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curious-menace · 3 years

Note

The rogue gallery members general reaction to encountering the batman who laughs and his creepy ass Robin's.

ok id like to preface this by saying that red death batman straight up crucified riddler and decapitated scarecrow and the batman who laughs is MUCH worse than red death batman.

i want to enjoy the dark knights metal but it is needlessly fuckin complicated with all this multiverse oververse omniverse shit. maybe i just don't have the galaxy brain necessary to get it so i apologize if this is all wrong

(also i know its canon that the batman who laughs has no rogues gallery left, either because he killed them or joker killed them before he turned but hey ho hypotheticals it is)

also no one talk to me about kiss fan lookin riddler from this verse. im not ready.

Penguin

i think his first reaction was to laugh. Batman’s finally gone and he took joker with him. I mean he literally calls him "bat gimp". I seriously doubt he anticipated the fallout of batman becoming some sort of hideous joker hybrid. he still chuckled when he started seeing the news. someone calling themselves “the batman who laughs” and “the darkest knight” then he sees the robins, he even recognises damien and it makes him a little sick. he books the next flight out of goodwin before things get too hot.

shame goodwin was burned to the ground to stop anyone leaving gotham.

with everyone inside.

Twoface

i dont think its an exaggeration to say he was absolutly fuckin horrified. it's rare that harvey and two face agree on something, but this bastard has to go. the murder and mayhem he could tolerate, hell even killing the other rogues, some of them needed to be stopped. but having to look at this creature and know it was once bruce? harvey knows better than anyone its a fate worse than death to be trapped in your own mind with someone else running the show. they do their best to stop the darkest knight, bring all the hired guns they can to the fight but it wasnt enough. Harvey dies, but at least he went out trying to do the right thing.

Poison Ivy

She sensed him coming, her flowers screaming at her to save herself. part of me wants to hope she took one look at that abomination and noped the fuck out of there to slaughter swamp or something. but we know ivy, she stands her ground like a tree planted by a river. she looks people like batman and joker right in the eye and down the barrel of a gun and says “no, you move” Shes not a good person, but in this verse she might as well be the hero of the story, maybe the only meta human in gotham who stood a chance against him. The batman who laughs was scared of her and thats why she had to die. if she’d just minded her own business she might still be here but no. She dares the batman who laughs to come for her, she’s going to take him out. for what he did to her plants, to gotham, to HER home and HER friends. unfortunately for her ivy was one of the first on his kill list. She doesn't go down without a fight. ironically it was her human qualities, the human drive to help people that got her killed. she heard one of the robins crying and went to investigate. the batman who laughs doesn't care about those robins, he’s got a basement full of jokerized kids to throw at people. 1 to trick her and a few more to hold her down while he doused the lot of them with weedkiller and gasoline then poof.

i doubt the botanical gardens will ever be the same.

Scarecrow

part of me wants to say he’s loving this. He’s enjoying all the suffering and sadness and fear as the batman who laughs murders everyone and everything from the dandelions upwards . but he cant, not just because he’s not the one causing it. this is fear without meaning or purpose, this is killing hope so thoroughly that there is nothing left for people to fear, not even death. he’s not so foolish as to think he wont also be on the batman who laughs chopping block. so he makes himself scarce, works on a toxin that might be able to stop him or even slow him down so someone has a shot at it. Jon knows hes going to die, its only a matter of time before that thing calling itself the darkest knight sends one of his minions to his doorstep. He’s been working on something to try and help the rabid robins. he has a small soft spot in his cold obsidian heart for kids and looking at these creatures makes him physically ill.

he thinks hes made a breakthrough, thinks he’s finally got a formula that will effect batman and the joker and hopefully, whatever abomination they’ve become . he decides theres no time like the present to try it out when word of the other rouges deaths reach him. he’s the last one left and thats....well its scary. His surprise attack works, the robins go down without a fight, screaming and scratching at their faces, their throats and each other. regrettable but if he stops the darkest knight now, maybe jon can help them. Just when he thinks he’s got him, scarecrow goes down. so close, he falls at the finishing line, his toxin having as much effect as a gentle summers breeze. Much like the original scarecrow , the batman who laughs likes using guns. For jon however? he makes an exception. poor scarecrow gets eviscerated by his own scythe, pilfered from arkham asylum by the batman who laughs. gotta love the classics, right?

Riddler

Riddler was second on his kill list. only because the batman who laughs knew how much it would annoy riddler not to be at the top. He’s another rogue who stood a chance of stopping him if he really tried. sadly edward is nowhere near as altruistic as harvey, and could never be as strong as ivy. He likes to think his escape is for everyone's benefit. live to fight another day and all that. He learned from harvey and pamelas mistakes, took one look at this new batman and his creepy kids and said “fuck that noise” and tried to run. except he didn't really try. god if he’d only gotten out of the city, he would have been the only rogue that survived. the batman who laughs looks at him like a pathetic insect, unworthy of notice. he’d have killed riddler eventually, maybe put him in a riddle with no answer or a trap with no escape for extra irony points but he wasn't about to stop the little green cockroach from skittling away. but of course, riddlers ego got in the way; he just HAD to try and best this new batman, no matter how much he scared the shit out of riddler he just HAD to try. and of course, pride comes before downfall.

