying their goodbyes to their parents and guardians.

Ellen and Duela, by virtue of being daughters of faculty members, were the first to board. "Save me a window seat, Duela!" Ellen called after her friend as they scrambled aboard.

"Ellen, don't run!" Edward called after her. Tim and Stephanie followed their friends onto the bus. Soon, the last students had boarded and it was time for the staff to go. Jonathan and Jervis climbed aboard, while Edward and Harvey both turned to their significant others for their final goodbyes.

"Great. A day at a theme park with these nuts," Harvey grumbled.

Gilda leaned up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. "Don't let it get too you too much, Harvey. Try to have fun with Duela today."

Harvey smiled at his wife, then got aboard.

"Remember what we talked about, Edward," Penelope said, lightly squeezing his hand. "Try not to get into trouble."

"Well, I can't speak for my illustrious colleagues, but I promise that I won't start anything," he said. He leaned in a bit closer. "In the meantime, I had a few more ideas of what you could do to reward me."

Penelope fondly rolled her eyes. "Reward you for behaving like you're supposed to? Really?"

Edward mock-pouted, only to catch someone approaching from the corner of his eye. "Oh no."

Penelope was about to ask him what was wrong, only for Harley's voice to interrupt. "Hiya, Eddie!" She bounded up to give him a hug. Selina and Pamela showed up as well, both of them looking at the bus with a smirk.

Edward groaned. "What are you three doing here? Come to rub it in one last time?"

"Actually, I needed to speak to them," Gordon said. He turned to address Selina. "So we're all clear on the schedule for the day?"

"Half-day classes, final bell at 12:30, kids in detention out by 2:30, clubs and activities out by 3:00, stay on campus until you get back and help with pickup," Selina rattled off. "Crystal clear."

Gordon nodded. "Good. Remember, Strange will be leaving campus at 12:30 for a meeting with members of the school board. Kristen, of course, will help out with anything you might need." His look turned grave. "Keep an eye on Bolton, but don't start anything with him. Understand?"

Pamela scoffed. "You should be telling him not to start anything with us."

"I did, as a matter of fact," Gordon said. "Alright, I think that's everything. Kristen, give me status updates every hour until school's out. Ladies, try not to have too much fun." He turned and walked towards the second bus to help them with boarding, leaving Edward with the Sirens.

"This is gonna be great!" Harley said, throwing her arms around Kristen and Penelope's shoulders. "After Strange leaves, we're gonna have a girl's day in the chem lab!"

Edward grimaced. "And just what nonsense does that entail?"

Pamela let out a cold laugh. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Edward's face fell, and Penelope shook off Harley's grip to reassure him. "I'm sure it'll be fine," she said.

"Relax Eddie, we'll take care of your girl," Selina teased.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Edward ground out.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "You're all ridiculous."

"Edward!" Jonathan called out. "Are you getting on board or do Dent and I have to drag your ass on?"

"I'm coming!" Edward snapped. He took one last look at his girlfriend and the Sirens and shuddered. "Remember me fondly."

Harley just gave him a cheeky wave. "Bye, Eddie! See you in the funny papers!"

Edward waved back, then took a deep breath and boarded. Gordon came back to the bus and gave the women a wave before he climbed on. The bus door closed and the remaining crowd of people took a step back as the buses started. The first bus pulled out of the parking lot, followed by the second bus. In a matter of moments, the buses had passed the main gate and were on their way to Mt. Olympus theme park.

God help them all.

#tales from gotham academy #the gotham rogues #high school teacher au #now that the set up is done #the real horror begins

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queen-scribbles · 6 years

Text

Worth It

Merry Christmas, Alex! :D Partially inspired by this from Christmas a couple years ago, partially by the ugly-Christmas-sweaters-everywhere thing. They took forever to give me an ending, hence the silence about its existence. I wanted to be sure it wasn’t going to stay a WIP. xD

“C’mon, Harvey, we’re leavin’ in, like, ten minutes for my house; you need to get ready.” Trinne leaned over the back of the couch to kiss him on the cheek and playfully reach for his book.

Harvey absently leaned into the kiss but moved the book out of her reach. “I am ready.”

“Um, no, sweetheart.” She smiled almost apologetically as she dropped a pile of (mostly) green and brown wool next to him. “You hafta wear the sweater Mom sent you.”

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow(Trinne wasn’t sure if it was skepticism or reluctance. Maybe both. She couldn’t blame him). “Really? I have to?”

“Why the hell do you think I’m wearin’ mine?” Trinne retorted, tugging at the scratchy blue wool

Harvey shrugged and closed his book. “I figured you were being nice and trying not to hurt your mom’s feelings. You’re like that with your family.”

“Pfft, no,” Trinne snorted. “I’m not that nice, even with them. It’s Amell family tradition, trademarked when I was about.... five.”

“It’s not really cold enough for sweaters,” Harvey pointed out. “Everyone will melt.”

Trinne shook her head, grinning with extra (fake) sweetness. “Not if Dad turns down the heat. And you and I are serious enough, Mom considers you part of the family, so that argument’s no good either.”

“...Can we say Queen chewed on it?”

Another shake of her head. “You don’t wanna do that, trust me.” She climbed over the back of the couch to sit with him. “Two things will happen: she’ll bug Aed for a week minimum about has he taken his dog to the vet, is she okay, eating yarn is bad for dags, yada yada. And she’ll pull out the back-up sweaters for you to pick from.” Trinne made a face and raked her fingers through her hair. “This is a big deal for her and Dad.”

“Obviously, if there’s a box of back-up sweaters,” Harvey muttered, probably wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into dating her.

“I mean, these sweaters are, like, twenty or thirty years old,” she explained, raising her hands in a gesture halfway to a shrug. “From when Mom and Dad were our age, so they smell like mothballs and are legitimately ugly. They’re awful. So we wear the newer cheesy-bad ones Mom gives us cuz the alternative is scare-off-your-date levels of ugly.”

“Okay, there’s a story these. Just not sure it’s one I want to hear.” He eyed the green and brown sweater and set his book down on the coffee table.

Trinne laughed, moving the sweater to Harvey’s lap so she could scoot closer. “Long story short, when Jowan was... seventeen or eighteen--I forget which exactly, but not long after he officially became part of the family--he tried to convince Mom the washer or dryer had mangled his sweater cuz his new girlfriend was comin’ and he didn’t want to wear it in front her. And I’m talkin’ new girlfriend; they’d only been goin’ out a month, tops. Her family was really “proper” and kinda classy and upper-crust-ish an’ I’m still not sure how Jowan got her to go out with him-”

“Trinne, this isn’t short,” Harvey interrupted, half-smiling as he nudged her shoulder with his.

