Matching your freak is beautiful and all but what you really need is a boy who's infatuated with your freak. Down bad for your freak. Deeply intrigued by your freak. Eager to see more of your freak. Supportive of your freak. Gets bricked up witnessing your freak, even.
If anyone wants more maybe ill write it but for now enjoy this random semi song inspired oneshot
His Game
Summary: 🔫 🤡 🦇
Warnings: blood, violence, horror themes and elements, strong language
Word count: 2000 something
You suck in a deep breath, lungs shuttering as the sharpness in your ribs attacks you once more. You could do this. It's a matter of life and death.
Your hand settles on the grip of your weapon. It was a small gun, just large enough to keep on your person through your day to day activities. Illegal? Very much so. But living in Gotham made that very easy to overlook in favor of a surefire method of self-defense.
It was especially helpful in your current predicament. You cursed yourself for ending up here to begin with but distract yourself by wiping the blood snaking down your brow away. Nothing to be done about it now, no use bitching. Not that it was even really your fault to begin with.
You push forward, peeling your sweaty back from the wall to peek around the corner. While it had seemed like his maniacal laughter was rapidly drilling holes through your mangled sanity, you quickly discovered it was far worse not to hear it. He could be anywhere.
When you note the hallway before you is clear, you step forward, your bare feet finding the small spaces between broken shards of glass on the filthy linoleum. Forgoing your shoes had been an easy decision; the clack of your heels would have given you away in a second. Now, the lingering thought of possible infections prodded at your psyche, but if you survived this, then you would deal with the consequences. For now, this was your best option.
You slide your feet across the ground, toes down first, then heel to ensure every step is as quiet as possible.
There's a throbbing in your skull that you're forced to ignore. Infections, concussions, you could deal with it all after you got out of this hellhole.
Suddenly, a voice crackles over the intercom, pitched and ringing through your ears. His voice. The voice.
"Let's play a game, me and you," he lilts, then laughs. The sound breaks over the speaker system, piercing into your brain and intensifying the throb that had started to dull.
"Let's see if Bats gets to you before I do. If he finds you, then you're saved," he taunts, his voice ensuring his excitement shot your every hair to stand on end. "And if I get you first..." He chuckles, deep and menacing. Suddenly, his tone wasn't so light.
The intercom clicks off, your heart racing. The boom of it drowns out all other sound. You would play his little game. But you would play it your way.
Your finger snakes around the trigger. Your bra held a couple of extra bullets but you doubted he would give you the time to load them. So for now, you'll make do. All your time at the range cements itself at the forefront of your mind. You steel your nerves, even as your body shakes.
You would not miss. He grabbed the wrong bitch from that stupid fucking Wayne gala you hadn't even wanted to go to. You would take this fucking clown down even if it's the last thing you do.
You thumb the safety off before creeping down the hallway further. The obvious destination was the front entrance. But you weren't that stupid. You knew he would expect that. Unfortunately, this little trap was worryingly well thought out. Each of Arkham's windows were plastered with thick metal bars that ensured no easy escape. Even in its pitiful state, you aren't stronger than the building itself. So you're going to have to get creative here.
You wondered briefly if he actually even had some motive for this. He had to have grabbed you at random, right? You couldn't imagine a reason for Gotham's 'Clown Prince of Crime' to snatch you from that party. But to take you here, to make you escape from Arkham Asylum of all places... It just felt like there were obvious pieces of the puzzle you couldn't see.
You hoped Batman would be here in time, but you didn't bother to depend on that idea. How many people had the Joker killed because Batman was late? You held no delusions that the Dark Knight would be here in your time of need. Sometimes, he was just as useless as the GCPD.
You don't waste another thought on it as your eyes land on the sign at the top of the wall to your left. Room 8D it read. Your first priority is to find out what wing you're in and to get as far away from it as possible.