The batman who laughs helpfully provided riddler with some rope to help break his fall.

Harley Quinn

some part of her was happy to have joker back. he was different, scarier but she was used to the abuse. what she wasn't used to were all the kids. she recognised damian wayne but didn't quite put the pieces together to realise it was bruce under there. she thought maybe he was just a random casualty . she tried hard to look after the kids but they act like animals rather than humans, there was nothing she could do.As time went on she found it harder and harder to sit at the right hand of this clown prince of horrors. harley has always been along for the ride, but how are you supposed make the whole world laugh if everyone in it is dead? i dont know what happens to harley in this world. either she leaves and much like joker, the batman who laughs fails to notice, shes killed by him because he was bored or she does when the world is destroyed by barbatos. either way, no happy endings here.

Thanks for this incredibly depressing ask Ghostly T-T

im kidding, im kidding it was fun! it makes me wish i knew what the everloving FUCK was going on with this verse so i could enjoy it properly. the only comic store i know of has been closed since like march of last year and i don't know what im looking for on amazon to actually order them. i have 1 issue of nth metal but it was interesting enough that i want the collection.

if anyone knows what the collection is actually called hmu bc i wanna buy it.

yes i could read it online but i like owning the hard copies.

got something you wana talk about? send me an ask or a dm!💜💙🧡💛💚❤️

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black-streak · 4 years

Text

Little Pistols - The Killing Type

Chapter 5

First Previous Next

So more from Tim here. A look into how dark he's gotten, if you will. I promise, this is showing more the extremes of how far he's willing to go. Not how he is on the day to day. But, I digress. Mari will be the next chapter.

Btw, to anyone I haven't replied to on comments, I see you! I appreciate you very much, I've just lost track (and time) please know I still am very grateful to for your thoughts and support!

LP Taglist

@zalladane @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @elmokingkong @queen-in-a-flower-crown @karategirl119 @dreamykitty25 @danielslilangel @melicmusicmagic @xahriia @sassakitty @yin-390 @zotinha456 @indecisive-mess-named-me @heldtogetherbysafetypins @theatreandcomicfreak @alexandriamw @messymessyml @bubblegumpinup

Permanent list

@naoryllis @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @my-name-is-michell @maribat-is-lifeblood @dast218 @novicevoice @shizukiryuu @princess-of-fangirls @bigpicklebananatree @pirats-pizzacanninibles @abrx2002 @breemeister @darkthunder1589 @thestressmademedoit @severelyenchantedwonderland @isabellemasen @multi-fandom-freak0221 @fantasyloversblog @bzz75 @cloudiedraws @jardimazul @orbitsvt @gingerdaile @sotheresthatthought @kadmeread @novaloptr @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @crazylittlemunchkin @18-fandoms-unite-08 @tiny-goddess-of-chaos @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @the-alice-of-hearts @vixen-uchiha

~---~

The first time Tim tried his newest method of fighting crime, he felt exhilarated. Freed. Able to breathe freely and know he made an actual difference. Felt justified and right. Coming home to someone who wouldn't condemn him for it only made it better.

"How're you holding up, babybird?" Jason idly inquired as the other slid through the front door and started to kick off his shoes and shrug off a jacket.

"Fine. Better than fine, really. I think I understand now, what you meant before."

"Plan on elaborating, Timmers?" Jason quirked a brow, hands stilling on a book page, mid-turn.

"Sometimes, just scaring people isn't enough. Sometimes striking fear of repercussions or enforcing them won't stop bad people from doing bad things."

"Yeah?" He glanced up, watching Tim as he engaged the security system and picked his way over towards the armchair perpendicular to Jason where his laptop waited.

"Mm. Every now and then, some of these people need to be taken out of commision entirely. I understand that now."

"Tim, you trying to tell me you're killing now?"

He felt how Jason's look turned sceptical, but appraising.

"Yeah, total murder bunny now, wanna see my collection of decapitated heads? I got a new duffle bag to match yours" He drew out, gaze flat.

"Fuck off," Jay shook his head, mumbling to himself, "Should've known you'd never let that go," then raised his voice back again, "Okay, so if not taking them out of their rotten misery, how have you magically cured them, oh perfect one."

A vindictive little smirk lit the side of his mouth as he turned on his laptop, eyes cutting to his companion with a calculating look, "You of all people know how few of our asylum patients are actually mentally ill in a way that would justify their actions."

"Still say the insanity plea should only stand for recently mind controlled or Lazarus dipped, the poor bastards. Mental Disabilities don't equate violent people. It's such a fucking rude stigma to paint on people who actually have them. Add on that the regular patients are sharing space with actual criminals and of course no one willingly admits themselves, so the people who need the help aren't getting any. Also, if you are going to allow the plea for so many of them, then fund these damn places properly to help them, not just hold them captive until they get bored and escape," Jason went off, book forgone in preference for one of his more impassioned rants.