“Right, right, sorry. So he tries to get out of wearin’ it by saying it got ruined, Mom goes ‘It’s okay sweetie’ and gave him one of the backup sweaters to wear. Didn’t let him pick, mind you, just handed him this monstrosity that looked like a Christmas tree ate a reindeer and threw up all over the damn sweater-”

“Descriptive,” Harvey said dryly, running his thumb over one of the santa hats that decorated his sweater.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he had a few seconds where he almost wished we hadn’t adopted him. But only almost, b’cause, I mean, he got me for a sister, so that’s worth it, right?” Trinne joked. “Anyway, he and this girl were broken up before New Year’s. Not sayin’ it’s just because of the sweater, but I’m pretty sure that was a contributing factor. Course if she scared off that easily, she wouldn’t have fit in anyway...”

“Mm.” Harvey shot her a look. “Sounds like your parents use this to gauge the people you or your siblings date.”

“If it is, you’re afe,” she promised, poking his side teasingly. “Mom loves you. And, I mean, one good thing about this is she says it counts as her Christmas present, so we don’t mind doing this to make her happy. An’ that girlfriend is the only significant other who got scared off. We just don’t let Jowan live it down, ‘cause where’s the fun in that?”

Harvey shook his head with a small laugh. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“Yep. It’s part of my charm,” she grinning, extra cheesy on purpose. “And if you really don’t wanna wear your sweater, I can turn said charm on my parents, try an’ talk ‘em out of making you wear one. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable...” She rested one hand on his shoulder and absently ran her fingers through his hair. “Or we can not go and I’ll apologize later.”

“No, that’s okay,” he assured her. “If it’s important to you, I think I can manage to wear a somewhat ugly sweater for a few hours. Besides, what’re you going to tell them for why we can’t come? It’s not like I have family parties to worry about.”

She nodded concession of that point. “Are you sure? I really will try and talk my folks down if you want me to. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Yes, it is,” Harvey contradicted, smiling fondly as he pushed to his feet, taking the sweater with him. “You gesture a lot and get all... rabbit trail-y when you’re talking about something that’s important to you. You’ve done both over the course of this conversation, so I will wear the sweater. It’s okay.” He picked up the offending garment and headed for his room.

“You could just change out here, y’know,” Trinne called after him, grinning as she slouched down on the couch and put her feet on the coffee table. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”

“Clothes stay in the bedroom,” he returned, voice briefly muffled as he pulled on the sweater. “Or Aed’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him...”

“Because I always give him grief about how often he leaves his clothes everywhere,” Harvey clarified as he emerged from his room, dark green button-down exchanged for the sweater.

“Ah. That makes a little more sense,” Trinne laughed.

“It doesn’t have to be spotless or anything,” he said, offering her his hand. “Just... the couch is for people, and occasionally large slobbery dogs. Not dirty laundry.”

She giggled as she accepted the help up. “That’s fair. And that sweater doesn’t look that bad on you, by the way.”

Harvey wrinkled his nose. “You’re just saying that-”

“Because it’s true,” she cut him off. “And cuz I know you’re wearing it for me.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“We can count this as my Christmas present, too, if you want.”

“No, I already got you something. This is just one of those boyfriend things.”

“That you do with far less complaining than some, if any at all, because you’re a wonderful person,” Trinne finished for him, sliding her hand in his and trying very hard not to think about the last (only other) boyfriend she’d dated long enough to take to the family get-together. She mostly succeeded. “And I appreciate it so much, seriously. But we need to get going or we’re going to be late. Which is almost as bad as not wearing your sweater.”

“How many rules are there to this gathering, dare I ask?” Harvey said as he opened the door.

“Not so much rules as traditions,” she replied with an almost sheepish shrug. “Like, there’s no real punishment beyond copious teasing. And those are the only two big ones, but Isla’s probably gonna throw mistletoe at me at some point--cuz that’s more fun than tricking us into standing under it--and various other things that... well, let’s just say if you wind up wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into with me, I won’t blame you.”

“Trinne, I’ve already done that at least once a month since we started dating,” he laughed on their way down the hall. “The answer’s pretty much always the same; nothing that isn’t worth it.”

Trinne felt her face heat. “Cousland, if you don’t stop being so damn sweet, we aren’t going to make it to my house. Even if it means I’m the one who gets razzed now instead of Jowan.” She grabbed the front of his sweater and tugged him down into a kiss. One that only ended because they sort of veered into a wall. “Oops..”

“Is this going to turn into one of our holiday traditions?” Harvey mumbled, only half joking, free hand still braced against the wall.

“What making out on the way to the car?” Trinne whispered, grinning mischievously as she released her grip on his sweater to rub the back of her head. “Shit, Harv, I’ll do that year round and you know it.”

“True,” he conceded with a small smile, pushing off the wall and tugging her with him. “I was thinking more along the line of us being late to this party because you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” he teased.

“Oh, that.” She paused to consider a moment. “Yeah, probably. ‘Specially if you’re this sweet about it every year.”

“Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, holding the door for her.

“So you can do it more or less?” Trinne needled with a laugh, unlocking’ the car.

Harvey smiled as they climbed in. “You’ll just have to wait until next year to find out, won’t you?”

“Jerk,” Trinne huffed and glared at him, but that just made him smile wider. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, you know that?”

He laughed. “That much of a handful, am I?”

“Don’t worry,” she smiled, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek as she started the car. “You’re worth it.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Ugh, I’m so rusty on these two I’m a little irritated at myself. :P Hence the modern AU; they’re a little easier there than in canon. And oh the irony of Trinne implying Harv’s the handful in this relationship. You’re lucky he loves you, you dork.

(for newer followers, bc GOD it’s been that long since I wrote them, Trinne Amell is mine, Harvey Cousland belongs to @errantgoat)

#queens fic #otp: shadows & sparks #harvey cousland #trinne amell #dragon age fic #i do have an idea in canon that i can hopefully flesh out in time for your birthday :3

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acapelladitty · 7 years

Note

Dunno if you're taking prompts but someone on here got me round to the idea of Selina/Harvey, so twocats fic mayhaps? Maybe Selina seduces him then robs him.

I am THRILLED to oblige!! Selina Kyle and Harvey Dent is a good ship my guy xx

“Iknow you understand how serious this is if I am coming to youfor help,” a scarred hand tapped impatiently on the heavy woodendesk which sat in the centre of the small room, “given ourhistory.”

“AwwHarvey,” placing a hand across her chest in mock forgiveness,Selina gave him a false smile, “that is all in the past! I hadalmost completely forgotten about that misguided attempt you made todunk me in a bath of acid. I mean, what’s a little attempted murderbetween friends?”

Standingon the other side of the desk, Selina could feel the chill of theroom through her costume and she willed away a shiver, lest sheappear weak.

“Catsthat try to steal from us will lose their paws,” Harvey growled,“but I am willing to pay for your help this time.”

Whenshe had received a call from Harvey Dent himself requesting herservices as a master thief, Selina had been understandablysuspicious. Their last encounter had ended with her knocking himunconscious and leaving him to the mercy of the next person tostumble across his body, however, he had assured her on the phonethat his offer was legitimate and that no grudge was being held.

