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c a r n i v a l

@justacomedy-archived / justacomedy-archived.tumblr.com

ARCHIVED / / MOVED TO JUSTAFLECK
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I’m moving blogs! This blog is officially archived!  You can now find me over here: Justafleck I’ve been on this blog for about two years now and I’m ready for a fresh space! Thanks to the wonderful @cerberuscommissions  , I’ve got brand new graphics and I’d love to see you follow me over on the new blog! All current threads will transfer over, but if you’d like to toss out what we’ve already got and start something new, please feel free to let me know! Just tag my new blog when you reblog or move your reply onto a new post and toss a link to the previous reply for me!

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I’m moving blogs! This blog is officially archived!  You can now find me over here: Justafleck I’ve been on this blog for about two years now and I’m ready for a fresh space! Thanks to the wonderful @cerberuscommissions  , I’ve got brand new graphics and I’d love to see you follow me over on the new blog! All current threads will transfer over, but if you’d like to toss out what we’ve already got and start something new, please feel free to let me know! Just tag my new blog when you reblog or move your reply onto a new post and toss a link to the previous reply for me!

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Twin lamps flank the bed, yet he’d still felt the need to clip a reading lamp above his side on the right. Joker stares down that little halogen strip while stacking Penny’s throw pillows. The bench in front of the television is where he usually built this pyramid. Years have passed and Joker doesn’t miss a beat. Each cushion’s weight distributes with eerie precision for someone so out of practice. Television set’s off. Lamps are off, too. The answering machine in on what once was his side…along with a postcard of California’s coast tacked onto pink and yellow floral-dove wallpaper. That feeble attempt to stake a claim in this torture chamber is lost behind the corded phone. Sends a chill up Joker’s spine. 
Carpeting absorbs footfalls, yet Joker’s soles don’t leave behind so much as a dent on those fibers. He moves like a ghost…and his ghost watches in the doorway with pale, lifeless eyes. Joker swallows a lump the size of what feels like a watermelon and coughs as he rounds the bed to resume pulling back the purple crushed velvet blanket and floral printed sheets. Penny’s feet tuck in first. Her pajama bottoms ride up just enough for his fingertips to graze her calf. 
The accidental brush catches his throat. Werewolf stiffens like she’d taken those same scissors he bludgeoned Randall with and speared his arteries. His stance stiffens. Piano fingers lock into bizarre contortions that shaking his leg cannot jar loose. White base paint leaks into his eyes, staining them pink. All the while he listens to how easily Penny breathes — light snoring due to a lifetime of smoking. That’s likely in his future as well, though he doesn’t dwell on it. 
Joker succumbs to a tremble that seizes his hands once again ere he turns their heels up and finishes smoothing blankets over her legs. He’s blind to the tear that drags the gashed diamond under his left eye. That cyan streak bleeds over his mouth and fades where the scarlet smile ends. Batting his lashes only clears the powdery white residue from stage makeup. His sclera remain blown. Congestion roils his every breath, leaving Joker little choice button square his shoulders and clear his throat until he swears he tastes blood. Strawberry blonde hair, drawn into that limp half-pony, splays across the pillows now that he’s got her situated. 
Buttresses of shadow entrap him. Joker follows each black shaft from the fire escape outside their window across the ceiling. It’s too dark. As Penny pretends to lie still and pretend those spidery fingers won’t curve around his wrist and implore him to stay, Joker coughs and throws his momentum into shaking his leg. Another cough sends soft green hair into his face and over his ears. Darkness suits him ill. Likely makes the white foundation even more ghoulish. 
Joker dunks a hand into his pocket until a fresh cigarette hangs between his fore and middle fingers. Theotokos and Jesus Christ hang above the bed in what Joker now realizes is a twisted embrace. Why is he clinging to her like that? He sniffs back the taste of rot; barely able to hear more than his heart thumping and ashen lungs wrenching. Penny should be wheezing through dirt and decay, yet here she lies…every fine line and straw-like hair where it once was as opposed to what they should be: compost. He could do it now. His left hand curves into a claw to coil around her neck and snap in one squeeze. He could do it. Her bones will crush like a bird’s then here, too, he will free himself of her. 
Speaking Nix’s name in her presence is already enough to flip his stomach. That entire kitchen sink sandwich he’d slapped together is well on its way back up. Shoving the filter in his mouth and flicking the silver lighter twice can’t kill it. 
His intestines knot. A faint, barely perceptible sway shifts Alpha Wolf’s weight from paw to paw. He could strike at any given second. His left hand remains in that curve to end it now…yet here, too, he cannot bear down. He stands between the bed and the window, glaring at Penny as old Arthur looks on from the doorway. Joker’s back faces the window, yet sodium vapor floodlights manage to flood his eyes and cast the illusion that he, like his canine counterpart, possesses tapeta lucida. Joker harnesses the reflection almost as a warning for CarnivArthur to keep back. Penny’s chest rises and falls heavier than he recalls. He tilts his head at her as he strains to bite back the laugh that will certainly wake her and spell trouble for him. What golden pools of light manage to seep past that open window play off of his wedding band. Joker flicks and curves that wrist. It seizes nothing, but he tries willing it forward to finish the job once again. 
Nix’s name is a slow scalpel from that supple stretch under his chin right down to his hips’ crux. Perhaps ghost Arthur can watch him bleed out. Werewolf bends into that metaphorical knife’s path so he can potentially watch himself get disemboweled. Feels he’s hemorrhaging. He likes the feel of blood rushing free to saturate the carpet and bed. Maybe even Penny, too, if she’s in the splash zone. 
Joker coughs and rocks back and forth, smiling as he does so and nodding along to a rhythm that solely lives in his head. Hasn’t even made it to Second Addition. Hidden behind a smoke cloud, Joker brings that glowing stick back to his lips and takes a deep breath. Then he replies, “The other half of me,” in too thick a voice for comfort. Heavier, hastened thumps resound in his ear as his shoulders buckle under the pressure. The weight of his laugh rolls from his core first, but he bites his own tongue and gags to keep from waking Penny. She’d wake to his laugh. Joker hasn’t blinked since the light returned to his gaze. He hones it on past Arthur. 
“I told you I’m married. I’ve been…” he exhales smoke, “Married. Nixie’s short for Phoenix. Like the firebird.” Before he gives himself the mental picture of immolation, Joker adds with a quick bat of his left wrist, “T-the one that never dies.” 