Tim indulged him for the moment, agreeing but having already heard twenty variations of the same speech, before cutting in towards the end, "Yes well, I figure if they're going to receive the charge anyways, I might as well help them make it more believable, right? So why not give them that little push."

That really caught the other's attention, drawing him in to properly lean over the space between them, elbows propped on knees and fingers laced in the space between as he watched Tim with a curious smile, "What'd you get up to, little bird?"

Clicking through the encrypted files he'd transferred over just tonight, he pulled up a video feed. Inside, bodies were attacking each other, another curled up in the corner, one banging its head against a wall away from the others. They weren't easily distinguishable from one another in their state. Tim felt Jason lean to the side to peak at the screen, brows rising as a whistle left his lips.

"They killed your friend, right?" He grimaced after the words but didn't apologize, for which Tim was grateful.

"Yeah. The flash rogues."

"Why are they..?"

"Psychological torture. They're afraid to leave the room, even though it's unlocked. They're afraid of each other. Of the world. What they do now is up to them. Leave the room and live on paralyzed by fear or stay there and tear themselves apart. I won't kill people. I don't have it in me. But their actions are their own. What do you think?"

Jason's eyes were kind of wide and off guard as he stared at him, "I think you might be the fucked up one here, Tim. Not to say I don't get it, but shit, that's just brutal."

"Eh, killing them seems to lack in proper punishment. It's just getting rid of the problem without making them face the consequences. No need to make a deal of it anyways, not like I put them through anything we haven't survived ourselves."

That got a bark of laughter as Jason relaxed back into the couch, reopening the book. Hm. Through the Looking Glass today. "Well in that case, if they can't handle it like we can, that's their problem," Tim grinned at his conclusion, "glad you found your own way of working. It's about damn time you decided your own morals."

Silence fell over the room, "Jay, did you forget it was your turn to make dinner?"

"... No?"

…

Okay, so it hadn't always been this way. They started off kilter and unsure and lost. Tim, an absolute mess in his grief and lack of direction, Jason freshly returned to Gotham again and wanting to help, but not knowing how with the distance between them.

He knew Jason had offered a position to him in the past, but that'd been within the violence and cruelty. With the pits still lingering and the desire to take him away from Bruce. He knew Jason saw him as an asset to his own agenda then, strictly professional. Now though, it came with personal attachments, shared space, a camaraderie that couldn't be forced. They were both replaced. Both seen as not good enough, outcasts of the family. Both broken in their own ways.

It was like chewing on shattered glass, trying to find footing around each other.

Jay brought him back to a lesser safe house, had let him stay there. Help gather intel on his cases, play his own personal Oracle at times. The first time Tim watched the Red Hood kill from the helmet's camera, he nearly threw up.

He let him teach Tim how to shoot, the ins and outs of every gun the man had on hand. Learned exactly what each was capable of. Unfortunately for Hood, he wasn't capable of wielding them against anyone. Not really.

It took months before Red Hood tried to bring him out into the nightlife, partly due to his own hesitance to chance a run in with the new Batman and Robin. But he let himself be led out anyways. A small patrol of the Bowery and down into Crime Alley then back. When all went smoothly, Tim felt himself relax into the new routine. By the third outing, he officially took up his new title. Red Robin.

However, Tim still hadn't broke out of the moral code ingrained into him for so long.

It took really stopping, really taking the time to watch Hood as he interacted with the girls on the corner or the kids that hid in the night, just as he once had, to fully understand what motivated his partner. It took the reminder of his own loss to determine his need for a stronger method.

It was sheer dumb luck that he decided this before having tracked down the flash rogues. That it was perfectly timed for him to experiment on people he wouldn't regret ruining. That upon telling Jason that he needed to disappear for a little while, the other had agreed readily, with no argument nor lecture. Like true equals.

…

It took longer to perfect his style. How much to hold back or not depending on who they were up against. If Jason chose to kill them, he didn't stand in the way unless it was uncalled for. But if Jason chose not to, Tim decided how far they went with each rogue they encountered. They had a system and it worked. They worked. When the two of them hit the darkened world before them, they painted it with Red and Red and the true scum of the city learned a new type of fear.

#maribat #ml x dc #timinette #timari #Dark!timinette #tw: mental health #tw: psychological torture

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scaryscarecrows · 5 years

Text

And Their Retribution Shall be Swift and Terrible

AN: White Knight ‘verse. (The next bit comes out this year and I’m VERY EXCITED ABOUT IT, OKAY.)

“--called me Happy Feet! To my face! As he rammed into me at full speed!” Oswald is snarling, fingers flexing dangerously around the stem of his wine glass. “Just because I wasn’t in full control doesn’t mean I missed that.”

Leave it to Oswald to be awake for insults. Jonathan would almost feel pity for Harvey Bullock if he hadn’t brought it on himself.

And, well, Bullock is annoying.

“I’ll have his head--” Oswald tosses back his wine like a shot and pours himself a new glass. “--preserved in formaldehyde and displayed in my house if it’s the last thing I do!”

It shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but Jonathan has to take a hasty swallow of his pumpkin ale to avoid infuriating the little man even more. Thankfully, his barely-contained snicker goes unnoticed.

“Oh, come now, Oswald,” Edward says, voice dripping with disdain. “Batman won’t let you within five feet of him. Unless you want to choke on a handful of pills?”

“Batman can’t be everywhere at once, Edward,” Oswald snips. “You’ll be a fine distraction, with that big mouth of yours.”

“Excuse me--”

Kitty sighs and leans back against him, bottle hanging from her fingers.

“Why do they always do this.”

“I don’t know.” He tries to slide a finger into one of her jean pockets and can’t. “These aren’t pockets.”

“Curse of women’s clothing. Why do you think I steal from you?”

He gives up on the pocket (pocket...humph, to what, a Barbie doll?) and settles for a belt loop. Oswald and Edward are actively bickering now and he’s not the only one laughing; Mary Dahl is hiding her face in Waylon Jones’ massive forearm, ringlets shaking with giggles. To be fair, it’s quite the sight. Oswald’s in a wheelchair, legs thrust out and encased in plaster from ankle to hip. Edward has casts, too; his left arm and leg are useless to him, and he’s reduced to gesturing with his (neon green) crutch.

Is it so wrong to hope this turns into a physical brawl? They’re evenly matched, really. Oswald’s chair is electric.

“Who do you think would win?” he asks Kitty, taking another swallow of his ale. She hums.

“Oswald. He’s used to fighting injured and, well, we’ve seen Eddie run.”

They have seen Edward run. Bless his heart, he is not...athletically inclined.

(He runs like a drunken giraffe.)

“I could probably incite them. A needle here, a jab there…”

“Don’t.”

“As though you wouldn’t be laughing.”

“Still.”

“I could, though. It’d be easy...appeal to Oswald’s pride and Edward’s ego…”

“Jonathan, no.” She twists around to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just because you can does not mean that you should.”

“The fight of the century,” he continues, grinning. “Special injury edition.”

“You have no shame.”

“None.”

“--that so, Happy Feet.”

“WAH!”

Oh dear. Edward has a pushed few too many buttons, apparently, because Oswald is suddenly rolling towards him, knife in hand. Edward hops away, knocking over chairs as a tragically effective barrier. Kitty snorts and doubles over, forcing Jonathan to readjust his arm around her waist to keep her from falling off his lap.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Now who has no shame?”

“Cheeky.”

Any (further) potential injuries are forestalled by the arrival of the one person who has been conspicuously missing since Joker boarded the Sanity Train to Betrayal Town: Matthew Hagen*.

Clayface.

As monstrous as poor Waylon has become, Matthew certainly gives him a run for his money. Ten feet tall, with every step he takes making a terrible squelch, it’s understandable that the room goes silent at his arrival.

Well, until Ivy sweeps over to him, predatory smile firmly in place, and purrs, “Matty, darling, you’re late.”

It would figure that the plant would be fond of the clay…

“Where is Joker,” Matthew growls. Well. That’s not something you see every day. Most people are a little more cautious in brushing Ivy off. Strange times.

“Arkham,” Oswald snaps. “But not for long.”

Matthew turns as if to leave and Waylon stands up, tail thrashing behind him and tripping a waitress. Mary dangles off his arm for a second before he notices and sets her on his shoulder.

“You don’t have sole rights to the clown, Hagen,” Waylon warns. “We all got fucked over.”

“You don’t even remember it--”

“That’s not the point--”

“Gentlemen,” Oswald says loudly, as though he wasn’t just about to murder Edward, “not in here. We all have grievances to settle, so why don’t we all sit down and discuss the particulars.”

Hypocrisy or none, everyone settles down and there’s a few minutes of silence while they all enjoy their drinks and get refills. Once the electricity in the air has waned, Matthew leans back in his chair, face breaking into a squiggly grin. Jonathan doesn’t like it.

“Nobody seems to be havin’ any ill effects,” Matthew drawls. Edward snorts.

“Fortunately for Tetch, my brain is unharmed--”

“Not from that.” Everyone’s silent. For once, nobody seems to have any idea what he’s talking about. If this turns out to be Batman… “Didya ever figure out how Joker got to you?”

“Hatter’s chips. The little sneak.”

“Sort of.” Matthew takes a drink (only water for him, alcohol makes him dry and flaky...literally) and grins some more. “But not on you.”

“Clearly on us. Quinn likely--”

“Nope.” Now that his bottle is empty, Matthew holds it up and drips a piece of himself into it. “Just on me.”

It takes a moment for that to make sense, but when it does, oh, boy, does it make sense. A conduit. That they-

God-

He gags, tasting something sour at the back of his mouth. He’s not the only one, either; Harvey Dent is eating Tic-Tacs like his life depends on it and Edward has apparently forgotten his feud with Oswald in favor of asking frantically, “Are my eyes yellow? Tell me quickly, you useless--”

“Never mind you! Andrew! Get Applegate on the phone, now--”

“Ya made us drink clay, ya goddamn buffoon, what do I keep ya around fer--”

“Sorry, sir--”

“--fed me a man, I’ll kill him for that--”

Kitty hands him a Listerine tab from her purse and he takes it gratefully. So what if it was a year ago, that is disgusting, that is not sanitary.

