#adentincrime

[gothamdad]

pspsps's batman into a trap >:)

            runs straight into the trap like an idiot, because harvey has pspspsps’d him and how can he leave him hanging ???????  “ HARVEEEEEEYYYYYYYY ” 

[occultsleutha]

❛ we’re too far from help. ❜

 john will never miss this. mental wards have been part of his life more often than not in his growing age - a violently abrupt turn of events that have led him to this fate - kicking and screaming like the uncooperative patient he was always made to be. things fester in places like these... john would know, he can see them. can see the ghosts stained against painfully white walls, can see the traumatic energy from all the terrible things that have been done behind these locked doors, sticking in the corners like mold. arkham asylum is no different than the other places that still use words like ‘asylum’ and ‘insane’ --- there’s no reason why a place like this should exist, the same way there should have never been a ravenscar. he’ll always think of those long nights, strapped down and abused, when he finds himself standing empty, staring down the long fluorescent hallways, and how the only difference between here and hell is the color red.

dozens of disdaining eyes follow him ( with an intensity he’s thankful to be so practiced in ignoring ) as he makes his careful walk to the visiting room, and is unsurprised to find just how empty it is. 

no one has ever cared so much for the mentally hurting; that, he knows well.

he takes a seat across from two-face, scooting the old brown plastic chair closer to the small table between them, letting all the squeaks and groans from his sudden weight sort themselves out, while giving two-face a few extra moments to gather himself before john allows himself a proper look. he doesn’t smile, but he puts in the genuine effort to not look miserable, either... and then he just starts talking. his voice is calm and casual when he talks. nothing about anything in particular, all easy going chit-chat that can sustain itself with or without a response; breezy, non-committal. about the weather, an old friend in ireland, a surprising rugby match. two-face says nothing, does nothing except for the occasional glance up from the table, and a part of john feels relieved ( especially since no one invited him here ) that he hasn’t been told to shut up or leave. 

there’s a lull in the conversation about twenty minutes in when the distant sound of someone yelling echoes down the corridor, and it’s then that two-face finally speaks.

❛ we’re too far from help. ❜

its a weary admission that leaves john quiet as harvey turns away from him, hiding in profile to show only the scarred side of his face. john understands. it’s frustrating, especially when he’s fighting his own demons, but he understands. yet there isn’t anything he can immediately say to that, so he leans back in his chair to sit with it, to think about all the ways that this is him too, how it doesn’t change---no matter who is in the hospital gown and who isn’t. 

“---fetched us some biscuits on the way.”  he straightens, reaching into his trench coat to pull out a pack of oreos and sympathetically, a cigarette. because he's been admitted enough times to know that the hospital food never gets better, and everything is always that much worse with nicotine withdrawal in the mix. the contraband isn’t something the nurses can see, of course. magic has never always been about being flashy, no matter john’s apparent flair for the dramatic.

opening the package, he sets a couple oreos down on his pocket handkerchief that he’s pulled from his inside pocket and unfolded on the table. “we’re not too far from help, old son,” he says, knowing that two-face had only been talking about themselves, but john including himself is as purposeful as it is important, because despite how gotham might classify a rogue, at the end of the day, at the core, they’re the same - men that just tried to do good - men that still try to do good. men that have suffered for it. and because of it, john will never be so far enough removed from his experiences with mental illness to be able to talk about it with him like he’s just some bloke from the outside looking in. 

he tucks the silk cut cigarette underneath the slight, trembling curl of two-face’s hand before gently placing his own on top of his, in hope that the supportive touch will make harvey turn back to look at him. it would be nice if he looked at him; john is always ( or at least, is gradually becoming... ) soft for the parts of him that are still hanging on. he envies it too, wishing that the good parts of himself were so easily identifiable as a body halved. 

but that doesn’t matter right now---he’s here, regardless of any outside factor, and for once, his expression isn’t burdened with the weighted lines of anger and fatigue. only the very rare twinge of hope, fluttering up and frantic like a small bird in the tight, tar-filled enclosure of john’s ribcage. 

what a feat to give it flight.

“----i’m here.”

[riddlefool]

@adentincrime​  :   starter  call !   mutuals  only

        ‘  mr .  dent !  ‘   eddie  chirps ,   perhaps  too  enthusiastically  for  someone  suspended  in  a  padded  cell .   ‘  how  wondrous  it  is  to  see  you .   this  cacophony  of  criminals  is  never  the  same  without  our  apparitional  apollo !  ‘  

        ‘  you  know ,  i  used  to  have  one  of  your  mayoral  campaign  posters  out  on  my  lawn ,  ‘   he  continues ,  every  fiber  of  his  being  aware  of  how  cruel  he’s  being .   but  the  world ,   &   especially  those  in  charge  of  it ,   have  yet  to  show  him  any  pity .   in  the  face  of  a  down - trodden  bureaucrat ,  why  shouldn’t  he  be  harsh ?   

      ‘  yet  come  to  think  of  it ,   i  can’t  remember  your  stance  on  treatment  for  the  criminally  insane --   what  was  it  again ?  ‘

[coffinfaced]

adentincrime replied to your post: me, being forced to sift past all of the birds of...

F

[riddleculed]

Ed: Hold the fuck up.

Harvey: ...

Ed: ...it’s me. I’m the fuck up. Please hold me.

[penaduroforged]

@adentincrime​ has entered the pit.

     “Harvey Dent.” A voice called out through the empty, paper-scattered and trashed mess of what used to be his campaign office. The building had long since been condemned and dilapidated. Moon and streetlight peeking through the boarded up windows revealing two prominent red lenses sown into a white fixture that resembled a cross, almost. Silhouettes danced across his frame with each passing car outside but it was all too clear who he was.      “I have need for you.” He stepped forward into a more consistent light source, revealing to Harvey what he already knew. 

     The man known as Bane stood in front of him.

[bcthoundold]

@adentincrime​ replied to hc + Batman's rogues gallery (:

alfred, after finding two-face passed out on the couch in the living room with ace gnawing on a pork bone: oh my

Instant best friends, current favorite person

[druglcrd-arc]

@adentincrime replied to Two-Face or Scarecrow

excuse us

❝ Are you going to buy me dinner or not? ❞