   Arthur  remains  in  the  doorway  ,  shoulders  slightly  slumped  and  his  hands  settle  at  his sides  .  Emerald  hues  are  cautiously  honed  in  on  the  werewolf  ,  analyzing  his  every  move  .  The  way  he  drifts  through  his  home  in  silence  was  unnerving  :  it’s  polar  opposite  from  the  shuffling  of  Arthur’s  feet  as  he  often  drags  his  heels  with  every  step  as  if  his  feet  were  made  of  cinderblocks  .  The  faint  glow  from  the  city’s  streetlights  bring  dim  light  to  bleed  into  the  room  through  the  window  between  the  open  curtains  ,  enough  to  cast  shadows  and  Arthur  swears  they  are  moving  .  Manifesting  into  something  darker  that  would  soon  engulf  both  Joker  and  Penny  until  they  vanished  entirely  .  His  heart  threatens  to  halt  and  he inhales  a  soundless  breath  through  his  nostrils  as  if  fingers  of  his  right  hand  tap  against  the  side  of  his  leg  .  Cyan  bleeds  further  down  Joker’s  face than  before  ,  indication  of  tear  shed  .  Arthur  only  assumes  that  it’s  from  hurt  feelings  from  Penny’s  previous  neglect  to  acknowledge  Joker’s  attempt  to  inform  her  of  his  family  .  The  thought  alone  was  enough  to  sicken  Arthur  .  The  way  she  neglected  to  even  acknowledge  the  news  as  if  it  were  of  no  importance  .  No  matter  how  many  thoughts  flood  his  head  ,  he  cannot  seem  to  muster  a  single  excuse  to  justify  her  actions  .  

