#and even if the answer is somehow way better than seems plausible it's also just polite and important to try to keep stuff succinct

[bigtiddygothhusband]

been doing random ass digital paintings with no real plan ahead of time it's been super fun, especially the one on the left and the one i can't post here cause it's a dick-out frog monster i did while on edibles and that was SUPER fun. I like taking edibles but I often find they simultaneously unlock a lot of creative energy while also making all the practical skills involved in a lot of my creative hobbies eg writing crocheting more line-based sketching practically more difficult and less fun lmao. So just loose go with the flow shit is super fun. if you do wanna see the frog monster feel free to ask btw

[cloakedsparrow]

Commissioner Jim Gordon figured out Bruce Wayne was Batman early on in their partnership but he needed all the help he could get cleaning up Gotham, so he figured he’d let it go as long as he maintained plausible deniability and as long as Batman didn’t do anything too reckless or damning (like killing someone or getting a civilian killed).

He could tell that Batman genuinely wanted to help and he honestly grew to respect him, so he decided if it ever looked like he needed to pull the plug on Batman, he could just quietly inform him that he knew his identity but he wouldn’t have to pursue it if he just stopped.

He almost did just that when Robin entered the picture. Because that was not a grown man with training and intellect in a combat-ready suit. That was a child in a leotard and pixie boots. Of course, Robin was obviously Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s new ward. And, yeah, the kid was a remarkably gifted acrobat, but still. What the fuck was Batman thinking?

A few captured crooks and a couple overheard conversations later and Gordon realized that this was Bruce attempting to reign in Dick. He decided he’d let it go for a while and see if the situation didn’t just take care of itself.

It did, but not in the way Gordon had assumed, where Bruce eventually got Dick to stop. Instead, the kid turned out to be a brilliant vigilante. So as much as the idea of a kid fighting criminals in a leotard upset him, Gordon decided to let it go as long as the boy seemed more or less safe (and also didn’t cross certain lines).

Then Batgirl appears and Gordon is even more concerned because Batman also doesn’t seem to know who this girl is. That’s concerning. She’s wearing his symbol. One fuck up from her could ruin everything Batman (and Gordon) have built. All the goodwill with the non-corrupt detectives and citizens of Gotham could be destroyed overnight. There’s no way to prove she has nothing to do with Batman shy of unmasking one or the other or both.

So Gordon decides to look into Batgirl, because that’s the lesser of two evils at this point, and it turns out she’s his daughter. Because of course Barbara would do something like this. Fuck his life.

Then Nightwing enters the picture. Before Gordon can worry about this new vigilante too much, Nightwing shows him the cute little deputy badge he’d given Robin and repeats some of his own words back to him, proving Nightwing is Dick Grayson. Which, good for him. At least he came up with a better suit. Gordon hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he’d been getting a little too old for the pixie boots.

Then there’s a new Robin, which is obviously Bruce Wayne’s newly adopted son, Jason Todd. Barbara is still acting as Batgirl, so Gordon figures he doesn’t have any room to be judgmental of Batman’s parenting choices at this point. At least Batman keeps his kid with him while he’s fighting crime. It’s more than Gordon can claim.

Then, the worst comes to pass. Jason Todd dies.

Batman tried to kill the Joker, so there’s no point in guessing how that happened. Gordon feels terrible. He feels even worse when Batman is clearly losing it and, as much as he understands (Barbara could have been killed instead of crippled, and just for answering her father’s door), he can’t let it continue. He’s going to have to show his hand and threaten Bruce Wayne.

As if by some miracle, Batman starts getting better before he has to act. Gordon assumed he’d either sought help or just worked through the worst phase of his grief…until another Robin shows up.

The kid is wearing a different suit that covers (protects) more of him. He’s constantly perched on something so Gordon can’t get a definite estimation of his height. The hair could always be dyed or a wig. Overall, there’s not much to go on identity-wise. It’s certainly not Jason Todd after faking his death or being revived somehow (it’s Gotham, stranger things have happened). This is definitely a different kid. He’s smaller, younger, paler, and he doesn’t move or sound like either of the previous Boy Wonders.

Bruce Wayne does not have another son. He does not have another ward. No nephew or godson or the like. So who the fuck is this kid?!

The new kid is really good. Batman is doing really good with him. Gordon would be very happy with this progress except that he still has no idea where the kid came from. He’s taken to going over missing person reports, but it’s Gotham (there’s a lot) and he doesn’t even have a decent description of the new Robin to work with.

He tried saying something to Robin once, after Batman ditched them on the roof of GCPD. The kid had stopped him and told him that he’d given the adults their chance to fix it but they didn’t, so he’s taking care of it now. Then the unknown child jumped off the roof and fired off a grapple to follow Batman. Gordon has no idea what to make of that but he feels like he should be a little ashamed, at least.

After what feels like a year of mental torment, Janet Drake is murdered and Jack Drake is left in a coma that he may or may not recover from. Then Gordon learns that Bruce Wayne has quietly assumed custody of their son, Tim Drake.

There is no paper trail of any kind between the Drakes and Bruce Wayne. If the Drake boy is Robin, then Gordon has no idea how that came to be. If he isn’t Robin, then he still has no idea who the current Boy Wonder is.

The mystery of this particular Robin will continue to haunt him for years.

Bruce loses custody of the Drake boy, but there doesn’t appear to be any change in Batman and Robin.

Suddenly, Robin is gone with no explanation and there’s a girl in the role for a couple weeks but then she’s fired and starts a gang war that claims thousands of lives including, apparently, her own. Then maybe-Tim-Drake-maybe-not Robin is back.

Bruce takes permanent custody of the Drake boy, and there still doesn’t appear to be any change in Batman and Robin.

Then there’s a new suit but it appears to be the same Robin, just sadder. Then Bruce Wayne’s biological son shows up and, lo and behold, there’s a new Robin. With a chip on his shoulder the size of Wayne Manor and a fucking sword. Gordon actually misses the Robin that had been confusing the hell out of him for the past several years.

Then there’s a Red Robin. Then he's gone and there’s two very different Robins operating at the same time. Gordon’s pretty sure the one that isn’t Damian Wayne is the one that’s been a constant source of headaches and nicotine cravings for the past four years, but he still can’t be sure who the little shit is.

[aluhnim]

Hello!! When you start a comic, how do you go about deciding your panelling layouts?? If this is too big of an ask for covid brain, how about your favorite song of the moment / a song that really inspires you?? I hope you feel better soon!

I was searching around for an old write up I did for some Original Character Tournament folks who were interested in my thoughts on panels and layouts. To try and answer your question, I go off of vibe now that I’ve made a LOT of comics. However, as much as it doesn’t seem like it at times, I do typically stay as “conventional” as possible to make sure my readers are still following the plot. I make a lot of adjustments along the way. Smarter layouts allow me to draw less, and drawing less is better for me in the long run! It’ll allow me to put more time in other places of the comic.

Anyway, here’s my write up back in the day that’ll hopefully answer some comic drafting questions!

More conventional paneling is a necessary stepping stone because you know your reader won’t get lost and the structure will have you more focused on flow and pacing. It seems remarkably easy to do comics with more “static” or traditional panel layouts but they work for a reason. There’s no real need to break out of something that works, unless you want to! Breaking out of the structure can really add some OOMPH to your important pages.

Some tips, note that these have been my preferences and some definitions don’t quite match their descriptors.

Bleed

I consider open panels or panels that stretch out beyond the edge of the page to be considered bleeds. They’re simple ways to make you feel like your not just sticking within your margins and making your page feel less static without much extra effort. Manga does this quite often, and Western American comics, especially during action packed moments or large splashes.

Some examples of things bleeds can do:

- They can also be used as transitions between pages (first panel bleeding in, last panel bleeding out).

- They can be used to interrupt or add a beat to a moment. Although the example below is mostly bleeds, you can see the one full panel at the bottom stands out because it’s not like the others. A subtle beat.

- They can also just be used to extend a panel to make it bigger. That seems obvious, but larger panels do make people spend a bit more time on them, regardless if there is text or not. Though, “more time” means probably several milliseconds or even a few seconds more than usual.

- Collaging with a bleed is a really great way to think beyond panels and open the space. You will be spending more time thinking of how much you can cram in along with the flow of how your text is going to lead through a series of images.

- Removing panel borders can really open a space and allow for more room without having to go above and beyond the ideas of comics and panels. (sorry, gale galligan is just good)

Gutters

The space between panels is almost just as important as the panel itself. That’s where readers and inferring actions and time. You can only control so much of what the reader is doing between their eye shifting between panels, which is why composition within panels and clarity are so important.

Gutters can also be played with! A simple example is changing your gutters from white to all black. It can be a subtle shift in time, a transition to a new space.

Even the amount of space between panels leaves an idea of time! I think webtoons/manhwa really work well with the gutter space, leaving you to physically scroll and feel the effects of time passing with the amount of empty space you encounter.

It’s important to understand that the gutter has a lot more to do with reader imagination, and your goal is to have them understand that the next panel is somehow plausible.

THIS SCENE EMFIELDS DID IS VERY FUCKING GOOD. TIME, SPACE, GO OOOOOOFFFF KING

Panels themselves can be a part story!

This one is a difficult thing to write for, since I feel like there isn’t many examples out there. There are very structural examples of panels out there, like Watchman. While the 9 panel grid was intentional, it also was likely the only way to deal with Alan Moore’s script effectively without missing details. The panels themselves don’t ENHANCE the story, but a means to an end.

But it’s also an incredibly good example of how conventional comics paneling can still be effective, especially when you start breaking that mold just a little bit.

But then you have comics like M. Dean’s “Baby fat”. Where the comic paneling itself never strays from its original structure, but is indicative of the story itself, representing tiles, mirrors, patterns.

Or Robert Hunter’s “The New Ghost” which he uses circular motifs and has circular panels representing the telescopes sight line.

Predicting Reader Navigation

These are my rules of thumb when doing general sight reading panel by panel.

1. Text is what people gravitate to first. It’s the context needed to approach the next panel.

2. Faces are next, this provides context to what the subject is feeling.

3. Familiar people/animals/objects and SFX.

4. Everything else!

This is an example of sight reading notes I gave to my friend Holocene when we were collaborating.

[skaruresonic]

It’s not "schizoposting" if you’re replying to other people talking about Ian Flynn.

The term itself is ableist.

I'm not schizophrenic; I have garden-variety depression and anxiety. But even if I were schizophrenic, that wouldn't make it okay to act like I'm frothing at the mouth for stating opinions on my own blog.

I've noticed this habit amongst stans: they'll paint you as mentally unwell in order to discredit you. We've been called "conspiratorially insane" and "retarded" before. I've been told to seek therapy for being angry at the harassment I received. Hell, Kyle once told Greeny "I hope you get better soon" in response to her pointing out that Metal stated he rebuilt his body with his own two hands in the Metal Overlord fight, something that contradicted a claim Flynn made. It's just our old buddy ad hominem again, but ableism flavored.

And it's like, yeah, I am mentally unwell, no shit Sherlock, you've cracked the code. But regardless, I can still be mentally unwell and make a valid point. It's not like the mental illness completely short-circuits my ability to think.

Apropos of nothing, while I'm at it: people get really touchy if you say anything that can be skewed as "Flynn lies" or "Flynn is a liar," to the point of making sweeping grandiose claims that they'll automatically lose respect for you if you insinuate as much. (Which ofc begs questions of why.)

Lying isn't some binary yes/no type of thing. People can lie partially, lie out of ignorance, lie by omission, lie by implication, lie by obfuscation, or lie in spirit but not in letter. Not all falsehoods are capital L Lies, but by the same token, that doesn't mean they're no longer falsehoods. People can bend the truth without breaking it. Flynn projects a certain image by being noncommittal to the point of obfuscation. It's called talking out both sides of your mouth: where you say a lot of things that seem to address the question without actually having answered the question.

He doesn't lie outright. That's why I said it's annoying, because in a way it'd be easier to put his claims on blast if he were.

Instead, he drowns out the truth with verbiage. He hems and haws and doesn't offer a clear answer but instead usually winds up giving a sort of verbal equivalent of a Rorschach test so that he has plausible deniability in case his employers ever press him on his claims. Notice, however, that despite how tied his hands are, and despite knowing how people take his word dead fucking seriously, he seldom passes up the opportunity to run his mouth.

For example, "Eggman never, ever has a solid plan." The quote whose infamy earned it a spot on a TV Tropes page. He said it with his full chest, too, one of the rare answers that left no room for misinterpretation. Yet when someone relayed his own words back to him roughly a month later, he couldn't remember having said them, implying he either didn't really believe what he had said or else he has a poor memory.

More interesting than that, though, is when he proceeded to add, "But if I did [put it like that], then I was wrong."

IF I did. As if the existence of the words he recorded for the entire world to hear and posted for online posterity is debatable.

That's the kind of thing that skeeves me out at the end of the day. When you get caught in 4K and somehow it's others' ontological reality that must change to fit your presupposed narrative, not the other way around. And by that, I mean it would be somewhat easier to overlook if the matter began and ended at simple ignorance---but it's this constant evasion of blame and the underlying revisionism that creeps me out.

Flynn looks like he's admitting he's wrong while also casting subtle doubt on the notion that he said what he did. It's not just an "oops, guess I misspoke" or an "oops, guess I forgot" kind of thing, either. He pulls this sort of rhetorical trick all the goddamn time.

I'm personally on the fence about whether he does this deliberately or if it's the unfortunate byproduct of being a poor communicator: I feel like subconsciously, some part of it may be, given how BK built its name on speaking on behalf of Sega while simultaneously allowing him a platform to not-so-subtly shittalk them behind their backs. At this point I find it hard to imagine he's not doing this without some sort of agenda in mind.

And this isn't even getting into all the times he's been caught in blatant contradictions, which wouldn't be nearly so bad if everyone didn't take the man's word as gospel.

[schraubd]

We Are Not Ready for AI

Two AI developments in rapid succession have me, I'll be honest, a bit rattled.