You'd woken on a filthy, springy mattress in one of Arkham's abandoned cells, parts of your dress in tatters. The remains of the sleeves only got in your way so you slid them down your arms and tied them around your waist. Your heels were ditched soon after ensuring your gun was still strapped to your thigh. If the clown wanted a fight, you would deliver one.
His eerie laughter had been what woke you. The smell of mold and the stale thickness of the salty air as well as the decrepit scenery told you where you were before he did. Arkham had been abandoned a few years ago. The GCPD said it was because it was outdated, but everyone knew it was because of the frequent escapes. If those fucking villains could get out, then so could you.
His voice crackles over the intercom again. "We're a lot alike, you know." His voice skitters over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. What the hell did he know about you?
You realize rather quickly that he must be talking to Batman, not you. He and Gotham's most prevalent vigilante were known for their rather... odd relationship. The Joker is obsessed with him. You personally didn't understand the fascination. What good was it to stop criminals if you weren't really stopping them? Just putting them in time out until they did it again?
"I was hoping this little rendezvous would bring us closer," he practically purrs across the system. Definitely talking to Batman, you think as you shudder.
"I mean, why would you want to stay around those uppity billionaires when they could never understand you?" You choke on your breath, your eyes swinging around wildly. What? No, wait, was he talking to you?
"Not the way I understand you, doll," he rasps, his twisted voice sounding all the more threatening through the crackling of the failing technology.
Your fingers squeeze around your weapon, tucking it close to your body. He... couldn't be talking to you, that didn't make any sense. Why would he be talking to you?
You swallow, your throat dry and rough. You had to get out of here, no matter what.
You slip forward carefully, peering around the next corner with your gun at the ready. If you saw the bastard, you'd fill him with lead at the first opportunity.
Around the corner are two staircases, one leading down and one leading up, as well as another hallway that leads past them. You had to play this smart. He would know where you woke up. So he would know this is the first staircase you'd find. You had no idea what wing you were in, but you expected he did.
The expectation would be for you to go down, right? To the entrance.
You eye both staircases. Going down could be your way out but it could also be an obvious trap. Up was risky because it would be easy to get cornered and there was no guarantee there would be a way out that way.
Fuck it. You slip past the staircases and into the next hallway, gritting your teeth and trying not to glance back. You couldn't take either chance. You had to be unpredictable.
You would move to a different wing entirely and then you would find your way down. That's the plan, at least. You keep your eye out for the cameras in the corners, ducking beneath them and hoping they don't still function just in case.
As you reach the end of that hallway, you find another sign at the top of a wall. It's covered in dark green foliage, so you reach up and brush it away. The thorns prod into your fingers. You hiss at the pain, but clamp your teeth down over your tongue. In the grand scheme of things, this pain was nothing. Your head still rang like a bell and your ribs shuddered with every inhale. A few more cuts were nothing to you.
You finally reveal the metal sign, grime in the embedded lettering making the words all the darker.
West Wing ⬅️
North Wing ➡️
You breathe a sigh of relief. Excellent. Goodbye West Wing, hello North Wing.
You press forward but a loud clattering has you plastering your back to the scummy, damp wall as you point your gun towards the sound. As you do, a monstrously large rat races down the hallway towards you, a metal cart sent flying in the opposite direction.
Reluctantly, you lower your weapon a tad. The sound could give you away, you remind yourself. You move further toward the North Wing, your feet moving slightly quicker this time. You had to be out of here before it got any darker. You didn't have any kind of flashlight and you doubted the Joker would be turning on the lights for you.
The night air blowing through the bars on the windows has you shivering, every step against the floor freezing cold. You consider putting your sleeves back on but worry they may get in the way. You force your thoughts back to your escape. Comfort could come later. After survival.
You only stop when you find the end of the hall. You peer out the windows at the corner. It looked like you were on the third floor. You could see the edge of the island from here, smell the Gotham Bay. You'd found the North West corner of the building, so now all you had to do was find your way down and to some kind of exit.
You turn the corner again and to your luck, find a set of stairs. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest. This was all going too smoothly so far. You were sure you hid from every camera but what if he still knew where you were? What if he was playing with you? Just waiting until Batman showed up so he could kill you and make a spectacle of it? That idea sounded a little too real.
