A/N: Wrong Flower â Fever Ray. This isn't the best but it's necessary for the plot đ
Sylvia doesn't remember the night in its entirety, only fragments and visions that stood out to her. The image of Penny soaking in the purple and blue lights as she dances effortlessly. The bass of the music rippling through her chest. The heat heading north to her head and making her senses a little fuzzy. The warmth of somebody's hands on her waist and trailing further...
She stumbles out of the club, trying to catch up to Frank and Penny, adjusting to the darkness of the street and suddenly feeling more in-body as if the music had her in a trance like a cobra rising up to reactâcompletely snake charmed.
Before she can register the scene in front of her, she feels hot blood hit her cheek from a man being brutally punched by Frank. She looks at Penny who is trying to keep the other guy at bay until Frank is finished.
He grabs the small man by his shirt and throws him to the ground, hitting his head on the curb. He reaches up to clutch it, but is blocked by Frank's large boot, kicking his head into the ground until his skull cracksâthick, cranberry red blood spilling out of the edges.
Sylvia flinched with each brutal stomp, watching him get beaten by a primal rage she's never seen from Frank before.
The sounds of effort and cries don't go unnoticed, for a man with a camera takes a candid picture of the trio in their compromised emotions, blinding them with the flash. Frank begins to run, Penny looking back and holding out her hand. Sylvia involuntarily hesitates in shock, overwhelmed by the shift of her focus, but Penny grabs her hand and pulls her so they can run together after Frank.
They make a stop at a quieter street, panting deeply from the run, however Sylvia's breaths are irregular and shallow. She looks down the length of the street, to see if she can see the end of it in the abyss of midnight, but she can't even redirect her mind to anything but the mess.
"What... what even happened...? Frank, youâ that man... hisâ ohh..." She frowns even more and paces, feeling dizzy. Penny recovers quickly and her eyes widen.
"She's freaking out..." She moves over to Sylvia and holds her arms out in surrender but doesn't touch her. "Heyâ hey, look at me. Focus on me. We'll tell you once you're okay." She frowns at Sylvia's distress, who begins to cryâ a dormant volcano now reaching its peak. She closes the gap between herself and Penny, sobbing into her frizzy hair.
Frank watches Sylvia, his heart aching for her. He never expected to see somebody so composed, now so, so broken. He remembers Ronnie, and wishing he could get her to him so he could comfort her, though he doesn't know where she was staying, so he decided to take her to the place he found comfort, thinking it'd be perfect for her too.
There's a quiet ride to the movie theatre, Sylvia's calmed down a bit and listened to what happened. She's glad Penny defended herself, and Frank in her name. She admires that type of dedication to someone you love.
"I think this whole experience has been hard on you even if you didn't think it was." Penny says honestly. "Frank gets anxious sometimes too. Calls them his nerves." She looks over at Frank with a smile, who shoots her a small one in return.
Sylvia sniffles and looks out of the window. They find a spot to park in on the street and sneak into the theatre. One of the rooms is mostly empty, showing Ronnie Reed's latest movie. They sit down somewhere in the middle, Sylvia between Penny and Frank.
Frank watches Ronnie dance and sing with adoration and he whispers to Sylvia.
"He always calms me down."
She feels slightly better at the fact her husband can have such a wholesome effect on anyone else, and she begins to miss him. She watches him sing "I've Got A Feeling I'm Falling" and is instantly subdued by the charming and peaceful nature of the song. It's a shame he can be so attentive under a script but in reality he's just too busy to see what matters most.
"How can a romance be so colourful in black and white yet so dull in real life?" She whispers to no one, eyes glued to the screen. Penny looks at her, an unreadable expression on her face. She looks at Frank again, thinking about how he fought for her today, knowing Sylvia would probably appreciate having someone with more passion for her, though the answer isn't finding someone new.
Brown (scrapped) dividers by @curtainhshsh
I've Got A Feeling I'm Falling â Jake Gyllenhaal, Vince Giordano And The Nighthawks
I don't want to be mauled by the fandom but there was definitely something going on between these two (shitty shitty photo idc)
I mean dancing with each other in the club, the 'favoritism' in the business card scene I smell something going on there I see you two this is the real ship I wanna see going on đ /silly
Tags: none other than usual mild mentions of weapons or drugs
A/N: this made me feel scared too đ
I woke up earlier than usual this morning, I had a restless sleep. If it happens again tonight, I'll drink my leftover Absolut. Sleeping pills don't work on me anymore.
Because of this, I got ready ahead of time and decided to walk to work instead of taking a cab. The Patty Winters show this morning was about dogs running in dreams.
I walk down the street, keeping my pace so I don't break into a sweat, or else my morning shower would have been redundant and a waste of time, which I had lots of anyway.
The streets are not too empty, but it's not as busy as it gets during peak hours. A passing woman must've been talking to me when she said hello, there was barely anyone else around. I didn't look at her.
I can't explain the uneasiness in my stomach. It's different to the episodes I normally get. This feeling has been coming and going for the past month, my current prescriptions don't help it much. I might be paranoid, though I've got no reason to be, it feels like I'm being watched. It only subsides once I'm at home, with the door locked and the curtains drawn shut.
