I am Mohammed, I live in the northern besieged Gaza Strip, I am 21 years old, I have always tried to create a beautiful future for myself in which I achieve all my wishes. I had ambitions and dreams, but they evaporated because of the war, but I still want to achieve them despite the siege. During the war, I lost many things, including my university, my dreams, my job, and some friends. Despite that, I still want to achieve my dreams and ambitions. I want to rebuild my life again, so please help me in that and rebuild my life. Therefore,
please donate as much as you can because that helps me a lot. If you cannot donate, tell people about my suffering.
My name is Mohammed, I live in a neighborhood in Shujaiyya, an area in the north of Gaza. I am 21 years old , the eldest among my siblings.
Hunger has begun to tear through our bodies, and it is not hunger alone that we endure. The Israeli army has officially ordered us to evacuate to the south of Gaza, announcing a massive military operation that will destroy what little remains of our homes and tentsâwhile claiming it will provide shelter and aid there.
But in reality, more children and families will be killed, just as happens every single day.
The whole world remains silent, watching as these massacres and this cruelty continue.
Our hearts can no longer bear the weight of this pain; we have grown older than our years, carrying burdens far beyond our strength.
We beg youâdo something to save us. Your donation could mean the difference between life and death.
Please share this message with your audience so more people can see, feel, and help.
Think of us, feel our suffering⌠we are human beings simply struggling to survive.
You are our hope. You are our voice.
vetted by @gazavetters (line #658) vetted by @nabulsi (here) , and shared by @90-ghost (here)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Harvey Dent/Gilda Dent (2k+ words ⥠nsfw)
Summary: Bruce and Gilda only want what's best for Harvey and sometimes that means working together in ways neither of them could have imagined. (A commission from the absolutely lovely @nonreprobluestreak)
The hotel room was as basic as could be. Sparse yet surprisingly comfortable looking furnishings decorated the small space, but it offered the anonymity necessary for such a meeting to occur. A billionaire, a murderess, and a divided criminal had walked into a room with the sole intention of saving the latter from himself.
Two Face was making movements within the Gotham underground. Foolish movements. Hot-headed decisions which could only speak to a desire for punishment, to be lost to the darkness. It was the type of behaviour which those who knew him understood spelled danger.
Harvey Dent was a man on the brink and Gilda Dent paired with Bruce Wayne were the only ones who could snatch him back from the precipice to safety. Bruce had always respected Gilda. Her strength in standing by Harvey in the golden days was impressive and she never allowed anything to stand in their way. He may never reconcile himself with her actions as the Holiday killer but he understood the many ways in which love presented itself.
Sometimes love was a length of rope, just long enough to allow you to hang yourself and your principles.
But for Harvey, as hypocritical as it were, he understood her desperation as he had also allowed some of his principles to slip.
Tears were shed and threats, the viciousness of them suspiciously empty as Harvey stood like a caged animal, had been hurled from scarred lips but the results remained the same as Harvey agreed to enter into a new program; one which would pair medications with the greatest support network which Bruce could afford as Gilda remained firmly at his side.
Harvey would be okay.
This time, at least.
The warmth of success and hope settled in Bruceâs chest, curling around his heart like a blanket, as he watched Harvey wrap his arms around Gildaâs waist.
Picking up his coat and laying it over his forearm, Bruceâs movement to leave the dingy hotel room and the couple to their reunion was halted by a soft, feminine cough.
âBruce, stay with us.â
Bruce turned on his heel, his coat flaring out dangerously at the sudden shift in body.
âStay. Tonight. With both of us.â She continued, a slight note of pleading slipping between the syllables.
Harveyâs gaze was calculating, shifting between Gilda and Bruce with something close to surprise, and his scarred eye widened when Gilda released his broad chest to walk over to Bruceâs frozen frame.
âYou love him.â She accused; lips tilted into an accepting smile as she tugged at his wrists. âJust like I do. Stay with us and we can show him just how much he has.â
âGilda, what are you aski-â
In one quick fluid motion, Gilda stepped forward and captured Bruceâs lips with her own in a gentle, inviting kiss. The heat of her body seeped against his and his hands instinctively locked around her hips as he allowed her tongue to swipe experimentally against his teeth.
