bakerstreet | p l a y l i s t

Her patrol playlist

Who I Am by The Score

Never Fade by Zayde Wolf

Born Ready by Zayde Wolf

No shipping or smut but open to everything else.

Edited 2021-09-05 17:52 (UTC)

Brand New Kind of Blue - Gold Motel

Binary Mind - Ra Ra Riot

And, of course, J'onn J'onzz - Michael Salamone

1. Water (Ra Ra Riot)
Don't punish me for what I feel

2. Orpheus (Sara Bareilles)
You were written in the stars that we are swimming in

3. They Were You (The Fantasticks)
Everything I dared for both you and me

Edited 2021-09-05 18:32 (UTC)

[ lol, i have a playlist but it's humongous. ]

Barbie Girl by Aqua
Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please
I can act like a star, I can beg on my knees

My Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani
If I could escape
And recreate a place as my own world
And I could be your favorite girl
Forever, perfectly together
And tell me, boy, now wouldn't that be sweet?

1. Natalia Kills Problem (Explicit, and the video's pretty nsfw too)
We're hell raising and we don't need saving
Cause there's no salvation for a bad girl

2. Tom Waits Rain Dogs
Taxi, we'd rather walk
Huddle a doorway with the rain dogs
For I am a rain dog too

3. Johnny Hollow Boogeyman (Explicit)
I must confess I loved this from the very start
Please take a bow, you know I am your work of art

• The Rocky Horror Picture Show: The Sword of Damocles
Oh, woe is me
My life is a misery
And can’t you see
That I’m at the start of a pretty big downer

• Rilo Kiley: A Better Son/Daughter
And your mother’s still calling you insane and high,
Swearing it’s different this time

• Chic: Le Freak
Aw, freak out

• Rachel Bloom: Fuckton Of Cats
Why have cats, over time, become
Synonymous with loneliness?
We gotta work on our collective image
We need a new publicist
The ironic part is we're not that friendly
If you're lonely, we might make it worse
Also, we sleep, like, sixteen hours a day
Have you considered getting a dog?

"Have you thought about faking it?"

They're on a night-time ramble through the streets of Gotham; not enough drinking to count as a pub crawl, not enough initiative to have any other real destination. Maybe they'll stumble on a restaurant open late; maybe they'll just have another drink at the next bar they find; maybe they'll just end up at Harley's place, and crash on the bed or the couch or even in Bruce's bathtub/hyena bed, for a real change of pace. But for now it's just one foot in front of the other, and the warm summer air, the faint sound of a car alarm in the distance. A cigarette dangles from between two of Harley's fingers.

"With people, I mean. Just act like you know what you're doing. You'd be surprised how many people do."

Gotham City in the daytime is gross. It’s all overflowing trash bins, and drab sour faces, and dirt and grime and unidentifiable streaks of sludge that you can only hope are mud. Gotham at night is strangely beautiful. Abner likes it. The grime glitters somehow, the dour people go back to their homes, and you can’t see the sludge because it’s dark. And nobody looks twice at someone dressed like Harley (Abner thinks that might be because she’s Harley, but also because she makes it work). Or Abner himself (who does not make it work, but there is an attempt at something going on). He has buttoned his paisley shirt all the way up to the very top button, because there are spots gathering around his collarbone. The shirt’s cuffs are oversized, and help to camouflage his gauntlets, which he has slipped on after theorizing that few things bring down a good night as much as having to throw up. His pants are also paisley, but they are a different paisley entirely, with tuxedo stripes down the sides. He glances furtively over his shoulder, but no one descends on them for attempted car jacking, even though they didn’t, because they are persons of interest (Abner is probably only barely interesting).

“No,” he replies. “Well, yes. I mean: I haven’t thought about it, but I think I’ve tried it, and I don’t think it worked. But I also might have done it wrong? I would be surprised, though. Why would you think they were faking?”

"Oh, god, lots of reasons." She waves a hand- not the one with the cigarette- at him. "'Fake it till you make it' ain't just a song and dance; wouldn't be nearly so popular if it was. But our kind of people see it more than most, so many of us wearing masks already, and all."

A drag on her cigarette, and Harley skips forward, turning to walk backwards in front of him, so she can take him in. The smoke she blows out with the wind, trying to keep it out of his face. "Maybe you did, maybe you didn't. Show me. Look me in the eye, and give me your best How D'you Do."

Harley's own look is actually pretty tame, for her- wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable. Leather hot pants and big boots, sure, but the only thing over them is a tank top with a big pair of lips on it, and a denim jacket covered in pins and paint. The back shows a unicorn puking up a rainbow. If she were any more dressed down, she'd be in her pjs.

Abner empathizes with that unicorn. He doesn’t mind the smoke either. It’s a refreshing smell after the cleanrooms of his childhood, and then the industrial strength bleach barely covering the stench of too many people kept too close together and not enough toilets of Belle Reve. He strolls after her, hands in his pockets.

“Don’t they say that the mask is who they really are, though?” He muses. “I heard that, somewhere.”

He knows exactly where. He pushes the memory away. They never go without a fight, and he’s enjoying himself. He’s a little bit drunk (and what a wonderful surprise that had been in Corto Maltese to discover that he can drink and get drunk, just like a real boy. Well, not exactly. The virus eventually finds and attacks the alcohol in his bloodstream, so he can’t stay drunk for very long, but whatever keeps the virus busy. Also: no hangovers). He takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”

He pops open the top button of his collar. The dots are visible now: two of them the size of quarters, one somewhere between that and a golf ball. Orange, red, and another orange.

