⋆˙⟡Lily - she/her - over 18 - Scorpio - 90s music enjoyer⋆.˚𖤓｡⋆☽·٠ ࣪𖦹·.˚
Welcome to my blog! I'm a hobby writer and an artist. I started out mainly posting art but recently I've become more of a writer. I have many hyperfixations but the Heath Ledger Joker/Dark Knight fandom is what I'm mainly active in. I'm also a self shipper and right now J is my one and only F/O.
In a nutshell this is my place to go feral about my interests :3
Asks are always open! Ask me anything, I'm always down for ideas, requests, or just chatting <3
WARNINGS: Innuendo/suggestive content, nudity, mention of killing/violence
A/N: A while back, I promised some Joker fics...well I wrote this during a gross heat wave, because I feel like a heat wave in Gotham is a recipe for trouble. Hope you enjoy!
It was the first heat wave of the season and your body wasn’t adapting to it as quickly as you would have liked. You’d opted for a tank top and a pair of black jean shorts when picking today’s outfit, but as you sprawled out across your bed, you wondered if forgoing the bottoms entirely might be a smarter choice. You didn’t have anywhere that you needed to be and perhaps the loss of an unnecessary article of clothing would help decrease your body temperature. You had already kicked your sheets down to the end of your mattress, but you still felt like you were melting into the fabric that was clinging to your sweat-slick shoulders and arms.
Your ceiling fan was running on high and the air conditioner was rumbling along just beyond your bedroom window, cranking out cooler air that steadily filled your living space, but it still wasn’t enough. You considered getting up to grab an ice pack, or even to just go and stick your head in the freezer for a while, but any bodily exertion that might contribute, even a small amount, to your overall discomfort, discouraged you from moving from your bed.
It was uncomfortable to lay there, drenched from head to toe in a thin layer of sweat. It beaded on your brow, and you wiped the back of your hand across your forehead to wipe away the dampness before it dripped down into your eyes. You knew you’d most likely have to wash your sheets too, because lying here in a puddle of sweat was only going to make for an unhygienic situation later and you weren’t having it.
You groaned and finally managed to drag yourself out of bed, trekking to your bathroom on shaky legs to take a cold shower. At least it would be a reprieve from the sweltering air that seeped inside your home from the cracks in the plaster and the minimal insulation. Gotham wasn’t known for its fine living establishments—every house or apartment that boasted “move-in ready” on online listings all looked in person like they had seen better days—and yours was no exception. You wanted to try to spruce up the place a bit, but you weren’t planning on staying here indefinitely. This was not your forever home, especially with your partner’s particular lifestyle to consider. For now, you made do with what you had, even though the paper-thin walls and cracked windows made for poor weatherization.
The bathroom door creaked as it swung inward on its hinges and you turned on the lights, mild annoyance crossing your features at the way the lightbulbs flickered before settling into a consistent warm-toned glow. You made a mental note to find the replacement bulbs you’d bought last month and change them, but you couldn’t remember where you had put the box and now was not the time to worry about finding it.
You plodded over to the shower and pulled the lever all the way to cold, as far is it would let you, and stuck your hand beneath the spray to test the temperature of the water. It wasn’t as cold as you would have liked, but tepid would have to do. It couldn’t feel any worse than the surrounding air and you pulled your hand out of the water and wiped it off on your shirt before you began to strip. You yanked the top over your head and tossed it on the dingy floor, unbuttoning your pants and letting them slide down your legs before stepping out of them. Your undergarments came next and once you were fully undressed, you stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed after you.
Alone with your thoughts, you let your tired eyes slide closed as you allowed your body to relax. Rare was it that you fully let your guard down when you were in the shower; you needed to stay alert, because every little noise you heard could be a potential intruder and you weren’t going to let yourself be caught unaware. It was a silly intrusive thought, that you’d be the victim of a home invasion either while you were showering or at night when you were fast asleep, but the fact that it was always a possibility lingered in the back of your mind.