Bruceâs panicked eyes flicked over to Harvey, half expecting his handsome face to be twisted in jealous rage. To his surprise, fury appeared to be the furthest thing from his expression, his features instead arranging themselves into something painfully hungry â a starving man being presented with a forbidden meal.
âFor him.â Gilda whispered, pulling back just enough for the intimate words to wrap enticingly around his ears. Heat pooled low in his stomach as a traitorous excitement made his cock twitch. Gilda was a beautiful woman and he and Harvey knew each other in all the ways that two men could know each other. Their time had passed long before Gilda appeared on the scene but their love had remained and she had never been anything less than supportive of that.
âFor him.â Bruce muttered back, casting any doubts aside.
Gilda released him, pulling her warm mouth away as she turned to beckon Harvey towards their position and Harvey responded in kind, thick legs carrying him across the small space in two steps as he snatched Gilda close to his chest.
âAre you sure?â
Harveyâs voice was hoarse, throaty with the arousal which he was struggling to hide as he pinned Bruce with his gaze.
âJust like old times, Harv.â Bruce smiled, the small gesture offering the assurance which he knew the other man was seeking.
A victorious snarl pulled free of Harveyâs throat as Gilda twisted in position to start unbuttoning his shirt while Bruce took the cue in stride to once again dump his coat on the nearby sideboard.
Their outfits did not last long, and the cheap carpet quickly grew littered with the flurry of clothing which were being pulled from the frantic bodies until all three stood in nothing but exposed skin and underwear.
Gildaâs figure, framed beautifully in a simple black cotton underwear set which matched the darker tones of her hair, appeared smaller than it probably was due to the much broader frames of both Harvey and himself. Time had been kind to Gilda and the crows feet which decorated her eyes as she offered him a shy smile only served to make her even more attractive, her bobbed hair shaking slightly as she inclined her head to observe him in kind.
He could feel her eyes on his torso, no doubt masking her surprise at the various scars which cut across his skin, but her eyes fluttered coquettishly as they dipped to the dark silk boxers which clung to his hips. The hard bulge of his cock was impossible to hide or deny.
Between them, Harvey was stunning.
Electing to wear familiar white briefs, the white fabric made the slight tan of his skin appear darker and Bruce was momentarily struck by just how beautiful he truly was. He would always be an Adonis and nothing would take that away. Not his scarring. Not the world which sought to rip him to shreds.
He would always be handsome.
The ropey scarring which tore across his broad chest and shoulders, the path of the acid clearly laid out and etched into the vulnerable skin, looked as red and angry as ever and Bruce reached out to trace a gentle finger along the ridge of it where it touched the unblemished flesh.
A shudder wracked Harveyâs frame as the skin appeared sensitive and Bruce filed that information away for future reference as he pulled back.
Harvey displayed his torn body with a comfort which formed an ache in Bruceâs chest as he realised that Harvey felt safe, truly safe, with the two of them and that he was privy to something that no other person would be.
Gilda was the one to take point as she thrust her hand against Harveyâs chest and pushed him roughly to the bed.
âYouâll need to take them off, baby.â She purred, pointing to the briefs and smirking as Harvey had the offending item off his body within seconds. âGood boy.â
Something in the confidence she showed when directing Harvey made Bruceâs cock jerk in place. It was a side to her he could not have imagined and one which he was interested to bear witness to.
Following Harvey to the bed like a predator caging a very willing prey, Bruce dropped to straddle Harveyâs broad hips and his lips latched on to the scarred skin around his neck. The sensation was interesting against his mouth and he savoured it, licking and biting lightly at the healed scarring as Harvey whined beneath him, his hips rolling against his own as his thigh brushed his cock.
âWhat do you want?â Growling the words into Harveyâs ear, Bruce felt a third presence on the bed as Gildaâs soft hand pressed against his lower back, her head hovering somewhere just to the side of his own.
âI want you to fuck me.â Harvey gasped out.
Bruce tilted his head to catch Gildaâs playful expression.
âI didnât hear you there, baby. What did you say?â She asked, dipping her hand in the small space between their cocks as she rubbed them together for a moment, feeling the hardness of both men.
âI want you both to fuck me.â Harvey repeated, keening the words out as Gilda wrapped her hand around his straining length.