I feel it now.
This is ridiculous. I'm in pure daylight with somewhere to be. A collection of the finest and sharpest execution tools concealed in the cupboards of my kitchen.
My pace quickens slightly, my nose and upper lip gathering the most sweat at the moment. I can't help looking into each alley I pass, or even behind me, but I'm met with no one. The presence is still strong. It reminds me of when I was a child, hiding fromâ
The Pierce & Pierce building. I sigh in relief as I enter the lobby. I should be a little safer in here.
Siren wakes up to find herself in Batman's arms, opening her eyes to see cops and cells. She looks up at him.
"Batman... what are you doing?" She asks quietly.
"Serving justice. You're reckless." He answers stoically.
"Me!? Reckless? What about all the other guys doing it all for fun? Power? Wealth?" She can't believe it. She's really going to jail over wanting to be seen.
"You seemed to enjoy it just as much." He says curtly. A cop opens the cell and he sits her in there, shutting the gate close. Siren immediately stands up, hands on the bars, a bruise already forming on her eye from the punch.
"How long am I going to be in here? Hey!" She sighs against the bars as the Bat just walks away without a word or a glance. She sits down onto the bench and rummages around in her pocket until she pulls out some leftover manipulation serum. She smirks knowingly.
"Not long."
Bruce is sitting in an armchair in the manor, the fireplace warming him from the outside while the whiskey warms him from the inside. He's reading a newspaper, and Alfred is polishing a shelf from dust.
"You know, you were right. She was doing it for attention." Bruce speaks up. He glances up at Alfred, taking a sip from his tumbler. Alfred turns around to face him and smiles politely.
"I usually am, Sir."
Credits song that I think suits Siren and her vibe đ
Swing jazz is playing quietly on the radio, the driver and passenger both tight-lipped. They're driving through the countryside as a shortcut to the other part of the city.
"Maria's Boutique, huh?" Detective Jake Wiles speaks up, wanting to break the silence. He glances over at his assistant, Myrna Malloy in the driver's seat. "At least there's no traffic out here." She just ignores him and focuses on driving.
"I think Mrs Ronnie Reed got abducted. Why would she be hangin' out with a freak show, hm?" He suggests casually. Myrna jerks her head to look at him in disbelief.
"You don't even have any evidence, how can you say that?"
"It's a hunch. It gets my brain working for the investigation." He scoffs in amusement and leans back in his seat. They continue driving until they see multiple police cars and cops standing around.
"Woah, pull over... Looks like a crime scene." He leans forward to check it out.
"It's not related to our case." She says curtly.
"Pull overâ" Jake grabs the wheel and turns it which forces her to brake for safety. She glares at him and huffs, exiting the car after him. He approaches the cars and a cop shakes his hand.
"Officer Wilson. We got called onto the scene after they didn't come back from patrol."
"Detective Wiles. What you got here?"
"A pair of unlucky bastards. Seems like the owners of this car shot them and left them for dead." He sighs audibly, his hands on his hips.
"Can I have a look?" Wiles asks, already making a move towards the car. The cop nods and steps back. He sees the dried blood coating the insides, as if the vehicle had fleshy organs of its own. "Gee, a real massacre, hm?" He chuckles darkly. He finds a splattered coat in the backseat. He pulls it out and holds it up.
"Whose is this?" He checks the tags and the size, rummaging in the pockets.
"I don't know. Must've been a man, though. Found this newspaper on the dashboard. Couldn't have been driving and reading. Possibility of an accomplice. Not exactly sure what played out here." The cop holds out the newspaper on the page it was on.
"Hm, Reed. We're on that case right now." Wiles flips through the pages after scanning over at the story.
"Ahemâ speaking of that case, we better get going." Myrna raises her eyebrows sternly and goes to the driver's seat, getting in. Wiles says his goodbyes and gets in the car. She starts the engine and puts it into drive.
At Maria's Boutique, they enter, Wiles looking around the place while Myrna heads straight to the counter.
"What can you tell us about Reed's wife? What was she doing in here?" He asks from across the room.
"Well, what could she be doing in a clothes shop? She was looking around with those two eccentricsâa man, with horrible scarring on his face and unbelievably tall, and a woman with an uncoordinated outfit and... a weird black mark on her cheek. They left the air pungent. I don't want to say it, but they looked like... monsters!" Maria whispers the last word, as if it was a curse. Myrna listens intently, thinking about whether there have been any monster sightings recently. Wiles just stares at her dumbfoundedly and shifts on his feet.
"Oh, wow, monsters, okay." He chuckles in doubt and looks at his assistant. "Did she buy anything?"
"No, but she went to the dressing room to try some stuff on. The other lady would've benefitted from new clothes more than Reedâ a fresh hairdo too." She scoffs snidely.
"Right, I'm gonna take a look at the dressing rooms, then." Wiles walks over to the stalls and examines them. "Myrna, come here." He turns around and she's already behind his shoulder. He lets out a small "oh" in surprise and points to the pile of clothes in one of the stalls.