It wasn’t ever a thought you let yourself dwell on, mostly because it would be a death wish on any intruder’s part to choose a target so closely monitored by one of the most ruthless criminals known to Gotham’s underbelly. Even those within the upper echelons knew not to cross the Joker, even though most wouldn’t have even spared him a glance unless they were screaming in terror of what he might do if given the chance. J wasn’t presented with a lot of opportunities to terrorize the upper class, and that was why he made them. He would steal their millions just to see how quickly it all burned, never for any reason beyond sending the message that everything burns, much faster than it took to earn it.
It took minutes to take a life, and J knew better than most that there was more than one way to sign a death warrant—he’d gotten pretty good at forging the signatures.
Your eyes snapped open as the wet shower curtain liner slapped against your legs as it was drawn back and you jumped, startled enough to move out of the way until you realized it was only him coming to check on you, concerned that you had barely said a word to him all day. You weren’t in your right mind because of the weather, and you felt dazed, the heat sapping your energy and the will to live right out of your bare bones. You were convinced it was melting you down to nothing and you’d be no more than a puddle of sludge, brain matter and blood oozing down the drain along with the lukewarm spill of cloudy water.
“J…” you muttered his name half-heartedly as he climbed into the shower with you, not giving you a chance to make enough room for him to join you in the cramped space. You awkwardly shuffled out of his way and your back connected with the cracked shower tiles and you sighed at the pleasant chill that seeped into your skin. You needed the cold more than you needed air to breathe and J sidling up to you in the shower was not going to help cool things down. Two bodies pressed close together produced more body heat than you realized and you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he made himself right at home in your shower, “what are you doing?”
You realized now that he was still wearing his clothes and that presented more questions than you were comfortable asking for answers. The white, fitted tank he wore was soaked through and you could see the various jagged scars and old bullet wounds that pitted his skin and protruded from beneath the drenched, nearly threadbare fabric. He was still in his boxers as well, the deep purple making him appear paler than he truly was or perhaps he had always been a ghost of himself, haunting you until you weren’t sure whether you’d feel safe again. His thighs were dusted with a light smattering of hair and you smiled fondly at his happy trail, wanting to run your fingers through it gently and watch his muscular abdomen twitch.
J didn’t always appreciate the more tender affections you gave him, but occasionally he’d relent, resigning himself to the fate that he grudgingly appreciated even though he feigned the opposite.
Your body heat had soaked into the swath of tile you were leaning against and you grimaced, stepping away from the wall and coming to stand back underneath the shower spray, hoping for a bit of relief from the rising temperature. The water was steadily going cold, and you were awaiting the shift with barely abated anticipation.
“And why are you wearing clothes in here? You’re making the air in here hotter than it needs to be…” you groused, but the man’s darkened gaze only followed yours, not allowing you to escape from the true answer to your questions. You wanted to give him a nice shove till he spilled out of the shower in a clumsy tumble and went sprawling on the thin mat, but you knew then that all you’d be met with were harsh cackles and a hand around your ankle to yank you out with him and you were in no mood to play by his rules tonight, “whatever you want, let’s just get this over with. There’s an ice pack in the fridge that’s calling my name.”
“Ya think I ain’t boilin’ too, doll?” J growled, his scars pulling taut as he bared his teeth like a feral dog. You knew the heat was getting to his head as much as yours, but it still didn’t help that he was crowding your shower rather than waiting his turn. He didn’t seem inclined to give you an answer to any of your questions as he nudged you out of the way and bent over to dip his greasy mane under the water, aggressively running his hands through it and sending water droplets flying, “this might be…the reason Batsy sees an uptick in…certain ac-tiv-it-ies…but we all gotta make a livin’ don’t we?”
“I don’t think he gets paid by the hour to listen to you rant about whatever it is that’s bothering you,” it did not go unnoticed how your sarcasm earned a tight-lipped grin from him, “but sure.”
“Ah ha…that’s a, ah…good one, doll. I’ll have-tah remember that one.”
“I’m just saying,” you shrugged noncommittally, and your tone remained conversational, “he voluntarily takes your beatings practically every night…and it can’t be comfortable in that suit. Then again, he’s probably got some kind of ventilation system installed in that thing. There’s no way he doesn’t have the money for that shit. I don’t think he could keep up with you otherwise.”
J huffed through his nose, amused by your observations, “you’ve ah…given this a lotta thought. Gotta give it to ‘im…he’s a worthy adversary…if ya could call him that.”