Shehad arrived to the assigned meeting excessively early to allowherself to assess the building and assure that she was not being ledinto an trap, and she was pleased to note that her investigations hadcome up with nothing.

Itseemed that Harvey Dent was in actual need of her.

Howthe tables had turned.

Hislack of obvious aggression and uncharacteristic politeness towardsher so far had piqued her interest though and she was genuinelycurious as to his intent.

“SoHarv, why am I here? What do you need the big bad cat to steal foryou?”

Witha sweet smile, she placed herself on his desk and stretched, archingher back sensually and confident in the knowledge that he would notmove to stop her.

“Aweapons shipment which was intended for me has been stolen,” Harveyanswered, “and I want you to take it back.”

Pullinghis coin from his front pocket, Harvey started to casually flip it ashe explained Selinas’ task to her. His gaze was focused on her facebut she was quick to notice it dipping to her exposed cleavage everyfew moments.

Predictable.

Shewatched the flipping coin as it sailed up through the air in aperfect arc before falling back into Harvey’s scarred palm with athinly veiled fascination as she asked.

“Who’sthe mark?”

“RolandDaggert. The bastard. He thinks he can steal from us and get awaywith it!” Squeezing his fist hard across the coin, Selina could seethe whites of Harveys’ knuckles as his anger manifested itself. “Iwant you to steal them back and you’re welcome to anything else thattakes your fancy.”

“AwwHarv, you shouldn’t have.” She purred, leaning forward to run ahand along his arm and feel the tense muscles which lay beneath thesuit fabric. “So what do I need to do?”

“Youneed to break into his office building and hack his computer systems.The location of my guns should be on that system.”

Frowning,Selina had to ask, “And do you have the electronic key which I willneed to enter the system? Daggert uses the latest anti-hackingtechnologies and I will not be able to get in without it.”

“What’sthe matter, cat?” Raising his one good eyebrow, Harvey’s tone helda teasing edge to it. “Unable to get past a simple security system?And they say that you’re the best…”

Flushingwith indignation, Selina tilted her head.

“Don’tbe rude Harv. I’d hate to have to scar up that handsome face ofyours. Or the handsome half, at least.” Pausing to let the insultsink in, she continued, “I would never forgive myself.”

Asshe slid off the table, Harvey notably tensed his body in preparationof a fight and Selina had to suppress a smile at his mistrust as shewalked around his seated position. Now standing behind him, sheplaced her head next to the scarred tissue which made up his left earand whispered.

“Westill have not discussed a price.”

AsHarvey turned to face her, she was pleased to see a hint of flusterin his expression as he realised that his face was now only mereinches away from her chest.

Achest which she had deliberately hunched over slightly to emphasise.

IfHarvey was not going to play her game then she would play it herself.

“Whatdo you want?”

Voicea touch deeper than it had been a moment before, Harvey tapped hisagitated fingers on the desk as he questioned her.

“Ithink I have something in mind,” the corners of her lips tugged upas Selina came up with a wicked plan, “besides a thousand in cashand anything which I steal from Daggert.”

“Whichis?”

“Akiss.”

Amixed look of surprise and suspicion crossed Harvey’s features as henarrowed his eyes at her, or at least narrowed one eye, the lack ofeyelid on the other making such a movement impossible.

“Why?”He growled.

Checkingher fingernails with disinterest, Selina shrugged.

“Callit feminine curiosity.”

Moving faster than hecould anticipate, Selina closed the space between them before dippingher head and catching Harveys’ lips in her own.

It was awkward, hissurprise at her boldness causing him to go as stiff as a board whileshe pressed her lips against his, but she felt his resolve waver andshe was quick to take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His lipswere an odd sensation to experience as the softness of one halfconflicted with the rough and ropey scarring of the other half andher own sensitive lips were unable to determine if she liked it ornot.

He was also more gentlethan she had anticipated and she briefly wondered who exactly she waskissing in this moment.

Enjoying the kiss as itcontinued, her hand slid down Harveys’ torso and again she could feelthe hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt and she hummed inappreciation. She did love a broad man. Allowing her hand to slip atouch lower, she lightly pawed at his pockets to determine which oneheld his wallet.

A vice-like grip seizedher wrist as Harvey broke away from the kiss.

“Nice try, Kitty.”He growled into her ear and the raw hoarseness of it caused anunexpected flip in Selinas’ stomach as she was forced to admit that,yeah, that was hot.

Straightening up andbacking away from him, Selina winked her apology.

“Sorry, Harv,”laughing she placed her hand on her hip, “old habits die hard.”

His hand havingreturned to flipping his coin, Harvey was back to business with onlythe slight reddening which sat high on his cheek and the slight tentof his trousers clues to the fact that he had enjoyed their kiss.

“Just get our weaponsback.”

Laughing openly as shewalked towards the door, Selina swung her hips with a little moreemphasis than was necessary.

“Y'know Harv,”leaning against the doorway, she paused for a moment, “if you keepup this respectful non-murderous attitude you might find yourselfhelping this kitty to scratch more than just one itch.”

Despite his mask ofneutrality, a glint of interest lit up in Harveys’ eyes and it wasall Selina needed to confirm her suspicions as to his intent withher.

She had always foundHarvey Dent attractive, even back in his days as a DA, and hissubsequent accident had done nothing to dissuade that attraction. Ifanything the element of danger and unpredictability which made himTwo Face added a level of intoxication which she was curious about.

And if this incidentwas anything to go by, he certainly wouldn’t reject a seductionattempt.

Interesting.

With much to consider,Selina waved her hand behind her as she slipped through the doorway,a small smirk settling over her mouth as she disappeared into theGotham streets.

AO3 Link - http://archiveofourown.org/works/11890560

#selina kyle #catwoman #harvey dent #two face #gotham rogues #fic #new pairing ahoy lmaooooo #Anonymous

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thecosywriter · 7 years

Text

The Lockwood Effect (GravesxOC)

Chapter One: The Shameful Daughter.

If you were to ask any American witch or wizard what their most important law was, they would tell you straight. Not a breath needed to be taken before the name would spill off of their tongue; Rappaport’s Law. Trepidation and hostility lacing itself around the answer that rolled off their tongues, the American wizarding community knew all too well the harsh penalties that sat on the shoulders of those found breaking the fraternization laws. Of course, there were stories; the rare cases which had made public headlines over the last hundred years or so. The tales of what happened to the poor witches and wizards who had befriended or – worse – married a No-Maj were enough to scare of any particularly inclusive witches and wizards as penalties for fraternization did not warrant thinking about. The most important law in America meant that in short that there was to be no unauthorized contact with the No-Maj.

The Magical Congress of the United States of America was a wondrous sight to behold, to visitors and those employed alike; however to those brought through the doors under less than favourable circumstances the golden walls did not glow with the warmth that greeted the former. The sound of fast paced heels cantering across the stone floors only added to the nerves which fluttered around the body of the accused.

