#overindulges

“ After the rain goes --                    there are rainbows.                                       I’ll find my rainbow soon ,  “

❛  norman used random act of love and affection! it’s super effective!  ❜   ⊹   @overindulges .

                       he’d been told in the past that exhaustion was not a good look on him.   that when he was overly tired,   or extending himself too far beyond his limits,   the fact revealed itself almost immediately,   and in ways that he could not easily mask.   it would begin with the simple furrow of his brow,   further deepening with every hour,   every minute,   every second that he pressed onward   (  a little bit more,   go on,   they’re counting on you  );   then,   like something of a plague,   it would trickle down to the curve of his lips,   the almost-trademark curl of inquisitive amusement souring,   transforming into something a bit more solemn.   more grim.   it manifested itself in the uncharacteristically stony silence that befell him:   lips taut,   teeth clenched,   breathing even,   but sharp.   it found solace in the rigidity of his hands and fingers,   the whitening of his knuckles as he clenched them,   the way he had to force himself to stop,   stretch his fingers,   then set them back to task again.   rinse and repeat.

                       and repeat.   and repeat.   and repeat.   truth be told,   he’d been at this for hours now:   reading through the same case notes,   the same deposition transcript,   over and over again as though in search of something.   and he endures,   in spite of the fact that every bone and muscle and fiber of his body pleaded with him to stop,   rest.   he endures,   in spite of the fact that he’d company in the apartment this evening –   shuffling through the kitchen,   at one time;   rifling through the pages of what matt imagines to be the newspaper he’d bought this morning,   another time;   bouncing his knee,   thrumming his fingers,   clicking an erratic rhythm against his teeth with his tongue.   if norman minds the lack of attention,   he does not voice protest,   and if he’s taken note of the all-too-plentiful signs of matt’s fatigue,   he does not voice any sort of concern.   but this is typical, or so matt had come to learn as their relationship deepened –   this was customary.   norman jayden was a man of great intellect,   but few words;   a man of deep introspection,   but seldom outspoken.   the sort of man to know immediately when something was off,   or when someone,   say,   lied to him,   but not the sort to tip his hand,   call it out right away.

                       it was one of the things matt admired most about him.   it was one of the things that kept him awake some nights,   lying silent and still in the vast darkness of the apartment.   mostly,   it was one of the  ( many )  sources of norman’s embarrassment in certain social situations.   matt’s heard stories,   of course.   he’s also bore witness to it,   himself.   norman jayden,   the man who’d fixated on a pair of suede shoes for so long a time that he’d missed a conversational cue,   and had to have it pointed out to him later on in the night.

                       and yet,   he swore he couldn’t be charming.

                       in the midst of his twenty-fifth go at the deposition draft,   he finally takes his hands away from the braille display;   an act of defeat if ever there were one.   one hand,   he lays flat on the surface of the small kitchen table.   the other,   he uses to lift his glasses,   then to rub at his face.   a slow exhale escapes him,   through half-parted lips and still-clenched teeth.   it sounds more like a hiss than it does a breath.   his body’s rigid,   in spite of his attempts at willing it to relax.

                       norman takes his hand,   then,   gives it a gentle squeeze.   the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind falls still.   his shoulders fall.   his jaw relaxes.   and as though on instinct,   his body leans towards norman’s,   closer,    searching for more of the warmth and comfort and peace that a single touch had provided him with.

                       ❛    oh.   norman –    ❜     he begins,   tone apologetic,   almost sheepish.   he maneuvers his hand just-so,   and intertwines their fingers so as to return the gentle squeeze himself.   norman’s serves as a reminder –   that he’s here,   that matt’s not alone,   that whatever it is matt is working on,   whatever he’s dealing with,   they’ll handle it together.   and matt’s,   of course,   serves as the response:    the thank you,   i love you;   the you’ve given me more than i could ask for,   more than i deserve.   it is the truth,   and nothing but.     ❛    sorry.   with the next court date coming up,   i,   uh,   i got so caught up in this casework,   and you … …   ❜     a pause.

                      ❛    … … – you’re gonna tell me i look like hell,   now.   right?   ❜     a tired laugh,   then.   the exhaustion’s still in full-swing,   but the storm clouds that loomed above him seem to begin the trek of their retreat.   the corners of his eyes crinkle faintly with amusement,   and there plays upon his lips the beginnings of a smile.   to his question,   he receives no definitive answer,   and he finds that the fact only inspires more laughter within him –   this bout more genuine than the first.   he cannot understand how norman manages to soothe his troubled mind so quickly,   and he’s tried to so many times.   the man is simply –   infectious,   in that way.   not that matt minds,   on the contrary,   he’s grateful.     ❛    uh-huh.   i thought so.   well,   i’ll tell you this:   i think it might actually be time to get some rest.   ❜ 

                      with this,   he releases norman’s hand,   gives him a gentle pat on the knee before he rises from his seat for the first time in what felt like ages.   it’s nice to stretch,   to have something other than the concerns of his firm’s next appearance storming across the plains of his mind.   it’s nice,   he thinks,   to finally be able to put the long day  ( and himself )  to a well-deserved rest.   just nice.  

                      he thinks of norman –   his presence,   his kindness,   his strength,   his support   – in different terms.   norman squeezes his hand wordlessly,   offers him a shoulder to rest his weary head on,   if only for a moment,   and matt thinks of it as a blessing.   norman laughs,   or attempts a joke,   or recounts a story he’d read in the news,   and matt calls it a gift.   norman lays in bed with him at night,   huddled-up to him in an attempt to battle the biting new york cold,   his heart beating a slow and steady rhythm,   and matt feels,   for one of the few times in his life,   that he is at home. 

                      he hears norman rise beside him.   he takes his hand again,   holds it tight.