The first development was a study where an AI player managed to perform very well in an online Diplomacy tournament. Diplomacy is a board game which prioritizes negotiation and manipulation to achieve one's ends (so it's not like a game like Chess, which is purely a matter of raw calculation). Leaving aside my general discomfort with "we've successfully trained an AI to lie and manipulate humans to achieve a goal of world domination!", this represents a huge leap in AI's ability to effectively use natural language and discourse in a way that I think, until recently, would have seemed beyond the realm of possibility.

The second was using OpenAI to answer short answer prompts that might be found on a law school exam. It did ... decently. Not perfect, and sometimes quite wrong, but not awful either, and sometimes more or less correct. For example, here's what it gave me when I asked "How did Twombly and Iqbal change pleading rules?"

Twombly and Iqbal changed pleading rules by raising the standard for the sufficiency of pleadings in federal civil actions. The Supreme Court held in Ashcroft v. Iqbal that "a complaint must contain sufficient factual matter, accepted as true, to state a claim to relief that is plausible on its face." This ruling effectively raised the bar for pleadings in federal civil actions, meaning that plaintiffs must provide more detailed facts in their pleadings than they had to under the old standard. The Court also held in Bell Atlantic Corp. v. Twombly that a complaint must contain more than mere labels and legal conclusions, and must instead contain factual allegations that show that a claim is plausible. This ruling established a two-pronged standard for the sufficiency of pleadings in federal civil actions, requiring plaintiffs to provide more detailed facts in their pleadings than they had to under the old standard.

That's not perfect, but it's not terrible either. And since OpenAI is available to the public, I assume there are more proprietary AI models out there that can do an even better job.

My colleagues are worried about what this means for open book law school exams (students can enter the prompt and have a decent answer spat back out). But I'm not worried about having to adjust my exams (I don't use short answer prompts anyway). I'm worried about what this means for needing human lawyers. Not quite yet, but we're getting there.

All of this, in turn, brought to mind two articles by Kevin Drum on the issue of AI development. The first made the point that once it comes into full bloom AI will not just be better than humans at some jobs, it will be better than humans at all jobs. This is not a problem that is limited to "unskilled labor" or jobs that require physical strength, deep precision, or even intense calculation. Everything -- art, storytelling, judging, stock trading, medicine -- will be done better by a robot. We're all expendable.

Article number two compared the pace of AI development to filling up Lake Michigan with water, where every 18 months you double the amount of water you can add (so first one fluid ounce, then eighteen months later two fluid ounces, then in eighteen more months four fluid ounces, and so on). Both "Lake Michigan" and "18 months" weren't chosen at random -- the former's size in fluid ounces is roughly akin to the computing power of the human brain (measured in calculations/second), and the latter reflects Moore's Law, the idea that computing power doubles every 18 months.

What was striking about the Lake Michigan metaphor is that, if you added water at that pace, for a long time it will look as if nothing is happening ... and then all of the sudden, you'll finish. There's a wonderful GIF image in the article that illustrates this vividly, but the text works too. 

Suppose it’s 1940 and Lake Michigan has (somehow) been emptied. Your job is to fill it up using the following rule: To start off, you can add one fluid ounce of water to the lake bed. Eighteen months later, you can add two. In another 18 months, you can add four ounces. And so on. Obviously this is going to take a while.

By 1950, you have added around a gallon of water. But you keep soldiering on. By 1960, you have a bit more than 150 gallons. By 1970, you have 16,000 gallons, about as much as an average suburban swimming pool.

At this point it’s been 30 years, and even though 16,000 gallons is a fair amount of water, it’s nothing compared to the size of Lake Michigan. To the naked eye you’ve made no progress at all.

So let’s skip all the way ahead to 2000. Still nothing. You have—maybe—a slight sheen on the lake floor. How about 2010? You have a few inches of water here and there. This is ridiculous. It’s now been 70 years and you still don’t have enough water to float a goldfish. Surely this task is futile?

But wait. Just as you’re about to give up, things suddenly change. By 2020, you have about 40 feet of water. And by 2025 you’re done. After 70 years you had nothing. Fifteen years later, the job was finished.

If we set the start date at 1940 (when the first programmable computer was invented), we'd see virtually no material progress until 2010, but we'd be finished by 2025. It's now 2022. We're almost there!

That we might be in that transitional moment where "effectively no progress" gives way to "suddenly, we're almost done" means we have to start thinking now about what to do with this information. What does it mean for the legal profession if, for most positive legal questions, an AI fed a prompt can give a better answer than most lawyers? What does it mean if it can give a better answer than all lawyers? There's still some hope for humanity on the normative side -- perhaps AI can't make choices about value -- but still, that's a lot of jobs taken off line. And what about my job? What if an AI can give a better presentation on substantive due process than I can? That's not just me feeling inadequate -- remember article #1: AI won't just be better than humans at some things, it will be better at all things. We're all in the same boat here.

What does that mean for the concept of capital ownership? Once AI eclipses human capacity, do we enter an age of permanent class immobility? By definition, if AI can out-think humans, there is no way for a human to innovate or disrupt into the prevailing order. AI's might out-think each other, but our contribution won't be relevant anymore. If the value produced by AI remains privatized, then the prospective distribution of wealth will be entirely governed by who was fortunate enough to own the AIs.

More broadly: What does the world look like when there's no point to any human having a job? What does that mean for resource allocation? What does that mean for our identity as a species? These questions are of course timeless, but in this particular register they also felt very science-fiction -- the sorts of questions that have to be answered on Star Trek, but not in real life, because we were nowhere near that sort of society. Well, maybe now we are -- and the questions have to be answered sooner rather than later.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/KRPms7H

[alister312]

al i’ve had an insane night. do u have any style getting together hcs or anything like that you’d like to discuss? i wanna hear ur thoughts

ooh boy, style getting together? i do not discuss them often enough, do i... let's remedy that!!

the thing about style, imo, is that they're so intrinsic to one another that i feel a confession and them getting together is always inevitable. it's often why, when i picture any of my other kyle ships, stan is just not there or it's happening prior to a relationship with stan. vice versa with my stan ships (but those are much fewer in number and i haven't really written fics for them lol). what can i say, style is always endgame in my book :)

i'm a sucker for slow but sudden realizations. where it comes to a point that they know their feelings have been building for a long time but they didn't realize that's what was happening until one little thing sends them into the "oh." category. i've always imagined that kyle has his "oh" moment before stan, mostly because i feel he understands himself and his emotions much better than stan understands his own. from there, there's two pining paths i like: patient and frustrated.

both of these seem entirely plausible. kyle knows he knows himself better than stan, so he's willing to wait until stan also has his "oh" moment. he's confident it'll come— that's key. and he's right, of course, because kyle's always right. maybe it takes much longer than he expects it will, though, and that leads to the frustration. or maybe he's frustrated right away that he had to realize before stan! kyle is the type to keep his reasons for being frustrated close to his chest though. stan is as well, so in an instance where stan does somehow have his "oh" moment before kyle, he wouldn't say anything. they both assume that any flirtation is them personally reading too deep into a situation because "stan/kyle is my best friend, he'd tell me outright if he liked me, wouldn't he?" (spoiler: no he wouldn't).

they'd definitely need some inciting incident, probably grand and cosmic because it's south park, they are south park— when does anything happen normally? if it's not big and spectacular, it should at least feel that way for everyone involved. i think it's part of why i especially enjoy style high school narratives? everything is constantly the end of the world as a teenager. they thrive in that sort of heightened dramatic environment. similar with tsot style (another favorite of mine)— the stakes are much higher between a king and his right hand ranger.

so i suppose to answer your question: my ideal style coming together headcanon is that the world is crashing down around them (literally or metaphorically), everything has been building up to This Moment for them, and they just finally let everything happen.

perhaps they even.......... kiss 👀

[charliedawn]

THE JOKER PUNCH LINE PART 2:

(I decided to change the story a bit as to make it more interesting and shift from a nurse reader to a policewoman one. I'm sorry but, the other slashers will have little appearance in this series and I will not be adding the Hannibal family just yet as I do not see how they would fit ? This is mainly a DC fanfic and I changed some things to make everything a minimum plausible. Hope you'll still like it.)

Warning : LONG

Y/N got out of her cab and looked around, searching for the address written on a piece of paper in her hand. She had been transferred to the Gotham police department and was impatient to discover the city she would be staying in for at least a few years. She then looked up and saw written on the building just in front of her in big bold letters :

Gotham City Police.

She took a big breath to give herself courage before grabbing her bag and finally entering the police station. She then saw a lot of policemen running around right and left in total chaos and waited patiently until one of them actually noticed her and stopped to greet her.

"Hey there ! What can I do for you, miss ?"

She smiled gratefully at the man before asking.

"Hello. I'm the new partner of commissioner Gordon ? Could you please indicate me his desk ?"

The young man opened his mouth to reply, but a loud voice interrupted him, coming from the end of the hall on their right.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN ACE CHEMICALS FACTORY IS ON FIRE ?!"

The officer then addressed the young woman a sympathetic smile before pointing to the direction of the voice.

"Right this way. Follow the yells. And, be careful. He seems to be in a mood.."

Y/N nodded gratefully at the young man before grabbing her suitcase once more and making her way down the hall. When she knocked, a ruff and grumpy voice replied from the inside.

"COME IN !"

She tentatively opened the door and was welcomed by the vision of a greatly disorganized office with poles of papers on the desk, so much it almost hid the man behind them. The man who was on the phone and had a worried frown on his face; he wore big glasses and had a thick moustache. He seemed to be the officer as he gestured her to seat down as he continued to shout on the phone. She immediately did as told and sat in front of him.

"FINE ! FINE ! WE'LL SEND A TEAM !"

He hang up and sighed heavily before looking up at Y/N.

"My name is commissioner Gordon and I'm the guy who's gonna be your partner in this hell until you either quit or one of us dies. Look, I will be straightforward with you. I do not have time to be civile with you, so either you can follow my orders to a fault and we'll get along just fine or I'm sending you back, got it ? My partner got killed 3 weeks ago and this is why they sent me you. A newbie from another city. Gotham is dangerous and there are more chances of you getting killed than you dying of old age, especially when wearing your badge."

He then opened a drawer and gave you said badge. You took it and pinned it to your breast pocket before replying confidently.

"Without wanting to sound disrespectful, I understand why I'm here. I've lived my whole childhood in Gotham. I do not intend to disobey your orders, sir. I also do not intend to die any time soon. I only want to do my job."

Gordon's eyes softened somehow at your words and he finally answered with a weak smile.

"I respect that."

He then extended his hand across his desk for you to shake and you gladly did. The man had come a bit gruff at first, but you perfectly knew that it was because of the high risks in being a police officer in this city. You knew that. You had made your research before coming and even though you were scared at first, you still wanted to try and change this city for the better.

"Y/N. Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you too.."

Harley and Arthur were staying at her apartment and Harley had to admit that he was definitely different from her puddin’. First of all, he was looking at TV a lot, which her Joker never did. He had no interest in anything else than his business. So, she thought that once this new Joker was busy with making phone calls, searching people on her computer and watching the news, she would try to get rid of what made her…Pudding’s. She locked herself in the bathroom and with a shaky hand, attempted at cutting the ends of her pigtails her Puddin’ liked so much…but, couldn’t bring herself to do it and only threw the scissors in the sink before breaking in tears of frustration.

"Why is it so hard ?!"

She suddenly felt a soft hand on her shoulder and turned around swiftly with a gun in her hand, ready to shoot whoever it was, but was shocked to see Joker n2, staring at her with his hands raised in the air. She then looked at the door she was sure she had locked, only to find it wide open. He then took a step forward and she took one backwards, soon becoming trapped against him and the sink, the gun still in her shaking hand.

"I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I was worried."

He apologised and Harley’s eyes widened in stupor. W..Worried ? He was worried she might…? What ? She then realised and lowered the gun.

"Nah. I was just trying to…move on."

She looked at the pair of scissors wistfully and Joker n2 nodded before lowering his hands and leaning down. She thought he was going to kiss her, but her only picked up the scissors before standing up with a small smile.

"I’ll help you."

She hesitated before finally nodding in agreement and sitting down on a chair. She then petulantly proclaimed.

"To be clear, I could have done it on my own. I’m just not good with scissors !"

Joker n2 smiled knowingly before nodding and letting her hair out of their confines.

"I know. I’m just helping."

To be honest, Harley felt good with this new Joker’s hands in her hair. Her Joker’s were soft and cold like marble, but his were used by time and experience, they also radiated a certain comfortable warmth that Harley could only relax with as they started untangling the knots in her hair. She let out a relaxed sigh before Joker n2 whispered.

"By the way, my name is Arthur."

Arthur, huh ? Not bad..However, her thoughts quickly shifted when she heard him use the scissors. She knew she had to do it, that her Puddin’ didn’t want her anymore…but, it still hurt. When Arthur was finished, he put her hair back up into two pigtails and showed her his work. It was a nice work for sure, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she was betraying her Puddin’ and broke into tears once more.

"It hurts", she finally sobbed against his chest and Arthur sighed before putting the scissors back next to the sink. ‘That was it’, she thought. He would be bored and leave her…but, he didn’t. He knelt next to her and embraced her, patting her hair soothingly.

"Ssh. It’s normal."

She thought she couldn’t cry anymore, but was surprised as even mire tears gushed out of her eyes as she tightened her hold on J..Arthur. He didn’t recoil, he accepted her sadness and tried to comfort her the best he could.

"Don’t worry, my dear. You won’t be alone any longer.."

She stopped crying at his words and tilted her head upwards and searched his eyes for any sign he would be lying, hut found none. But, Harley was never good at reading men..She quickly wiped her tears and stood up with a large smile.

"I’m fine and ready to work, boss !"

Arthur frowned at the appellation before gently reminding her.

"Partner, miss Quinn. You’re not working for me, remember ?"

She seemed to suddenly remember and let out a small laugh before hitting her forehead theatrically.