“It’s just a rash,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can, then looks to her for constructive criticism.

"Yes and no. Some people use it as an excuse- the mask lets them be who they were all along. For the rest of us-" She thinks it over, taking another drag, cherry end of the cigarette glowing in the dark. "It's who you become. Spend long enough behind it, you wake up one day, realize it don't come off no more.

"But-" she points at him, "That's like any other mask, and that's my point. If we can get you pretending confidence, one day you'll be confident for real."

He gives his little performance; and Harley takes it in, eyes bright, mouth pressed in to try not to giggle. She's not laughing at him; but it's a warm night and she's tipsy and Ab's actually pretty good company, when he unclenches a little. "Oh, buddy, if that's how you're saying hello then I maybe found your problem." She stumbles a little over a crack in the sidewalk, and a giggle escapes.

"But not bad, not bad. Even tone, casual expression, dismissive posture." Fifty bucks and a bag of gummy bears said he'd practiced it in front of the mirror. "But how's your follow through? If I say- 'Oh, gosh, are you sure? That looks painful!' You say-" Harley holds out her hand, waiting for the response.

He blinks at her; studies her face (all Harley, no one else).

“We don’t wear masks, though,” he says, “you and me. The goggles just help prevent photophobia.”

He smiles a little when she calls him ‘buddy’, and doesn’t try to swallow it down. Confident for real. He can’t even imagine what that might be like. He reaches out in her direction when she stumbles, but it’s a good thing she doesn’t really need his help, because he’s nowhere near or fast enough to catch her.

“It’s not…how I say hello, I usually just say, you know, hi.”

He gives a little wave. Hi.

“But it’s something that’s always going to come up.”

She’s wrong: Abner does not own a mirror. He glances down at her hand.

“No one ever says that.”

The hand drops, and her shoulders (and pigtails) slump; but in confusion, not disappointment. "Really? Not ever? Because it does." She falls back into step beside him, linking elbows without asking.

"You're in the first group- not the excuse part, but the rest. You just don't wear it on your face." The hand of her linked arm slides down, taps fingertips against his gauntlet.

Abner counts as a friend- you can't fight a huge fuck-off monster and maybe save the world together without being friends- so he gets basic considerations like not having smoke blown in his face, or not dragged to the fancy rave clubs downtown that Harley likes. Normally that would include some consideration of personal space; but Ab don't seem the type who don't like to be touched, so much as the type who don't know how to ask for it. And who else out there does he have? Everyone needs a hug now and then. Literally; and a little jolt of dopamine and seratonin's not going to do this guy any harm.

"So what do they say, usually?"

He doesn’t flinch away from her. It feels nice; normal. And also will prevent her from tripping and falling into one of Gotham’s ever present trash heaps. He’s tall enough to convince gravity to keep them both upright. He frowns at her in confusion.

“I’ve become my gauntlets?” He asks, whatever point she’s trying to make having soared over his head. He shrugs.

“Ew? That it’s gross, or that I’m a freak, or they don’t say anything but they think it’s contagious, so they back away. That’s pretty much it.”

He’s afraid, suddenly, that she is going to pull away. That he has inadvertently made her recognize his disgustingness by voicing it.

He doesn’t cling to her arm in desperation.

His own arm goes slightly limp, so she can escape more easily when she needs to. He won’t chase her. He clears his too dry throat.

“It does hurt, but I shouldn’t say that, right?”

"No- no, it's-" Maybe Harley's a little tipsier than she thought; the sidewalk does seem pretty uneven, and she's giggly and handsy and has apparently lost the ability to explain her notions. She presses her face into Ab's shoulder for a moment, muffling a laugh, and then tries again. "They let you be who you already were. Someone with a frankly incredible potential for pure, colourful destruction."

His arm relaxes, and Harley responds by holding on tighter, steps weaving around a particularly bold pigeon going to town on a french fry. "No, no, don't say that. Well- if someone asks, maybe. A little vulnerability in a man never hurt anything. But for everyone else- give 'em a look like they just farted out of their mouth, but you're too polite to say anything. That'll make them wonder if they're the ones who fucked up."

She'd show him the kind of look she means; but he said that it hurts, and Harley's eyebrows draw together, looking up at him. "Do you want to-" She puts up a hand, like she's throwing polka dots at a streetlight. "I don't mind. We could find an alley with a dumpster for you to eviscerate."

Faith Lehane ⚔ BtVS

Jason Todd | DC Animated Movies

J'onn J'onzz 👽 DC

Silas Dengdamor | Dirk Gently

selina kyle, dc comics

Theseus | Hades | OTA

Harley Quinn | DCEU | OTA

Abner Krill : The Suicide Squad : ota

A Better Son/Daughter

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Reko Yabusame | Your Turn to Die

elia martell | asoiaf | ota

Eda | Black Lagoon | OTA for shipping

Aramat Drawdes | Alabaster | OTA for shipping

Isolde, Lilith, Rosalie | OC | OTA for shipping

Oscar | Lupin The 3rd | OTA for shipping

Lilian Hokulani Carpathia//Original Character//F/M

xu shang-chi | mcu