"What does that look like to you?" He asks. She raises her eyebrows and purses her red lips in mock thought.
"Something Sylvia would wear. She didn't buy anything because she stole." Wiles turns to her with a derisive smile.
"Mrs Reed? Sylvia. Stealing. Why would she do that? She has the money." In return, Myrna shrugs and shakes her head.
"If she's running with monsters, why wouldn't she do something as little as stealing? The worst is past her." Wiles just nods and shrugs too.
"I guess. Thank you for your assistance, Maryâ Maria." He nods at the shopkeeper as he leaves, Myrna sending a polite smile her way as she follows him
"I still think she's been kidnapped." He puffs his chest out with a sly smirk, his assistant rolling her eyes.
Tags: stalking, obsession, mild drug mention and other substances
Patrick Bateman is one of the easiest targets she could have. He's to be found everywhere and conveniently too wrapped up in himself to notice anything around him. It's quite sad, really. While he is living his life, he's not really enjoying it like he should be.
Siren's kept a log of what she knows about him, claiming she doesn't do it on purpose, that it's just one of her many tricks. But would it be so casual to remember that he works at Pierce & Pierce, an investment banking firm in Wall Street, that he takes a cab to Harry's or Arcadia afterwards to drink and eat with his friends, or at 9pm on most nights he spends money on cocaine at Au Bar and Nell's, as well as visiting Tunnel for picking up ditzy blondes? What about how he orders J&B on the rocks religiously, and prefers Pepsi Cola or glass bottled Evian for more appropriate times?
It's not just these venues she knows him from. She has tracked the directions he takes to go home both by cab and foot, finding herself outside the American Gardens building on West 81st Street without fail. She has yet to find out which floor he lives on. Sometimes she tails behind him to make sure he gets home safely, gets to work safely, gets to Nell's safely, and so on.
She's seen his friends, they're also faces she finds familiar by now. She doesn't know their full names, hearing something like a Craig or a Fred, a Bryce, and someone else. She's keeping tabs on more people than just them to observe who responds to which name. Although, she characterises them through looks, such as the blond guy, the one with glasses, and the hot one she'd probably want if not Patrick.
This is all just necessary information, she believes. She likes to think she's reversing all the damage of invisibility and anonymity by being the one person that cares who people even are. This stays between her mind and her notebook, though, and it's as pointless as a confession to a sleeping crowd. They're sycophants to the wrong things in lifeâthings that are meaningless but mean more to them than they should.
Siren might not have her sights set on the right things either, but she thrives in the idea that it's different to the norm.
Bruce gets up, formulating more questions and figuring out his feelings towards Siren as he begins to put on the undersuit. She watches him and decides to get dressed as well.
"I don't even know where to start." He spits out. "How did you know I'm Batman?"
"Well, I'm not stupid. I can see it's you. I've already met you before, Bruce. It was around May this year, I was testing out the waters of crime, finding my skills. I snuck into one of your eventsâ" He scoffs as he hears this. Siren scowls. "Don't startâ I was there because I wanted to see you, to see how it was to be around someone who did matter. We had a conversation and everything and you don't remember that moment? You didn't recognise me when I met you on the rooftop with Gordon. I know you're busy, being the Bat and all, but gee, I'm not a common bum on the streets." She crosses her arms and watches his reaction. "And I didn't tell you that I knew because... how off-putting would it have been to fight a criminal who personally knew you? I was saving your face."
Bruce takes this information in and huffs before putting on his armour.
"Do you even care? Everything I did was so you could see me. So the city could see me. So I wasn't forgotten. I'm tired of being a nobody. It's probably hard for you to understand when you're above everyone else and get all the attention you want." She looks away with an annoyed frown.
"No, it's hard to hold myself back from giving you a new dental job with my fist." He glares at her. "Do you know what you've just done? Fucking aphrodisiac... I've resisted TITAN, but not some stupid love serum. It's wrong in so many ways, Siren." He scolds with a growl and narrowed eyes.
"You know what, I don't care about that. It got your attention didn't it? All of your attention! You know me, inside and out. I'm not going to hide away again. Admit it, my plan worked." She boasts.
The Dark Knight puts on his cowl. He's really trying not to let his anger get the best of him. He's not the same inexperienced man acting off of his emotions anymore. He's turning to irrational thoughtsâ let's just throw Siren in Arkham Asylum. She's insane, doing all of that for attention like a little kid instead of something typical, like money or revenge. Well, she's probably got money, and she's got nobody exactly to be mad at. She just doesn't fit in with the rest of the criminal profiles. He looks at her again, remembering all that she's done, finding no way to justify it even if her motive is unusual. He's kind of wishing he had a free kill...
"I got what I wanted. What about you?" She tilts her head as she looks at him. He stares at her for a second before delivering a blow to her face, strong enough to make her fall on the floor, unconscious.
He picks her up, holding her bridal style against the backdrop of a full, lit moon and city lights twinkling like hope.
