You COMMENT On Fic? You Comment On The Story Like It's Worth Something? Oh! Oh! Love For Reader! Love

you COMMENT on fic? you comment on the story like it's worth something? oh! oh! love for reader! love for reader for One Thousand Years!!!!

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

nah i don't fuck with ai generated fics because y'all don't sit there for weeks in front of your blank doc and cry like the rest of us

"mental health matters!" until your screaming and crying in the early hours of the morning over losing something as miniscule as your phone charger. but the reason your crying isn't actually about the charger, or your favorite pen you can't find.

little things add up.

I may have already shared this but I have a Joker playlist on Spotify. I recently added some new songs 💜

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter Ten - Nothing Is The Same

Warnings: Trauma responses, a bit of gore at the beginning

Chapter Summary: Still getting used to his new life, Jack wakes up from an awful nightmare and goes for a run.

Author’s Note: This took me forever sorry guys 😭 I wanted to get this posted days ago but oh well. I think it worked out better this way anyway. Side note! Jack's hair is back :D

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit

If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know! <3

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The deafening sound of a Black Hawk circling overhead and explosions all around roared in Jack’s ears, making it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t aim his rifle. He couldn’t focus. It was like he lost control of his own body. 

All Jack could do was helplessly watch the destruction around him. He tried to look away but when he looked down there were bits and pieces of maimed soldiers scattered about. Someone who had just been shot in the chest bled out at his feet. Their deadened eyes bored into his.

Jack screamed as he attempted to get away. He couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. He was drawn to it by an unknown force. The scene played over and over again in a loop. The Black Hawk flying up above, the explosions, the corpses… 

The loop broke when a stray bullet hit him in the face and ripped open the flesh on his cheek, creating an oozing, gaping wound. Blood pooled in his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. The drowning sensation took over his body as he writhed on the ground. 

Jack gasped and jolted awake. He sat up in bed, panting. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair as he tried to catch his breath. His biceps, also glistening with sweat, shone as the moonlight peeking in through the curtains reflected on them.

This had to be his strangest nightmare yet. He didn’t have them as frequently as he did that week he was discharged but they were much worse this time. He didn’t know what was better, a nightmare every night or a few a week that were horrible and would rattle him for days.

Jack glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was almost 4 am. He decided that now would be a good time to go for his nightly run. He completely forgot about it and fell asleep earlier than usual because he was so tired from the lack of sleep.

After stretching his tense muscles, Jack swung his legs over the bed and grabbed his pants and black hoodie from the floor, throwing them on half heartedly. He stuffed his keys into his pants pocket and slid on his shoes before quietly slipping out of the apartment. Instead of taking the elevator, he took the stairs since they were less noisy.

Once he was down at the lobby, Jack pushed the double doors open and walked out into the street, a gust of cold air hitting his face. Pulling his hood over his head, he took off to the left and sprinted down the sidewalk. 

Ever since he moved to Gotham a few months ago, he ran almost every night. Normally he would stay out for at least 20 to 30 minutes. He found running therapeutic and a way to clear his head. The adrenaline was like a drug. A temporary fix to help him escape his problems. 

This time Jack took a different route than he usually did. He liked to switch things up every once in a while. The dim street lights provided just enough light for him to see and illuminated his profile as he moved under them, giving his jagged scar a grisly effect. To a passerby the brief glimpse probably looked horrifying. That was partly why he wore a hood over his head. 

In the end he made it all the way to Gotham River, which flowed north of Downtown. As soon as the water was in sight, he stopped and approached the nearby bridge, wiping the sweat from his brow. He dug out his lighter and a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and inhaled the first drag, closing his eyes and reveling in the crisp scent. Leaning over the railing, he looked out over the shimmering water and exhaled the smoke, the vapor curling in different directions.

The water was oddly calming, and combined with the smoke helped to settle his nerves, which were still shot from the nightmare. A gust of wind ruffled his hair and made him shiver a little, his skin prickling at the cold. 

These days Jack didn’t know what to feel. Day and night the war stayed with him. He thought he would eventually get over this, but apparently it was still lingering around, looming in the back of his mind. He couldn’t settle back into society properly. He could barely sleep. He couldn’t go a single day without being reminded of the war in some way. His scar was no help with that. 

With a tired sigh, Jack finished his cigarette and headed back, tossing the butt into a trash can close by. As he got closer to his apartment building, he slowed his pace. He entered through the double doors just as quietly as he exited earlier. His eye was struck by a light that emitted from the office and streaked through the lobby.

Vernon is up pretty early. Jack thought as he started up the stairs.