        ❛    i already told you.    ❜   eyes have grown cold, chilled and color frozen through and through. the same could be said about her tone, the warmth lost deep in her throat and only comes out guttural and borderline defensive.    ❛    am i supposed to keep repeating myself?     ❜

they’re off to solve another mystery

The crime rate was something of a near-myth-- everywhere you looked, seemingly, was some sort of crime taking place. It was a hot spot for illegality. Anything from petty thievery to white collar crimes to serial killings was almost seen as regular. Organized crime had the city in a choke hold. Half the officials were bribed into complacency, and most others were just too afraid to dare to challenge the big names like Carmine Falcone, Sal Maroni, and Rupert Thorne.

However, there was a scarce few that stood steadfast against the filth of the city. The famous police commissioner Jim Gordon, so well known for his fight against both crime and the corruption of his own department; the vigilante Batman, a cautionary tale for those daring to harm the innocent citizens of Gotham, and a symbol of hope for said innocents; and the district attorney, Harvey Dent, known as “the Bull” for his stubborn drive, looked up to for his sense of justice.

He had shaken up the hornet’s nest, even as a lowly prosecutor, and only made things more frenzied in the underworld as he rose in the ranks-- until he made it to the position of top dog. From there, he tore down and rebuilt the prosecutor’s office from scratch. If you had done something naughty, Harvey Dent knew, and sooner or later, you would face the consequences of going dirty.

His hold on his position was tenuous, due to the suffocating grasp the mob had on the city, but he managed. Somehow, despite all the trickery behind the scenes, what the people wanted was what they got, and what they got was him.

Now, he was on a warpath. The Bull was out for blood, and until he had Falcone, Maroni, and Thorne’s heads on a stick, he wouldn’t be able to rest. And, finally recognizing the magnitude of the organized crime up in Gotham, D.C. sent federal help to aid in the destruction of the felonious emperors and their vast empire.

And so, that was how Norman Jayden was shipped off to Hell on Earth, New Jersey-- granted, it was in some aspects better than say, dealing with serial killers.... then again, the damn place had those too.

A meeting with the legendary D.A. had been set up, as the man was working closely with the police commissioner; spearheading a veritable war effort against the kingpins of Gotham. Thus, there Norman was, sitting in the office of a man whose reputation had very much preceded him. If not back in D.C., then certainly in the city he vowed to protect-- it was difficult to not see one of his numerous campaign posters, bumper stickers, and billboards, put up like warnings for the predators that stalked the concrete jungle.

The assistant had told him to go ahead and wait inside (’Mr. Dent will be with you shortly,’ the mousy little man had said, ‘he’s currently in a phone call.’), giving him a few more minutes to himself. Dent’s voice drifted down the hall even then, hushed and too low for words to be made out, but present.

His office was one of someone that had an unquenchable work ethic-- stacks of papers on the desk, the floor, some on top of the filing cabinets.. a tackboard, with pictures and newspaper articles pinned to it, string connecting various faces to various crimes, scribbled notes underneath the papers on sticky notes and so forth.. A picture of the face Norman had been seeing all morning sat on his desk, joined by a woman, both of them smiling lovingly at the camera. Another featured them, plus a strong-jawed man that looked overwhelmingly familiar; then a third, of just Harvey and said man, the D.A. in graduation robes, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grins on their faces.

Only a couple minutes had passed before Harvey’s voice dropped off, presumably as he hung up, and hurried footsteps approached. The doorknob turned, and the door cracked open to reveal the man of the hour.

Harvey had to duck his head a smidge as he entered his own office, shutting the door soundly before turning his gaze to Norman with bright, amicable blue eyes. A friendly smile played at the corners of his lips, and the path that took him to the chair behind his desk gave Norman ample opportunity to experience the pure presence the man exuded. He hadn’t even spoken yet, and already he dripped with charisma, but that of an honest, genuine sort. His broad frame seemed to take up the whole room, and he radiated an air of joie de vivre.

And they didn’t call him the Bull for nothing-- if not his hardheaded determination, than it was for his ridiculous stature.

“Hey there, killer.” He went to sit, but then remembered his manners and stuck his hand out to shake, leaning a bit over the desk. Callouses and scars decorated his palm and knuckles, the hand of a fighting man. His hand, also, dwarfed poor Norman’s. “I’m Harvey Dent-- though, uh, you probably already knew that.”

He ventured on in his smooth, deep tones, “It’s nice to finally get help around here. No offense, but D.C.’s been sittin’ on their hands about this for way too long, now.”

“  I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,           And each road leads you where you wanna go,                 And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose --                              I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.  “

💛 for a moodboard about our muses’ relationship @overindulges

with a stained hand, he roughly  grabs  at the agent’s hair, twisting, pulling---  ❛ oh -- ! ❜  the rogue’s laugh escapes him in a breathless wheeze.  the poor man is tied to a rickety chair and joker is the very essence of  delighted.  ❛ oh, oh oh  ohh,  this is  GOOD.. ❜  with a rough step, he moves in front of norman, ever - swaying, as though he’s unable to remain still.  his eyes blend into the dark paint smeared around his eyes.  combined with the rogue’s violent leer, it’s like looking into the face of a skull.  all he promises is a step closer to death.  just one small mistake and  anyone  could go over the edge. 

a small camera can be seen behind his shoulder, supported by a tripod.   the  people  have  got  to  know.

❛ what an  HONOR  it is to  have you  here, ❜  his tongue swipes against the scarred edge of his lips, sneer painfully mocking.  ❛ nnnnor - man. ❜  he pushes a hand right against the man’s face, using the momentum to pull back smoothly.  ❛ i thought it was about time for us to talk.  face to  face,  hm? ❜