This is Batman’s fault, he decides. He should have taken care of Joker years ago. And once this whole mess is straightened out, Batman and his little helpers will be the next to go.

But first, Joker. And Harley, and Tetch. But to be honest, he’s mostly interested in the interloper, the one who got in way over her head. If she wants to sit with the adults, she needs to learn her place.

Everyone is shouting and demanding that Harvey share his Tic-Tacs (he’s slapped Scarface to the floor already, resulting in Wesker panicking), and he has a headache.

“Enough.” It’s a skill he has, honed first as a student teacher and then as a doctor, that he doesn’t have to raise his voice to make himself heard. “This isn’t getting anything done.”

Predictably, Edward has something to say.

“And I suppose your vote is to flood Arkham with fear gas.”

Bold of him to assume there aren’t booby traps left over from his time there. But he keeps that to himself. Save things for a rainy day and all.

“Not today,” he says mildly, feigning interest in his nails. “We all want a chance to have it out with the one responsible. Petty squabbling isn’t going to help, so we may as well draw straws or some equally mundane thing and see who goes first.”

He’s expecting resistance. But for once, Oswald just sends for paper straws and a pair of scissors.

They get third crack at the clown. Third is acceptable. Plenty of time to plan, with minimal likelihood of him dying beforehand; Edward gets to go first, followed by Harvey. The gathering breaks up shortly after that, with minimal grumbling, and they board the late train home.

“Seeing as nobody mentioned Neo Joker,” Kitty murmurs, arm looped through his in lieu of trying (and likely failing) to reach the loops on the ceiling, “d’you think she’s fair game?”

“First come, first served.”

“Mm.” The train takes a rough turn and they both glance up to check for bat-shaped hitchhikers. None appear. “Good.”

“Tired?”

“I want my toothbrush.” Her and him both. “And then, yeah. I’m ready for bed.”

“May visions of decapitations dance in our heads,” he deadpans. She pokes him in the arm. “Ow.”

“Really?”

“No.”

Tomorrow, they’ll start their search. Gotham isn’t as big as people tend to think. It’s impossible to hide in it. Oh, yes, they’ll track her down, by hook or by crook, and then they’ll see, they’ll just see how loud their little interloper can scream.

THE END

*I’m not sure which Clayface is meant to be the one in this comic, but seeing as it takes a lot from B:TAS, I’m going with that one.

#Jonathan Crane #Kitty Richardson #post Batman White Knight #Rogues gathering #they're pissed #Oswald Cobblepot #Edward Nygma #Mary Dahl #Waylon Jones #Matt Hagen #mostly just an excuse to get them all together and observe

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moonlights-inkwell · 6 years

Text

I’ll Be Home With You.

Summary: Your helmeted hero seems to be growing more and more violent, until he shows up bleeding on your fire escape after a dream about Jason.

Jason Todd x Reader

word count: 3052

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

um... this shouldnt have taken as long as it did but oh well. Part 4 of my Hozier series.

You're sure you either have some sick grave digging stalker on the loose, or the man was someone you know and has a fucking evil sense of humour. You spend the last of your days off of work not touching the necklace, which you're almost completely sure is your old one. It even has the same tiny E stamp on the bottom of the bird's silver body and chinks in the dainty silver chain as if it had spent too long in the same position: like wound around the wrist of a dead boy. It stays on your bedside table, ignored in favour of finally finishing your essay, going to university, and pretending that you're perfectly fine when you meet with your parents at a cafe to catch up. They say you look sick, paler than they're used to seeing you and skinnier too, you can't even disagree with them. You've felt ill ever since the necklace showed up in your paperwork, like the mere knowledge of it not being on Jason's body, buried under the headstone you've visited every year, is making you ill. You spend those days looking for the man who was there at the same time that the necklace reappeared. But there's no sign of him. Even after you go to work again, you never see that man. No handsome black haired, blue eyed, tanned, grave digging stalkers. You wonder to yourself if that's even worse than actually seeing him. Not seeing him doesn't mean that he isn't ever present, and ever watching, just masked by something that keeps him from you. When you mention his presence to your co-workers, they assume you're asking because you had a crush on him- one of the downfalls of working in a diner where most of the waitstaff is more than double your age was that everyone assumed because you were young and single you would have a crush on all the handsome customers or, worse still, would want to be set up with their son or nephew- and so you just give up on it. They can't understand what you mean without you showing them the necklace; but even still they would never be able to understand what it means without you talking about Jason, and talking about Jason makes this real, makes it real that it's likely that someone has dug up his grave and removed your necklace, but also that the person who did so knew it was your chain and pendant. The most invasive thought comes in the night when you can't sleep; if they took your nana's silver necklace, what else could they have taken. After a week or so, you finally pick up the necklace again and fasten it around your neck, letting your fingers ghost along the chinks and try not the think about the boy who used to have this around his wrist, and why it isn't there now. You don't succeed.