Lauren Lockwood, youngest daughter of the Lockwood clan found herself being hurried into the MACUSA’s court room, arms enchanted- bound in front of her. As the accused was brought in, representatives from her clan stood to the left alongside the jury and the courtroom witnesses.

The Lockwood family were well known in America, famed for their wealth and power – if not their affiliation to the greyer areas of the magical community although their place in politics had allowed them to go under the radar for many years. Their clan leader, Madame Penelope Lockwood was an imposing woman, age made a subtle mark on her skin; a tall thin woman in her late sixties, her greying blond hair pulled back into a large high bun contrasting with her long grey gown, her half moon lorgnette spectacles that she charmed with her wand allowing her to observe every part of the spectacle which was about to unfold before her.

Her youngest daughter was a disgrace to their family name; the Lockwood clan had prided themselves in maintaining a pure high standing bloodline. One of the richest magical families in the south no squibs or half bloods had been produced for over three centuries; this due to the inbreeding and the arranged marriage with other pure blood families had perfected their bloodline. Not a family to go unnoticed, they expected to be treated with the respect their name provided. A Lockwood could be spotted in a crowded room; they had a signature look about them. Tall, thin bodies with ice white hair which would sit on their pale skin which could be mistaken for marble and their attitudes and manners were as cold as their skin to touch, the men and women of the family were known for their icy demeanours and the family was known not be to crossed.

As Lauren looked around the room, she noticed a handful of her family members, her three sisters and her brother Alto all stood in the rafters in their best dress waiting for the trial to begin. She searched desperately to catch the eye of one of her family members but to her despair she was met with an almost hiss as her family averted their eyes. Lauren felt herself beginning to shake as she was brought in front of the main bodies of MACUSA. The President, The Director and his son and a collection of dignitaries who would be the ones sentencing her for her crime. A crime she knew she was guilty of…

President Harving, an imposing man in his late fifties stood forms his chair in the centre of the courtroom. His blue suede jacket tight around his ever-expanding waist, the President ran his hands down his front straightening out the material before coughing and addressing the room.

“Lauren Lockwood, you have been found guilty of fraternization with a No-Maj. As you know this goes against one of our most important laws. Do you deny the accusation?” The president began to address the accused who stood in the centre of the room, arms still bound; her skin had faltered to a paler shade than she could have believes possible, her eyes reddened from the hot salty tears which had began to cascade their way down her cheeks.

“No Sir, please let me explain…” Lauren whimpered as all the excuses she sought to say brimmed and bubbled at the back of her mind, sadly her mouth betrayed her. Nothing of importance came out of her mouth and after a moment she lowered her head and sobbed gently. She knew that she was guilty for her supposed crimes; she knew what was going to happen.

“Bring in the husband."The President ordered as he sat back down in his chair with a loud thump, rattling a few of the books which lay across the tables of the jurors. As two men opened up the double doors to the right of the courtroom, a young man in his thirties was brought in although unbound, he carried in his arms a bundle of blankets which he clutched to his chest.

"He didn’t know I was a witch. He thought I was a No-Maj!” Lauren shouted as she tried to get to her husband. “Lauren, what is going on?” The man asked as he was passed by Lauren who was now looking on in panic as her husband was brought before the court. “Eric, I’m so sorry…I never meant to lie to you.” Lauren wept as she watched the scene unfold in front of her eyes.

Eric had never witnessed anything like the court in his life, the walls coated in a golden sheer, the moving tapestries and posters were something beyond his imagination. Eric was nothing more than a soldier on leave; he had met and fallen in love with the young Lockwood daughter on his visit to the states following the last war. Sadly, he did not get to spend much time in the states as he was due back on ship after a short period of leave. During this time, the two married after a whirlwind romance; the no-maj navy-man had no idea that his young wife was a witch.

“Mr Pandelle, is this woman your wife?” The president asked as he motioned to the blonde tearful woman behind him. “Yes, of course she is!” Eric replied, agitated now at their current predicament. “Who the hell are you?!” He snapped as he tried to get out of his bindings to no prevail. “What is all of this crap?”

“As the court has witnessed by the admission of her husband by law. Lauren Lockwood has knowingly and unashamedly married the No-Maj known as Eric Pandelle and you have produced a child.” The President snapped as the court all exchanged hushed comments to their neighbours, the tension in the room began to build as Eric looked around the room at the strangely dressed folk. Lauren remained in the centre of the room, two guards stood to her sides so she made sure not to move but nonetheless she could feel the eyes bearing into her form all around the room.

“Take the child.”

“No, no! Please don’t hurt my baby!” Lauren cried of from behind Eric who has clutched the bundle in his arms closer to him. He was not going to allow anyone to touch his daughter, not whilst he was able to fight back.

“Penelope Lockwood, please would you collect your granddaughter. You have agreed to take this child into your care.” The Vice-President snapped at the matriarch of the Lockwood family, who nodded as she slowly straightened her dress jacket out and placed her spectacles inside her pocket before her son lent her his arm to walk down the stairs onto the main floor – not that there was any necessity for his help, it was purely for show.

“Mother please…I did nothing wrong…I love him.” Lauren exclaimed as her mother made her way across the room, stopping for a moment next to her daughter who was now on her knees the older woman looked down at her daughter, the disgust was apparent in her eyes and she snarled and hissed down at the woman she once called her daughter.

“No daughter of mine would love one of those filthy pigs!” She hissed as she snapped her head back up and made her way across the marble floor, much like cobra dancing with its prey the greying witch came face to face with her son-in-law who stepped back clutching the child.

“Who the Hell are you?” The no-maj growled as he tried to step back but to no avail. The older woman drew closer lifting her wand from her pocket. “I am your mother-in-law. Now, give me the baby.” She sneered as she raised her wand to the now paling man.“Not a chance.” Eric snapped as he swallowed hard and made a useless attempt to exit the room.

“Petrificus totalus!”

“Eric!” Lauren cried out as her husband fell to the floor, with a flick of her wand the baby hidden in the bundle of blankets hovered in the air and made its way over to the older woman who took it in her arms and made her way back to her seat in the stands.

“Mrs Pandelle – Lockwood, do you understand the charges you are being accused of?” President Harving began as he settled the members of the court. The room now silent save for the attempted mumbles of the no-maj currently bound on the floor.

“Mrs Pandelle-Lockwood?”

“Yes, Sir…I-I understand…” Lauren whispered as she looked at the marble floor beneath her. She didn’t mean to break the law, she knew the laws but she loved the no-maj all the same. He was worth the risk; her daughter was worth the risk.

“You know the punishment for fraternization?” The president stated sadly and Lauren nodded.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very well.” The President sighed as he stood once more and motioned to his guards.

“Laura Pandelle-Lockwood you are sentenced to execution. Your daughter shall remain in the care of your family and your No-Maj husband shall be obliviated. He will forget you and your child and we shall hear no more of this matter.”