âThen get up.â Bruce intervened, allowing a slightly more dominant tone to curl around his words as he played into the game which had been set up.
Harvey shuffled along the bed as Bruce and Gilda both moved away to allow him to re-position. Flipping himself over, he raised himself to his knees as his heavy breathing filled the air.
Fisting his own cock, Bruce groaned at the willing display as Harveyâs toned ass were presented before him. His head swam with the whole situation, old memories of how he and Harvey used to fuck flicking through his mind like a camera roll.
âDid you bring any lube?â He asked, fixing Gilda with heated eyes as she plucked at her own pebbled nipples, her bra discarded to the floor.
âNo,â she shrugged apologetically, âbut here-â
As her husband watched, his cock twitching despite its untouched state, Gilda brought her manicured fingers to her cunt, swiping along the wetness there until her fingers were coated. Pulling them free, she wrapped a hand around Bruceâs cock and stroked him gently; the unexpected movement making his hips buck as he thrust into her hand.
Having coated him in her juices, she once again returned her hand to her slit and dipped two fingers within her sex. Bringing her free hand to Harveyâs lower back, she brought her slick-covered fingers to his ass and rubbed his hold gently, beckoning it to give way to her soft ministrations.
Harvey groaned at the contact, his ass raising higher as he writhed under her fingers, a whine escaping his throat as she thrust one finger in.
She worked him open methodically as Bruce watched with open arousal. One finger quickly became two, quickly scissoring to stretch him as much as he would need as she paused to re-coat her fingers as she saw fit.
Breathless and with a dilated gaze, Gilda eventually stopped; leaving Harvey a shuddering mess on the bed as his painfully hard cock bobbed against his stomach.
âHeâs ready.â
Not needing to be told twice, Bruce stepped forward and brushed his thumb against Harveyâs hole, admiring the way in which it pulsed to pull him in deeper. Lining up his cock, he pushed in gently to allow Harvey to accommodate to his size. It was a dance they had engaged in many times but it had been years and Bruce found himself shivering as the arousal which gripped his system made his cock feel hot and heavy.
Slowly, Bruce worked himself in until he were fully hilted and a thick groan slipped free of his lips at how hot and tight Harvey felt. How familiar. His nails raked down the exposed skin of Harveyâs ass and his reward was Harvey clenching around his cock to the point of discomfort.
Bruce pulled back before offering a shallow thrust, testing the waters, and the garbled cry which Harvey gave was all the encouragement he needed as he set a slow, deep pace. His focus split between the ropey scarring which splashed across Harveyâs upper back and Gilda, who watched him back with rapt attention as he fucked her husband.
Slipping atop the sheets and splaying herself on her back as she pressed her soaked cunt before Harveyâs gaze, Gildaâs hands were rough against Harveyâs hair as she pulled him closer.
âDo you want to taste me, Harv?â She purred, her fingers dropping to her inner thighs to tap the skin there invitingly.
Bruce, spurned on by the display, thrust a little more roughly and Harvey gasped out his surprise as his hands clutched at the cheap bedsheets desperately.
âYes.â Harvey grunted, dropping his head down to lick a wicked stripe across her slit. âAlways. So beautiful.â His words were slurred, so hoarse they were almost inaudible, but his enthusiasm was clear as he buried his head between her legs, immediately causing her to tighten her grip of his dark hair.
A wicked rhythm was quickly established as Bruceâs thrusts were paired with Gildaâs hands and both moved in tandem to give Harvey everything he could possibly need. Heavy breathing mixed with faint moans and the obscene slap of skin-on-skin filled the room, the scent of sex and sweat quickly building.
After all was said and done, and all three parties had found satisfaction in the others, any prying eyes would have found them in quite the compromising position. The scandal of Bruce Wayne curled around the scarred torso of Harvey Dent - former District Attorney and current career criminal - and his estranged wife Gilda Dent would have sold enough column inches to make many a journalist hack scream with delight.
But prying eyes were only a thought, and Bruce and Gilda dozed peacefully atop the man whom they loved to the point of foolishness.