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  Joker’s  cough  reels  him  back  to  the  moment  ,  brows  furrow  with  certain  concern  as  he  hears  it  rattle  through  the  werewolf’s  chest  :  was  he  ill  ?  He  sounds  that  way  and  Arthur  had  noticed  it  earlier  in  the  living  room  but  only  chalked  it  up  to  be  the  stuffiness  in  his  apartment  .  Penny’s  room  was  no  better  ,  though  Arthur  manages  to  find  time  to  dust  ,  the  room  still  feels  thick  with  it  .  Each  breath  feels  weighted  and  even  Arthur  struggles  to  breathe  ,  though  the  only  time  he’s  hacked  the  way  Joker  does  is  when   he’s  fallen  ill  with  a  chest  cold  .  Joker’s  hand  disappears  into  his  pocket  to  withdraw  a  cigarette  and  the  sight  alone  brings  Arthur’s  own  hand  to  itch  as  he  begins  to  crave  one  of  his  own  .  It  wasn’t  until  the  scent  of  burning  tobacco  hit  his  nostrils  when  his  hand  finally  moves  to  retrieve  a  cigarette  from  the  pack  tucked  away  in  his  left  pocket  .  His  eyes  leave  Joker’s  silhouette  for  as  long  as  it  takes  him  to  light  up  :  the  old  zippo  lighter  he  flicks  barely  wants  to  work  ,  but  with  a  strike  of  good  fortune  , a  flame  finally  comes  to  life  and  burns  the  end  of  his  cigarette  .  He  closes  and  drops  the  lighter  back  into  his  pocket  ,  cigarette  tucked  in  between  thin  lips  until  his  hand  returns  to  tuck  it  between  his  index  and  middle  finger  .  He  holds  it  close  ,  keeping  it  by  his  mouth  so  that  he  can  nurse  it  ,  eyes  rising  once  more  to  meet  with  the  ominous  figure  that  remains  at  Penny’s  side  .

—  Joker  answers  his  question  ,  Arthur  watches  the  way  he  rocks  in  place  and  his  head  bobs  in  specific  rhythm  .  To  anyone  else  ,  they’d  think  he  looked  crazy  ,  but  Arthur  recognizes  the  motion  :  they’re  merely  a  reflection  of  himself  and  he’s  suddenly  reminded  that   Joker  is  him  .    Sorry  ...  I  just  ...  ”  he  waves  his  hand  slightly  in   attempts  to  gather  his  own  words  ,  brows  pinching  together  as  he  struggles  to  get  them  out  .  “  It’s  been  a  lot  to  take  in  .  ”  He  recalls  Joker  mentioning  that  he  was  married  :  he’s  even  spoken  to  Joker’s  children  ,  but  everything  is  moving  far  to  fast  for  Arthur  .  He  cannot  wrap  his  head  around  this  and  he’s  slowly  coming  to  terms  that  perhaps  ,  he  never  will  .    Does  your  wife   —  does  she  know  you’re  here  ?  With  me  ?  ”  He  can  only  assume  that  perhaps  ,  Joker  would  treat  the  situation  in  the  same  light  they  are  with  Penny  .  Not  to  confuse  anyone  ,  but  the  difference  is  his  wife  is  not  his  mother  .  And  from  what  Arthur  knows  of  marriage  from  what  he’s  seen  on  television  )  is  that  you  tell  each  other  everything  .  He  gnaws  over  his  own  question  for  a  moment  ;  if  there  are  two  of  himself  ,  then  were  there  two  of  everyone  ?  He  doesn’t  plan  to  actively  seek  this  out  :  it’s  far  too  much  for  him  to  bear  ,  but  it  was  worth  asking  just  to  know  .    Has  this  ....  ”  he  uses  his  hands  gesture  between Joker  and  himself  “  happened  to  her  too  ?  Or  is  it  just  us  ?  ”  