Percival Graves was only a young man during the days of the Lockwood trial, he had been out of Ilvermorny all of three years and had managed to earn himself a place as a cadet in the Auror training under the tutorage of his father, and his Grandfather before him. The Graves were a well respected family, known for their skills as Aurors and politicians it was expected that Percival would step up and stand alongside his ancestors within the MACUSA. He knew about the role of an Auror, he was well trained, he was well read but he did not expect his first case to be of this type. Percival, almost naively was under the illusion that he would be battling dark wizards, after all that was what he thought security was. He did not predict his role would include sentencing what he saw as an innocent woman to death – Percival was a strict man, clean cut a rule follower to a fault but he was not unfeeling; he has studied the law extensively and in any written exam he would have agreed with the ruling. The penalty for marrying a No-Maj was death – he knew it, the accused knew it and the entire wizarding world knew it. However, as he watched the young witch get dragged away to the executioner’s halls he felt a churning in his stomach, this was not right but it was a law and they law was not meant to be broken.

“Director Graves?”

As the echo of a male voice broke through his memory, Percival noticed events of the trial from twenty six years ago begin to fade from in front of him. Lifting his gaze from the pensieve in front of him Graves turned to face the voice, belonging to one of the clerks from his division.

“D-director Graves sir?” The younger man repeated nervously, clutching a few brown folders to his chest. “What is it Burke?” Graves snapped waving his hand behind him which caused the pensieve to return to its cabinet in the office wall, locking itself away.

“I have the files you asked for.” Burke muttered nervously as he held out the paperwork to his superior. Burke was not a timid man in most cases, however even the bravest of auror were even slightly intimidated by Director Graves and he was nothing more than an office clerk, he knew what a half worked job could lead to.

“Burke, I asked for these files over two hours ago. "Graves commented dryly as he took the files off of the clerk, not a man to tolerate mishaps in his office however, after such a long day the director had no intentions of reprimanding the clerk or prolonging his own time in the office.

"Y-yes sir, well you see…I…” Burke began as he scratched the back of his hands nervously.

“I don’t want excuses.” Graves snapped as he sat down in his large leather chair behind his desk.

“I’m sorry.” The clerk finished nervously as he walked over to the office desk.

“Just stop talking…” Graves ordered curtly as a knock echoed on the office door. Director Graves waved signalling the clerk to move to the side so he could see the door; lifted his head to acknowledge the entrance of Tina Goldstein, an auror from his team.

“Sir, if you don’t mind I shall be off now.” Tina said with a nod, standing in the office clutching a collection of files. “I will review these at home over the weekend, Sir.” Tina commented as she hurried to place the files in her bag.

“Yes, thank you Tina.” Graves nodded dismissively as he returned to running his hand over the file which lay on his desk.

Tina could sense the mood in the room, her boss was not in the mood for small talk, not that he was one for it to begin with. He was a strict man, it was well known however on the odd occasion he would not be unpleasant to his team; Tina knew this and respected him. Without much need for a formal exit Tina nodded slightly at the two men before placing her hat on and turning to leave the room.

“Goodnight Sir, Goodnight Burke.” Tina said politely as she closed the door behind her.

The room was silent for a moment as the clerk shuffled in place nervously, he had not been dismissed but he was given no task. Director Graves had almost forgot he was still in the room only noticing his presence as the younger man’s shadow was appearing in the corner of his eye.

“Burke, why are you still here?” Graves sighed, tired of the clerks’ incompetence for one evening he motioned to the office door – a clear indication that he was being told to leave.

“Just go home Burke.”

“Yes, Sir…I’m sorry Sir.” Burke stuttered as he quickly made his way out of the room, banging into the door handle before turning it and pulling the door open and muttering a silent apology.

Welcoming the silence that filled the office Graves let out a groan as he tilted his head back and stretched out his arms, pushing his fists out until his body gave him the smallest release it could muster, he sat back in his large leather bound office chair he took hold of the file that Burke had brought him.

Earlier that week Director Graves had been informed by some dependable sources that the Department of Potions and Magical Remedies Division had taken on a new deputy following the retirement of old Mr Mayfield. As head of security Graves took it upon himself to security check the new candidate, a Miss Casperia Lockwood.

The memory of the Lockwood trial had been echoing in his mind all day. It had been over twenty years since the trial and Graves was no longer the twenty year old youngster he was on that day; now a seasoned wizard welcoming the later stages of his forties and having clawed his way up the ranks in the last two decades Graves had done his family proud making a name for himself amongst the community within his own right; succeeding his father as the Director of Magical Security. Still, knowing all he knew now his stance on the Lockwood trial had not wavered.

Graves was tired as to be expected, his body began to ache. Graves shot a lazy glance over to the enchanted clock on the wall and with a quick motion the director took out his wand and with a gentle wave he set his papers and files in order for the following day. Picking up the file, he would read the rest at home.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #fanfic #percival graves #harrypotter

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mudbloodprincessposts-blog · 7 years

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The Lockwood Effect (Part 1) A Percival x OC Fanfiction

Chapter One: The Shameful Daughter.

If you were to ask any American witch or wizard what their most important law was, they would tell you straight. Not a breath needed to be taken before the name would spill off of their tongue; Rappaport's Law. Trepidation and hostility lacing itself around the answer that rolled off their tongues, the American wizarding community knew all too well the harsh penalties that sat on the shoulders of those found breaking the fraternization laws. Of course, there were stories; the rare cases which had made public headlines over the last hundred years or so. The tales of what happened to the poor witches and wizards who had befriended or – worse – married a No-Maj were enough to scare of any particularly inclusive witches and wizards as penalties for fraternization did not warrant thinking about. The most important law in America meant that in short that there was to be no unauthorized contact with the No-Maj.

Lauren Lockwood, youngest daughter of the Lockwood clan found herself being hurried into the MACUSA's court room, arms enchanted- bound in front of her. As the accused was brought in, representatives from her clan stood to the left alongside the jury and the courtroom witnesses.

"Lauren Lockwood, you have been found guilty of fraternization with a No-Maj. As you know this goes against one of our most important laws. Do you deny the accusation?" The president began to address the accused who stood in the centre of the room, arms still bound; her skin had faltered to a paler shade than she could have believes possible, her eyes reddened from the hot salty tears which had began to cascade their way down her cheeks.

"No Sir, please let me explain…" Lauren whimpered as all the excuses she sought to say brimmed and bubbled at the back of her mind, sadly her mouth betrayed her. Nothing of importance came out of her mouth and after a moment she lowered her head and sobbed gently. She knew that she was guilty for her supposed crimes; she knew what was going to happen.

"Bring in the husband."The President ordered as he sat back down in his chair with a loud thump, rattling a few of the books which lay across the tables of the jurors. As two men opened up the double doors to the right of the courtroom, a young man in his thirties was brought in although unbound, he carried in his arms a bundle of blankets which he clutched to his chest.