"Of course ! I’m my own woman ! I forgot !"

Arthur stayed silence for a moment, looking at her strangely..with a certain hint of something she couldn’t quite describe. Pity ? No..He wasn’t the type to pity..He then stood up too and walked towards the living room before taking his vest and going for the door, but just as he was going to open, he restrained and turned towards Harley to inform her of his intention.

"There’s someone you should meet..She’s a very important part of my plan to change this city for the better and I hope that…She’ll make you understand something."

Harley drifted at the word "she"..A woman then ? An old lover perhaps ? She couldn’t help but reply darkly.

"Who is she ?"

If he noticed the ominous undertone, he didn’t mention it and only replied with a small nostalgic smile and a shrug.

"An old friend.."

A few hours later :

Harley stopped the car in front of an impressive black and white building with a set of expensive cars parked in front. She was almost tempted to steal one, but then remembered that they may belong to this "mysterious old friend".

"Wow..That friend of yours must be loaded !"

She whistled appreciatively at the size of the building and was surprised when the security guards moved out of Arthur’s way, as if they were expecting him. When they got in, Harley smiled widely at the rich interior made of expensive leather and marble. It was like walking in a palace and Harley wondered how she had never heard of this place and how her Puddin’ had never mentioned it to her ? A young woman then leaded them to an office where everything shined so much it momentarily blinded Harley. They were about to seat when the double doors on their right opened widely and another woman emerged, her hair black and white like the building from the outside.

"Where is he ?!", she demanded to the young woman who had led them her who seemed to have lost her words as she pointed the both of them. The black and white woman turned around and addresses them a wide smile.

"Arthur darling ! What a nice surprise ?"

She kissed him on both cheeks, like some of these fancy French chicks Harley used to see on TV and be jealous at. However, she was surprised when the woman turned towards her with another bright smile.

"Well, hello there…Don’t you look absolutely divine ?! I looove the look."

She then turned around Harley who finally smiled back and swooned at the compliment.

"Really ?! Well, you’re not so bad yourself !"

Cruella’s eyebrows shot up and she eyed Arthur with a delighted grin.

"I like your new friend.."

Arthur smiled before nodding and then, Cruella turned towards her secretary and brought her finger to her lips. Her secretary seemed to understand and nodded wordlessly before going for a walk and Cruella gestured the door to her office, which Arthur and Harley took it as a sign to enter. As soon as they were inside, Cruella locked the door and sat at her desk, inviting them to do the same with a flick of her wrist. Arthur indulged and took a seat in front of her while Harley remained standing, admiring the zebra patterns all around and the fancy leather of the chairs and sofa..Damn.

"What can I do for you today, Arthur ?"

Cruella finally asked, her chin resting on the back of her hand while her eyes were solely fixed on him. She already knew why he was here. She was no fool. Arthur knew as much and didn’t insult her with small talk.

"I’m here to ask for the favour you promised me a few years ago..when I promised the monopoly on the Gotham’s clothing industry and introduced you to some of your greatest clients. I need your help, Cruella."

The black and white-haired woman gave him a knowing smile before leaning forward, trying to decipher what was going on in Arthur’s head to come in here and ask such a thing of her ?

"It was a long time ago, Arthur. You were someone back there. Now ? A new Joker’s in town and the business is buzzing. I don’t need anything. I’m completely satisfied.."

Arthur addressed her an understanding smile..He knew all that, of course. However, Harley had mentioned something interesting in the last few days..Jack was trying to extend his power and friends beyond Gotham by how his club was full of strangers, obviously not from Gotham, which meant Cruella wasn’t the only high-couture mistress in town..Others came, which meant she would soon have competition.

"Are you ?", his smile turned cold as he leaned forward himself, making Cruella’s smile falter for a second. "I heard from my new friend here that Joker was about to break the contract with you..Come on, dearie. Drop the act. You do not have the monopoly anymore, especially with all these new societies and business partners of the 'new' Joker. You’re far from having the advantage here, ‘Cruella darling’."

The way she gripped the arms of her chair only confirmed what he already knew and he smiled, knowing that he was about to win. However, she suddenly took out a gun and pointed it at his head.

"How dare you come in here and make such a pitiful attempt at making mr join forces with you ?! My business is my business. I won’t let you insult me."

Harley suddenly stood between the both of them, ready to defend Arthur if needed, but Arthur gently grabbed her arm to reassure her.

"It’s okay, miss Quinn."

She seemed hesitant, but finally indulged—not without sending Cruella a nasty stare. Arthur didn’t stand up and only leaned back and crossed his fingers over his lap in a nonchalant way.

"Forgive me if I worded my proposal too harshly. I’m just wondering if this is really what you want ? Doing the other Joker's dirty business to get scraps and a few places in town ?"

Cruella looked away and shook her head. She couldn't admit that Jack was a pain and always wanted a better cut each month and didn't hesitate before transforming one of her shops in his new "hideouts". It was making business difficult, especially when everyone knew that she needed him for her transactions to go smoothly, or Joker and other criminal crews wouldn't think twice before rampaging her ships and manufacture..However, she refused to tell Arthur and tried to save appearances by denying.

"I don't need your hel—!"

"Please.", he interrupted her, "I saw the shops on my way here, Cruella. There are only a few left and even though you want to convince everyone that you're still on top, people are not blind. I'm simply offering.."

"And what exactly are you offering, Arthur ?! You can't save my business. You couldn't even save yourself from that other Joker. He replaced you. You've been gone for five years..FIVE years, Arthur. You left. I had to turn to him for protection because you flee."

Arthur stayed silent for a moment after that, looking at Cruella who he now understood the true reason behind her anger..She resented him for leaving. He wanted to tell her that he didn't want to leave without making sure that she would stay safe, but Jack had more than hastened his leave and had made sure to send him far away enough where he couldn't even have access to a phone for more than 3 years and no way to communicate with any of his old associates. However, it wasn't her fault and it was true that she had managed to survive without him for 5 years. He just thought she deserved better. He finally sighed before standing up and put a piece of paper on the table with a location, a date and an hour.

"If it is of any consolation to you ? I deplore how our partnership ended. Please, think about it."

He then turned around and left, Harley Quinn a few steps after him. However, Harley glanced at Cruella before leaving and found her staring at the note Joker gave her before throwing it in one of her drawers. Harley didn't feel jealous anymore..Well, maybe a bit ? But, she had to give it to her..Cruella was one hell of a woman. Respect.

In the car :

Joker seemed deep in thought and Harley didn't dare interrupt his thoughts, gazing out the window and giggled as she saw a bunch of squirrels climbing up a tree. Joker was brought out of his daydream by the sound of her laughter and peeked over her shoulder at the famous Penguin estate squirrels. He remembered the first time he ever set foot in this domain. He first thought of Oswald Cobblepot as a rather rude and vile character, but had grown to see him as a valuable partner an asset, which led him to be surprised as to hear of his partnership with Jack. That man was anything, but disloyal. He was one of Arthur's first business partners and even Arthur had to admit he was sad to learn of his passing..giving everything to his son. Oswald Cobblepot Jr. A young man which he hoped he could convince to change sides, as he had great plans for the young man. He knew that not a few weeks ago, he had publicly announced his candidacy to become mayor of Gotham. He actually seconded it. The young man wasn't a fool and even though he was a criminal, never killed without good justification. He had checked thoroughly. Once they were in front of the mansion, Arthur and Harley were welcomed by a young maid and two heavily armed goonies. The maid invited him inside, but the two men stayed at the door to stop Harley from going in.

"Sorry. The boss said only the man clown was allowed inside.", one of them explained and Harley pouted.

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it ?! Come on, guys ! We used to work together!"

The other goon shook his head categorically and smiled apologetically.

"No. It's because boss remembers that last time he allowed you inside, you broke most of his antics, thrashed the guest room and painted on his walls..Sorry."

"WHAT?! THAT LITTLE—!"

She fumed and was about to use her hammer to make her way through when Arthur smiled reassuringly at her.

"Don't worry, miss Quinn. I'll be fast out. I promise."

His smile calmed her instantly and she finally sighed loudly in annoyance, but indulged.

"Fiiiine..But, if you're not out of here in half an hour ? I come in to get you, got it ?!"

Arthur could only admire the girl's courage and nodded in agreement.

"Very well. I'll see you soon, miss Quinn."

She let the end of her bat hit the ground and rested her elbow on the other end, staring dreamily at Arthur as he disappeared in the huge mansion and her strange giggle wasn't lost on one of the goonies who arched an eyebrow quizzically at her.

"Well well..If I didn't know any better, I would say that you got it hot for the new Joker..?"

Harley immediately rolled her eyes playfully at his words with a wide grin.

"New Joker ? Nah. You're wrong. Not anymore anyway.."

The two goons looked at each other, confused by her answer but she only giggled again enigmatically. They couldn't understand and Harley knew they probably never would.

Arthur followed the maid among the endless corridors, only to stop in front of a large wooden door where two other goons were waiting, which meant that the young Penguin probably knew who he was and what to expect..

When they entered the living room, Arthur felt a faint feeling of melancholy take over him as he looked around and found the place unchanged, even Cobblepot Sr. painting above the fireplace. He then noticed the form in the old leather chair with a glass of whiskey in hand. Finally, the form took the shape of a human being as it stood up and Arthur's eye widened at the uncanny ressemblance with the old Penguin when the man faced them.

"Welcome !"

Arthur wasn't fooled by the man's jovial expression. He could tell right away that their presence was far from welcomed, but still addressed a polite smile at the young man before extending his hand forward.

"Joker.", he introduced himself and Oswald Cobblepot Jr. stared at his outstretched hand for a few seconds before shaking it.

"I know. Your reputation precedes you, sir. My father told me about you before..You know..He kicked the bucket."

He tried to sound nonchalant mentioning his father's death, but Arthur could see the pain it hid as if it was in plain sight..He was hurt.

"My condolences. I deeply respected your father."

It was the truth. Penguin Sr. had always been a good ally and, in a way, had introduced him to most of his old crime partners. However, he was surprised when Oswald suddenly let out a loud and bitter laugh.

"Don't lie. Nobody liked my father.."

Arthur frowned and was about to protest when Oswald suddenly looked up at him with a small smile.

"However..He did talk to me a lot about you. He said you were the master of crime and never refused a good business, is that true ?"

Arthur smiled apologetically before shaking his head.

"I never saw myself as a master of anything."

Oswald's smile didn't falter, he only shrugged before looking up at his father's portait.

"Disappointing. But, I like your honesty. My father always did say you were an honest man—one of a kind—which leads me to my next question.."

Suddenly, Oswald raised his cane with impressive speed and a sharp blade sprang out of it, close enough to Arthur jugular to make the clown fear he was going to end his life before he could achieve his goal, but Oswald then spat out, his voice full of hatred and venom.

"...Why weren't you with him when that plague of a bat took his life ?! My father praised you ! He never praised anyone, not even me ! So, why ?! Tell me ! Tell me why even when you left him to die by the hands of Batman, he never ceased to hold you in the highest esteem ?!"

Arthur's eyes widened a bit in surprise as he could sense jealousy and the anger in the young man's voice..Arthur smiled and then, at the worst possible moment, his atrocious laugh erupted from deep within him. It started as a small tremor, but quickly erupted to a full-on mad laughter and it only seemed to anger Oswald more as the tip of his blade pierced his skin.

"Stop laughing, or I will cut off your tongue !", Oswald shrieked, but it didn't help Arthur as he kept laughing and even Arthur himself was starting to worry his condition would make the other man react violently. But, to both of their surprises, Arthur's reply came between hiccups of laughter and involuntary sobs.

"You..You think..I didn't...try ?!"

Oswald's brow furrowed in confusion and he waited until the clown's laughter died down completely before asking for an explanation. Arthur's uncontrolled rictus disappeared as he took a sharp breath to calm himself before standing up straight again and looking at Oswald in all seriousness.

"Your father knew where I was. He was the most powerful man in this city, and you think he didn't know where to find me ? He could have called. Tell me that he was in trouble with the Bat. But, he didn't. I had no way to communicate with him or go to him as I was held in a highly guarded establishment, an hospital supervised day and night in the middle of nowhere for more than 5 years. I didn't know he was even dead until they announced it in the news..I never intended to leave him. I even asked him not to get involved with the Bat during my absence. But, for some reason ? He didn't obey me and never visited me once while I was in St Louis ! Now, I'll ask you this ? Who left who ?"

Oswald stayed stunned for a couple of seconds after Arthur's outburst and, after a moment, finally lowered his umbrella. He then took a few shaky steps back, his mind numbed by the alcool and the sudden surge of overwhelming information, then plopped back down in his leather chair with a defeated expression. 'This is one depressing penguin', Arthur thought as he seemed to almost pity the young Penguin heir. However, he had come for a reason and wouldn't go without his goal accomplished. He sat down in the other chair across from Oswald who was staring at the crackling fire again, a hazy and absent-minded expression on his face.

"I'm here for business, sir Cobblepot Jr. I was led to believe that you have a current partnership with Ja..Joker ?"

Penguin snorted rather improperly before taking another sip of his drink, staring at the fire before replying with a shrug.

"If you can call that a partnership ? He provides me alcool and I provide him money..But, I wouldn't call us partners. He doesn't understand me or my ambitions ! I wanted him to support me in the upcoming elections, but the fool doesn't care.."

Arthur smiled and saw the opportunity as he made his proposal.

"How about you and I make a deal then ?"

Penguin arched an eyebrow at that, but was still tempted as he asked.

"What kind of deal ?"

"I'll make you the mayor of this city.", Arthur replied confidently, but didn't expect Penguin Jr. to actually laugh at his proposal.

"Have you seen my popularity rates ? I'm less eligible than Bane, if Bane was an actual candidate..People don't like the Cobblepots. Never have and never will."

