Gotham imagines/Preferences ~❤~

Fallen Angels

Loco. Maniac. Sick bitch. Psychopath. Batshit. Mental. Words that were spat at you your whole life, but were all just water off a ducks back. Nothing bothered you anymore, you were immune to the abuse.

Medication. Shrinks. Asylum after asylum. Shock therapy. Thousands of methods they used to try to fix you, but worked just as much as trying to hammer into an indestructible object. You were unfixable.

Handcuffs. Ropes. Chains. Straight jackets. Padded rooms. 24 hour supervision. So much security, but you always managed to escape. Always. Like clockwork; you get locked up, the next week you're up and about.

Except for this time.

Arkham Asylum was known for its purely insane and deranged patients, residing on the outskirts of Gotham City – a city notorious for crime and wrongdoings. That's exactly where you sat now, locked away in a dingy cell, your arms tightened around your body in a suffocating straight jacket and a wicked grin on your face as you stared at your newest therapist. Cowering under your intense gaze, the Doctor filed her notes unnecessarily.

"So, doc, tell me about yourself," You leaned forward on the table, a thoughtful look in your eye, noticing her shaky hands and smirking, "You a trainee or something? You seem terrified! Or is it just me?"

"I-I'm new to Gotham, and to the job," The Doctor looked into your deranged eyes for a second, but very quickly looked away, scared to aggravate you.

"Hmm, I can tell, my other therapists actually looked me in the eye," You scoffed, anger building quickly at the lack of respect. Terrified, the doctor's gaze snapped to yours and you held it for a few seconds, before letting out a bellowing laugh.

"Oh, doc, I'm only kidding!" You couldn't help but cackle at her petrified expression, "You should've seen your face!"

"I-Please, lets just get to your therapy," She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, "Do you know the medication you currently take? Or how much?"

"Hmm..." You faked a thinking pose, "Medication doesn't work on me, sweet pea, I don't take them anymore. Ooh, but if you could get me some of those pink pills I was given a while ago, they made me feel fuzzy."

"Miss Y/L/N, I'm sorry but if you don't take any medication, then how do you propose you'll get any better?" The Doctor questioned in almost disbelief, both fascinated and terrified by you.

"Better? Doc! I'm the best I'll ever be, and have ever been! I don't want to get better," You shook your head, "All you normal people are just trapped. Trapped in a mental prison, it's called sanity. You all live by rules, all of which restrict you from having real fun. Ever robbed a bank? My, the thrill is incredible!"

"How do you think I can help you, if you don't want to be helped?" asked the Doctor in an exasperated sigh.

"You know what'll help, doc? I wanna be in with people. I haven't seen a single person other than guards and therapists for 3 years. Isolation just fuels my insanity, yet you people think it's dandy for my mind. It ain't. I wanna see people," You leaned forward once more, your face stone cold serious and pleading.

"I'll see what I can do."

———

"You've got 30 minutes, you try anything on anyone and you're in shock therapy for the next month," A gruff voice whispered in your ear as you were yanked towards a wide metal gate, imprisoning a large group of patients, who just sat around talking, eating and laughing. Excited, you squealed and nodded at the guard, purely ecstatic to be able to talk to people like you for the first time in years.