After having spilled blood, they seek out a quiet place to rest. Sylvia's pretty shaken up. She was blind for the majority of the incident and it was her first time seeing a corpseâthat was actually dead.
Penny seems to be calm, as if it's not the first person she's willingly killed. Frank is sitting on the grass, plucking the blades and occasionally finding small daisies to play with.
They've found solace at a lake, it reflects the high-noon sun off the ripples, a serenity much needed after the storm. The grass becomes a warm, soft bed for Penny to lay on, arms behind her head and ankles crossed.
"You know, at least you're clean 'cause of that jacket." She notes.
"I still smell. Or maybe that's you, I don't know." Frank glances over at Sylvia but doesn't say anything. "My clothes are ruined regardless. Look at my skirt. There's nothing left of it but a thread."
Penny looks over at her short skirt, thinking of how it's symbolic in a way.
"It's rebellious. I like it."
"What, torn apart? Completely outrageous." Sylvia rolls her eyes in sarcasm.
"You're dubious, but I mean it. How many women wear that length? It goes entirely out of the standard for women's clothing." She closes her eyes as if she's right and refuses to argue further. Sylvia thinks about it. That's what she wanted, right?
"I guess... I wouldn't mind it if it was intentional and not an accident, though. Besides, these colours are not bold enough. I like what you've got going on." She eyes Penny's silk orange dress, turquoise stockings and red boots. "It's different."
"Yeah? We should get you some new clothes." She sits up, excited by the idea. "We can pick out something Siren would like."
"What does Siren like?" Sylvia asks, tilting her head.
"You tell me." She challenged. This was hard for her, she still didn't feel like she knew Siren let alone feel like she was becoming her. New clothes would either help that, or make her feel like a poser. All she was certain about right now was that she wanted to take a hot bath.
"Sorry your coat got ruined." She looks at Frank who in return grunts out a soft "it's okay."
They walked to the city in search for a boutique or similar stores, looking for the statement pieces Sylvia would want to wear. Penny has a plan.
Frank takes off his blazer, putting it on Sylvia.
"This makes you... inconspicuous." Penny smiles, watching her shrink in the oversized jacket.
"How does this work?" She asks.
"Well, the storekeeper probably won't know what you're wearing under that. So you can put on your new clothes and go." She explains as though it's obvious. Sylvia is hesitant, she's going to actively take part in a crime if she does this. She probably has all the support she needs with her money and fame, but this is taking a direct hit on her morals.
"Come on... It'll help you feel more alive." Penny smirks, hoping she can convince Sylvia. She nods in response, reminding herself that she can try it out and see how it goes.
"Just go find some stuff you like and change in the dressing rooms."
Penny stands outside of her stall, while Frank stands outside of the changing rooms, being so tall he could probably see over the door but he's more interested in giving her some privacy. He figures she probably doesn't get much of it, being involved with an idol.
"I think this is alright..."
"Let's have a look."
Sylvia steps out of the stall, sporting a dark navyâalmost blackâpolka dotted blouse with short puff sleeves, the white collar spread across her chest, open at the neck, revealing a crimson necktie, loose and dark like full-bodied wine, complementing her deep, plum purple skirt.
Penny nods and smiles.
"Yeah! This is it. You look good. Just one thing." She finds a tailoring station and picks up a few pins. She pins up the skirt until it's shortâabove the knee. Sylvia watches her do it and checks it out in the mirror. "Frankie, come take a look." Frank turns around to see Sylvia in her new outfit and smiles.
"What would Ronnie think?" He asks, not meaning for it to be malicious.
"Fuck him. Fuck anyone who doesn't like the outfit. It's yours, Siren." Penny rubs Sylvia's arm. She just smiles and thinks about Ronnie. She doesn't want to know what he's thinking right now in general. She's convinced it's not enough for her to come home yet.
Sylvia puts on the blazer and they are ready to leave with her new clothes. They leave the dressing rooms and make a beeline for the exit, until the shopkeeper stops them.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" They all stop and turn around slowly. The shopkeeper looks Sylvia up and down, focusing on her face.
"Sorry to bother you, are you Ronnie Reed's wife?" She smiles a little, hopeful.
"Yeah... I am."
"Oh, I feel silly asking..." a bashful blush joins her smile. The group was so focused on leaving without raising suspicion, they couldn't tell where the conversation was heading. "Could I have an autograph please? Put in a good word to Ronnie for me, as well." She holds out a pen and turns her back to her, moving her hair to one side. Sylvia signs the back of her shirt begrudgingly, disliking her sense of entitlement.
"Yeah, the name's Sylvia. I'm in the paper, read it if you're unsure of who I am." She bites, leaving the store with Penny and Frank following in suit.
The woman immediately goes to a phone, dialing a number.
"Maria's Boutique... I've just seen Sylvia Reed come in here with two freaks. Gosh, I didn't wanna say anything but they reeked. No, just the weirdos. I mean, she looks like she hasn't washed either... I don't think I'm gonna get any customers after they've tainted the air."