"He didn't know I was a witch. He thought I was a No-Maj!" Lauren shouted as she tried to get to her husband. "Lauren, what is going on?" The man asked as he was passed by Lauren who was now looking on in panic as her husband was brought before the court. "Eric, I'm so sorry…I never meant to lie to you." Lauren wept as she watched the scene unfold in front of her eyes.

"Mr Pandelle, is this woman your wife?" The president asked as he motioned to the blonde tearful woman behind him. "Yes, of course she is!" Eric replied, agitated now at their current predicament. "Who the hell are you?!" He snapped as he tried to get out of his bindings to no prevail. "What is all of this crap?"

"As the court has witnessed by the admission of her husband by law. Lauren Lockwood has knowingly and unashamedly married the No-Maj known as Eric Pandelle and you have produced a child." The President snapped as the court all exchanged hushed comments to their neighbours, the tension in the room began to build as Eric looked around the room at the strangely dressed folk. Lauren remained in the centre of the room, two guards stood to her sides so she made sure not to move but nonetheless she could feel the eyes bearing into her form all around the room.

"Take the child."

"No, no! Please don't hurt my baby!" Lauren cried of from behind Eric who has clutched the bundle in his arms closer to him. He was not going to allow anyone to touch his daughter, not whilst he was able to fight back.

"Penelope Lockwood, please would you collect your granddaughter. You have agreed to take this child into your care." The Vice-President snapped at the matriarch of the Lockwood family, who nodded as she slowly straightened her dress jacket out and placed her spectacles inside her pocket before her son lent her his arm to walk down the stairs onto the main floor – not that there was any necessity for his help, it was purely for show.

"Mother please…I did nothing wrong…I love him." Lauren exclaimed as her mother made her way across the room, stopping for a moment next to her daughter who was now on her knees the older woman looked down at her daughter, the disgust was apparent in her eyes and she snarled and hissed down at the woman she once called her daughter.

"No daughter of mine would love one of those filthy pigs!" She hissed as she snapped her head back up and made her way across the marble floor, much like cobra dancing with its prey the greying witch came face to face with her son-in-law who stepped back clutching the child.

"Who the Hell are you?" The no-maj growled as he tried to step back but to no avail. The older woman drew closer lifting her wand from her pocket. "I am your mother-in-law. Now, give me the baby." She sneered as she raised her wand to the now paling man."Not a chance." Eric snapped as he swallowed hard and made a useless attempt to exit the room.

"Petrificus totalus!"

"Eric!" Lauren cried out as her husband fell to the floor, with a flick of her wand the baby hidden in the bundle of blankets hovered in the air and made its way over to the older woman who took it in her arms and made her way back to her seat in the stands.

"Mrs Pandelle – Lockwood, do you understand the charges you are being accused of?" President Harving began as he settled the members of the court. The room now silent save for the attempted mumbles of the no-maj currently bound on the floor.

"Mrs Pandelle-Lockwood?"

"Yes, Sir…I-I understand…" Lauren whispered as she looked at the marble floor beneath her. She didn't mean to break the law, she knew the laws but she loved the no-maj all the same. He was worth the risk; her daughter was worth the risk.

"You know the punishment for fraternization?" The president stated sadly and Lauren nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well." The President sighed as he stood once more and motioned to his guards.

"Laura Pandelle-Lockwood you are sentenced to execution. Your daughter shall remain in the care of your family and your No-Maj husband shall be obliviated. He will forget you and your child and we shall hear no more of this matter."

Percival Graves was only a young man during the days of the Lockwood trial, he had been out of Ilvermorny all of three years and had managed to earn himself a place as a cadet in the Auror training under the tutorage of his father, and his Grandfather before him. The Graves were a well respected family, known for their skills as Aurors and politicians it was expected that Percival would step up and stand alongside his ancestors within the MACUSA. He knew about the role of an Auror, he was well trained, he was well read but he did not expect his first case to be of this type. Percival, almost naively was under the illusion that he would be battling dark wizards, after all that was what he thought security was. He did not predict his role would include sentencing what he saw as an innocent woman to death – Percival was a strict man, clean cut a rule follower to a fault but he was not unfeeling; he has studied the law extensively and in any written exam he would have agreed with the ruling. The penalty for marrying a No-Maj was death – he knew it, the accused knew it and the entire wizarding world knew it. However, as he watched the young witch get dragged away to the executioner's halls he felt a churning in his stomach, this was not right but it was a law and they law was not meant to be broken.

"Director Graves?"

"D-director Graves sir?" The younger man repeated nervously, clutching a few brown folders to his chest. "What is it Burke?" Graves snapped waving his hand behind him which caused the pensieve to return to its cabinet in the office wall, locking itself away.

"I have the files you asked for." Burke muttered nervously as he held out the paperwork to his superior. Burke was not a timid man in most cases, however even the bravest of auror were even slightly intimidated by Director Graves and he was nothing more than an office clerk, he knew what a half worked job could lead to.

"Burke, I asked for these files over two hours ago. "Graves commented dryly as he took the files off of the clerk, not a man to tolerate mishaps in his office however, after such a long day the director had no intentions of reprimanding the clerk or prolonging his own time in the office.

"Y-yes sir, well you see…I…" Burke began as he scratched the back of his hands nervously.

"I don't want excuses." Graves snapped as he sat down in his large leather chair behind his desk.

"I'm sorry." The clerk finished nervously as he walked over to the office desk.

"Just stop talking…" Graves ordered curtly as a knock echoed on the office door. Director Graves waved signalling the clerk to move to the side so he could see the door; lifted his head to acknowledge the entrance of Tina Goldstein, an auror from his team.

"Sir, if you don't mind I shall be off now." Tina said with a nod, standing in the office clutching a collection of files. "I will review these at home over the weekend, Sir." Tina commented as she hurried to place the files in her bag.

"Yes, thank you Tina." Graves nodded dismissively as he returned to running his hand over the file which lay on his desk.

"Goodnight Sir, Goodnight Burke." Tina said politely as she closed the door behind her.

"Burke, why are you still here?" Graves sighed, tired of the clerks' incompetence for one evening he motioned to the office door – a clear indication that he was being told to leave.

"Just go home Burke."

"Yes, Sir…I'm sorry Sir." Burke stuttered as he quickly made his way out of the room, banging into the door handle before turning it and pulling the door open and muttering a silent apology.

. To be continues!

Let me know if you like it! <3

#percival graves #percialgraves #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fanfiction #fantastic beasts movie #tina goldstein #queenie goldstein #fandom #OC #smutt #angst #fanfic

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lfthinkerwrites · 6 years

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A Riddle for a Bat, chapter 2

Title: A Riddle for a Bat

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Riddlebat

Rating: T for canon-typical violence.

Summary: Bruce arrives at the crime scene in the Bowery only to see Nigma make an appearance as well. When he meets with Gordon, he uncovers some details about Nigma's past that concern him.