Arthur was about to deny, but one look from Oswald Jr. and he decided that the best choice was to stay silent. It was true that Cobblepot Sr. never was a crowd person and even when he tried, people usually made fun of his physical disabilities rather than judge the man. He knew that struggle all too well. Luckily, the younger Cobblepot hadn't inherited his father's unfortunate physical disadvantages and had more than enough charisma to win the election..if he would stop complaining and slow it on the alcool. He just needed a little push..Arthur took his glass from his hand and slipped the same piece of paper than he had given to Cruella a few hours prior.

"If you want my help ? Meet me at this address. I don't know about you, sir Cobblepot Jr., but your father did have great hopes for you. He may have never drowned you in compliments, but that doesn't mean he never cared about you."

Penguin didn't answer and Arthur left.

When he was alone, Oswald looked at the card in his hand and wondered if he should actually accept the old Joker's proposal ? Who knew what it would entail ? He wasn't a fool and knew that a deal always included two sides of the bargain..He was concerned as to what Arthur would ask of him if he accepted his help ? He hated owing anyone anything..He sighed before putting the card in his breast pocket..He would have to think about it.

As soon as he was out, Harley jumped on him to hug him tightly.

"YAY ! YOU'RE ALIVE ! I KNEW IT !"

She was definitely worried..but she wouldn't tell him that. Arthur smiled and patted her back gently.

"Yes. I am..We've got one more stop and then, we'll be off for the day."

Harley smiled widely at the prospect of spending more time with her new favorite clown and nodded vividly.

"Great ! Where to ?!"

Arthur got in the car and when they were both in the car, gave the address to their cab driver.

"Gotham City Bank, please."

Harley frowned, as she didn't understand why Arthur would want to go to the bank ? Unless..

"ARE WE GONNA ROB A BANK ?!"

Her eyes sparkled at the prospect of an actual robbery with her new partner and a big enthusiastic smile appeared on her face. However, the cab driver gave them both an odd look that the both of them dismissed as Arthur smiled and nodded.

"Yes. We've got someone to impress.."

She clapped her hands excitedly. This was going to be fun ! Arthur asked the cab driver to wait for them in front and gave him a few green papers and the driver wordlessly accepted them.

A few minutes later :

The cab pulled in front of Gotham's main bank and Arthur smiled before opening the car door and walking around to open the door for Harley. She giggled as he led her out and they both looked at each other before nodding in sync before bursting the door open and Harley shouted.

"OKAY, PEOPLE ! YOU KNOW THE DRILL ! EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND !"

She then got out a gun and started shooting up randomly and everyone obeyed. Joker smiled as he saw one of the staff members reaching for the alarm and pointed his gun at him before he could.

"Is your life really worth that small moment of glory ?"

The man hesitated before lowering his hand in defeat. Arthur's smile grew before he gave the man one of the bags and asked him to fill it. The man nodded, too afraid to use words as Arthur left Harley to deal with the other witnesses. The man shakily entered the code to the main vault and Arthur didn't hurry him, patiently waiting for him to finish before entering after him. The man gave him a few worried looks before slowly filling the bag. Was he going to kill him at the end ? Was this how he was going to die ? He had a family..He had his whole life ahead of him and didn't want to die..

"Ted ?"

The staff member suddenly stilled for a moment at the mention of his name to look at the Joker who surprised him as he lowered his gun.

"Relax...I'm not going to kill you. I just need money to achieve a goal of mine. And for that plan to work ? Killing you wouldn't be beneficial for me."

Ted gulped loudly before giving another side glance at Arthur that seemed sincere, but the gun in his hand brought Ted back to reality. He was a criminal. Criminals lie. Ted shook his head before continuing his task, wondering what that big plan of his was ?

"Do you want to know what it is ? My big plan ?"

Arthur guessed his silent question and Ted didn't dare reply, even though he wanted to know, so he could at least know what to say to the police ?

"I'll tell you..I'm going to heal Gotham."

Ted's eyes widened at his answer and he forced himself not to laugh as he said with a hint of sarcasm.

"I didn't know Gotham was sick ? Besides, aren't you the problem ? You and the other criminals and rich hypocrites of this city ?"

Arthur took a few steps back and sat down before resting his chin on his palm, fixing Ted with a small enigmatic smile.

"I used to be like you..You think I'm a criminal. And, maybe you're right ? But, don't worry. When I'm finished ? You won't have to worry about me.."

Ted raised a doubtful eyebrow at his mysterious answer before sighing and handing him the bag.

"Here."

Arthur thanked him before taking the back and turning around to leave. Ted was surprised to see him actually keeping his promise and not killing him and, after a second of hesitation, asked.

"Is that really what you want to do ? Heal Gotham ? How will the money help you with that ?"

Arthur didn't answer and only gave him another one of his enigmatic smiles before shrugging, as it to say 'you'll see'. Ted didn't insist and as soon as he was back, he addressed Harley a nod and Harley smiled widely before hopping to him and staring at Ted.

"Sooo..Want me to kill him ?"

Ted shivered, as he wondered if the Joker was going to say yes, but he shook his head negatively before leaving Ted to join the other hostages. Joker then grabbed Harley and led her outside before the police sirens could be heard. Ted followed the strange clown with his eyes and heard a lady next to him whisper to him.

"Gosh..They're crazy."

For some reason ? Ted wasn't so sure anymore and didn't even reply to the woman. Was the clown really that crazy ?

The cab was still there when they returned and, to Harley's surprise, the driver didn't even seem shocked when they jumped in and started driving away. Arthur saw people filming and smiled before opening the widow and took a couple handfuls of green bills to throw them in the air.

"Take it ! Take it all !"

The crowd quickly got on the road to gather as many green papers as possible, unconsciously making a barrage between the criminals and the police cars. Arthur smiled and even met out another one of his signature laughs, Harley following suit. Somehow ? It felt good. Harley took another handful and threw them outside with a big grin on the face and Arthur let her. However, they still needed at least half of the bag for their plan to succeed and closed it after a few minutes. He then asked the driver to stop at the rendez-vous point where he was sure Penguin and Cruella were already waiting for them..Harley got out of the cab and she thought Arthur would follow, but Arthur stayed in the car for a couple minutes more before leaning forward to get a view of the driver and grinned knowingly.

"So...impressed, M. Scarecrow, or do you prefer M. Jonathan Crane ?"

The driver's breath hitched..How did he know ? But, before he could ask, Arthur laughed.

"I must admit..It wasn't easy to track you down. Especially after your many years in Arkham. But, imagine my surprise when I heard you had found yourself a small job as a local cab driver ? A man of your intellect..So, I decided to introduce myself. As I am a man of action, I first wanted to show my powerful associates and my..skills. I'm going to be straightforward. I want you to join me and I'm sure you and I could accomplish great things together..But, if you refuse ? I'll understand. Your choice."

Arthur waited patiently for his answer and Jonathan's mind started to weigh the pros and cons of such a partnership. He knew the man had powerful allies by the stops they had done this morning and the way he had dealt with the bank robbery, Jonathan was convinced the man was far from a fool and everything had been planned and calculated with minutiae to perfection..but, that made Arthur an even greater threat. On the other hand, what did he have to lose ?

"Fine. I'll do it."

Arthur smiled in genuine contempt and nodded. He had been the easiest one to convince..

"On one condition. I want to see your fear."

..Or not. Arthur used to be afraid when he was only some lowlife rat in the street, gaining his daily penance by amusing a bunch of children and sufficient in his misery..He used to be afraid of everything. But, as the Joker ? He didn't feel afraid any longer..Not even of death. But, he forced himself to smile and appear genuine as he replied.

"Of course. I don't see why not ? However, I have a condition of my own to that clause of our agreement."

Jonathan arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, encouraging him to state his condition.

"Never use your serum on me without my consent. You want my fear, I'll show you when the time is right..Deal ?"

Jonathan stayed silent for a moment before finally sighing and his lips twitching upwards.

"You're a tough dealer, sir. I respect that..Deal."

They shook hands on it and when they both got out of the cab, Harley felt this chill course through her body..As if she knew something big was about to happen and it wasn't two human beings who had just stepped out of the car, but Chaos and Discord about to bring order to this world which didn't make any..And, far from feeling threatened, Harley embraced it and smiled widely, wider than ever before..Arthur addressed her a look which made her weak in the knees, her heart beating a thousand times a minute and her cheeks heat up..It was the same sensation she used to get from her pudding when they started seeing each other, but this time was so much stronger and she knew, she just knew that this man would get them far, farther than she had ever dreamed of. She happily skipped up and down after them and entered the building.

It was going to be exciting.

Once inside :

As predicted, Penguin Jr. and Cruella were already waiting for them and Cruella smiled when she saw Arthur.

"Finally, darling ! I was starting to worry you had forgotten about me !"

Arthur replied with a smile of his own before inviting Harley and Jonathan to take a seat. He had built that place himself, the whole building was an old hideout of his where he had everything he needed for his plan to work. He had made sure to ask a few old loyal friends to keep an eye on it and was happy to see the place as well-preserved as he had envisioned it to be. But, he wasn't going to linger on the satisfying state of the place when he had guests.

"I'm glad you all agreed to come. I was worried you wouldn't.."

A lie.

He had chosen them all specifically for their desperation and because he knew they would hear him out. Plus, they were the only people left in Gotham that could and actually would change it for the better, even though they didn't know it yet. They were the perfect candidates and Arthur was going to mold them into the perfect people he knew would be worthy to one day govern this city. He smiled at the prospect, his eyes stopping on each of his four choices and already imagining what they could become together.

"Enough politeness. What do you want, Joker ?"

Penguin Jr. asked and hit the end of his cane on the floor, showing his impatience. Arthur smiled again. He would have to work on that. But, for now..

"I want us all to work together as a team..A team to make this city right. I wish us to succeed where all the so-called great leaders of this city failed."

Penguin Jr. arked an eyebrow at this, skeptical but not uninterested. He was about to speak, but Harley interrupted him by raising her hand, enthusiastically waving it like a child.

"Ouh ! Ouh ! I got a question ! How do you propose we do that, boss ?!"

Arthur had thought of that and could only reply with one word.

"Fear. We're going to make them submit to fear. All those pompous bastards who looked down on us, mocked us and abused their power..We're going to crawl under their skin and scare them into submission. They will beg us for mercy. Fear is the remedy to our sick city. But, not a chaotic sort of fear that this city has suffered from for so long, but calculated, targeted, efficient.."

The future associates looked at each other with surprised glances and even incomprehension, but Jonathan was the first to understand.

"You intend to to use my serum to manipulate the rich of this city and need our help to get access and put your plan into motion.."

Arthur grinned widely at the young man's quick wit and mind.

"Bingo. Thank you. I knew you would understand, M. Crane.."

"And what would you give us in exchange ?"

Penguin Jr. suddenly exclaimed, not interested in healing this city that had made him suffer so much. 'Ah. Here it was. The reward..', Arthur thought and replied with a knowing smile.

"I'll give you posterity. I'll make the new Joker disappear. I'll make you a mayor. I'll make you all the kings and queens of Gotham. I'll give you all of that. And all I'm asking in return ? It's your trust."

They all seemed to ponder on his words until Jonathan's voice rised again.

"Pretty promises. But, why would you do that ?"

Joker seemed almost sad for a moment, weighing his words carefully as he answered as clearly and truthfully as possible.

"I'm tired of Gotham being the fool of the party. I'm tired of being looked down upon and the poor people of this city being walked on by the rich as if we were cockroaches on the pavement...I want to open the eyes of the citizens and for that ? I need fear and I need power."

Jonathan stayed silent, examining the man who so many admired. He was relatable, but also so different from the rest of the criminals in this city, it made him stand out on Jonathan's eyes. He was only a small lad when Arthur was first shown on the news and he remembered feeling fear and a kind of unhealthy fascination. He was the first Joker. The original. The one and only prince of crime. But, having the man standing in front of him was a whole other story. Being the clown face hid a depth he didn't expect to find..He could see himself following this man. This man that had nothing and some could describe as desperate, but Jonathan knew he wasn't. He would get to his goal and Jonathan knew that walking away now would be his greatest mistake. He nodded.

"I am in."

Arthur smiled widely at the confirmation, followed by Cruella.

"Me too. If it will get Joker out of my business ? I'm ready to do what it takes. But, what will be my part in all this ?"

Arthur turned towards her before answering her, already prepared to answer all of his associates' questions.

"You'll be our publicity and, as you have the monopoly upon Gotham market, you'll be very useful for the display and to spread our products..Also, you'll be our distraction. Every great plan needs a great distraction."

Cruella smiled before winking at Arthur.

"I know, darling. I'm the best distraction there is !"

Harley felt great difficulty in restraining her jealousy, but knew that would mean angering Arthur. And she absolutely didn't want that.

Arthur then turned towards Jonathan again.

"You. I will need your intellect and for you to make as much fear serum as possible."

Jonathan's eyes widened slightly in surprise, he had never had someone acknowledge his intellect. It was always all about his serum and getting the formula, making it was something any great scientist could achieve easily. So...why did he need him ?

"You're not asking for the formula ? You won't just torture me for it ?"

It was Arthur's turn to be surprised à he let out a small laugh and shook his head.

"And why would I do that ? No. I'm not here to steal your project, M. Crane. I respect you too much to insult you by stealing your hard work. I ask you to be my partner, not my underling."

Jonathan could feel the truth behind the man's words and couldn't help but feel his respect for the man grow.

"I’ll see what I can do."

He replied truthfully. It had been a long time after all..

"That's all I'm asking for."

Arthur said before moving on to the last associate he needed to convince and who he still had to get to come on bord.

"And you ? You will be a very important part of the plan..You will make sure to reassure the population and be a hero in their eyes. And by doing that ? I promise you'll become mayor of this city. Be what nobody ever suspected you to be. Be a hero."

Penguin scoffed before eyeing himself up and down significantly.

"Do I look like a hero to you ?"

Arthur mimicked him and looked at himself up and down then brought his eyes back on him with a small smirk.

"Do we all look like heroes ? We are Gotham citizens. And in Gotham ? There are no heroes..Doesn't mean we can't try to make things better, right ?"