“Well, however you look at it, he’s got his work cut out for him tonight,” you sighed, already imagining the chaos that would take place that night beyond the sanctity of your residence. Anyone could say what they wanted to say about J, but you were thankful that he never brought his work home with him, “I heard it once before, but I never knew…is it true that the crime rates go up the hotter it is?”
J acted almost as though he hadn’t heard you, as he ambled around in the shower like he wasn’t sure what his next steps should be. If his hair was any indication, it had been a long time since he last showered, but this moment was not about getting clean. There would be time for you to peel back the layers and wash away his face paint, baring the man underneath. It gave him anonymity behind the mask, applying more and more layers not out of need for secrecy but for relevance; it would be a shame if there wasn’t a face to put with the name.
That was the thing about J…he did not want to hide who he was and, luckily, you’d never had to guess at who he was with you.
He never was anything more than what he wanted you to see, and if he was, then it was his will that you find out the true depths to which he’d sunk to become the most feared criminal Gotham had chewed up and spit out. J always said it was because he didn’t taste good, and in nature any unsuspecting victim knew that vibrant color posed potential threat. J’s chaotic appearance was more than enough of a warning to steer clear of him. If the city of Gotham knew what was good for it, then the citizens both of the law and not, wouldn’t try to take a bite out of him.
J had gotten a fair mouthful of his own, but now it was time for this city to cower in fear because he was back in it, ready to ignite the town in a terror-fueled blaze and let the ashes rain down like confetti.
The stifling heat would make a good fire starter.
“If you drip water on my floor, I’m going to kill you,” you monotoned, snapping the faucet off as water ran down your bare skin in rivulets that chased each other down the drain. You fumbled for a towel, yanking it off the towel bar within arm’s reach and began to dry yourself off while J shook himself dry without a second thought.
You offered him your towel once you were sufficiently dry and he began to moderately towel off, enough that he wouldn’t drip onto the hardwood, “wouldn’t dream of it, toots,” he smirked, catching the glint in your eye through the cracked mirror.
You were starting to realize the method to his madness—the wet clothes would turn cold and chill him straight through in the open air, at least for a while. There was something about his way of thinking that made sense to you, even if you couldn’t explain it. Instead of trying, you just shook your head at the improbability of ever understanding him fully, though you knew you would never stop trying. It had once come much more easily to you, but now you had to struggle through the puzzling interactions like it were a stranger acting out these ridiculous scenarios and not the man who had once made it all seem so sensible. There was a time when you and J were on a wavelength all your own and nothing you did could surprise each other anymore; you wondered how much of that had changed because of an unstoppable opposing force and how much because you let it.
You didn’t want to reflect on it too much because you thought that if it were the latter, then that said more about your relationship than you were prepared to accept.
All you knew was that things were chugging along again, whether you liked it or not; you didn’t want to be a jinx, and so you had yet to admit that you were feeling more like yourself these days than you had in years.
J’s greasepaint was cracked and peeling at the edges, smudged yet revealing more of the man underneath than you’d seen in far too long. His head tilted downwards as he admired you in the low light, unable to resist reaching for you in a predatory manner, taking you by the wrist and bringing you in against his sopping chest, earning an undignified squawk from you in the process.
“J! You’re still soaked!”
“Heh…” he wheezed a laugh, “and wouldn’t it be, uh, nice…if you were too, doll?”
The insinuation wasn’t lost on you, but you chose not to engage, “yeah, well…like I said before, there’s an ice pack in the freezer with my name on it, so if you don’t mind…”
You wrenched yourself from his grasp and snatched your nightshirt off the hook by the sink, tugging it on over your head before making a hasty getaway with J hot on your heels. It was going to be a long night, but fortunately, you doubted you’d have to share the ancient box fan sitting beside your bed because if you knew J, then you knew he had a full schedule, and he was already running behind.
With the ice pack clutched in your hand, you turned back to J, standing on your tiptoes to reach his lips for a quick peck, “go get ‘em. I wanna hear all about it when you get back. I’ll be waiting.”
