Night’s sketch with Jackaboy and his pumpkin. I love doing this kind of patchwork sketchs. I often do it when I fangirl. Here it was because I came across the old halloween video (that I loved a lot) and… I had to sketch for school tonight. And because Jack.
okay this is going to sound really gay, but fall is literally the best time to fall in love? you can go on cute coffee dates, make pumpkin carvings together, wear each other’s sweaters and kiss in a pile of leaves or smth, while all the trees are super pretty and you’re just happy and in love with her and life. it’s the best.
Joker flung another glass of bitter liquid down his throat.
He was in their bedroom, a room he hadn’t gone in much. Couldn’t bear to look at it while she was still gone. The room itself was a physical amalgam of his mind. Crashed, broken, shattered. Useless. The bed had multiple carless knife cuts, the mirror above smashed with an axe during one of his fits of rage, glass and guns decorated the floor.
Clumsily he drew on the black smile. The king of Gotham had to keep something of his dignity. Even if he couldn’t smile he had to be smiling on the outside. Be feared in some way.
Growling he clenched the expensive glass bottle in his fist and stumbled to his ring. No patience in his clouded mind, he shot everything that moved in his vision. The only henchmen he allowed to speak to him was Frost, and even he was only allowed to speak when he had news of Harley. Frost hadn’t spoken to him in weeks.
He poured more of the golden brown liquid into his glass, throwing it down his throat as he slammed the door to his ring behind him. He staggered down the steps and into the center of the ring. Noticing that he kept the light on since the last time he had been there. Joker rose the gun to the glowing bulb about to silence it’s little message forever but he rolled his eyes and sat down.
She was still gone. No leads. No whispers on the streets. She had just disappeared. Gone in the wind. The frustrated anger rose in his chest, she knew she wasn’t allowed to leave his side. But she had. She had left and hadn’t given him one hint as to where she was. It had been months.
He cursed himself for letting that little girl sink her teeth into him, for letting her sneak in. Sneak into a place that he never thought was possible. Someplace he thought he had closed off forever. His feelings. He almost laughed but no sound would come so he poured himself another glass of sour liquid, fluid not even hitting his tongue as he hurried it to his stomach.
He was the Joker, he didn’t care about anyone. He would shoot an entire building of people without thinking twice. Would burn down houses. Would throw every last loved possession into a building and then throw a grenade into it. But every time he pointed the gun at her head, his finger wouldn’t ignite the deadly weapon. Wouldn’t end his headache, wouldn’t fire her out of his life for good.
Why was she any different?
He poured and drank. Poured and drank. Poured and drank. Until he wasn’t sure he could make any other movements. Until his mind stopped thinking about her. Until the unusual and unsettling pain in his stomach was gone. But images of her smile, the sound of her laugh, the touch of her soft skin only increased. His unfeeling heart only beat faster, hoped deeper, loved—
He poured another drink, the glass overflowing with alcohol, and he drank every last drop. His foggy mind looking over the weapons circling him, at the knifes and guns, how easy it would be to just— he looked at the light. It’s bulb the only brightness in the room.
Joker stared at the ground, his bottle now empty. His mind dizzy. He heard a clouded sound and rose his gun on instinct, preparing to shoot whomever was interrupting him in his time of weakness. Frost. He lowered the gun, knowing what his presence meant and demanded for her, choking on air as Frost explained where his Harley had been hiding.