Penguin stayed silent before finally sighing in defeat and raising his hand for Arthur to shake.

"Fine...Let's be heroes."

Arthur smiled before shaking his hand and then gave a last circular glance around the room, feeling deep down that he had chosen the right ones. They were nobodies..But, they would soon be so much more.

"It's time for a new age. We are nobodies. Let's show them what a couple of nobodies like us can do. They won't know what hit them."

The five associates smiled at each other before Harley raised her hand, frenetically waving it in the air.

"Ooh ! Question ! Question !"

Arthur smiled at her childish antic again before nodding in teacher-worthy patience.

"Yes, Harley ?"

"How are we gonna trap pudd..I mean, the other Joker ?!"

Arthur smiled knowingly before leaning forward to answer enigmatically.

"How much do you like fireworks, miss Quinn ?"

A few hours later :

"We've had reports of crimes in town ! For some reason, idiots found it funny to light up fireworks !"

"Where ?!"

You shouted, already grabbing your coat and rushing to the exit.

"Everywhere ! It's chaos out there !"

One of the policemen answered on his way out, but just as you were about to follow commissioner Gordon in his police car, he shook his head and said.

"No. No way. I'm not letting a rookie get on the field on her first day ! You get out of my car and stay in the police station."

"But...", you tried to protest. However, commissioner Gordon was categorical as he shouted again.

"Get out of the car ! I already got my old partner killed ! I ain't losing another one the day I got her ! It's an order ! Get out ! Now !"

You had no choice and slammed the door of the car before getting back in the police station, angry and in complete disbelief at commissioner Gordon's attitude. You weren't a child ! You were a policewoman !

You slumped into a chair and closed your eyes. It wasn't how you imagined your first day to be..After an hour passed, you sighed heavily, bored out of your mind..You didn’t think your first day would end up being so disappointing..However, you suddenly heard the front door of the police station open and here came..Oh no..You hid under the table instinctively, the sight of greenish hair being enough to make your heart skip a bit. He luckily didn’t see you, but it wasn’t the case of the other agent who was on guard duty with you..

"Hey ! Freeze !"

He pointed his gun at Joker, but didn’t have the time to shoot as Harley used her big hammer on him, knocking him out cold. You crawled to another desk to have a better view and took out your phone to dial commissioner Gordon’s number with shaky fingers. Finally, it rang and you waited until the both of them were out of sight to speak, your breathing becoming uneven as fear took over you..You wanted action, just not so soon ! You closed your eyes and begged for Gordon to pick up.

"Commissioner Gordon here ?!"

You let a soft sigh of relief before getting out of your hiding place to get out of the station, not ready to face the two psychos head first without any backup..As soon as you were put, you breathed deeply the fresh night air, filling your lungs and which abled you to held back your fear. You were about to tell Gordon about the situation when another voice made itself heard behind you.

"I knew it..Number one rule in the cop book. Always leave two officers behind."

You gulped loudly as you perfectly knew who that voice belonged to. You turned around and saw him standing there, on the front steps of the police station with a knowing smirk playing on his lips. You were unable to form words as your mouth opened and closed..This was a nightmare.

"You know that I'm not blind, right officer ? That police officer suit isn't really making you any favors. You really stand out, and that's coming from a clown."

He laughed and you tried not to let panic overtake you. You took a couple of steps behind and knew that you were probably going to die..might as well do your job.

"Comissioner Gordon. He's here. He's right in front of me."

"Who ?! Be specific, Y/N !"

You heard commissioner Gordon shout in the speaker with faint sounds of fireworks slightly covering his voice.

"...The Joker."

You answered after a few seconds and Gordon stayed silent for a moment, realisation hitting him suddenly as he yelled.

"RUN ! YOU HEAR ME ?! RUN !"

Arthur almost seemed amused by the loud and panicked voice of your senior, tilting his head to the side as he knew exactly who you had on the other side of the line.

"Hello there, officer Gordon."

You lowered your phone and hesitated if you should run or stay ? You then remembered you had a gun on you, with no bullets since they didn't give them on your first day, but that Joker didn't know, or at least you hoped he didn't ? You decided to risk it and raised your gun instead, shaking as you realised..you really had no bullets. You were defenceless, but decided to bluff..Maybe, would he buy it ? However, Joker smiled widely, almost as if he knew, before taking a long puff of his cigarette, not worried at all. You didn’t understand why until you felt a gun pointed at the back of your head.

"Drop the gun. Now."

You had forgotten about Harley. You closed your eyes and threw the gun away before raising both of your hands in the air. Arthur then walked down the stairs and stopped just in front of you with a sly smile.

"Now..How about you stick with us for a little while ? I promise we won't hurt you..We just need you to show us to the roof ?"

You didn't understand why they would want to get access to the roof ? But, you had no other option and sighed before nodding and following them back inside. You didn't know how to access the roof, as it was your first time around, but Arthur seemed to know his way as he led you up the stairs and to the door where you needed a special police card to get access. You sighed before looking at your brand new card and closed your eyes, sending a silent apology to commissioner Gordon as you used it to open the door. Arthur smiled as he walked forward, Harley dragging you behind them as Arthur looked around for something in particular, a large white cloth was covering something and Arthur smiled victoriously before pulling the white cloth off the mysterious thing and your eyes widened as you recognized the bat symbol. What ? What did he want with it ?

"Harley ? Would you please be a dear and do us the honors ?"

Harley licked her lips and giggled excitedly before hopping to the bat signal and lighting it up.

"Let's see when the bat will come in to save you.."

It didn't take long before the familiar whoosh of a cape made itself heard and Batman appeared. He tried to get closer, but Joker held a gun to your forehead and moved his index left and right.

"No no no..One more step and the poor girl gets it."

Batman stopped dead in his tracks and closed his hands into fists before asking in his familiar low baritone voice.

"What do you want ?"

Arthur smiled before taking a couple of steps forwards, his finger still on the trigger and shrugged in a nonchalant manner.

"Just wanted to test a little theory of mine..I'm taking the woman. And if you want to see her again ? You'll be at the docks tomorrow morning.."

Batman looked at you and you didn't want to beg, but you weren't willing to die and looked at him with tearful eyes..It wasn't the time to play courageous and Batman you didn't know if Batman would comply. You were a complete stranger after all and Joker was his arch nemesis. However, you were surprised to see Batman actually agree.

"Fine. Don't hurt her."

Arthur nodded in agreement before Batman suddenly vanished and Arthur turned towards you with a wide grin.

"Guess what, agent ? Looks like you're coming with us."

Your fear turned into ice in your stomach as you knew there was a high risk you might die in the following days. Commissioner Gordon was your only chance and you were surprised that he hadn't arrived. However, Joker must have read your thoughts as he smiled again.

"Gordon isn't coming. He's stuck in the traffic generated by the fireworks my associates lit up everywhere..Now, come on. Let's get going."

He grabbed your arm and dragged you downstairs, quickly getting in Harley's car and you drove away. You really hopped you would see Gordon or any police car on your way, but even if you did, the glass was tinted and and you knew they wouldn't hear your screams. You were trapped.

"I'm really sorry for the inconvenience. Yiu seem to be a good cop, but I can't let you see our home for now.", Arthur said before Harley got out a black bag from her purse.

They put a bag over your head and then, it was only darkness.

When you arrived, Arthur finally set your head free and you blinked frenetically, trying to get used to the blinding light and then, you saw Arthur sitting on a chair in front of you. You could easily kick him, but it wouldn't help anybody, so you decided it was best to stay still for now. He smiled appreciatively, knowing by the fire in your eyes that it was taking all of your willpower not to resist and act on impulse. You then noticed the bag at his feet and frowned

What was in it ? Was it a gun ? Did he change his mind ? Was he going to kill you ?! You felt your back beaded with cold sweat and fear was turning you into a silent statue instead of the begging mess you were inside..Arthur looked at where you eyes had landed and smiled..Was he...WAS THE BASTARD AMUSED ?! You gritted your teeth and were about to say something when he got his hand into the bag and got out..fries ? You frowned deeply in incomprehension before he turned the bag around and you could the familiar yellow M logo and you sighed in relief, not caring if he was still in the room.

"Calm down. As I've said before, I do not intend to kill you."

You were still suspicious about that, but decided not to reply, not to give him the satisfaction. But, the man was determined to make you talk as he showed you the contents of the bag.

"I did no know what you'd prefer so..I took a bit of everything. Are you a vegetarian or..?"

Why was he..?

"Why are you doing this ?"

The question stilled him for a few seconds before he finally cracked a smile.

"And she talks. I'm glad. I thought I would be doing a one person conversation tonight.", he joked.

He was evading your question and you didn't answer, still waiting for him to explain what drove him to act like this..He sounded like a good guy, and yet..

He sighed heavily.

"I'm just..so tired, miss Y/N. I'm exhausted and I'm afraid I won't be able to protect Gotham anymore..I thought I had found a good replacement with the other Joker. Jack. But, I was wrong and Gotham paid the price. My purpose was to tell everyone of the pain we share, of the common pain of being stepped on by the powerful and for Gotham's children to rise..but, since my mistake, Gotham has come back to its old ways and only more pain and suffering followed. I'm trying to open their eyes again."

He got out a pack of cigarettes and then looked at you.

"Do you mind ?"

You shook your head and Joker smiled thankfully at you before lighting it up and taking a puff.

"Anyway, tomorrow you will be free..I just need you to get the Batman to come and get the Joker to come as well..Harley already warned him she knew where the Batman would be tomorrow and I intend to make everyone see the truth.."

Your arched an eyebrow at him.

"The truth ?"

He took another puff of his cigarette before addressing you a mysterious smile.

"My my..Aren't we curious ? Unfortunately..It would spoil the surprise, and we can't have that. Now, for the real important question..Fries, burger or both ? I do enjoy ice-cream first, but that's a me thing so.."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh and shook your head in disbelief. That man could easily kill you here and now, but he he still managed to get a laugh out of you. He smiled as well and showed you the contents again, making you choose by pointing at the food you wanted. He then got one hand out of your restrains for you to eat.

"I'm not a savage..", was the only reason he gave you before sitting back down, watching you eat. When you finished, he binded your hands behind your back once more before crouching in front of you and opened his mouth to say something, reconsidered, and finally settled for an apology.

"I am truly sorry for what we have to do. I have nothing against the police, only against the corrupted ones. I intend to get rid of the vermin, to get proper justice.."

"Gotham's or yours ?"

Arthur looked up at you before smiling almost sadly.

"Aren't they the same ? Aren't I another victim of this corrupted society ?"

You stayed silent, pondering on his words before he stood up again and stepped out.

"Get some rest..You'll need it."

And with that, he shut the door.

The next day :

You were woken up by the soft tremor of a moving car and opened your eyes to find yourself at the back of Harley's car and she was the first to notice you were awake.

"Good morning, sleepy head ! Donuts ?!"

She shoved the box of goods under your nose and it took her a moment to realize that you were still tied up. She then took a random one and shoved it in your mouth with a wide grin.

"Here ! They're amazing !"

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you couldn't deny that they were actually pretty good. Arthur was driving and stopped in front of the docks. He then turned towards you and smiled reassuringly at you. He then turned towards Harley.

"We're here. Jack is already here by the looks of it.."

Harley turned towards the very flashy green car of her old Puddin' and her smile faltered for a second. She had called him yesterday saying she had the Batman and she perfectly knew that Jack could very well be killed because of it. Was she ready to say goodbye ? However, Arthur put her hand on her thigh and smiled encouragingly at her.

"You can do this..Jack didn't deserve you and he still doesn't. His one and only love is Batman. Do not make the mistake twice.."

Harley wanted to cry, she knew he was right, but it still hurt to be reminded she would never be enough..that Batman would always be first with Jack. She took a big breath before nodding.

"Let's go."

Arthur nodded back before they both got out of the car. Arthur took you out of the car and at this point, you didn't even try to resist. Another clown and his goonies were waiting for you near the water and the one you presumed was called Jack didn't even question your presence beside her before walking towards Harley with a scowl.

"Where's Batman ? You said you had him !"

Harley cowered slightly at her old lover's voice before Arthur stepped into the light, ready to intervene. But, Jack noticed him quickly and gritted his teeth before getting out his gun and pointing it at Harley.

"You dirty traitor ! You betrayed me !"

Harley's eyes widened as he pointed the gun at her. She still held onto that tiny piece of hope that resided inside her that Jack at least cared for her.

"Would you really shoot me..Puddin’ ?", she asked with tearful eyes and even you felt bad for the woman.

Jack hesitated. But, Arthur reappeared in his field of vision behind Harley and he finally took his decision. He finally smiled in fake apology at Harley and shrugged.

"Sorry, honey. Business is business."

He then shot mercilessly, but Arthur got her out of the way and shot Jack’s hand. Jack groaned before covering his wound with his other hand and hissed in pain. Just at that moment, someone started shooting Jack's handmen and soon enough, Jack was alone. He cursed under his breath and tried to reach for his gun, but Arthur was faster and grabbed it first before standing up above Jack and stomped on his injured hand. Jack let out a loud involuntary cackle at the shock and pain before Arthur turned towards Harley, checking if she was okay, only to be met with quite a sight. You had protected her..Your arms held her closely to you and if looks could kill, Jack would be long gone. You were still a policewoman, a protector of the law and you wouldn't let anyone die if you could help it. He then noticed something else..you had taken the bullet. Fortunately enough, you were still wearing your bulletproof vest or you would have not survived. Arthur's jaw twitched in anger at the thought and he pushed his heel deeper into Jack's injury. He then saw in Harley’s gaze what he wanted to see..Pain and sorrow. She was finally realising the truth. That puddin’ of hers had never cared about her and it would finally get Arthur her undying fidelity. Harley held her hammer closer to her chest and pain turned into rage as she realized you had protected her, a total stranger, while her Puddin' had tried to kill her. She stood up and raised her hammer high in the air and Arthur got out of her way just as she mercilessly dropped it on Jack's leg. The clown screamed in pain before Harley kicked him in the stomach. She was about to actually kill him, but Arthur stopped her.