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Harley  feels  like  her  heart  is  going  to  leap  from  her  chest,  over  their  hands,  and  bleed  out  on  the  table  between  them.  There’s  a  weird  daze  that  fills  her,  one  that  he’s  causing  that  he  doesn’t  even  know  about;  she  doesn’t  know  how  to  handle  this  if  she’s  being  honest  with  herself,  and  that’s  something  that  she  tries  to  stray  away  from  immensely.  She  doesn’t  want  to  have  to  deal  with  the  factor  that  she’s  kicking  a  heel  through  a  wall  that’s  meant  to  be  up,  taking  a  sledgehammer  to  it  and  watching  it  crumble  while  she  laughs  —  and  in  those  thoughts  her  laughter  sounds  insane.  It  sounds  crazier  than  her  craziest  patient,  and  that’s  saying  a  lot.  There’s  a  twist  in  her  stomach  that  knots  up;  her  eyes  dilate  ever  so  slightly,  the  blue  being  swallowed  by  her  black  pupil  for  a  moment,  and  she’s  not  there.  She’s  not  in  that  courtyard,  surrounded  by  barbed  wire  and  guards  in  towers.  No,  she’s  in  some  weird  fantasy  where  she’s  in  a  high-rise,  walking  on  scaffolding  and  laughing  every  time  she  teeters.  The  city  of  Gotham  is  screaming  below,  and  at  the  other  side,  there’s  Arthur,  red  suit  placed  firmly  on  his  body  and  hands  out  to  catch  her.  He’s  too  far  away  to  do  that,  but  it  doesn’t  matter;  her  lips  stretch  into  a  grin  that’s  too  wide,  too  insane,  and  then  she’s  falling,  falling,  falling  into  the  depths  of  Gotham.
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  That’s  why  they  hire  me  —  to  see  the  other  sides,  to  see  if  it  was  a  lapse  in  judgement,  if  it  was  justified,  et  cetera.  I’m  only  doing  my  job.      That  isn’t  entirely  true  and  she  has  a  feeling  that  he  knows  it.  Tongue  presses  against  her  teeth  and  she  feels  rattled  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  because  he’s  right  in  his  own  way.  She  wouldn’t  be  locked  in  the  cell  across  from  him,  but  her  role  at  Arkham  can  very  well  be  terminated  if  they  find  out  how  much  special  treatment  she  gives  him.  The  only  other  one  who  gets  this  sort  of  treatment  from  her  is  Ivy,  and  that’s  only  because  she’s  good  to  her,  she’s  misunderstood  —  she  has  deserved  to  take  the  revenge  that  she  did.  Just  like  Arthur  deserved  to  do  what  he  did  to  his  mother  in  his  own  way;  no  one  looks  at  the  childhood  trauma,  no  one  looks  at  the  factors.  That’s  why  she’s  brought  on,  to  make  an  actual  file  and  to  present  a  good  case  for  his  insanity,  for  his  treatment  plan.
But  she’s  not  doing  that  is  she?  When  he  says  those  words  though,  she  lets  out  an  audible  gasp.  Her  eyes  widen  and  her  mouth  opens  ever  so  slightly  —  but  no  denials  come  out.  No,  no  instead  she’s  confronted  with  the  very  real  reality  that  is  taking  shape  around  her  —  because  she  loves  playing  with  fire,  loves  the  daydreams  that  whisper  through  her  mind.  She  wants  to  give  into  that  fantasy  of  him,  wants  to  give  into  that  urge  that  makes  her  want  to  grab  his  hand  and  run  and  not  look  back.  But  her  eyes  steel  and  she  lets  out  a  shaky  breath.    “  And  if  I  do?  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it    There’s  a  temptation  in  her  eye,  that  wandering  thought  that  keeps  landing  on  him,  his  moves,  what  he  wants  out  of  this  besides  a  friend  who  listens  to  him  and  makes  sure  his  meds  are  good  instead  of  bad.