Speaking of routines, Siren notices some people more than others. Perhaps someone who is more sociable, popular, attractive. It's hard to stand out when nobody cares about individualityâit's almost like they want to hide... but from what?
Manhattan is home to wealthy New Yorkers, there's nothing they can't buy themselves out of. They shouldn't even have any issues with the scum of the city; they're above it in more ways than one.
She likes people who are like her, that's probably easy to find, right? It's more nuanced than that, though. It's not about money or looks. It's a matter of relatability that allows her to feel connected with comfort. The knowledge that she can be seen.
In truth, she has noticed someone. He's different, somehow. It's as if he doesn't know he's not as subtle as he thinks he is. Siren guesses his name is Patrick Bateman from the times she's overheard his friends shouting for him across tables.
She's never given him any deeper thought, but she's thinking that'll have to change.
It's 7pmâdark for an autumn eveningâand Siren's in the warmth of her car looking around for an opportunity to get into trouble.
She hears the alarm before she sees the chaos; a van backed into the windows of a bank and other vehicles poorly parked, blocking the street. She leaves her car and looks through the door.
Two-Face is ordering around his thugs to grab as much money as they can. This highlights the open vault, filled with mounds of cash, frantic men piling it into duffle bags, and an unlucky goon being swept up into the rafters by a shadow.
Wait.
Siren looks up to see Batman dropping the thug on a rope to hang. Perfect timing. She was hoping to meet him again.
She enters and blends in with the darkness against the noise and focus of the men, making her way to the vault. She grabs a few wads of cash in her arms and scans the room for the Bat. Two-Face notices a shortage in thugs and he goes into disarray.
Batman is about to go for the main target when he gets hit by a flying stack of hundreds. He gets hit again, his attention shifting from Two-Face to Siren. The band breaks from the impact, the money erupting into rainfall. "First shrimp, now cash, what's next?" Batman thinks.
Two-Face points his gun at Siren, unaware of her plan. The Bat spreads his cape and glides towards her in an attempt to pin her down. She rolls out of the way and dashes to the exit, getting into her car.
Batman turns around to see whether he can catch anyone in the situation, but Two-Face is already gone, the valuable van hauling down the street.
The Dark Knight steps through the hole, glass crushing beneath his heavy boots, a reminder of the chandelier. He decides to follow Siren anyway. He wants answers.
He stalks over the city, tailing Siren's vehicle as it drifts and speeds across the city. She arrives at an unfinished building, supported by scaffolding, climbing over the barrier. Batman sees where she's going. He lands on one of the many floors, waiting for Siren to catch up.
She hears a thump upstairs, knowing he's there. She pulls out the right vial this time, taking it down like a shot as if she was an alcoholic in her past life, though in this one she's replaced it for something better.
She meets himâa silhouette against the giant moon, blue tarp hanging halfway off the building like a curtain hiding them from the city.
"Siren." He grunts, his posture menacing;he rules the night.
She tilts her head down, looking at him through her lashes and she smirks.
"Why did you do this? Gordon, the fundraiser, now this. Why?!" He growls exasperatedly, taking steps closer.
Siren just watches him and tilts her head. She feels a little... different. Maybe it's the perfect picture of a starry sky, or his broad shoulders...
"What do you want?" He says after he's gotten close enough. Siren reaches up and places her finger on his lips to silence him.
"Shh... You're asking too many questions." She croons. He recoils slightly with furrowed brows at the wet trace she's left behind. Her hand remains in the air and he looks at it to realise it's bare.
"What is it this time...?" He looks at her other hand which is still glovedâblack leatherâthen back at her face with caution. Siren ignores his query and makes a move to reach for his cowl.
"Let's see who's been such a good sport in our bat and mouse game..." There's a quick reaction from him as he immediately grabs her wrists to stop her from unveiling his identity. She refuses the lack of contact and kisses him instead, giving him an extra dose through the saliva. He pulls away and gets a feeling of unease, mixed with something else.
"Aww, you feeling a little out of it, Bats?" She pouts mockingly. "Ivy didn't tell me it was so potent. I should've guessed."
"You were working with Ivy? She made...?" He breathes heavily, trying to resist the aphrodisiac as well as trying to wrap his head around the new information. "She aided you in...?"
"Yes, it's fancy stuff. Real neat. I'd tell you all about it but we're... kind of compromised right now." She smiles, feeling a heat bloom over her entire body. She can only imagine he's feeling the same way, but worse. He's trying to fight it, feeling weaker. He looks into her eyes with a new realisation and a small frown of concern.
"Oh, don't give me that look, Bruce. It's not very 'Batman' of you." She rolls her eyes while his close and then open instantly to stare her down.
"You knew? Fuck... it all makes sense..." He breathes out in a hoarse whisper, letting her wrists go. Siren just huffs.
"I was saving you the trouble of knowing you're hunting down someone with the knowledge of your double life."
"H-how did you know?" He takes off his cowl, suddenly feeling claustrophobic and too hot for a chilly night like this.