"Not yet, dear. We still have to wait for our other guest.."

Harley didn't seem happy, but still obeyed and took a step back, still glaring daggers at Jack. Arthur then took Jack by the collar to make him stand up again, dusting his jacket mockingly.

"I'm so sorry..Where are my manners ? It was so easy for me to take over..I still owe you for that, don't I ? See, Jack ? I'm a symbol..while you ? You're quite the definition of a joke. So, here's my farewell gift for you..Look at the city one last time. This city you abandoned..For what ? A bat ? Do you remember the promise we made a while back ? Cure this city ?"

He turned him around and Jack looked past his dizziness and exhaustion to stare at the city ahead..He remembered that promises now.

"I remember.."

Jack looked back at the past, the first day they had met and the first fight he had with Batman. It was thrilling. Intoxicating. He had made a promise to Arthur..but, he had never succeeded in fulfilling his promise. Gotham was just far too broken..

"I tried..but, I realized after trying so much that, no matter how much I tried, they always won, Arthur..They were never going to change. Gotham doesn't want your change.."

Arthur smiled..Here it was. His old student. The young and intelligent man who knew how to use his brain. But, it was too late..

"I know that. Gotham needed a leader to lead them to this change, to make them see the change they needed so desperately. I genuinely thought it would be you, Jack. I truly liked you, but it was too much for one man and for that, I apologize."

Jack closed his eyes and let out a small sad laugh.

"I thought you were done apologizing ?"

Arthur smiled back.

"I thought so too.."

The two men fell into silence until Jonathan's voice rang into Arthur's ear.

"Arthur ! He’s here. Batman is here."

Scarecrow thought this whole plan was madness and there was no way Batman would come..But, his eyes widened as he saw the familiar caped superhero fly above them.

"He's here.."

He uttered almost in disbelief. Arthur was right..He had answered the call. Batman fell right into their trap.

"Arthur ! He’s here ", he announced in the walkie-talkie and Arthur smiled. At last..The bat would be useful. He then turned towards Jack with a saddened expression.

"I’m feeling sorry for you, Jack..Unfortunately, you made the wrong choices. But, I should actually thank you ? After all…Nothing would have been possible without you. I'll make this city great..and you won't be part of it."

Jack lowered his gaze to look at the water and huffed a laugh.

"Funny..I always thought I should have gotten rid of you this way..Threw you overboard and get over it. But, a part of me still looked up to you. I should've just gone with my guts and kill you myself."

Arthur smiled wistfully at his old student and nodded in agreement.

"You should have.."

He then raised his hand and the sound of a whistle was heard a few meters away, followed by the sounds of paws hitting the floor and dogs' barks. The time Jack understood, it was already too late. A pack of dogs ran to him and pushed him. He fell into the dark waters.

Arthur waited a few seconds before turning towards Batman who had just arrived and giggled as he saw how the great Batman was looking at him and then, Arthur pointed his gun at you.

"I'll offer you a choice, Batman. Either you go save the drowning idiot and I shoot the woman, or you save her and let the other one drown ?"

Batman's nostrils flared in pure hatred and even though his first instinct was to beat him to a pulp, he knew he had no time. He had to make a choice. He looked at you, then at the water before rushing forward, not sparing you a second glance as you screamed for help. Batman knew his role was to save innocents, but he couldn't let Jack die, not after it was his fault he became what he was..

Arthur smiled and hoped they would both drown, leaving the both of them die from their forbidden and very dark love..love for violence and this pitiful rivalry. Arthur never was fond of the bat and to be honest ? Never saw him as a hero. A hero saves. A hero protects. Where was Batman when people starved on the streets and had no money to pay their rent ? The great Batman was beating them up for trying to survive by stealing and committing crime. Self-righteous bastards were the worst. However, he knew they wouldn't die. Joker Jr. would be locked up somewhere and would stop being a problem for anyone once his so-called friends would see him struggle. He would be alone.

Arthur laughed.

It was time for a new era. It was time for Gotham to know the true face of their beloved bat..Tomorrow morning, everyone would know how Batman decided to save Joker Jr. more than stop him and Harley or saving you..Tomorrow, they'd know where his true loyalty lies..He turned towards you and your shocked expression before crouching in front of you and putting on an expression of pity and gently stroked your cheek.

"Poor dear..abandoned by the one you called hero."

You closed your eyes and felt a few tears run down your cheeks until you heard a click and your hands were suddenly free. You opened your eyes to see Arthur standing above you and looking at the exit.

"Come on..Get out of here, officer. You served your purpose.."

You didn't need to be told twice as you sprang to your feet and started running, not looking back. You didn't know what was worse ? That the clown had almost killed you or that Batman would have actually let him ? You indulged in the urge to give the clown one last glance and your eyes widened as you saw him smiling and waving you goodbye. He then left and you kept running. The look he gave you would stay in your mind forever. The Joker was back.

The moment you barged in the precinct, commissioner Gordon's jaw fell open and he didn't even wait for an explanation before pulling you into a hug..He didn't know you that well, but he had been so worried and felt guilty about leaving you behind that he threw all conventions aside.

"I'm sorry. I'm never leaving you behind, partner.."

You felt all the tension and stress of the past few days leak through your eyes as you held onto him tighter. The rest of the policeman and policewoman patting your shoulders, knowing that whatever you had gone through had surely been terrifying and terrible. However, a few seconds later, Gordon seemed to remember himself and took a few steps backwards.

"W..What happened ?"

You explained everything to him and at the end, he was confused and shook his head in disbelief.

"Wait..He let you go ? Why ? And what happened to Batman and our Joker ?"

You shrugged. You had truly no idea..But, then, someone called Gordon.

"Hey, commissioner ! You should come see this.."

You and Gordon went to the TV room of the precinct and saw written in bold letters.

BATMAN, THE SAVIOR OF CRIMINALS

It was a video of Batman plunging after Joker while leaving you behind and even though you knew Batman's choice had been unexpected, Joker was hurt and Batman knew he would die first and certainly had a good reason for going after him. It was unfair to condemn him for it.

"It's been on all the TV channels and seems like someone is trying to make Batman the bad guy.."

You then saw the both of them get out of the water and Batman took off, certainly to get Joker to Arkham or run after Arthur and Harley, even though you perfectly knew they were far gone already..You sighed in relief.

You would get Arthur eventually, you were sure of it. But, you wouldn't let the Batman get in your way. Arthur Fleck would be yours, and next time ? You would be prepared..

[ppersonna]

make me - myg | m

strawberries on a summer evenin'. baby, you're the end of June. i want your belly and that summer feelin', getting washed away in you - watermelon sugar, harry styles

↳ summary- an ordinary sleepover with your best friend turns into anything but ordinary, thanks to your ridiculously loud neighbors above you.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nc17

↳ word count- 4.4k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre-  pwp lol, smut, fluff, somehow the dirtiest fluff i have ever written bc there’s some depraved shit in here

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (dont...pls), dirty talk, rough sex, degrading talk, dom/sub undertones, bratty backtalk

↳ a/n- yooooo dawg this... was fun.  i hope you enjoy!!  ive been in my yoongi feels lately uwu. feel free to comment, message, dm, whatever u want babes.  i love you!

Yoongi thinks if he has to hear your upstairs neighbors fuck for another minute longer he might actually go crazy.

It’s been hours now.  The girl is screaming like a feral cat and the man is doing a terrible impression of a porn star, trying his best to talk dirty but really just calling the howling banshee awful names.  

If only his dick would be as annoyed as his brain.

He knows you’re awake next to him too.  The steady rise and fall of your breathing changed when the bad porn above you began—now it’s faint and too quick to indicate anything but your wakefulness.

“Ohhhhh oppa!” The girl above you screams.

It’s finally what breaks down the silence in your bedroom.  At her wanton sound, you and Yoongi are unable to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter.

Yoongi’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard.  Tears form at the corners of his eyes as you make the bed rumble from the force of your combined laughter.

“God, do they think that sounds hot?” You finally ask after settling down to mere giggles.

Yoongi shrugs and wipes away his tears. “Apparently.  He must like the way she sounds like a dying cat.”

His comment sends you into a spiral of laughter again, and you’re clinging to your chest as it heaves with exertion.

Yoongi is your best friend for a reason.  No one makes you laugh as hard as he does.  No one understands you the way he seems to be able to—it’s almost intuitive the way he can understand your feelings.  

You live for your weekly sleepovers.  You drink wine, watch terrible horror films, gossip about your other friend’s love lives, and fall asleep in your bed together.  It’s never been anything but blissful.

Until recently…

When your heart decided it would beat too fast around him.  When your brain decided to spin and weave stories of romance with your best friend.

Now, you can’t hardly think about anything else around the dirty blonde haired boy.  It’s overwhelming to all of your senses when you see him, feel him near you.  You want to kiss him, to love him, to tear his clothing off.

Which makes lying in your full size bed while the neighbors above you fuck and attempt to act out their wildest fantasies—badly—so much harder than usual.

“God,” Yoongi sighs and tugs the blanket up to his chin. “Does she even like it or do you think she’s faking it?”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Ugh, I know I wouldn’t be into it.”

“You don’t like dirty talk?” He teases with a poke to your stomach.  It makes an eruption of nerves go off in your chest.

“Oh, no I do. But that’s not dirty talk,” you shrug. “He’s just being mean. There’s no sensuality underneath it.”

He hums and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.

“Give me an example,” he asks of you. It makes your cheeks flush red and you’re thankful for the darkness in your room to provide you cover.

“Um, well,” you cough awkwardly. “He’s saying shit like ‘you fuck anything don’t you?’ which, maybe she’s into degradation, but I’m not. Not that extreme.”  Your explanation sounds lame, but you continue anyway. “I prefer to hear things like ‘this slutty little pussy belongs to me’.  Possessive and hot at the same time without being too...uhh...hurtful.”

Yoongi feels his cock rise with piquing interest. There’s a nagging guilt about thinking of his best friend this way, and a tinge of jealousy thinking someone who isn’t him has said that to you.

He feels his throat dry up, and you wring your hands nervously on the blanket. The moaning above you doesn’t stop, and you can hear the telltale sound of flesh slapping on flesh, indicating they’ve commenced into penetration and it makes your body throb with annoyance, and with want.

There’s moments when a louder slap echoes through the room—it’s clear the man is slapping her somewhere—and she whines desperately.  Your core starts building that familiar heat, a slickness gathering you can’t stop. You press your thighs together tight and squirm as subtly as you can. You pray Yoongi doesn’t notice.  

Yoongi, however, does notice.  He breathes a sigh of relief internally knowing he’s not the only being affected by the commotion above. But he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it. For all he knows, you’re just turned on because—well, because it’s sex and it’s loud and who wouldn’t be a little turned on? You’re likely not at all aroused by him, or the thought of him. Right?

Another slap echoes through the room and you can tell by the way the girl gasps that her partner slapped her in the face.

“Damn,” you shiver.  Yoongi turns to peek at you through the darkness.

“You into that?” He asks curiously. “Face slapping?”

It’s hard to swallow for a moment—it feels like you’re trying to down a boulder.

“Uh, yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I like pain.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply and it makes you fear you’ve overstepped the line. You’ve gone too far off the ‘best friend’ track and the whole train is about to de-rail.

You’re opening your mouth to apologize for taking it too far when Yoongi finally speaks.

“Fuck it,” he sighs. “You want to fuck louder and establish dominance?”

The world stops turning.  You’re sure that gravity doesn’t exist anymore and the theory of relativity has been proven wrong.

Did Min mother fucking Yoongi, your best friend of over twenty years, just offer to have sex with you to...establish dominance over the neighbors above you attempting to make a cheap porn?

He’s looking at you normally, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that says more.  It says he wants you.  Your stomach twists in on itself.  There’s no way, there is no actual plausible way that the man beside you feels the same way about you as you do.

“You want to have sex with me?”

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away for a minute.

“I also want to date you,” he murmurs.  

If you thought the world ended before, you’re sure this is the fiery explosion that brings a new earth into life with a bang.

The noises from upstairs interrupt the romantic moment with a scream, a guttural howl from the man, and then muffled whispers and sighs.

“What do you say we keep them up all night too?” His mouth turns to a smirk as he awaits your reply.

“Yeah,” you nod as you throw the blankets off you.  “Fuck those guys, lets show them what real kinky sex looks like.”

Yoongi’s eyes turn feral as he works his eyesight down your body.  Your normal sleepwear outfit of a tank top and shorts looks like lingerie to him now and he’s salivating at the way he can see the curve of your breasts, and the press of your hard nipples against the fabric.

You’re throwing yourself onto Yoongi’s body in an instant, pinning him down to the bed and pressing your lips to his.  You waste no time in waiting for him now that you know—now that you’ve heard with your two ears that Min Yoongi not only wants to fuck you, but date you as well.   No use wasting any more time—the time for action is now.

The kiss is hot and Yoongi’s hands falter for a moment in surprise before he’s coming to his senses and tugging at your tank top quickly to pull it off your body.  His hands feel hot on the bare skin of your back, rubbing at your spine and up to your shoulders.  It makes you shiver, and you slide your tongue into his mouth to explore the heat inside.  

His hands navigate forward to cup your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples—pinching and pulling and rolling between the pads of his fingers.  It has you keening into his touch and grinding down on his basketball-shorts-covered cock. 

Yoongi pulls away from you and pulls at a nipple harshly, which makes you gasp out loud.

“It’s real cute how you think you’re in charge right now,” he points out.  “Real fucking cute.  It’s gonna make me almost feel bad for punishing you.”

You’re sure your soul is going to leave your body at hearing your best friend’s sexy baritone voice verbalize your dirtiest fantasies.  If this is how you react now…, may God have mercy on your poor little pussy.