I will soon post this over to AO3 (username: DittyWrites) but not at the moment because I'm a little bit tired lol x
I love how we all pretend that Jonathan Crane is an attractive individual when in reality we know he looks like a goblin thatâs been put through Willy Wonkasâ Taffy PullerâŚ
Sentence prompt for scriddler: âWhat am I if not a giver?â
"What am I, if not a giver?"
Steady droplets of blood broke free of the jagged wound which decorated Edward's pale shoulder, the colour shamefully bright against the pallor as Jonathan surveyed the wound with a stern gaze.
His speech slurring due to the intensity of the drugs careering through his system, Edward's grin was uncharacteristically goofy as he answered Jonathan's stoic answer.
"A giver? The only thing you give me is a headache."
"Hilarious. Perhaps I'll offset those painkillers I gifted you by injecting some adrenaline. Then we'll see what jokes you have when I'm stitching you up fully conscious and aware."
"Don't be so miserly." Edward retorted, a grunt snapping free of his lips as Jonathan pressed the iodine soaked rag to the weeping cut, sterilising it in an instant. "Ouch." A pathetic exclamation.
"If that was too much for you then perhaps it would be more merciful for me to smash your skull to ensure unconsciousness for this next part. These stitches will not be kind."
"No. No, no, no. Boring. A boring solution to a brilliant problem."
Offering the words in an almost sing-song tone as his free hand brushed through his mess of reddish hair, Edward shook his head at the very notion.
"Remind me," Jonathan's smile was poisoned by a hearty dose of open venom, "to make a note on your personal chart to never administer this particular cocktail of painkillers again. It makes you more unbearable than usual."
Edward's glassy eyes blinked rapidly as they fought for clarity through the drugged haze.
Summary: A series of snippets covering the various events Jonathan Crane engaged in during the week he spent separated from his witty girl after their disagreement.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X
The Aftermath
I donât want to be near you. Not right now, not after this.
Hands clenched until he could feel the tips of his jagged nails digging into the calloused skin of his palms, Crane waited for the solid click of the door lock before whirling in position and snatching up the closest object.
Slamming the beaker to the ground, the shards of glass scattered across the floor in an explosion of carnage which felt very satisfying in the moment. His eyes started to the stairs once more and it took every inch of restraint within his tensed frame to hold true to his word and allow his little mouse to walk free of his clutches.
âFucking Sionis.â He growled, placing the blame where blame was due before directing his thoughts more internally. âStupid. Utterly stupid.â
You did the right thing for yourself. As we always have.
A dark yet intimate voice whispered from the back of his mind, curling around his thoughts as a dark cloud.
She will not see it that way. I betrayed her trust and took something from her which she wasnât willing to give. Sheâs irrational and impractical, but she was not wrong.
She would have given it, she said so her herself. The voice soothed. Since when does the Scarecrow ask for permission? You took as you always have, and she reacted beautifully.
Remaining stubborn in the face of his own thoughts, Crane could not deny the accusation.
She had been beautiful in her terror; eyes blown wide and limbs trembling as she faced her deepest fears. But it was a tainted experience, soiled by the presence of Sionis. Had he not been there, he would have almost been tempted to lay his head atop her heaving chest and selfishly indulge in a more intimate listen to the hummingbird beat of her heart.
I stood by as Sionis mistreated her. He struck her and groped her while she was left vulnerable by my hand. I was not quick enough to prevent it.
In truth, the sight of Sionisâ hands on her had sparked a cold fury, one borne of a primal jealousy and rage which fuelled his sharp movements in halting any further abuses. There were many things he would tolerate, but that?
No.
Not when it was something belonging to him.
He claimed so little in this life that he would allow himself that one possessive indulgence.
But still, his desire to remain collected and unbothered in the moment had allowed injury to come to his little mouse and the reality of that sparked an unfamiliar guilt which lay alongside the much more familiar anger that wrapped around his chest.
Sighing into the empty space, a weariness settled into his shoulders as he turned on his heel and crossed the threshold of the basement to channel his frustrations into something productive.
Day #1
Yanked into consciousness by the discomforting pain in his neck, a long and languid groan slipped free of Craneâs lips as his bleary eyes opened to an odd sight. The ceiling which lay above him was not what typically hung overhead and a momentary panic settled in his gut as his eyes swept down, quickly seeking out his location.