Previous Chapters: 1/

AO3 Link

The limousine was about four blocks away from the crime scene when Bruce directed Alfred to pull over into an alley. "Stay here," he said. He pulled his cowl on before he exited the car. "I'm going to go check out the crime scene. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Take your time," Alfred said drolly. "I'll be quite fine with the trash cans and the rats."

Bruce closed the door behind him and pulled his grappling hook from his belt and pointed it at the adjacent building. Within seconds he was airborne before he pulled himself up to the rooftop. He ran across the rooftops of the Bowery until the remains of the restaurant came into view. He stopped to survey the scene. For years, Sal Maroni and the Maroni crime family had operated out of the Bowery, using the Maroni family restaurant as a front for their activities. Despite the various arrests and the war with the Falcone crime family, the restaurant itself had stood for over twenty years.

Until tonight. Tonight, all that was left was a black, still smoldering wreck. The building front was completely gone, glass from the windows scattered about on the pavement. Two fire trucks were still here, putting out the last fires. Bruce's eyes narrowed as he saw the six white sheets laid out on the sidewalk. The bodies of the Maroni lieutenants. Uniformed police officers had arrived before Bruce had, setting up the crime scene perimeter and conducting interviews with witnesses. To the left, Bruce watched as an unmarked car pulled up to the scene. The car stopped across the street and Detective Harvey Bullock emerged from the driver's side. Renee Montoya exited the car from the passenger side and both detectives approached the uniformed officers. When he was certain no eyes were looking his way, Bruce fired his grappling hook and glided to the building on the restaurant's left side. He dropped down to a fire escape that was close enough to give him a vantage point, but enough in the shadows that he wouldn't be noticeable. He wanted to be able to hear what the detectives found on the scene before he investigated himself.

"Alright Morris, what have we got?" Bullock asked as he approached the corpses.

"These are-were the Maroni lieutenants detective," Officer Morris replied. "As far as we can figure, the six of them were here for dinner, when a witness said the restaurant exploded."

Bullock scratched the back of his head. "Great. That's one way to end a gang war. Where is this witness?"

Bruce could see Morris point behind him. "Grant's got in in the patrol car. He's a vagrant who was sleeping in the alleyway when he heard the explosion."

"Heard?" Montoya asked. "So he didn't actually see it?"

Morris shook his head. "No. Oh, and we could smell booze on him when we talked to him."

"Oh, that's just dandy Morris!" Bullock snapped. "Our one witness was drunk! Nothin' he says is gonna stand up in court!"

"Except he wasn't our only witness," Montoya mused. "The 911 dispatcher said that the person who called in the explosion was a woman."

"So?" Bullock asked Morris. "Did you guys talk to a woman?"

Morris shuffled his feet awkwardly. "No. When we got here, the bum was the only one we could find who would talk to us."

Even from the fire escape, Bruce could hear Bullock grumble. "Yeah, everyone else in the neighborhood's deaf dumb and blind."

"Keep canvassing the area anyway," Montoya added. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find another witness."

Bruce would like to find that witness too. He continued to watch as Morris went back to his patrol car to join his partner, while Bullock and Montoya spoke to the lead firefighter. "We're still putting out the last fire," he heard the man say. "We can tell you more about the precise cause when we go in."

"You mean other than a bomb going off? Great, just keep doing what you're doing." Bullock turned to Montoya. "So, what do you say we go rouse Falcone?"

Falcone was the obvious suspect, Bruce thought. He and Maroni had been fighting over the last scraps of territory in Gotham like a pair of starving wolves for the past few years. The lull in crime that he and Dick had been experiencing could easily be explained by Falcone gathering his forces together for a final strike at Maroni. Taking out his lieutenants would cripple any counterattack. Falcone himself had dropped out of sight a week ago. That would fit in with him plotting an attack.

A movement in the alleyway caught Bruce's attention. Below him, he could see a figure approaching the crime scene, carrying a cane. When the figure stepped into the light from the street lamps, Bruce could see that he was dressed in green. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Nigma.

The private detective walked up to Bullock and Montoya and greeted them with a sweeping bow. "Good evening detectives! A fine night for a bombing, wouldn't you say?"

Montoya's eyes widened at the man's theatricality. To Bruce, it looked like she wasn't sure whether to tell him off or to laugh. Bullock's face darkened almost immediately. "Oh, terrific. As if the Bat-Freak wasn't bad enough! What are you doing here Eddie? Run out of rich folks to sell yourself off to?"

Nigma chuckled a bit. "Nice to see your manners haven't improved since I saw you last Harv."

Bruce leaned forward a bit. Harv? Bullock and Nigma had met before? Montoya looked confused as well. "You know this guy Harvey?"

Bullock waved dismissively. "Yeah, unfortunately. This is GCPD business Eddie. Scram!"

Nigma held a hand to his chest. "Really Bullock. Is that any way to speak to the man who's about to do your job for you?"

Montoya looked back at Nigma with a raised eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Do you have any information about the bombing?"

"This bombing?" Nigma asked, gesturing to the ruins of the restaurant behind them. "No. But I do know that Falcone's not the one who ordered it."

Bullock's eyes narrowed. "Oh? And just how do you figure that? You and Falcone friends now or somethin'?"

Bruce could see Nigma's posture stiffen, much like it had at the party earlier that evening when Bruce had mentioned the GCPD. Nigma clearly had sore spots when it came to both the GCPD and the mob. Why? Who was he? Then, Nigma relaxed, shaking his head at the detectives. "Oh, ye of little faith and brains. Surely you know that Falcone is currently hospitalized at Gotham City General for chest pains?"

Bruce raised his eyebrows. Falcone had been hospitalized? How did he not know that? How did Nigma know that? How did he know where he was? Bullock and Montoya's jaws dropped at Nigma's declaration, but Bullock quickly recovered. "So? He still could have given out the order from the hospital. Wouldn't be the first time."

Nigma clucked his tongue. "Oh, very true, but who would he have given the order to?" Edward checked his watch. "Any moment now, Commissioner Gordon will be calling you back to GCPD to inform you of the unfortunate demise of Falcone's senior-most lieutenant, ostensibly at the hands of a Maroni made man."

Bullock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to retort when Montoya's phone rang. "Hello? Yes, Commissioner-What!?" Montoya's face drained of color and she looked from Bullock to Nigma with wide eyes. "We'll be right there!" She hung up her phone. "Carlo Ricci's car was just blown up half an hour ago! We've got to get back to headquarters!"

Bullock's face turned from shock to anger as he rounded on Nigma. "You know somethin'."

Nigma smirked and the sight of it had never made Bruce angrier. "I know many things, Bullock. It's my trademark. You of all people should have remembered that."

"Yeah?" Bullock asked. He took a step forward and grabbed onto Nigma's suit jacket. "How about you tell us what you know at the station!?"

Nigma's face turned red and he wrenched himself out of Bullock's grasp. "Don't you dare touch me!" he hissed. He looked like he was about to bring up his cane and Bruce prepared to intervene. Montoya placed herself between the two men.