After several days pass, you hear a report on the news about a seeming gang rivalry gone sour- to the point where twelve decapitated heads had been found in a warehouse near the docks, each of them belonging to some lowlife drug dealer. When you first hear of it on the radio, in your apartment in the early morning with only your coffee cup and printed out Wuthering Heights essay for company, you have no doubt in your mind that the Red-Helmeted man (who you had ever so creatively decided you were going to refer to as Red) had done it. You don't quite know what it is that makes you so sure, but you are. The man, or Terminator or Robocop or Metahuman whatever it was, had no problem with killing a man who tried to mug and grope you. He said he was 'putting him down'. Somehow, you doubt he would show criminals who dealt hard drugs to kids any sort of mercy; and you can't bring yourself to really think that he had done much wrong- if he had done it at all. Drug dealers like that get kids hooked on heroin and cocaine, ruin lives, and you wonder if all the ruined lives they had caused added together equated to them deserving to lose theirs. Your wondering doesn't last long before you head off to university, but Red stays in your mind all day, taking up space where you should have been focusing on your lecturer. When you arrive at Pauli's you play dumb, pretending to know nothing. Well, really, it's less playing dumb as it is you playing mute. You hear some of the waitresses commenting about heads but no bodies and don't join in, and when you fill up the mug of a cop, in your favourite booth, his walkie-talkie crackles, a disembodied voice talking about cops in the warehouse and needing back up. You don't talk much at all beyond the usual niceties to the customers and some basic small talk, until one of the cooks' gesture to the tv as he handed you a plate, almost slopping the burger and cheese covered fries onto the floor until you swerve the plate up quickly. "Fuckin' animals in this city." He remarks, his spatula pointed at the flickering screen as you look up, the muted colours of the old television doing little to mask the clear distinction between the red of the blood and the dull brown of the bag. You can't help but grimace at the sight of it, unable to mask your disgust. The chef, a large, round, sweating man notes your grimace before continuing on, "What kinda person could just kill people like that?" Your mind flits to Red, before strangely to the Joker and his Harlequin follower then Scarecrow, then Poison Ivy, then Penguin, running through a great long list of famous costumed criminals in your city in little more than a split second before you breathe in sharply. You hate how long the list is. How many people those psychopaths had murdered, but could break out of a maximum security psychiatric-hospital-cum-prison as easily as you can leave your apartment. "...The News Anchor said they'd been dealing drugs to kids." You try to remark as casually as possible, but your throat is dry and you're sure that your voice came out at a higher pitch than usual. If it did, the chef didn't notice and just rolled his eyes while wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. "Yeah, all those tv fuckers say shit like that." He scoffs, rolling his eyes as one of the older waitresses hushes him for cursing when the paying customers could be listening. "I bet the Bat did it. Got too tired of not killing the real criminals so he took it out on kids from the Alley." You think of Bruce, of how sad he had looked after Jason died. How broken he and Dick looked. How dark the bags under his eyes seem even so long after Jason's death after he has adopted another son and daughter and found his birth son. You can't see that tired, sad man killing anyone. Especially not so long after Jason died. If the Bat was to kill someone, he would have done it three years ago. You take the plate and nod slightly at him, carrying the plate to a table of teenaged girls, all dressed in Gotham Academy uniforms talking loudly about boys and homework and teachers you haven't thought about in years. You smile at a girl who's listening more than taking part in the conversation and place the plate in front of her. Her eyes widen, but then she smiles back up at you and tucks a mousy brown strand behind her ear. You walk off as she begins talking to the other girls, trying not to be jealous of girls who look to be around two or three years younger than you. Oh to be young again.

The pattering of rain against the window makes you smile, watching the droplets explode on contact with the pane of glass until warm hands take your own, pulling you out of your own head, eyes flitting down from the glass. Green gloved hands squeeze yours and tug slightly, leading you from your bed and toward the fire escape, only pausing to push the window up and help you to climb out of the window and onto the fire-escape. The metal frame is wet and icy cold against your bare feet while you follow the primary coloured boy up onto the roof of your parent's apartment building. The sky is inky black around him, and the fluorescent light of the street lamps and the neon glare of club signs make him visible to you, putting a slight pink glaze onto his hair, cheeks and the side of his body. When he settles onto the ground and beckons you to his side, there is nothing that you can do but sit beside him, even if you cringe slightly when your pyjamas begin sticking to your skin. It's cold, quiet, and wet but his hand rests warm and firm on top of yours, keeping you grounded as your eyes gaze out at the dark outline of the city out in front of the two of you; the feeling familiar and alien all at once. From up here, Gotham is almost pretty even through the heavy rainfall and harsh winds, flashes of red and blue neon from street-signs painting the puddles so that the once dark and dismal city is practically technicolour, and there's something unearthly about it in this witching-hour. For once the city is beautiful and still, three AM has left Gotham in a beautiful sleepy position- no traffic or pedestrians to make sound or distraction, just you and the domino-masked boy's breathing and the gentle patter of rain on your surroundings. Your head tilts slightly, and then just leans on to the boy's yellow cape covered shoulder, letting you breathe in the smell of dissipating menthol cigarettes, blood and sweet lavender laundry detergent. Even while wet the stiff yellow fabric of his cape crinkles and digs into the flesh of your cheek, his head tilts to lean against your own and you swear to yourself that, in this peaceful sort of silence, you can almost hear his smile. Your eyes slide up to gaze at him and, even with the rain that keeps his tanned skin damp and his coal coloured curls plastered against his forehead, his smile is beautiful and your eyes prick with tears, but you don't know why. When his lips press to yours, cold and chapped, for a brief moment you feel alive...