"Don't askâ I'll tell you laterâ" she kisses him again, this time deeper, her heat reaching a peak and pulling him into it with her. Her hands move over his suit, feeling the sculpted lines and muscles. She pulls away and looks at his body.
"How do you take it off?" She asks, watching his trembling hands move to his armour, his belt, then his capeâremoving every bit individually until he's in just an undersuit.
"I can't hold back much longer..." Bruce says, almost fearfully, as if it was his first time.
"At least we know it's working..." Her gaze moves to his bulge straining against the fabric. He takes off the remainder of what's left to reveal a body chiseled to excellence under violet bruises.
Her eyes take in every contour and inchâher .outh agape, his finger coming up under her chin to close it gently. She looks at him, but he can't contain the need that's whittling his strength away, forcing her to close her eyes into the kiss he's taken the turn to initiate. However, she tries to take back the power and they settle on the floor, the breeze rolling the dust of construction around them. He's helped her take her own clothes off, eager to touch her under the influence of the serum.
Siren's straddling him, his hands on her hips as he slides off her panties, throwing them to the pile of their belongings. He aligns himself with her entrance, trying to take it slow for the sake of sensitivity. She lowers herself onto his cock and he bottoms out, filling her up. They take a moment to adjust and he's still trying to convince himself why he should resist at this stage.
Siren begins to move, finding her rhythm with the help of Bruce's grip, their mutual noises echoing in the dark skeleton of the building. He eventually feels his orgasm growing, holding Siren close to his chest as he flips them over so he's on top without pulling out. His hands grab her legs to wrap around his waist as he picks up the pace with his thrusts, allowing him to go deeper at a better angle. She runs her clammy, warm hands over his biceps, squeezing the taut muscles, but he scoops them up with one hand, pinning them above her head.
"You've given me enough of thatâ No more..." He pants out, referencing the aphrodisiac. Siren whimpers amongst her whiny moans, a sign she's close without having to say it. He pulls out, immediately replacing the emptiness with his fingers, his thumb on her clit; fingering her like an instrument, and his other handâletting go of hersâconcentrated on his cock to reach them both to their limit.
A cry leaves her parted lips in a wave of relief, followed by his own low groans, leaving a mess on the reinforced concrete. He lays down beside her to catch his breath.
There's a sliver of sense at the back of his mind, hoping the substance wears off soon. He looks to Siren, who seems to be sobering up quicker as the host of the aphrodisiac. She looks back at him, at first with satisfaction, then a curious look, as if she's wondering whether something has worked.
She sighs, bracing for the inevitable, the cold air grazing her skin and provoking a trail of goosebumps across her body.
A/N: The Fall â Hildur GuĂ°nadĂłttir (Tumblr doesn't have a Spotify link đ)
Sylvia awakes to sunlight hitting her face and a bumpy road beneath the tyres. The windows are slightly open for fresh air to waft in, probably one of the things that has kept her breathing in the small car.
She's in the back, Penny behind the wheel and Frank in the passenger seat, reading a newspaperâthe paper crinkling in the breeze. Sylvia leans forward.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere quieter. Probably best for us." Penny reveals. Sylvia looks outside to see fields and trees instead of man-made infrastructure and tarmac. It's quite refreshing, the pure rural air settling over her like a blanket with childhood warmth. She sighs.
"Oh, look here, you're missing, Sylvia." Frank breaks the silence, lifting his newspaperâprobably stolen, considering the muddy shoe print on the picture of her. Sylvia takes a closer look and reads a few lines of the story. She sits back in her seat with a soft exhale, her eyes transfixed on the floor of the car as they begin to glisten.
"He's reported me missing... He cares..." She breathes out, her mind overflowing with regrets, counterarguments, and 'what-ifs'. She's thinking she should have left a note to let him know she's fine and will be back after she's found herselfâ no, it's a good reason she had to leave, and about time she did something about itâ but imagine how hard it must be on him... It won't compare to the turmoil that's been brewing in her own head for a few years now.
The war in her conscience is cut short by police sirens behind. She looks back and sees the car a few yards away. The worries crash down all at once.
"Shit..."
"Is that for us?"
"Do they know I'm here?"
"Pull over."
"My driving is fine, what's the deal?"
"I can't let them see me."
Frank looks back at Sylvia as she says that, realising the severity of it.
"They can't find her with us, it looks like we've kidnapped her." Penny looks at him and begins to slow down until she comes to a halt.
"Give her your jacket. Siren, hide under it."
"What? I'm not doing that! That'sâ" She doesn't want to be mean and say the truth, but she also knows she can't afford to cut her vacation short. "Fine."
Frank takes off his overcoat and Sylvia takes it, curling up into a ball in the backseat and covering herself with it. She hopes the smell doesn't sink into the fabrics of her own clothes.
The officer takes his time, strolling to their car. He looks expectantly at Penny through the window and she rolls it down.
"Do you know how fast you were going?" He's got a sleazy look on his face and even though Sylvia can only hear his voice, she imagines it even clearer with the stench of rotting flesh within the linen. Penny just smiles at him.