"Enough!" She looked at Nigma with a grave look. "Listen, Nigma, if you know something, come with us to GCPD."

Nigma's face softened somewhat. "I'm afraid, Detective...Montoya, isn't it? I'm afraid I've already told you all that I know."

"But how did you know about Ricci?"

He held a hand out. "A private detective never reveals his sources, my dear. When I find out more, and I will, I'll be in touch."

"Detective," Bullock snarled. "Detective my ass. You're just talkin' a big game, just like you always did. Leave the detective work to the actual cops and go back to having rich folks kiss your ass, Eddie. It's more your speed."

Nigma turned on the two of them, waving dismissively. "Goodbye Harvey. Pleasurable as always." Bullock looked like he wanted to say more to Nigma when Montoya tugged his arm. Still glowering, he followed her back to their car and sped off back towards GCPD. Nigma stood alone now, watching the firefighters begin to clear the building, now that the smoke was finally out. Bruce watched him as Nigma got as close as he dared, surveying the sight with a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally, Nigma walked back towards the alley. In a minute's time, he was directly underneath the fire escape Bruce was perched on. Bruce pulled out a snare from his belt. A few minutes hanging upside down from the fire escape and Bruce could get the smug, self-aggrandizing man to talk. How did he know what he did? What was his connection to Bullock? Bruce had almost laid down the snare when the firefighters' shout caught his attention.

"Holy shit!"

"I've never seen it before! That's amazing!"

Bruce looked up and saw the Bat-signal, lit up against the night sky. He reluctantly out his snare away and instead pulled out his grappling hook. He fired it and flew up towards the rooftop. When he landed, he took one last look down in the alleyway and was almost surprised to see Nigma staring back up at him, his face full of wonder and surprise. Bruce glared down at the man, then took off towards GCPD. He'd deal with him later.

"Alfred," he spoke into the communicator he kept in his cowl. "I'm needed at GCPD. Go back to the manor and tell Dick to meet me with the Batmobile in Downtown in an hour."

"I couldn't help but notice the signal, sir. I take it this is about the unfortunate incident at Maroni's restaurant?"

"Worse I think. I'll check in later." He ended the communication and hurried towards GCPD.

Gordon was waiting alone on the rooftop when Bruce arrived. "Long night Jim?" he asked when he landed.

Commissioner Gordon looked exhausted. "You could say that." He lit a match and placed it in his pipe, beginning to smoke. "I think the Falcone and Maroni war is about to reach its conclusion."

"I saw the Maroni restaurant in the Bowery. I heard about the Ricci hit as well."

Gordon had worked with him long enough to not be too surprised. "Word travels fast in Gotham I see. Ricci was killed about an hour and a half ago, the same time we got the 911 call about the restaurant. So either Falcone and Maroni just happened to schedule near-simultaneous attacks on each other tonight-"

"Or a third player decided to attack them at once." Bruce had suspected as much when he heard about the Ricci hit. "And if that's the case, we know who was likely responsible."

Gordon sighed. "Rupert Thorne. If he did it, he's getting bolder. He usually just sits back and lets Falcone and Maroni duke it out and takes whatever's left over."

"But now with Falcone and Maroni's forces nearly depleted, he saw an opportunity. I've also heard Falcone's been hospitalized. He's not going to be able to come back from this easily if he does at all. Same with Maroni."

Now Gordon did look surprised. "How did you hear about Falcone being hospitalized. I only just found out when Falcone's lawyer called me twenty minutes ago to provide an alibi for the Maroni murders!"

"That's something I wanted to speak with you about tonight Jim." If Nigma did have some kind of past connection to GCPD, Gordon would know. "Edward Nigma was at the Maroni crime scene tonight. He was the one who told Bullock and Montoya about Falcone being hospitalized. He also knew about Ricci's hit before you called the detectives back in."

Bruce carefully watched as Gordon's face paled. "Edward was there?" He ruefully shook his head. "Somehow I figured it was only a matter of time until he came back to a real bonafide crime scene."

Bruce's hunch was proved correct. "You know him, Commissioner?"

Gordon took a long drag on his pipe before he exhaled. "Yes. Well, I knew him. It was a long time ago. He used to work for GCPD. Only, his name wasn't Nigma then. It was Nashton. Edward Nashton."

So Nigma had worked for GCPD once. It certainly explained how he'd conducted himself at the crime scene. "Who was he?"

"He worked in our cybercrime division, starting about seven years ago. You know the GCPD database? He was the one who streamlined it. He personally uploaded all of our hard data onto that server."

Bruce considered this. So the man had had access to GCPD files years ago. "He was good at his job then?"

Gordon let out a small chuckle. "No. He was, as he liked to remind us, brilliant. He was the fastest hacker GCPD's ever had. If you gave him an hour, he could access just about any information a person ever had on the internet." Gordon shook his head. "He was abrasive and arrogant as all get out, but the man could back it up. Cybercrime division had the biggest case closure rate when he was there. He used to complain about how the job wasn't challenging enough for him some days. And he had his good points too. I brought Barbara to work once and he let her hang out with him at his desk. He actually taught her how to hack." Gordon sighed. "What a damn shame."

Bruce's eyes narrowed under the cowl. "What happened to him?"

Gordon's gaze darkened. "Loeb happened. Edward was called into his office one day about five years ago about something. I never knew what. I only heard that there was some kind of fight and that Edward stormed out and cleaned out his desk. I never saw him again in person after that. After Loeb was arrested, I tried to call him to get him to come back to GCPD, but he'd changed his number. Now he's some private detective for hire. But wait: you said he was at the Maroni scene? How did he know about it?"

It appeared that Nigma-Nashton-had been someone Gordon had held in high regard once. That made what Bruce was about to say worse. "I think he's involved somehow, Jim."

Gordon's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Edward, being involved with the mob? He hated them when we worked together."

Nigma had had an adverse reaction when Bullock accused him of being in bed with Falcone. "That was five years ago Jim. You and I both know how much a man can change in that time."

The name Harvey Dent wasn't said, but it was very much on Bruce's mind and judging by the look on his face, Gordon's as well. "The Edward Nashton I knew never would go on the take. He always cared about the puzzles more than the money."

That fit with the man Bruce had met at the party earlier that evening, but Nigma had already demonstrated how well he could hide who he really was. "Maybe he works for one of the mob gangs, maybe he doesn't. Either way though, he has access to information that could prevent bloodshed. He needs to tell us what he knows."

Gordon nodded. "I'll bring him in. I was one of the only people in GCPD he was friendly with. He might talk to me."

Bruce remembered what Nigma had said at the party. "What I really want, is to meet him." He recalled the expression on Nigma's face when he saw him that evening in costume. What the man really wanted was to meet Batman. Maybe it was time he got what he wanted. "I'll talk to him, Jim. Whatever he knows about the gang war, I'll find out."

#riddlebat #a riddle for a bat

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