You wake up suddenly, letting out a soft gasp as your eyes flicker open to take in the darkness of your bedroom. The comforter, blankets and pillows that had been neatly arranged around your bed were now in a state of disarray, sheets in crumpled heaps around the bed, and pillows littered around the floor. Eyes narrowing to adjust to the blackness that surrounds you, you gnaw on your bottom lip and try and make out what it was that had woken you up. You blink again, and breathe in deeply to try and calm down, the smell of lavender laundry detergent wafting into your nose, and your dream rushes back to you all at once. You haven't dreamed of Jason in two years but now, with the ruby and silver robin pendant pressed against the left side of your chest, he returns to your mind in the moments when you can't think of anything else. It's been almost four years since he died, and even now you can't just... Let go. Your cheeks feel wet before you even realise that you've been crying, pushing yourself up wearily, you drag the pads of your fingertips across your cheek to wipe away the stray tears dripping down your warm cheeks. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, your eyes droop shut once more and you let yourself slowly slink back down onto the mattress before stopping suddenly at the feeling of a breeze against your bare arms. Strange. You know that you made sure to shut your bedroom window before you went to bed; but sure as hell, the window is wide open with the curtains pluming outwards with the breeze. With each of gust wind, snow blows into the room and onto your window ledge and the floor just in front of it. Perfect. Fucking perfect. Snow in April. Either climate change was stepping its game up or Mr Freeze was out of Arkham, and you hope that it's just global warming. Staggering forwards, with the warm, large comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you lean in to see the window wide open, with scratches on the lower section of the wooden frame, as if someone had been stood on your fire-escape and had forced the window open to try to climb inside. Instinctively, your hand flies up to your mouth to cover it in shock before flying to the window to try and slam it shut before stopping sharply at the sight of bright red stark against the darkness of the fire escape beneath the window frame. There, laying there, with one hand resting on the bricks jutting out beneath the perspex frame, was Red, his other arm draped around his stomach; quiet, mechanical groans slipping out from that Crimson helmet. You stare down at him, and he turns his helmeted face to look at you, letting out a chuckle that is intermediately human and mechanical; like his voice modulator was only just able to function, flickering off and on with every other syllable. "...Well hey there." He said softly, leaning up ever so slightly before groaning in pain. "...Fancy seeing you here." The voice was definitively masculine, deep and soft in the sort of way that makes it difficult for you to be able to determine the age of the vigilante. In the faint orange light of the street, you can see the spreading dark stain across his torso. "...Holy shit." You whisper softly, staring at him. "...W-what..." "...You do me a favour, Doll? Let me in?" He rasps, pushes himself up, then leans into your window, causing you to teeter backwards to try and give him enough space to get inside. One combat boot covered foot dropped to the ground, followed slowly by the other as he managed to, with what seemed like a great deal of effort, push himself into your bedroom. "...What... What're you doing sittin' up in the dark?" He snorts, "That what you like to do? Get into trouble and sit in the dark?" You want to insist that you don't get into trouble- and that you aren't some weirdo that sits in the dark in the middle of the night- but no words come out. He still looms over you, even while slightly hunched to hold onto his stomach, you assume he must be a good 6'3 or so when he isn't in pain, and you have to tilt your head up ever so slightly to look up at him. "...How did you find my apartment?" You ask softly, brushing some of your sleep-mussed hair away from your still wide eyes, keeping at least a foot away from him so as not to be too close to someone who you know is a killer. "Just climbed onto a fire escape and climbed until I collapsed." He said, brief and casual enough for you to assume that he's lying to you. "Guess I just got lucky that it was your apartment, Gorgeous." Your cheeks flush at the compliment, and you hate yourself for it. Criminals, even the ones who killed people who tried to assault you, shouldn't be able to make you blush; especially when you've never even seen his face. "...You still got a first aid kit?" You do, a small one mainly filled with bright, pop-culture printed band-aids and nothing that you think would help this man in front of you. No disinfectant, or things to help with stitches, or any bandages. And so you simply tilted your head before shaking it, finding it easier to just lie than admit to your lightsaber, Hello Kitty, Superman, and Disney themed band-aids to this vigilante. With the shake of your head, the helmeted man let out a quiet little groan and settled down onto your bed and peels off his jacket to rub at his bleeding chest. Even in the almost pitch-black of the bedroom, you could see the blood trickling down his defined chest and towards your bedsheets; thin, white moonlight catching the blood. "...You mind if I take my head off?" He asks, that crackling, half mechanical voice catching you off guard. "...W-what?" "The Helmet. You mind?" He repeats and you can do nothing but shake your head, and he nods, arms rising and pressing down on some sort of catch behind his jaw, the sound of compressed air being released from the helmet as it separated and was then pulled off, dropped off onto the bed beside him. In that barely present light, only certain aspects of his appearance could be made out; long eyelashes, freckles across his cheek, a strong jaw... and you clench your fist, recognising the facial features as those of the man who had sat across from you in Pauli's. The man who had your necklace, when it should have been buried with Jason. Something in the back of your mind reminds you how when you had initially seen the man he had reminded you of Jason, but you push it down in favour of crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes. Searching for words, you come up with nothing and so just stand there in silence as he sighs, his head turned toward the framed picture of you and Jason on the wall, amongst other pictures of you and other friends over the years. "...Cute Picture." He says softly, black strands falling into his eyes. You open your mouth the say something but when he smiles up at you your heart stops because that smile is too familiar. The same smile from the photo on the bedside table. "...Jason?" "...Hey birdie. Miss me?"