"Do speed limits apply to country roads?" She bites back. The cop looks her up and down with contempt and mutters the word "smartass" under his breath. He looks over at the passenger, Frank, who has covered his face with a cloth to hide his unsightly appearance. His eyes are closed, disengaged from the conversation and letting Penny take the lead.
"Who's that?" The cop asks suspiciously. He looks to the backseat and sees the coat on top of a small lump. "I mean, what's that?"
Penny can't believe he's asking such questions, but she knows he's just bored and looking for entertainment.
"That? That's a coat." She looks up at him. He shoots her a glare before looking back at the lump.
"I just saw it move." Meanwhile, Sylvia's trying to lift a flap of the jacket so she could get some air, feeling flushed from the suspense and the warmth under the cloth.
"It's breathingâ alright, ma'am, please step out of the car." His hand is on his gun for safety precautions. He opens the car door which leaves Penny with no choice. She huffs and gets out.
He folds the driver's seat forward to access the backseat since it's a two door car. His hand reaches to lift the jacket when Penny slams the door to disorient him from behind and send a non-verbal sign to Frank, who shoots him in the head with the pistol he's kept in case of a situation like this.
The bullet flies cleanly through his head, embedding in the backrest of the backseat as it goes through-and-through, blood painting the interior red. Sylvia wasn't warned for the gunshot and screams when she feels a heavy weight fall on her.
Frank exits to deal with the second cop that's come out of his car to investigate the commotion, shooting him and relieving them of any witnesses. Penny pulls the body out by the legs and Sylvia sits up to see the windows darkârunning with flesh as if it's been raining from the inside. Her eyes follow the trail from the seat to the door of the car where the man had been dragged out, to Penny reaching out her hand.
"Come on!"
Sylvia takes it and steps on the cadaver as she gets helped out, the jacket left behind. The trio run down the hill into the trees, following the fields to seclusion.
A/N: this idea has been sitting in my head for a while and thought ehh let's make it a thing đ
You might've seen her. You might not have. Maybe you just don't remember her.
New York was never a very conscious city. Are people intentionally oblivious? It's like hell for those who don't have money, both the victims and the criminals. Years of struggle force them to mind their own business and look the other way. Siren doesn't know any better.
She's quite the opposite, actually. Nothing satisfies her more than the experiences and lives of others, possibly because she doesn't have much of her own; in fact, they are relatively dull.
She was never one to own the middle of the dancefloor and spill her drink while dancing, yet she doesn't mind the freedom of doing so now, as she knows everyone, and knows everyone doesn't know her.
That being said, she still enjoys peaceful nightsâa busy street, a cigarette in her hand, muffled music from a nearby club. Even in the dark, her eyes don't miss passers-by, their faces, the taxi they step out of, the shoes they wear, how often they indulge in menial routines per week, and whether they are just as mindless as they were last month or walking the narrowing path of misery.
Siren knows only simplicity can have an effect on her. She's worn out, but she's still searching for more. Story of her life.
Siren was buzzing with excitement when she got home after the fundraiser, turning on the TV to see the news. It was only until a few hours later, still a short time, until she saw the news reporters talking about the Wayne gala. It's all she's been watching for the past month, almost surprising it's not burnt into the screen.
Her eyes are glued as she watches the wreck, and the state of the most triggered guests.
"It was disgraceful! I don't know anyone who'd do this."
"Why would someone do this? It's just awful, awful behaviour."
"Was it... uh, someone in disguise? Ehh, the Joker?"
Siren's face falls. No one even suspects that it was her.
Until...
"Circulations say it is Siren, a new criminal that's been behind the recent kidnapping of commissioner Gordon. No one has been able to identify her motive, especially tonight. Throwing shrimps and riding the chandelier? Might just be the classic case of mental instability." The journalist jokes with a deep unconcern for the situation.
Siren springs up in her seat as she hears this, she has finally been mentioned! Although, the joke wasn't appreciated.
"I'm very sane." She crosses her arms. "Compared to the animals that have more notoriety than me."
Her attention is brought to Bruce Wayne on the screen, giving his statement on the events of the night. He's... not concerned... that much.
"He's just doing it to save his image." Siren believes, rolling her eyes. Nothing seems to be working. Is Batman going to do anything? The richest guy in the city was practically in danger...
"If Bruce doesn't care, why should Batman? What more can I do? I've held a commissioner hostage, I've destroyed a Wayne event... This place is worse than New York."
Siren knows it's going to take more than she initially thought. It needs to get way more personal.
Fear? Doesn't work. Anger? Impossible. A showstopper? Intangible.
This is going to have to work with Batman, and Batman alone.
Siren hopes the production of her new serum won't take too long. Ivy smirks at her with a glint in her eye.
"An aphrodisiac? You asked the right girl."
"It's your speciality. I expect good things from you." Siren watches Ivy already gather her equipment.
"Have you got anyone in mind to use this on?" Ivy doesn't seem to really mind, she's just happy she gets to share this power with her friend.
"I'm just trying to be more like you." She bumps her shoulder against Ivy's and laughs with her.