The panic settled just as quickly as it appeared as the sight of his beloved dental chair swam into view.
He had fallen asleep in the chair.
That wasâŚunusual.
Typically, the chair provided a less comfortable sleeping arrangement than the old couch which typically housed his frame when exhaustion forced him to sleep. Hell, he didnât even tend to sit in the chair, preferring instead to use it as an exclusive and unspoiled space for those unfortunate enough to have been selected to help him with his various experiments.
Uncomfortable and a little disturbed by the choice, he stood quickly, and his willowy frame swayed for a moment.
Hungry.
Thirsty.
Fatigued.
Irritated.
All hitting him at once, he allowed a moment to regret awaking before running his hands through the shock of his messy sleep-mussed hair. A faint recollection of throwing some breakfast bars down his throat the previous evening tickled at his memories, but it clearly had not been enough.
Moving to grab a bottle of water, his foot caught on something which lay haphazardly on the uneven floor and he gasped as he used the nearby table to right himself before he was sent careening to the harsh ground. He offered a soft growl at the inconvenience as his hand scooped down to pick up the offending object.
His fingers wrapped around something soft and leathery, and he recognised it instantly as the compact clutch bag which his little mouse liked to bring with her when she visited. Cracking open the magnetic lock, he peered inside and was greeted by the usual toys, the metal glint of the nipple clamps immediately catching his attention as always.
She had left in such a rush that she had neglected to pick up her bag.
A sweet scent tickled his senses and he recognised her perfume instantly, the notes embedded within the leather, and he lifted the bag to his nose, inhaling deeply. She always made an effort with her appearance and that extended to ensuring that she always wore the same perfume when she visited. If he were close enough to her skin, he could often pinpoint the exact areas in which sheâs sprayed herself as the delicately sweet and floral notes which surrounded her were at their most intense.
Shaking himself of the thoughts, his free hand snatched open the bottom drawer which lay beneath his work desk. He dropped the bag within it, the leather cushioning the drop, and the grimace which tilted his lips did nothing to improve his irritable mood.
Day #2
âCome now, Mr. Jenkins.â Crane crooned, his thin hands splaying atop his costumed hips. âResistance at this point is utterly futile.â
âPlease, please. Iâll do anything.â Eyes blown wide with terror, Mr. Jenkins â as his wallet identified him â already appeared ready to collapse at the slightest provocation. âYou need money? I can get m-money. My wife-â
âDo I look like a man who can be bought?â Crane tilted his head. âOr reasoned with? Do I look like a man who allows mercy to knock at his heart?â
A high-pitched keening noise was the only reply.
Adjusting the rim of his oversized hat, Crane dipped his hand within one of the many hidden pockets of his costume and pulled free a capped syringe; the liquid within almost clear with just the slightest tinge of green which glinted if held up to the dim lighting.
âDo you know what this is Mr. Jenkins?â
He continued on with his speech, drinking in the way which the colour drained from the restrained manâs horrified expression.
âMy beloved fear toxin. A labour of love which is always seeking little improvements. You are fortunate to be the last one to test this current batch as its potency has proven difficult to control. Of the other test subjects, only one survived long enough to engage with a second dose. A third would not prove feasible.â
The cap pulled off smoothly and he raised the syringe to ensure that no air bubbles were present. Satisfied by what he could see, he approached Mr. Jenkins once more as his prone body twisted and writhed within the harsh restraints.
Snatching free the voice recorder from other pocket, he brought it to his lips.
âTime is 7.05pm and the first dose has been administered intravenously. Typical dosage and measurements. Subject appears agitated but fully conscious.â
Having kept the recorder in hand, he wrapped his fingers around the thinning strands of Mr. Jenkins hair and pulled his head firmly to the side. Jabbing the needle of the syringe into his fat neck, he paused for a moment before roughly pressing down on the plunger to deposit the full amount.
As always, the results were instantaneous.
Eyelids fluttering as his dilated irises darted across the room, seeking out the monsters which he knew were coming for him, Mr. Jenkinsâ fingers scrambled against the arm of the dentistâs chair.
It was a potentially fatal dose, made even more of a risk by the overweight nature of Mr. Jenkins frame and Crane could almost picture his heart as it struggled to pump the toxin through his panicking body.
