#junebugzy

[june-bugzy]

saying this again but more people need to take the messages of this song to heart

[june-bugzy]

🥱 fires forever ig

[june-bugzy]

so ive got 1k of my fic done of 88k~ (88k is the minimum) hmm thisll take some time but hell yeah

[june-bugzy]

will never read wfa gng

[june-bugzy]

creepy ost soundtracks are my lifeline

[june-bugzy]

its funny how i either relate to those my age or thirty year old women how becoming

[june-bugzy]

yeah i wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me when i go the club club club club

[june-bugzy]

writing thing i said id post........ arkhamverse bruce & harley discussing jason kinda. i think its like a tad over 1k words so a litttttle treat . also still getting a feel over writing harley, n to fit w the atmosphere it's a little less prose-y.

Behind the clear, six inch bulletproof glass, Harley leans in. Close, enough for her breath to fog the screen. Blurring the clarity. Part of Bruce almost thinks it's some distraction, some set-up.

Harley greets him with a smile as he sits down and his jaw clenches. 

“Where is Jason?”

Ice-pick blue eyes go wide. Harley’s smile pulls into a grimace, and she sneers at him.

He blinks. As much as he’s studied her case file, carefully read through and analyzed each interview, each interaction, he still can't get used to seeing her without the makeup, or the pigtails . Traces of red and blue still linger at the edges of her blond hair. Her eyes are almost watery in the way she stares up at him, leaning ever closer.

Then she turns her head, bringing an ear up to the glass. 

“Who?”

It takes all of Bruce’s control to count the next four seconds as he draws his breath in. 

“Jason Todd-Wayne.” 

“Who?” She blurts, speaking before she can think. Harley blinks, sitting back. She rolls the question around her brain, shaking the name like die in a cup, trying for a lucky number. At first, the name is like a ghost.

Almost there.

Almost. 

Bruce watches her intently. He knows she knows, knows she was working with Joker that time, knows–

And then her smile grows. Jason. The realization sparks like a flame.

“Oh,” she whispers, eyes growing wider. “Robin?” She says, in the same, low tone. Harley glances around, landing on the ticking clock over the door– not a fun clock, not a cuckoo clock, not a cat– to behind Batman on the shaded figures of the guards outside the door.

Her eyes roam and she turns, casting a stray glance to her side of the visitation room. The door is locked. Her bright orange Arkham jumpsuit sticks out of the whites and greys like a traffic cone. 

“I didn't know Mistah J told you about that.” Harley says, plainly. Her fingers dance across the table, painted in chipped nail polish the Asylum couldn't bother to rub off. She swings back in her plastic chair, boredly propping a socked foot to keep her up, and Bruce glowers. 

“He didn't. Jason Todd. Where is he?” He raises his voice, craning his head forwards. He tries to meet her eyes, peering through the white lenses of the cowl.

She avoids them.

“Where's Pam?” Harley pipes in instead. 

Bruce ignores her. He stands up, and his chair scuffs against the ground, catching on the webs of grout lines. 

He doesn't flinch as it clatters to the ground.

“Poison Ivy’s location is secure. Where is Jason?”

Harley scrabbles back and chokes on a giggle. “Sorry, Bats.. But.. ‘Ya really think we’d still have ‘im?” She questions. “And I want Pammy.” Harley pouts, crossing her arms.

Bruce stares at her. “Tell me where he is, or I won't be able to guarantee you’ll see Dr. Isley in quite a while.” 

“What?” She whines, chair clacking as she lets it balance back on the ground. “Y’ can't do that! Not after y’ took Mr. J. I won't take that.” 

Harley stares at him, wide-eyed. 

“I won't take you not telling me where he is. What you know. What you did.” 

She pouts, and turns her head away.  “Still don't know where the bird is. ‘Last saw him years ago, now.” 

Years. It's been years since she's seen that Robin, the old one. Not the new one, shiny and bright. When she last saw Robin he was.. 

“And?”

Bruce watches as Harley pauses, going very still and very silent. The blood drains out of her face as she thinks a little harder, slimy smile fading into an anxious grin. Her eyes dart up to Bruce’s nervously.

She focuses on the floor as she starts to speak.

“Robin was.. strong for a bit. Even when I came in, ‘e was spitting. Swearing insults.

Puddin’ didn't let me in on ‘im for a while. Didn't get why he kept goin’ off without me, so I saw the kid..”

Robin wouldn't be a kid now, would he? Chips of nail polish flake into her palms as she digs her nails down. Anxiety grips her like a vice. She didn't want to leave that Robin there. 

“He was already.. pretty bad when he handed him over to me. We.. did lots a’ things. I was s’posed to help make him shine. Polish ‘im up. Bring him to standard.”

Bruce’s hands are starting to ball into fists on the table. It feels like he's bracing on it for life, staring fixatedly at Harley and not the grey table beneath them. 

Harley’s teary, now. Her eyes are red as she runs a palm up to try and stop the tears, hiccuping as they stick saltily to her face. Her voice wavers. 

“Do I ‘ave to tell you about it? Can't we talk about something nicer?” She asks, pulling a finger through her hair. It makes tiny, plinking snaps as it snags. She sniffles.

Jason is all Bruce can think about. Answers. Batman’s silence is what spurs her on. Her brows knit together. 

“We.. he got real twisted, after... J had him for a… long time. Really long. And then. …Robin got out. After a while. A real long while. Haven't seen him since.”

“Did you know where he was going?” He says, slowly.

She shakes her head, wiping her nose with a sleeve. Her hand shakes.

“ 'Don't. I don't know. Mistah J didn't know, either.” She confesses, making a low hum. Her knees are up to her chest, now. Her chair rocks back and forth, dangerously close to tipping. 

“He’ll be.. okay.” She asks, softly. “Won't he?” Harley’s blue eyes turn to him in question. Doesn't she know the answer? Her hair has been slowly shrugged over her face. She acts as if she wasn't the one who did those things to his son. Bruce can't meet her gaze.

“Can.. Can I see Pam?” She whispers. Bruce glances to the door.