J chortled as he drew you close with his forearm pressing roughly against the base of your spine. He was eager to get going, the tension in his muscles provided every indication that his top priority was getting out of these wet underclothes and donning his prized suit, the crowing jewel of his nihilistic legacy, both the violet and the violence stitched in each thread never failing to render you speechless, breath-taken with awe and the magnitude of the havoc he was about to wreak, “whatever ya do, don’t turn on the news. No spoilers.”
“Never,” you laughed a little, masking your uncertainty; nights like this always heightened your concern for his safety, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
Emphasis on EDITED FIVE TIMES cos if you've put in the work to perfect something and then it suddenly doesn't hit, it's the familiarity that's the problem
Work Summary: Y/n is a struggling artist living in Gotham and stuck in an office job that she absolutely hates. Her dull life gets a spark of excitement when the Joker breaks into her apartment. Over time his stay becomes more voluntary and Y/n develops a connection with the clown. In exchange for a place of safety, Joker agrees to give her some tips that will help boost her art career. But eventually, Y/n realizes she may be getting into more than she signed up for.
Chapter Summary: It's the night of Y/n's showing at the Gotham Museum of Art and it's an utter disaster. TW: kidnapping, violence
Author's Note: So sorry for the wait guys! I hope to get the next chapter done pretty soon. Fall semester is starting in a few weeks so things may slow down again after that. We introduce a new character here 😉 I'll explain more about him next chapter. Enjoy!
If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know! <3
< Previous Chapter - Next Chapter >
When you arrived at the museum after taking a taxi, there was a small crowd already gathered outside. You snuck around to the artist entry with your lanyard in hand. As you waited in line, you noticed flashing cameras from paparazzi posted outside. This was the first gallery you’d been to with that big of a media presence.
Once you got closer to the door, you saw why. The most famous man in Gotham just pulled up to the main entrance, billionaire Bruce Wayne. He always donated millions every year. You felt a pit in your stomach. The fact that he was here totally didn’t make you more nervous at all.
The closer you got to the entrance, the more anxious you felt. There were sooo many people here. This was the biggest event you’d been to so far and definitely the most prestigious. All the wealthy and important people of Gotham would be here. You worried if you looked presentable enough. Surely you did. If your best jewelry and the expensive custom dress Joker had bought for you wasn’t enough, you didn’t know what was.
You finally made it to the front of the line and showed the security guard your lanyard. He moved the rope to let you in and pointed to where you should go. You nodded and walked inside, taking a deep breath.
As you took in your surroundings, you were in awe. The museum was gorgeous. The building was older, maybe just as old as the city since the architecture outside looked to be Victorian Gothic. The inside was just as beautiful. There were stained glass windows and a mural on the ceiling. Countless paintings and mosaics lined the walls. Various sculptures and statues were placed strategically in the halls. Instrumental music played softly in the background.
This truly was the big leagues. You were beyond honored to showcase your art here. Maybe one day it would hang here permanently. That was the dream.
You passed by a genuine Francis Bacon painting and stopped to marvel at it. It was grotesque and hauntingly beautiful. Joker would love it. You sighed as you thought about him. Maybe you were too hard on him. As much as it hurt your feelings, he really was just trying to help.
You walked up to your table where your display was already set up for you. One less thing you had to do. You had more time to collect yourself before the viewers came in.
“That’s a beautiful painting you have there.” A male voice startled you.
You looked over to see a tall man with dark hair and striking blue eyes dressed in a tuxedo. You smiled at him, trying to be friendly. “Thank you.”
“You must be Y/n L/n, the new artist I saw on the program.”
“Yep, that's me. And you are?”
“Bruce Wayne.”
“The Bruce Wayne?!” You exclaimed. How did you not recognize him?
“Yes.” Bruce chuckled.
You struggled to find the words to say. “I, um, didn’t know you were such an avid art lover, Mr. Wayne.”
“Eh, I somewhat am. I do enjoy seeing the art every year, but I mostly come for the charity event.”
You nodded. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s nothing. Honestly I make way too much money. Why not help out everywhere I can?”
Your conversation was interrupted by a buzz coming from Bruce’s pocket. He reached in and pulled out his phone. Once he looked at the screen, his expression hardened.
“Excuse me, Y/n. I have to go. Something urgent just came up. Good luck to you.” Bruce said as he turned and walked away.