A low scream tore free of his lips as Mr. Jenkins head thrashed viciously against the strap holding it loosely in place.
Momentarily concerned that the broad man would actually break the restraint, Crane stepped forward and attempted to hold his head in place to tighten the strap a notch or two. It was no easy feat, given the frantic movements, and frustration welled dangerously in Craneâs chest as he was thwarted in his attempt.
The sting of his hand as it drew across the blubbering face in a sudden and vicious slap gave him pause. Physical violence towards his subjects was not unheard of but it also wasnât something he typically indulged in. The satisfaction was undeniable though, the small act of aggression soothing some dark part of him that had been itching for release since his separation from his little mouse.
Raising his palm once again, he struck Mr. Jenkins once more and grinned at the small trickle of blood which broke free of his nose, his strained vocals amounting to little more than pathetic sobbing and incomprehensible muttering.
Crane took a measured step back. It would do him no good to accidentally kill the man and so he settled on falling into a more observatory role. Resting on his heels, the voice recorder clasped within his left hand was the only movement to come from him for quite some time as it occasionally rose to his mouth as interesting comments and thoughts sprang to mind.
Day #4
One aspect of his work which sparked constant irritation came from the length of time which is took to brew a decent batch of toxin. The base recipe had long since been optimised for both speed and potency, a labour of love which now made any variation, with its extended brewing time, an irritation which simply had to be endured.
But that was not the true cause of his irritation.
He had woken up hard, his cock pressing against his boxers in a wickedly uncomfortable manner. Perhaps out of sheer spite, he had refused to deal with it in the early morning as he lay on the couch, but that choice had come back to bite him throughout the day as it left him agitated and more than a little frustrated.
It was the kind of morning where his fingers would be quick to fire off a text to his little mouse, inviting her over to enjoy his company later in the evening. And she would always reply in kind, expressing her excitement to spend some time pushing her own limits.
An admission which always sparked a pleasant satisfaction in his chest.
But that was not an option.
Pride would not allow for him to break his acceptance of her absence. Besides, given that she were yet to contact or acknowledge him in any way, a bold invitation for sex would probably be received quite negatively in the grand scheme of things.
Craneâs eyes danced over the broiling liquid which would need at least another hour to fully combine and his thoughts were distracted enough that it wasnât until his hand was pawing at his belt that he resigned himself to a little self-indulgence.
Unzipping his slacks, his hand moved quickly to free his semi-hard cock, the bulge of it straining against the thin material. The back of the chair was firm against his frame as he reclined, long legs stretching out comfortably as he wrapped his fingers around his length.
His little mouse would have been perfectly suited to this moment and he could picture her role with ease.
Her knees planted to the ground as she tucked herself into the limited space beneath his work desk; her elbows locked behind her body, tied away to ensure that her fingers could only claw against each other as he used her for his own purposes. Her hot, wet mouth latched around his cock, alternating between pleasuring him with her tongue and holding his cock deep within her throat, the muscles there massaging him with every panicked attempt at intaking air.
Rolling his thumb across his cockhead, a soft exhale escaped his lips at the small movement sparked heat across his groin, almost uncomfortable in its intensity.
Her eyes glancing up at him, so wide and glazed over as she serviced him while he completed his various tasks. Small tears forming in the corners as he hilted himself within her throat, her discomfort making her writhe and panic even as he offered her a stern tut of disapproval. He would hold himself there until the last possible moment before pulling free to allow her choking, gasping breaths.
Crane picked up the pace, twisting his wrist with every stroke of his cock as his legs spread even further, losing himself to the fantasy which poisoned his agitated mind.
Kneeling as she were, it would be easy for him to play with her in kind. His shoe raising from the floor to rub along her slit, meeting no resistance due to the moisture there, until it connects with her aroused clit, the sudden shock of the pressure causing her to flinch in place as she swallows around his cock. He would tell her to move, to rub herself against his foot like the silly little mouse she is, and she would comply immediately. His witty girl was never one to deny herself pleasure.
The thought of her soft skin and the warmth of her mouth wrapping around his cock drew a grunt from his chest, his cock twitching accordingly.