Yoongi thinks he’s possibly never been harder than he is right now.  His best friend, best girl, is sitting atop his boner and he’s twisting your pretty nipples so hard they’ll surely turn purple soon.  You sound so sweet when you whine, and you’re starting to whine louder as he continues the pressure on your tits.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” He asks, slipping further and further into the dominant act.  He loves this, thrives off it.  He didn’t think you’d ever be into it—none of the girls he’s dated before have—and he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to hide this depraved part of himself.

You nod and bite your lip, wincing as he tugs once more on a nipple before letting go.

“Cute,” he sighs.  “But wrong.”

In an instant, he flips you two over and he feels his heart and cock swell at the sight of your sweet eyes widening at the quick change.  

“This feels better, don’t you think?” He asks.  You nod and he shakes his head.  “Answer me, baby doll.  You’re already about to get punished.  You wouldn’t want to make me not let you cum, would you?”

The fear in your eyes increases and you clear your throat to talk.

“No sir, I don’t want that.”  

Yoongi nearly moans.  Hearing you call him sir, being underneath him—it’s his wet dreams come to life.

“Then tell me,” he instructs. “Tell me you need me in charge.”

You’re dying to be a brat, really wanting to pull Yoongi completely out of his shell, show him the full extent of what he can do to you.  Plus, you really wanna give your neighbors a show—a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?

“What if I don’t want to?” You tease.

Yoongi’s grin turns wider and his eyes sparkle with knowing. He’s a through and through brat-tamer, and by the end of the night you’ll be crying for forgiveness.

“Little tease,” he growls as he leans down to latch his mouth on your abused nipple.  

You gasp out loud, and it turns into desperate mewling as his teeth nibble and pull.  You’ll be bruised up for days, surely.  He sucks hard, pulls on it roughly and bites with meaning. You just know your panties are completely soaked.

“Talking back to me, huh? You think that’s going to get you where you want to go tonight, little girl?”

He turns his attention to your other nipple, eyes peering into yours as you struggle to answer with the sizzle of pain in your breast.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You send back with a shake of your hips under him.

The growl he delivers around your nipple and the quick bite makes you yelp.

“I think I should shut that loud mouth of yours up.”

You smile in response and his fingers tug down your shorts.  You lift your hips and allow him to pull the clothing off and you’re left in your slicked up panties.

“Oh yeah?” You retort.  “You gonna shut me up with that fat cock?”

Yoongi visibly shivers. His spine tingles deliciously for minutes after the hair on his neck settles.  He’s dreamed of you like this, under him and begging to be put in your place.  And now, here you are.  And he can’t wait to make it a reality.  He’s even forgotten about the loud neighbors.  It’s now just all about you.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty little slut so horny to get her mouth on my cock.”

Yoongi allows a finger to trail down your clothed slit, and he outwardly groans at how wet you are.  You’re unable to hold back your whimpers of need—he’s so close to where you need him most and where you’ve dreamed of having him.

“You talk a big game for someone who’s drenched before I’ve even done anything,” Yoongi says with a smirk.

Your legs tremble as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your drenched folds. He dips a finger in and touches your clit. You moan in unison—he’s captivated by the heat and slick, you’re feeling air escape your lungs with every swirl of his finger.

“Y-Yoongi,” you whine.  He tsks and pulls his finger out.

“That’s not my name right now.” His hands start to slide your panties down and your stomach leaps with excitement.

“Sir, please.”

“Now you want to be my good girl?” He asks with a chuckle. “Where’s my mouthy little brat who wants my cock to shut her up?”

He leans back on his heels and watches you eye him. You’re nearly bursting at the seams. You’re naked while he remains completely clothed and while you’d normally feel exposed and vulnerable, all you feel is white hot heat. You’re burning for Yoongi, for him to do what you’ve dreamt he could do.

“Why don’t you show me what that sweet mouth can do?”  

He maneuvers to stand at the side of the bed, dick straining against the mesh of his shorts. He waits for you to sit up, which you wordlessly obey.  His cock is now eye level with you, and your mouth feels dry. You’ve dreamt about this dick, about what it looks like and how it would feel in your hand, inside you. The fact that you’re here now, about to find out all your secret fantasies is heady.

Your hand rubs at the straining material, over the thickness of his cock. He feels big, and you give it a squeeze which makes him hiss.

“Still being a tease,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “You’re in a precarious position to be such a little cocktease.  Might need to fuck that right out of you.”

It makes you whimper—his direct threats sounding like smooth promises going straight to your core.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Yoongi growls and grabs a bit of your hair, tugging your head back to look at him in the eyes.

“I think you should shut this fucking mouth up.”  His voice is dark, and his eyes glow with lust.

A grin pulls over your face as you gaze sweetly up at him—his hand still gripped tight in your hair.

“Make me.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment as he stares at you in wonder—his beautiful girl, so rebellious and yet so willing to comply.

“I fucking love you, you little fucking slut.”

Yoongi forces his shorts down and grips your chin, holding it hard in his hand.

“Now choke on my fucking cock.”

You open your mouth complacently and he wastes no time in shoving his entire length down your throat mercilessly.  

It’s hot. It feels like fucking heaven.  Your lips wrap around him and suction and he can feel your gag reflex straining against his tip at the back of your throat.  Yoongi thinks his entire spine is tingling with desire for you and the way you take his cock so well has his toes curling.

You didn’t even get to have a good look at Yoongi’s cock before it was shoved into your throat, but now that it’s there you don’t even need to see it to knows he is fucking thick and long. It stretches your mouth and you know your pussy will be taken to its limit when he finally buries himself inside you where he rightfully belongs.

“Can’t talk back now, can you?” He teases as he begins to fuck your throat. “Mmmm shit—, you suck my cock so fucking good.”

His words are nothing but encouragement for you and you fight back the growing discomfort in your throat and allow him to use it as he pleases.  Tears form in your eyes and slip down your face at the exertion and you soon feel his balls slap at your chin.  You’ve only fantasized of being used like this by Yoongi, and now it’s actually fucking happening.  You’ll be damned if you don’t give him the suck of a lifetime.

Yoongi thinks he’s staring into heaven as he fucks your tight mouth and watches as your eyes fill with tears.  They leak out and he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is by the palpable enthusiasm you accept his cock with.

“Look at my little brat,” he coos mockingly. “Not so big and brave now, are you?  Not with daddy’s cock wrecking your hot mouth.”

He picks up the pace and the sounds turn disgustingly lewd.  It’s a wet, slurping sound as Yoongi forces his cock in and out of your drooling mouth.  Saliva drips onto the bed below you as you take him all, never given a chance to breathe or swallow.  Yoongi takes and you selflessly give. You’d allow the man to split you in half—and you’re actively hoping he does just that tonight.

Suddenly, Yoongi is pulling out of your mouth and leaving you panting and keening for more. He grips his cock with a fist.  He strokes himself roughly and looks down at you.

“Gonna cum, baby girl. Fucking beg for it.”

Your hands grip at his thighs and you’re breathing hard to catch up on the oxygen you were denied.  But it doesn’t stop you from doing exactly as he orders.

“Please, daddy. Please cum on my face.  Let me taste your cum, I want to know what you taste like.  Cum on me.  Mark me, daddy.”

Yoongi whines and increases the speed of his pumps. His mouth falls open as he watches you pout so sweetly and wait so eagerly for his seed on your face. He wants to see your entire body covered in his cum and he plans on ensuring that happens sooner rather than later.

“My eager little bitch. Wants her daddy to mark his territory.”

You nod, tongue sticking out and wagging like a dog for his cum.

“Please, daddy.  Make me messy.”

It seems to be the secret password to Yoongi’s climax. Your desperation, your eager position, the way you beg so sweetly.  It sends him right over the edge and he cries out as his cock pulses white stripes over your pretty face.  

He wishes he could take a picture of the way his cum covers your face.  He’d make it his background photo so he could see it every day, show everyone around him the gorgeous little whore he gets to cum on every night.

“Shit, babygirl,” he groans as he attempts to catch his breath.  “Look at you.”

You smile as your tongue retreats into your mouth and you savor the drops that landed on your tongue.  Your eyes close in bliss as you enjoy the flavor, noting it tastes salty and sweet and you can’t wait to reacquaint yourself with the taste over and over again.

“Lay back,” he orders as he pushes his shorts all the way off.  

In his haste to fuck your throat, he only pushed them halfway.  He slips out of them and pulls his shirt off before he joins you on the bed.

“Let me drink this cunt.”

You whimper in agreement as you press your back in to the pillows and spread open your legs.

“Please, daddy.”

He grins as he lowers himself to lie between your legs.  He blows on it, cool air pushing over your folds chilling you.

“Fuck,” he sighs.  “Greedy little cunt wants it all, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“So compliant for me now,” he whispers as he kisses your thighs. “I like it when you behave.”

He kisses in further, and soon he’s using his fingers to spread apart the folds and pressing the flat of his tongue to your clit and laving it over the aching nub.

“Holy shit,” he groans as he comes up and sucks his tongue back into his mouth.  “Sweetest little pussy.”

You can’t reply, the capability to speak has left you now.  He buries his face back into your cunt and gets to work.  His tongue starts flicking against the bundle of nerves and then dips down to fuck into your channel.  He works his tongue around you and your back arches off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress.  You seek purchase in his hair with your hands, digits gripping at the blonde locks between your thighs.  

Yoongi groans and moans into your cunt, and soon he slips two fingers in to fuck you roughly.

He pulls his lips away and licks his tongue over them to collect the slick that lingers.  His fingers maintain a quick pace and he drinks in the sight of you gasping at the stretch.

“Yeah, look at you take my fucking fingers.  Such a wanton little whore for me.”

He slides another finger in to join, then another, and it makes your cries echo loudly around the room.  He suddenly remembers the neighbors above you and smirks.  He pulls his hands from you, making you keen with desire and desperately beg for more.

“Daddy! Please, I need..” you gasp. “Need you!”

He pulls himself up to join your hips together and rolls his them against each other.  His cock rubs against your soaked pussy and he bites his lip at the feel of it getting slicked up.

“I want you to be nice and loud for me, baby girl,” he demands sweetly in your ear as he licks the shell.  He notes your shiver and smirks, before kissing your ear lightly.  “Tell those mother fuckers upstairs who’s going to take you to Hong Kong.”

“Yes, daddy,” you agree.  

It only takes the consent to leave your lips for Yoongi to spear his cock into you.  He’s not slow or gentle, he pushes it into the hilt immediately.

Yoongi meant to start a pace, to begin fucking into you mercilessly, but he’s frozen inside your tight heat.  You feel so good, so fucking tight and warm and wet for him.  It’s better than heaven, and surely better than any pussy he’s been inside before.  Maybe it’s because it’s you, and no one else.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Holy shit I could cum right now.”

You whine and move your hips desperately.

“Fuck me daddy! Fuck me hard, please!  Use me like your little cock sleeve.”

Yoongi bites his lip and feels his cock pulse.

“Shit, you’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” he grits. “Let’s see if you’ve got a dirty little pussy too.”

He sets a pace, desperately wills his cock not to cum yet.  He wants to fuck you senseless, until your eyes roll back in your head.  He’s gonna make sure you get off on his cock before he comes close to his end.

Yoongi grips your chin again, like he did at the beginning as he fucks into you roughly.

“Look at you take my fucking cock so deep,” he bites out.  “Your cunt is so fucking desperate for my fat cock, isn’t it? You need me to fuck some discipline into you.”

You’re nearly screaming now at the force of his thrusts.  He’s pushing all the way into you with each push and his balls smack against your ass deliciously.  You’re babbling, words unable to make sense as he fucks all the brain cells out of you.

“Dumb little cock slut,” he whispers as he leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bite at it before releasing it  “Little brat turns into a perfect little fuck hole for me, so fucking good for me.”

“Yes, y-y-yes baby! S-so close!”  

Yoongi’s had you near the verge since his oral, and now with his punishing pace and power in his driving hips, you’re hovering over the edge.

His hand drops down to rub at your clit, a circular motion that has you gasping and screaming his name.

“That’s fucking right,” he breathes. “Tell them, baby.  Tell them who’s got the best fucking cock.  Tell them who fills this pussy up so well.”

You’re eager to comply.

“You, daddy!  Fuck!  You feel so fucking thick in me.  I need your cum, please, please.  Cum on me.”

Yoongi feels his balls tighten impossibly--he knows he’s seconds away from an explosive orgasm.

“Cum on my cock, baby girl.  Let me feel you cream my fucking cock.  Wanna see you all over this fat dick.”

His free hand tugs at a nipple and pulls it punishingly, tugging it so far it pulls the skin around it.  Your screams light up the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls and surely traveling up to your neighbors bedroom.

“Yoongi! Fuck! I’m cumming!” You warn, a millisecond before your world crashes around you.  

Your cunt squeezes his cock so tightly that it causes his hips to stutter in their pace.  It grips him tight, angry like a squeezed fist and Yoongi feels the air get sucked out of his lungs as his climax follows directly after yours.  He didn’t even have a chance to pull out--he’s emptying his load into your womb and whining at the feeling of your pulsating walls milking every single drop greedily.

It’s several minutes later that you’re both caught up to normal breathing and resting beside each other on the bed.  The room is silent, save for little pants and breaths, and Yoongi reaches over to lace his fingers into yours and hold your hand tightly.

“You wanna date me?” He asks sweetly, as if his cum isn’t dripping out of your cunt as he speaks.  

It makes you laugh.  It’s so classically Yoongi that you can’t help but to laugh.  

“Yes, daddy, I want to date you.  I want to date you every single day.”

He pulls you into his embrace and kisses at your forehead.

“Maybe we should send your neighbors some flowers for getting us together,” he teases.

As if on cue, the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and screeching moans comes from upstairs and plays through your apartment like an unwanted jukebox.

“God damn it, our plan backfired.” he grumbles. “I think we turned them on.”

You press your sticky, sweaty body against him and kiss at his lips.  Your hand sneaks down to his cock and grips it again, begging it to come back to life.

“Shall we try again, then?”