—   He  can  only  wonder  what  her  judgement  of  him  was  :  if  she  thought  he  was  as  bad  as  the  rest  of  the  staff  does  ,  then  perhaps  she  wouldn’t  be  sitting  before  him  with  her  cheeks  tinted  pink  twirling  her  finger  through  her  hair  .  He  thinks  it’s  cute  ;  like  the  girls  from  some  of  the  romance  films  he’s  watched  over  the  years  .  She  has  a  similar  effect  on  him  ,  he  lingers  over  her  voice  long  after  their  sessions  end  .  Every  thought  as  of  late  are  filled  by  her  and  his  dreams  are  clouded  by  scenarios  of  them  running  out  of  this  prison  hand  in  hand  together  in  the  midst  of  his  own  break  out  .  It’s  whimsical  ,  silly  ,  perhaps  because  he  knows  that  this  shouldn’t  be  happening  .  That  this  can’t  happen  :  he’d  ruin  her  life  .  Everything  that  comes  to  close  to  him  withers  away  much  like  dying  flowers  .  One  by  one  ,  wilted  petals  that  lose  their  color  drift  to  the  ground  until  there  were  nothing  left  but  a  decaying  stem  .  But  he’s  not  the  man  he  used  to  be  and  this  thought  alone  was  what  made  him  want  her  more  .  That  maybe  ,  he  could  prove  to  her  and  himself  that  just  maybe  ,  he  could  provide  her  with  a  life  worth  living  .  That  her  job  ,  her  possessions  ,  none  of  that  would  matter  if  she  were  with  him  .  But  this  life  is  far  from  a  fairy  tale     would  he  really  subject  her  to  intertwining  herself  into  his  comedy  ?  The  one  where  he’d  sit  late  at  night  with  a  gun  beneath  his  chin  as  she  sleeps  in  his  bed  because  even  her  love  wouldn’t  be  enough to  fix  a  broken  man  ?  Where  if  something  happened  to  him  and  he  died  ,  that  she  would  forever  be  an  accomplice  to  his  crimes  ?  This  is  where  his  confidence  falters  .

  His  thoughts  are  wandering  again  ,  the  mix  between  them  and  her  retaliation  to  his  question  bring  him  to  laugh  .  J’s  head  lulls  to  the  side  as  the  brief  laughter  bring  his  eyes  to  pinch  shut  and  his  lips  part  to  reveal  crooked  teeth  .  Temptation  burns  in  her  irises  much  like  the  way  the  sunset  shimmers  across  a  body  of  water  .  She’s  wild  like  him  ,  but  she’s  living  in  her  own  facade  much  like  his  own  he  spent  far  too  many  years  . Living  a  life  attempting  to  fit  in  :  to  be  accepted  and  though  her  journey  has  proven  to  be  far  more  successful  than  his  own  ,  the  grass  isn’t  always  greener  on  the  other  side  .  She’s  not  truly  free  .  She  may  love  her  job  ,  but  he  loved  his  too   —  employment  doesn’t  dictate  who  a  person  truly  is  and  at  the  end  of  the  day  ,  they  are  both  expendable  .  And  though  he  isn’t  trying  to  purposely  sway  her  into  anything  ,  he  simply  wants  her  to  be  happy  .  To  be  free  . 