“Thanks!” You called after him.
Well, that was weird. Did he always leave so soon? He hadn’t even been at the event for ten minutes yet. You took a deep breath to refocus just as the doors opened and people started to come in.
Everything ran smoothly after that. The event got started and several guests came up to your table since you were the newbie. Some asked you questions, but most were silent and you were okay with that. You couldn’t read the expressions of some of them. Were they deep in thought or criticizing the painting?
When the judges came by to view the painting and ask you questions, you tried your best to make a good impression. Your smile never faltered and you answered their questions in detail. There were six of them in total and each one came by periodically, so at least you weren’t ganged up on. That definitely helped. You were certain at least half of them liked the painting. The other half were stoic and you couldn’t get a read on them.
As the night drew on, there began to be worried, hushed whispers among the crowd. Apparently there was a security scuffle outside. Most people chalked it up to disgruntled artists not being invited or someone that was angry they didn’t make the guest list, so you shrugged it off too.
But when you scanned the room, the security guards originally posted all around were nowhere to be found. What happened to the massive security presence? Something wasn’t right.
Suddenly the quiet ambience of the museum was interrupted by a loud crash at the doorway. Gunfire rang out and so did several screams. Your head whipped around and you scanned the room for the gunman. A man in a gray suit and a molded black mask was standing at the main entrance, flanked by several other suited and masked men. You’d seen him somewhere before, but you didn’t remember where. Not that it mattered at the moment. You needed to get somewhere safe.
People were screaming and running around in swarms, so you couldn’t find an exit and even if you could, your path would be blocked. Instead you ducked for cover underneath your table and prayed you weren’t shot at.
The man with the black mask shot his handgun in the air three times. “SILENCE!” He thundered, causing you to flinch.
Everyone froze and went deathly silent.
The masked man straightened the lapels of his suit and cleared his throat. One of his henchmen handed him a microphone. “Thank you. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! My apologies for the interruption. Such lovely art you have here. I promise this won’t take long. This isn’t a robbery. I just came here for one person and one person only. Where is Y/n L/n?”
Your heart sank to your knees. Me?! What the fuck does he want with me?
“Y/n! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The man shouted. He motioned for his henchmen to start looking for you and continued, “You see folks, Y/n has such beautiful paintings. I’m simply commissioning her. I, Roman Sionis, must have such unique work in my personal collection.”
Roman Sionis…? Oh, Black Mask! That’s why he was so familiar. You knew he was lying through his teeth. Although you had gained popularity recently, nobody that wealthy, outside of who was at the museum, had seen your work yet. So what could he possibly want with you? That’s when it dawned on you. Joker. He was after you because of your connection to J. You were in big trouble. Black Mask was dangerous and extremely volatile. He was famous for his explosive temper.
You had to get out of here. As the henchmen were scanning the room for you, you stayed hidden underneath the table and waited until you were out of their line of sight. One henchman was getting closer and closer to the table. You held your breath and tried to stay as still as possible.
A woman screamed in terror near the center of the room, causing the henchmen to turn and look at her. It created a momentary distraction long enough for you to crawl out from under the table towards the exit. It was difficult in a dress and heels, but you kept going, sheer fear driving you. You were so close to the exit. Just a few more feet…
“HEY!” Black Mask’s voice boomed.
You cringed. “Shit.”
“There she is! Go get her!”
You stood up on wobbly legs and made a run for it. Your shoes were once again slowing you down. “Stupid heels!” You hissed and kicked them off.
You flung the exit door open and ran out into the street, Black Mask’s thugs chasing after you. It was pouring rain outside so you could barely tell where you were going.
“HELP!” You screamed, desperately hoping someone would hear you.
You frantically searched for a place to run and saw an alleyway nearby. Without hesitation, you ran towards it. Your bare feet hit the wet pavement as you ran. It was only a matter of time before you slipped and fell. Sure enough, you slipped on a puddle and went flying forward. You hit the concrete hard, skinning your knees and tearing your dress in the process.
You tried to get back up and keep running, but once you looked up you realized there was no use. The alleyway was a dead end.