He reached the 3rd floor and scanned the hallway for 307. Finding it, he fished out his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and shut the door, tossing his keys onto the countertop. He went to his bedroom and flopped down on his bed with a loud exhale. 

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. It was already morning, although very early, and now that Jack was up, he would stay up. He checked the clock beside him. It was close to 5 am. He sat up with a grunt and got down on the floor to begin his usual morning workout. 

The first thing was sit ups. He could do 250 in ten minutes. Next was push ups. He could do about 150 of those. Then to finish it off he held a plank for as long as he could. His muscles were on fire by the time he was done but it didn’t bother him. It was ingrained in his head to stay in shape. He also found himself taking pleasure in the pain. It was difficult to explain.

Jack sat up and rested for a minute, catching his breath. The running and the exercises made him pretty sweaty. A shower was looking very appealing right then. So he trudged into his bathroom and slid off his clothes. Then he turned on the water and as he waited for it to heat up, gazed into the mirror at himself. 

It was a pitiful sight. His eyes were heavy and sunken in with dark circles that rimmed the bottom of them. His face was gaunt and weary. Trying to be positive, he noticed his hair was growing back. It went past his ears now. He wasn’t sure or not if he wanted to grow it all the way out like how he used to have it. He would probably settle halfway, somewhere at his shoulders.

The water had warmed up so Jack stepped in the tub and stood under the shower head. He wet his hair first and lathered it with soap. Tilting his head back, he ran his fingers through his brown locks and rinsed. He was kind of ashamed to say he hadn’t properly washed his hair in almost a week. But it wasn’t like he had to impress anyone. He rarely went out and he lived alone. He could care less.

After he was done washing himself, Jack just stood motionless under the water and took in the warmth. Resting his head on the wall, he breathed in and out rhythmically and listened to the water pitter patter into the tub. As the steam rose and wisped past his face, he felt a sense of clarity that brought him out of his sleepy haze. 

Jack shut off the water and pulled the shower curtain aside, stepping out of the tub and onto the fluffy blue mat on the floor. He grabbed a towel from the cabinet under the sink and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist. 

Back in his room he threw on a loose navy colored tee and black sweatpants. He felt his stomach growl and plead with him for food as he walked out into the main area of the apartment. All the exercise must have worked up his appetite. He relented and went to his pantry to hunt for food. He didn’t feel like spending the time to cook anything so it needed to be something simple.

Jack settled on a pack of blueberry Pop-Tarts and slid them into the toaster slots. While he waited he poured himself a glass of orange juice and placed it on the table. Once the Pop-Tarts were ready, he put them on a napkin and sat down. He ate the pastries tentatively since they were still hot and sipped on the juice.

He made a guttural sound of annoyance and moved his tongue across the inside of his cheek where the scar was. Food, especially the sticky kind, had a tendency to get stuck there. He noticed a few days ago that he was developing a habit of messing with the inside of his mouth with his tongue and licking his bottom lip where it had a small forked crack in it. He didn’t know why. The best way he could describe it to someone else was having a sore in your mouth that you compulsively need to mess with. 

It was a gruesome, repulsive habit but Jack didn’t try to stop himself. He knew it would be hard to quit since he was going to have this scar for a long time. He just hoped nobody out in public would notice. Bearing the scar was bad enough. People already stared at him. He didn’t need to give them another reason to.

Jack sighed as he realized his life would never be the same as it once was. He had to come to terms with living with this trauma, the scar, this new environment, and the fact that he was alone. His mother was gone, his father didn’t give two shits about him, and he didn’t know a single soul in Gotham. Being a loner never bothered him before but back then he had a choice. It hurt worse when he was forced into it. 

He was already alienated from the rest of society by being in the army and having to adjust back to civilian life. The scar pushed him even farther out of the norm. He hated when he was at the store and his military ID (that he kept putting off to take out of his wallet) flashed when he was pulling out money and people, noticing the card and his scar, would always say the customary, “thank you for your service.” 

It infuriated him to no end. He could read their eyes. They pitied him. He didn’t want them to. They didn’t even mean what they said. Everyone said it because it was “respectful” or “polite.” He didn’t feel bad in the slightest for thinking like that. He took solace in knowing he wasn’t the only vet that felt this way.

Jack cleared out the negative emotions beginning to swirl within him and finished up his breakfast. He refused to have another bad day today. Yawning, he stood up from the table, gently tossed his glass into the kitchen sink, and threw his trash away. He plopped down on the couch in the living room and switched on the TV. Right now he really needed a laugh so he turned on some cartoons to pass the morning by.