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     I  would  tell  you  to  dance  with  me  in  the  ashes  when  it’s  all  said  and  done  .   .   Oh  ,  how  beautiful  the  image  is  :  the  two  of  them  waltzing  in  the  ashes  of  Arkham  Asylum  after  they  burn  it  to  the  ground  .  He’d  bow  her  back  into  a  suave  kiss  before  taking  her  hand  and  guiding  her  to  safety  as  the  GCPD  would  ride  hot  on  their  trail  .  He’d  be  laughing  ,  not  from  anguish  but  from  happiness  and  her  own  ,  whimsical  laughter   would  accompany  his  .  But  the  reality  is  that  he’s  got  no  where  to  take  her  .  His  previous  home  was  his  mother’s  apartment  and  that’s  long  gone  (  not  that  he’d  ever  return  there  anyways  )  .  Her  home  would  be  raided  by  the  cops  and  the  city  wouldn’t  sleep  for  weeks  in  search  of  the  duo  .  But  it  wouldn’t  matter  ,  they  could  sleep  under  the  stars  on  a  rooftop  somewhere  .  All  he  needs  is  her  and  he  wants  to  believe  that  she  would  feel  the  same  way  .  He  brings  a  hand  to  sweep  back  his  hair  ,  fingers  tangle  in  his  own  unruly  curls  before  his  hand  falls  back  to  his  lap  and  he  leans  back  in  his  seat  .  He’s  come  a  long  way  since  their  first  encounter  :  his  body  language  is  much  more  relaxed  with  her  .  He’s  comfortable  around  her  .  “  But  you’d  have  to  quit  your  day  job  and  run  like  a  fugitive  .   he  then  said  half  jokingly  as  his  eyes  returned  to  meet  with  hers  .    You  know  ,  just  clown  things ”   

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@allegxry​  :     Here  ,  take  this  .  You’ll   catch  a  cold  . 

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   Bitter  cold  laced  into  the  wind  that  currents  between  the  buildings  lining  the  city’s  streets  .  Winter  is  slowly  nearing  ,  early  fall  welcomes  the  cold  weather  and  Arthur  has  long  since  grown  numb  to  the  cold  .  He  stood  outside  in  it  for  work  :  long  hours  , the  entire  day  standing  on  street  corners  spinning  signs  dressed  in  Carnival  to  attract  customers  into  the  failing  businesses  that  hire  Ha Ha’s  services  .  His  work  clothes  never  provided  him  any  shelter  from  the  cold  ,  the  fibers  have  long  since  worn  thin  and  though  he  has  lost  his  job  ,  he’s  still  acclimated  to  this  weather  in  his  own  ways  .  But  before  he  could  protest  ,  Nathan  has  already  shrugged  of  his  own  jacket  and  offered  it  to  Arthur  .  The  gesture  was  unexpected  ,  Arthur  isn’t  used  to  kind  treatment  of  any  sort  and  he’s  found  himself  caught  entirely  off  guard  .  

     I  ...  Are  you  sure   Arthur  manages  to  spit  out  as  he  went  through  with  the  motion  of  accepting  the  offer  .  He  slips  his  arms  through  the  sleeves  ,  the  lingering  warmth  of  Nathan’s  body  head  immediately  cradles  him  along  with  the  scent  of  whatever  cologne  or  soap  Nathan  uses  .  It’s  comforting  ,  more  so  than  Arthur  would  admit  aloud  .  But  still  ,  thick  brows  furrow  in  concern  as  he  brings  his  gaze  back  up  to  meet  with  the  other’s  .  “  What  about  you  ?  Aren’t  you  going  to  get  cold  if  I’m  wearing  your  jacket  ?  ”  He  doesn’t  want  to  be  rude  and  decline  the  offer  all  together  ,  but  that  doesn’t  stop  Arthur  from  worrying  .

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☺️😍❤️ k thanks bye

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😊 - It makes me happy to see you on my dashboard!

😍 - I love your writing style!

❤️ - You’re my favourite blog!

Alex!!! Omg we have been mutuals for like what? 39465 decades now? I have and will always adore tf out of you. You write so beautifully and I admire how flexible you are being able to take on such a variety of characters and manage to write each of their personalities with such perfection! You are so talented and I wish I had half the creativity as you! Thank you for being YOU!

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