Before you could decide what to do, a rough hand grabbed your leg and pulled you backwards. You screamed and tried to fight off your attackers, but there were simply too many of them. They grabbed you up by your arms and started to tie you up with rope. You never stopped fighting against them.
“Why are you doing this?” You gasped out weakly, exhausted from the chase.
A deep chuckle echoed in the alleyway as the masked man approached. He came into your view and you couldn’t help but shudder. He crouched down in front of you.
“Why? Because you are the perfect bait, my dear. I’ve been looking for a way to threaten the clown for months. I have a source that’s infiltrated his men and he doesn’t even know it. Or maybe he does know there’s a rat. It doesn’t matter. This source informed me about you and that’s all I needed to know. Joker has a weakness, his girlfriend.” Black Mask taunted.
“I’m not his girlfriend!” You shouted.
“Maybe not. But he sure does care a lot about you. Why else would he set up such tight security around you? He’d do just about anything to get you back. So don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not gonna kill you,” he paused, “...at least not yet.”
You spat at him in defiance. Black Mask wiped it off his suit in disgust. “Feisty, aren’t you? I’ll teach you some respect.” He reared back and slapped you across the face with sheer force. You cried out in pain and fell backwards onto the ground, the ropes binding you tearing your dress even more.
As you laid on the wet ground your vision blurred and you felt nauseous. You had probably sustained a concussion. A white van with blacked out windows pulled up beside the alley. You felt the henchmen pick you up and drag you towards the back of it.
You had no energy left to fight and you were in no condition to either. You were soaking wet and bloodied, leaving a trail of blood as they dragged you. Your dress was practically falling off of you. You miraculously still had your purse slung over your shoulder. But what good would it do you?
You started to succumb to your head injury and slowly slip unconscious. The last thing you remembered was being thrown in the back of the van and the doors slamming shut, leaving you in total darkness.
all the joker design lineup pages i've done so far!! some are pretty old, from last year, the newest ones are at the beginning and get progressively older :D
This is probably a costume I will keep adding to with time, but I'm pretty happy with how it looked! Each new project, I am getting better at the sewing. I made my original design by taking elements of period costumes and some of chappell roan's wonderful stage outfits. 🌿
Im still on the hunt for a deep, rich fantasy or sci fi story. I wanna try my hand at an adventure story that spans multiple locations and has a rich cast of characters. Maybe even cross fandoms because why not 🤣
No pressure tags: @westside-rot @umber-cinders @chaos-4baby
No pressure at all my dear @megamindsecretlair I replied from my writing blog so its more accurate. 🖤✨
UHHHHH. My bucket list? Finishing my His Lighthouse and His Angel series. That and writing more inbox requests so I'll be back to single digits. I have far too many collecting dust.
No pressure tags: @gr4cezc0nv1ct @dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd @cocoamoonmalfoy
the reason why AI has become so prevalent in the fanfic community, i think, is because of the shift of fanfic and fandom from a collaborative based community to a commodity based community. it's gone from a desire to make connections and create art with people in general and in specificity to having the biggest and best and most popular work and having everyone's eyes on it. it's stopped being about the process of the art and more about the end result. and that's just the state of the internet in general when algorithm based economy is prioritized and that's the only way people know how to measure their place within an internet space anymore.
and the lack of wanting to actually sit with a piece of art you are making and being uncomfortable with it, mad at it, doubtful of it, mess around with style and syntax and plot and narration and dialogue, make an absolute mess of it, back off from it, come back to it, seek out answers from friends or other writers or other art or the world in general creates a landscape of reliance on generative AI to hurtle everyone over the difficult aspects of making art right into the end product so it can be waved around for validation and accolades. there's no desire for the act of discovery in the process of making, the spontaneous aligning of thoughts, the moment when something becomes concise and clear in your mind, when it all falls into place. the arduous relief of doing away with something that isn't benefiting the art anymore. the electrifying sense of pride when it just fucking finally works and the words flow and you get into the state of pure, uninhibited creativity. and i don't know how to solve that because there was always people who loved the idea of being a writer but didn't want to actually write and now they have a tailor-made "tool" that allows them to do this and then they get to turn around and think, "well that wasn't that hard". and that is infuriating.
dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd @dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