You step forward onto the stairs, but it gives way under your weight. With quick reflexes, you snag your free hand on the handrail and throw yourself back onto the top step, but the handrail snaps too. You land on your ass, the stairs crumbling in an avalanche of drywall and wood, the rusty metal handrail still grasped in your hand.
Shit. There's no way he didn't hear that, you think as you release the handrail. The sound still echoes through the empty halls, reverberating your mistake back at you. You shuffle quickly to your feet. You didn't have the time to make any more decisions, you had to just move. And fast.
Even though it was a terrible idea, you eye the crumbled mass on the floor below you. You could probably lower yourself down, even though it's risky.
Without sparing another thought, you flick the safety on and secure your gun back into your thigh holster. You hike up your dirtied skirt over your thighs and shuffle to the edge of the top step. Releasing your skirt now, you grasp onto the top floor under the broken handrail, slowly sliding yourself over the edge on your back, your feet reaching out desperately for the top of the mess of stairs.
You gasp when your ass finally slips from the third floor. Your feet catch you clumsily, but your weight is too much. You barely notice as you twist your ankle because the crumbled stairs slide out from beneath you, toppling to the ground. Your arms, the backs of your legs, your exposed back, all of your skin scrapes against the surface as you ride the second avalanche to the floor.
Fuck. You bring your shaky hand in front of your face, eyes glued to the layers of skin missing from your wrist and forearm, red rising to the top. No time to think about it, you tell yourself. Escape first.
You push onto your feet, but stumble as pain rockets up your ankle. No. No no no, this is bad. You lean against the wall, its moisture on your back dismissed as you eye your foot. Placing it flat on the ground again, you shift your weight to it, pain shooting up your leg again. Why was your luck so shit tonight?
Tears spring to your eyes. You didn't even want to go to that stupid gala or wear this stupid outfit. Now you're here, fighting for your life as Gotham's most terrifying and unpredictable villain plays with you like a toy.
You bite back the tears, blinking hard and ignoring the wet trails they paint down your filthy cheeks. A concussion won't stop me. This won't stop me. I'm going to live. You're not sure if you're reassuring yourself or if you're giving yourself no other choice.
You push your skirt out of the way, retrieving your gun and turning the safety off again. That clown will pay for this.
You limp away from the rubble, your free hand braced on the wall and your other hand at the ready. You were going to shoot him right in that painted grin.
You slide into the nearest room, pushing yourself into the farthest corner and slumping to the ground. You place your other hand over the one on the gun, raising them and aiming directly at the doorway.
If he appeared, he would find himself full of bullets. And if he didn't by morning, you would find your way off this godforsaken fucking island.
The minutes tick by slowly, pain thrashing its way over your whole aching body, lulling you into an exhausted stupor as the adrenaline seeps from your system. But you don't lower your hands and you don't relent your laser focus.
The minutes slip into hours. Sitting there. Waiting. The thick scent of Arkham's putrid air permeates your soul. Maybe you'll never leave, maybe you'll never escape, you think passively.
But as soon as you do, a shadow fills the doorway, blocking out the moonlight.
You right your hands, finger tempting the trigger. Your eyes focus on the figure, but... it isn't the Joker. The Joker doesn't wear a cape, doesn't have pointy ears at the top of his head.
writing fanfiction is just. i’m being so creative and original. i’m plagiarizing everyone by accident. i’m a genius. i’m cringe. i’m too angsty. i’m too cheesy. this is not in character. it doesn’t matter that it’s not in character because these are my characters now. i love my hobby. this is the worst possible use of my time. i’m seeking validation. i’m projecting my own personal problems onto this story and i’m barely hiding it. i know so many words and i’m using all of them wrong. im on tumblr posting about it instead of writing it.
I want to put my fanfics on here but theyre all messes and its not like anyone will read them but at the same time what if someone does and they judge me for it????