Her little whimpers would be blocked by his cock. The vibrations of them making him grunt and push forward, determined to soak in every little pleasure. She gets nothing other than his foot and he could feel her determined movements, the rapid pace she would achieve to bring herself where she needed to be as he pumped in and out of her mouth. The obscene noises spurring them both on until he came, his cock buried in her throat and his hand wrapped around her head to hold her in place until he was fully satisfied.
It proved enough, and he was drawn from his fantasies by his cock jerking in hand; his orgasm tight and hot across his groin as his release splattered across his hand, some of it falling to the tails of his shirt. Shame trickled down his spine, making the pleasure all that more indulgent as he waited for his heavy breathing to right itself.
Wiping off his release from his now-stained shirt, a slight twinge of irritation at the mess brought his senses back and he sighed as he stood from his seated position. He kept spare shirts at the back of the basement in a zipped bag and one would have to suffice for the moment, lest any unexpected visitor be faced with some uncomfortable truths.
Walking to the shirts, the image of his little mouse trapped beneath his work desk burned itself into his thoughts as a vague hope that it would come to pass settled within his thin chest.
Day #5
Perched atop his workspace, the sheer lack of respect which Harleen held for personal space never failed to catch him off-guard and Crane subtly moved several things away from his animated body as she continued her small discussion.
â-but just as Selina and I were finishing up our drinks, we saw Ozzie throwing Maxie Zeus out of his office. And whoo-wee, he looked big mad about it. He stormed past our table and Selina heard him muttering something about the Southern Dock. Selina thinks heâs hiding some stolen goods down there but I think heâs got a little hidey-hole he wants to keep hidden.â
Harleen Quinzel; motormouth and fantastic source of information on the private workings of the Gotham underground.
Some would ever accuse her of being a gossip.
âAnd how is Selina?â
âHates you.â Harley grinned, tilting her head. âHates everyone. Hates the new haircut she got from the barber down by the multiplex. Sheâs moody these days.â
Crane offered a non-committed hum in response.
âAnd how is Joker?â
âMistah Jay and I are planning something fun together at the moment. Heâs been so focused on his planning and heâs working so hard even though I must have kept distracting him. He says that I need to do some stuff alone for this plan to work so he keeps sending me away.â
Keeping his expression as stoic as ever, his eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinised her appearance. There, under her right eye sat the faintest shadow of bruising, the heft of it no doubt expertly covered by her garishly pale makeup.
He had covered his little mouse in so much worse; left her body striped in beautiful purples and reds, littered her skin with bruising which must have taken days to heal. And yet, to leave such a mark on her seemed unfathomable to him. Domestic violence required a particular type of cruelty and the appeal of it was lost on him.
âI think a more individual life would suit you, Harleen.â
âYeah, Ivy says that too. Iâm staying with her when Mistah Jay doesnât need me and sheâs cooking me up a refresher so that I donât get sick around her new plants.â
So much for individual.
âBut youâre not moody, Dr. Crane. Youâve been quiet the last while, but you havenât been as bitchy as usual.â
Frowning at the term, Crane indulged her for the moment.
âIs a man not entitled to a good day?â
âA good day, yeah sure! But youâve been busy, busy, busy, working on something. Folks have noticed that youâve been quiet and some of them are worried.â
âGood. Let them be anxious about it.â
âMmm-hmm.â Harley fell unusually silent, her carefully constructed vapid gaze falling away to reveal the intelligence which lurked below as she held Craneâs eye for a moment too long.
His next question ready to fall from his lips, Craneâs attention was immediately pulled away by a metal crunch which signalled that the basement door was opening.
âSalutations and commiserations, good fellows.â
âI need to invest in a stronger lock for that door.â Crane called out, voice deadpan with only a hint of irritation. âWhy are you darkening my doorway?â
Stepping into the dim basement lights, Edward Nygma glancing around to regard the room with open distaste before clasping his hands over his stomach.
âAn old friend canât pop in to say hello?â
âWeâre not friends.â
âHarley is my friend. Arenât you, dear?â He asked, indicating to her with an open palm and a showman smile.
âHi, Mistah E!â Hopping off the work desk, Harleyâs strong arms circled around his waist in a surprisingly enthusiastic hug and Crane was quick to notice the grimace which tugged at the corner of Edwardâs lips at the contact.