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aion-rsa · 5 years

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The Many Deaths of the Joker

https://ift.tt/2IxLjBw

There have been many stories to kill off the Clown Prince of Crime, but Batman's greatest enemy isn't so easy to get rid of for good.

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In fictional worlds where heroes and villains who can shrug off bullets like they were nothing, there exists “plot armor” for the more ordinary folks. Plot armor is the reason why the Punisher can mosey through a room with an uzi in each hand and somehow kill every single enemy while somehow never getting shot in any vital area. It’s why Stormtroopers have the worst aim and why the red-shirted Enterprise dudes have all the bad luck.

I’m having a hard time coming up with someone with stronger plot armor in comic books than the Joker. Hell, even Frank Castle died at least twice in continuity. The Joker should be dead a million times over, not just due to his injuries, but because with all the lives he’s taken, surely somebody would have murdered him by now. But again, not only does he take vicious beatings, if he isn’t apprehended at the end of a story, he usually falls off a cliff or is at the heart of an explosion or gets hit by a truck.

Then he’s back the next time, no worse for the wear.

While the comics won’t ever truly get rid of him, there are many continuities that have done away with Mr. J. Yet even then, the Joker is never really gone. He tends to haunt and taunt Batman in one way or another via his violent legacy. For someone with such an ill-defined identity, he sure is resilient.

So here's a look at all the times the Joker has died (or apparently died) in comics and on the screen.

Main Comics Continuity

Joker dying in main comics canon is an iffy subject. There have been times when he's been clinically dead, only to be brought back minutes later. Like the time Nightwing beat him within an inch of his life. He's even taken a couple of dips in the Lazarus Pit.

read more: Every DC Comics and Batman Easter Egg in the Joker Movie

But here, let's focus on Joker's second comics appearance. In Detective Comics #64, Joker decides to turn himself in and confess to every one of his crimes. The confused judge sentences him to death. Joker is put in the electric chair and acts like he's got stuff to do so wrap it up, B! Minutes after his death, his goons sneak in, find his body, and inject it with some special kind of serum that awakens the very recently deceased.

Joker pops back up and continues his life of crime. His reasoning? They can't charge him for the stuff he already did! That's double jeopardy!

Tim Burton's Batman

Jack Nicholson’s Joker completely ate it at the end of Tim Burton’s Batman. He fell from a great height while dragged down by a gargoyle. We saw the body. Dude was absolutely dead.

And he stayed that way! After that first movie, the most mention Joker got in that universe was a brief allusion in Batman Forever when Batman told Robin that revenge leads to emptiness.

We almost got a bit more of him, though! Before Batman and Robin ruined the concept of fun and killed that franchise, Joel Schumacher was originally going to do a fifth movie in that universe. Batman Triumphant would have revolved around Scarecrow and Harley Quinn as the new villains. Scarecrow means fear gas and that would have meant Batman getting a hallucination sequence.

What would Batman fear the most? Probably the skin-dyed dirtbag that killed his parents. And so, had the movie existed, we would have had a scene of Jack Nicholson's Joker confronting Batman during a psychological breakdown.

The movie would have been a dumpster fire, but...man, part of me is bummed we never got it.

Similarly, an unused Superman vs. Batman script from the early '00s would have included a plot point where Lex Luthor cloned the Joker to bring him back as part of a scheme to traumatize Bruce Wayne out of retirement and trick him into fighting Superman. Probably the most sensible reason to connect Lex and Joker.

Batman for the NES

Sunsoft made Batman: The Video Game for NES and the story was the general plot of the movie, only with lots and lots of ninjas and robots added because Batman needs something to fight. The ending is roughly the same, though Batman is a bit more cold-blooded. He beats the Joker down, tells him, “You killed my parents,” and then tosses him to his doom. We see Joker’s lifeless corpse and roll credits.