It only took a week for the sample to be created, and Ivy's prepared a hostage guard from the GCPD nearby to be their test subject.
Siren takes one of the vials from her pocket and drinks it, giving it a few seconds to start working before she places her hand on the man's cheek. He begins to choke and splutter, his eyes rolling back as his body goes limp in his restraints.
Ivy shoots her a glare, Siren looking back at her in return, then the vial she got from her pocket.
"Oh, this one's poison. I didn't know I still had that one." She chuckles lightly. "At least we know it works. Instant death."
Ivy's expression falls into deeper disbelief.
"We can get another guard from downstairs, just pick the right serum this time."
"No, don't worry, I'm sure this thing works great." She responds with a smile, eager to shut the conversation down.
"Silver, I think it's best if you test the potency beforehandâ"
"It's fine! I've got to run, thanks for the formula!"
"Sylvia!"
Ivy will not be pleased with Siren if she becomes an accomplice in something terrible.
It would take some time getting used to being Siren. It's not a totally random name. It gave Penny a vibe of doing what you want, and being powerful simply because of being yourself. That's what she wanted Sylvia to embody, anyway.
The three set out to a club, even after Sylvia's numerous attempts to turn it down with her doubts. She was not much of a dancer, the colourful lights and loud music already kicking in some anxiety. This wasn't a place she associated with.
Penny joins the crowd, looking to spend her newborn effervescence in a sea of like-minded bodies. Frank was happy just to stand and watch, keeping a protective eye on his bride, Sylvia's legs locked in place beside him. She scans the scene, a deep discomfort settling over her like homesickness.
She glances up at him, noticing he's much taller than not only her, but most of the people in the room. There's still something endearing about the way his eyes follow Penny's silhouette under the lights, and the small smile playing on his lips as if he's enamoured with her.
This reminds Sylvia of Ronnie, how she can't remember the last time he looked at her like that. Although credit goes to him when he compliments her on most evenings when they are going out somewhere, it feels like he doesn't really see her for who she is, or that she's even significant enough alone. It doesn't really hit the same regardless of his feelings and intent.
Her gaze joins Frank's on Pennyâironically full of lifeâgiving an honest performance. How she wishes to move like the wind; free and intangible, a true force of nature rather than an orchestrated product of expectations.
She doesn't notice Penny come up to her in the noise until she grabbed Sylvia's arm.
"What's up with you? Don't you wanna dance?" She yells to be heard above the music.
"I don't dance." Sylvia says, but it's not reasonable enough for her.
"You don't dance!? Sure you do! You're Siren!" She takes her hand and leads her to the midst of the crowd, though Sylvia doesn't know what to do. She doesn't feel like Siren yet, and this isn't helping. She almost feels suffocated, alien among bodies she doesn't know, feeling their sweat transfer to hers as if she's not sweaty enough herself. There's a humidity in the club, the speakers pushing out bass and heat back to the dancers, she finds it unbearable.
Penny notices her lack of productive movement and her grimace, beads of sweat forming on her complexion otherwise hard to identify under the lights.
"You want a drink or something to loosen up?" She asks, looking around for a bar. She finds a woman nearby trying to get through, taking the drink from her hand. She thinks it got knocked out of her hand in the mess of the environment and doesn't seem to care. She holds the drink out to Sylvia.
"Drink up. I'll find you another."
"What is it?" She eyes the concoction before taking the glass and smelling it.
"I don't know, just hope it's strong." She plucks a glass from someone else, it's a darker colour, richer in scent, also free. She takes the first glass from her once she's done and replaces it with the second one.
"This is the one." She smiles with a twinkle in her eye and watches Sylvia's face contort from the taste. She usually doesn't try to get drunk because it's important for her to keep up her reputation and image of a sensible and well rounded wife. Tonight, she drinks away that standard that's been shoved down her throat.
Penny turns her back to her for one second and Sylvia's already gone, somewhere in the mass, the music churning in her earsâslow as molasses. She becomes one with the heat, identifiably the hottest in the room, the sheen on her skin contouring her face to glisten under the lit hues. It's a tight fit between somebody's chest and the thoughts she buried with the drinks, her fear becoming white noise against new hopes; nobody here knows who she is. Nobody cares. Nobody sees her. For once, in a room full of people, she doesn't feel lonely.
The slit in her skirt is caught on someone's belt as they brush past, tearing her a shorter length while she spinsâtangled with those around her and the lower inhibitions emanating from their slick skin.
Penny chuckles at the sight of her and nudges Frank.
"Lightweight, huh?"
Ronnie was startled awake at his realisation of having fallen asleep in the wait for Sylvia's return. He checked the time. It's nearing nightfall. Still nothing.
The roses have come apart slightly in their string holding them together, drooping almost sadly. He stands up and fills an empty vase with water, placing the flowers in. He tries to convince himself with the idea of not wanting to give her dead flowers upon her arrival, though he knows it's deeper than that.
He picks up the telephone and he's connected with an operator from the reception, and eventually the police.
"I'd like to report a, uh... missing person. Yes, Ronnie Reed, Sylvia Reed..."