âYes, thank you.â He muttered, pulling away gracefully before adjusting his emerald tie. âAnyway, I have some information for you, and I would be willing to exchange it for a little something-something. A trade if you will.â
His interest piqued; Crane flicked his eyes to the couch in invitation as Harley retook her position perched on his work desk.
âIs that clean?â Standing beside the couch, Edwardâs nose flared.
Snapshot memories of long nights spent asleep on that couch, not to mention all the times he and his witty girl had fucked there, flickered through Craneâs mind and a mean-spirited smirk tugged at his lips as he nodded.
âOf course it is.â
The pensive look refusing to leave his expression, Edward took the offered seat regardless. His progress was quickly halted though as his hand slipped beneath his ass to pull something free.
âLipstick?â
Clutched between his fingers, lay a thin lipstick tube; its clear plastic covering showing off the sheer pink lipstick contained within.
Had it not been for his strict control of his expression, Craneâs features would have exploded into panic. He knew that lipstick case well. He had often watched his little mouse apply it to her lips before leaving. Or topping it up between their activities. It acted as a sort of comfort for her, one that had not slipped his notice.
As Edward examined the small case, Crane did not miss the furtive gaze which Harley clapped in his direction.
âOh, thatâs mine!â She called out, bouncing from her seated position to grab the case from his fingers. âThanks, Eddie. Itâs one of my favourites.â
âI had no idea you were capable of such subtlety. Clown red seems more your style.â Edward said.
âHey, buddy! Keep your opinions to yourself.â Harley dropped her hands to her hips to defend her honour. âIâm not defined by my makeup.â
Thankful for the distraction, even as a horrible sense that Harley was piecing together a picture of information that he would rather keep buried, Crane cleared his throat to gather their attentions.
âAnyway,â he offered pointedly, âcan we move this along. You,â he inclined to Edward, âwhat information do you have for me?â
âWell, a rotund little birdie named Oswald tells me of a new shipment of experimental drugs from London that are due withi-â
Day #7
Slamming back the small measure of whisky, the welcoming burn travelled through his mouth and down his throat, warming him from the inside out.
His batch of toxin was a success. The information which Nygma had provided him had opened up new avenues for potential future adjustments. Two of his recent experiments had garnered surprising results, enough to have sparked a new idea which was slowly brewing within his mind.
And yet, he was not happy.
The discomfort which had been needling him the last week, a guilt which he found difficult to reconcile, had only grown more cumbersome. Distracting. It was a feeling so foreign to him that he found it impossible to ignore.
He would have to make amends with his little mouse.
An apology was due and that was a truth he could no longer avoid or justify. He had wronged her and she was owed recompense for that. His reasons for his actions were sound, practical in a way which gave the greatest benefit, but in doing so he had overstepped the delicate line which they both danced around as part of their arrangement.
He would apologise to his little mouse.
In their week apart, he had kept to his word and not approached her. However, a week of non-contact seemed fitting and after tonight, at least, he would know where they stood.
x-x-x-x-x
Standing in the hallway of her apartment, he paused long enough to take a measured look at himself before any rash decisions could be made. The weight of his fear gauntlet against his arm was a familiar comfort, a friend which provided security against harm in the dangerous Gotham streets.
He was no coward and his hand quickly slipped up to knock against the wood, the sound booming in the silent hallway in a way that made him cringe slightly.
What if she refuses to open the door?
She will.
You have witnessed her stubbornness. She may well slam the door in our face and refuse to hear what we have to say. What will the great Scarecrow do then? Return home with his tail between his legs?
It wonât come to that.
For her sake, we hope so.
The click of a metal lock alerted him to her presence behind the door and he drew to his full height, unwilling to show a hint of weakness as he stood before her.
âHello?â
Her face, the last vestiges of sleep making her features a little bleary, appeared in the opened crack of the doorway and a twinge of amusement sparked as he took in her ruffled, birds-nest of a hairstyle. An unflattering over-sized t-shirt fell around her shoulders as her expression bloomed into open shock.
Despite it all, she was as beautiful as ever and something possessive curled around his chest as he fought the urge to push the door open and claim her as his own, right then and there.
Instead, he settled on keeping a neutral expression as he held her wide-blown eyes and shocked expression.