[sabertoothwalrus]

Hi longtime follower here love ur stuff! Genuine question, (sorry if this has been asked n answered already) I've been seeing ur miraculous ladybug comics n thinking "oh wait was ML better than i thought??" since i watched like part of the first season years ago but stopped bc it was just. Such A Kids Show. So i wanted to know, does it get better somehow? or is the show Just Like That n anything interesting about it is fan interpretation? Should i push thru the first season for the good stuff??

So here’s the thing. Many recent show creators such as Rebecca Sugar, Alex Hirsch, Pen Ward, Adam Muto, Owen Dennis, etc all made their shows to be honest and introspective and able to be picked apart. They take their audience seriously and don’t underestimate the intelligence of their younger viewers.

Miraculous Ladybug is…. Not That….

It’s definitely not a show that you watch because it’s “woke” or gonna make you strive to be a better person gsgdhfjf. You can uhh, tell it’s adult, cishet, white men writing about teenagers. The plot is somehow extremely basic and contrived at the same time, and reading too into things you think might be potential foreshadowing is more likely going to lead to disappointment than something Deep.

but also the network doesn’t really respect the show or its audience either. Season 4 so far has had more plot development and changes to the status quo than the past 3 seasons combined, except the network still cannot be bothered to air the episodes in production order???? Like,, how do you expect someone to successfully tell a story when you’re scrambling up all the events???

why did I pick it up again? I dunno…. It’s fun. It’s addicting— the suspense of secret identities and the constant “will they/won’t they”. I find the whole secret identity/love square thing very compelling. Even though it’s the same two people, to the rest of the world and all its inhabitants, they are four separate people, each with their own unique public perception. Even their self-perception changes based on their current identities.

The show can also have very good designs sometimes. Sometimes they are very bad.

And like I said, season 4 seems to actually be progressing things?? And there are theories that SEEM perfectly plausible (like the Felix/Adrien is a sentimonster, or if it’s gonna delve into Adrien feeling inferior and insecure) but at the same time the show gives me the impression it will never go there, or at least not in a way that I’ll want it to.

If you want to enjoy this show, I highly suggest consuming it with friends. The secondhand embarrassment can be… quite severe in some episodes (puppeteer 2….), but watching it in a voice call with your friends helps to hear them audibly cringe, and setting it to a language other than your native one helps a bit too. Just go into understanding that it’s ok to enjoy things that aren’t all that great, and that you can take the bits and pieces that have Potential and be creative with them on your own!! Once you start taking it too seriously, you stop having fun. So have fun with it!

[phoenixtakaramono]

So I'm here to say that I really love your Bingyuan fic! The research you do for it and share with us is just amazing! I also have a q regarding LBG. From SV we know that he felt admiration for his Shizun so do you think that if SJ wasn't cruel to him LBG's admiration would've grown into love and attraction like it did in LBH's case for SY? Which then also raises a question: would LBH/LBG fall in love with any Shizun who was kind to him? Or was he just drawn to SJ's type of personality. WDYT?

Hi there, Anon! I’m glad you’re liking the Untold Tale! Thanks for reading! I think it lowkey helps when the story I’m writing (in general) is from a culture I’m familiar with and that I know some of its language nuances (just general Mainland dialect; I’m unfamiliar with Shanghainese, the Beijing dialect, etc etc). So fortunately for me, as someone who is Chinese but was born in the Western side of the world speaking Mandarin to family and friends, emulating the Chinese aesthetic and atmosphere in TUT comes a little bit easier to me than someone who did not grow up with this culture. I bet if I had been raised in China, I would be able to write something even more multilayered and deep but, alas, the youthful rebellious me of the past hadn’t taken my pinyin and Chinese character writing lessons seriously so I can only communicate verbally and understand audibly 😫. It’s very special for us writers in fandoms to be able to write a story of a culture that we actually know and can identify with. But high key it’s been immensely fun injecting some references of things I’ve come to notice from watching period C-dramas and the C-novels I’ve read, and I’ve come to learn interesting things about Chinese history and mythology even I didn’t know! So the story really writes itself.

Shen Jiu (OG!Shen Qingqiu)

To answer your question 🤔, to be honest this is why the SVSSS fandom is great—because there’s so many interpretations of the original source material. That’s why we have our headcanons and fanfictions to explore these many different possibilities. So for me personally, I can see it happening both ways: *1) LBG does develop a crush/falls in love with SJ, or 2) no matter how SJ treats him LBG regards him respectfully or coldly. I think Possibility 1 is more likely, since SY transmigrated into SQQ and we saw what happened with “Bunhe.”

Now, mind, for Possibility 1 to be more likely to happen, the SJ in PIDW will have to undergo a massive personality change/ a change of heart/ develop a good conscience and will need to clean up his image aka clear up the massive misunderstandings from PIDW canon (like him being mistaken as a pervert for Ning Yingying, visiting whorehouses, killing LQG, etc). It’ll be difficult though considering who Airplane has changed SJ into for his stallion harem novel (reading through SVSSS, my impression of PIDW besides it being the harem stallion novel is that it sounds similar to a “dog blood plot,” where audiences tune in to see how the villains are brought to justice). I literally have a line from TUT in a future chapter where SY says this about SJ since I will resurrect SJ and bring him into the story for closure:

People like Shen Qingqiu naturally had a set of deeply-rooted values. If one wanted to change them, it’d be easier to just have them reincarnate. (—TUT, ch???)

At his core, he’s a flawed man (which makes sense with the underlying cycle of abuse theory, considering his upbringing and backstory). He’s jealous and petty and prickly. His image is that of a proud and cold immortal. In Chinese terms, he’s the type of character archtype who I can see being àojiāo (definitely not canon characterization; this is just a stray thought that amuses me) in a romantic relationship.

LBH will have to recognize that^, or be in a position where he finds SJ’s caustic side endearing instead. He will also have to be extremely patient with him (although, since the joke in SVSSS is that LBH is an incurable M, it shouldn’t be that hard).

A fun thing about OG!SQQ is that he’s the cannon fodder scumbag villain of PIDW. He’s the reason LBG blackened from a white lotus. And, as you know, villains aka antagonists aka bad boys resonate strongly with people for a reason. That’s why we see a lot of Enemies to Lovers tropes, etc. It squicks me to use this phrase but “the allure of dating a ‘bad boy’ is strong.” SJ is that type of bad boy we could identify as a “fixer-upper project” (ugh, that phrase)—even with the red flags and warning signs—especially for those said to have a troubled past with rejecting neglectful parental figures/ family members/ friends and have have not outgrown their wish to convert that sort of person into a loving, accepting person. When we want something we can’t or shouldn’t have, our desire for it grows exponentially. In fanfiction this is a concept writers and readers can explore safely in a world of the imaginary.

From a Meta Perspective

Although, if we look at it meta-ly, the cold and proud and/or knowledgeable Shizun (teacher/ master) character who comes to know love and “is redeemed” by whomever is the love interest (typically a cute and quirky girl who may or may not have started off as naive to the innerworkings of the Cultivation World and therefore needs an established and mature mentor to guide them) is a very well-known archetype for a reason in Chinese fan culture.

Seeing a terrible person change their ways and try to become a better person because of the influence of the one they love is also a popular depiction for a reason.

It’s almost like gap moe. The crueler and aloof one starts out as (arrogance is a staple), the more impactful the shift is when we see such characters soften their edges.

The draw of the sacred master/disciple relationship is that it’s taboo, so I think it’s fair to say that such a relationship in fiction is a popular trope precisely because of this aspect. From a writer’s perspective, the main appeal is to show that there is someone out there who can cause this respectful figure to lose control (undergo emotional change) and go to great lengths to protect his/her precious person. That precious person also has to fall into the “not like other girls” trope (so they can show the ML a different world he would not have seen the beauty of before). On the other side, we look forward to the point of the story where the love interest has their “Oh” moment and realizes their admiration has somehow shifted into love and attraction over the course of events.

Other Romantic Possibilities

It’s very likely. I personally like the fanon headcanon where anyone with Heavenly Demon blood running through their veins feels a compulsion to “obsessively fixate on one person” (TLJ —> SXY, LBH —> SQQ). Personally I don’t recall if this was canon or fanon, but someone had written something about LBH imprinting on one person in his lifetime on the account of his demon nature. And I like that theory (I think it’s likely more fanon than anything but it’s an intriguing idea full of possibilities!).

For him to fixate romantically on one person, I personally don’t think the prerequisite is just by being kind to LBH (but it probably adds to the person’s appeal). There’s probably other factors that go into this to capture the male protagonist’s eye, such as him finding someone attractive (or passes his own personal standards) and/or having good chemistry with that person. So I could see him being into other Shizuns and whomever else. Personally I also think there is appeal in the unobtainable. It’s one thing to have someone’s affection (see LBG and his harem of 600 wives who definitely aren’t shy about giving him affection), but it’s another to know you’ve earned the affections of someone you really like and respect (especially if it’s someone thought to be unobtainable).

As long as the writer can provide a plausible justification for me to suspend disbelief and they set up events to justify it, I can swallow just about any ship possibility. It doesn’t necessarily have to be SJ’s type of personality. (For example, I read a very good fanfiction before where the writer paired Luo Binghe with Ming Fan. Ming Fan, people!!! And they actually pulled it off! What a madlad! Mind, it’s Shen Yuan who had transmigrated into MF in that premise, but the writer set up events that showed how these two characters came to bond and develop a deep friendship which inevitably had LBH developing a crush on his shixiong. I use this as an example because this is the type of unexpected (crack)ship, but because the writer did their work trying to make it seem plausible, we can only admire their hard work and effort at pulling it off.)

As the saying goes, there are plenty of fishes in the sea! As the protagonist, LBH/LBG can have many OTP possibilities with just about anyone as long as the writer can make it plausible. It’s all about the character development and the story/ central themes they wish to tell with the ship!

(Note, these really aren’t hot takes, lol. I’m just having fun answering to this casually from the perspective of a writer. Thank you for your Ask, anon!)

[drakenxemma]

Do you think adult Draken would ever be in a relationship? Not to replace Emma (because I don’t think anyone can) but just to be happy. I don’t like to think that he’ll be alone forever😭

Hello, anon❣ Thank you so much for the question and, please, remember my answer is nothing more than my opinion, so take it with a grain of salt.

From a canon standpoint we basically know three things since Emma's death:

When she dies, Draken suffers, takes his rage out on Mikey, cries. Pure pain and grief.

Two years pass and Draken is still suffering.

Twelve years pass and Draken opens the time capsule, reads what he had wrote years before: "Emma will always be with you" and the longing look on his face seems to suggest that he still loves her and still misses her.

How can all this help us answering our question? Here's my take on it. I think that a person losing a loved one in such a cruel way will probably suffer trauma, and if we add the fact that Draken was also very young when he lost Emma, well, the outcome is probably and sadly even worse. And in fact, I think Draken must have felt an excruciating pain for years, for losing Emma, for losing Mikey, for losing Toman. When, as an adult, Draken reads his past letter, we find out that he wanted to get married and have children, yet that dream is nothing near to come true (as for now). Maybe he didn't find the right person, or maybe he realized that he could only imagine himself married to Emma, therefore such a dream was just no longer his own dream since Emma was not there anymore. Plus, the last time we see him in the future timeline, when they all are doing fine (except for Mikey), Draken is obviously more mature and he is living his life and running the bike shop and, in my opinion he still loves her, he still misses her, but he seems to know now that life goes on, that there's his job and his friends. As much as he's still disillusioned, he seems to know that he still has something to hold on to. This is a starting point, something that makes me think that he is doing a little bit better somehow. But we'll see since now, with Takemichi's jump in the past, the future is already changing.

Anyway, from a "human" point of view, after a recovery process, he could be in another relationship in a future where things are good and he's fine, it would be wonderful to see him happy, because it's just what such a good person like Draken deserves. It would be totally beautiful and right, as long as he wants this.

But, to be honest, from a narrative point of view, I just don't think we will ever see this in the manga because, if you think about it, the author never even hinted at a new love interest for Draken. Wakui still hints at Emma, why? He could have something in store for her (I don't even want to delude myself into believing in an Emma revival arc, I just know that my fate is to suffer 😭) or he simply knows that the reader's "wound" for Draken and Emma's story is still open (which I think is the most plausible reason).

[yinses]

limited

| you had to remind yourself that he was only a man |

gojo satoru

raing: 18+

a/n: telling myself i wouldn’t notice how repetitive this header looked if i would just write about someone else. happy gojo eye animation day, everybody!

the fabric was far too big for you. it was expected as such giving that the black band was intended for gojo and not you. even as he tucked the extra folds behind your head, a simple incline of your head inched out his progress and threatened to drag the entire band down again. a strip more pliable to adjustment would have been better.  

and your lips part to tell him as such.

“oh, but that would be too easy, honey. here, let me fix that for you.”

then he goes about pleating the the blindfold back into a pseudo sense of security.

this was a different form of bondage. the verbal kind that he adored.

there weren't any restraints for you to fight. nothing to distract yourself through effort while still remaining in compliance with his intentions.

the only thing binding you was his word and this flimsy blindfold.

though ‘flimsy’ seemed like the wrong word to describe the fabric that withheld the six eyes.

from this perspective it didn’t seem like much. light still crept in around the edges only plunging you into a semi-darkness. if you strained enough you could just make out the shadow of his figure.

that’s what he wanted you to believe as his voice vibrated against your ear.

“m’sure you’ll have no problem being good for me. “

a soft gasp left you as you registered the difference in expectation vs reality. was it a trick of light? you thought he might have been in front but perhaps he was behind the whole time.

the air remained stagnant and curse free to your knowledge. but this was gojo satoru.

you shiver when he chuckles in your opposite ear.

“and you’re not going to use limitless?”

gojo sounds almost patronizing as his tongue catches the edge of your jaw. “i promise it wont be more than you can handle, baby.”

it takes effort to control your breathing as you try to grasp at the fraying threads of control. he said he wasn’t using his technique but he had to be using something. it as impossible for you to feel him but not his presence. the bed lacked his additional weight, the only indentions molding around your body.

it was dizzying to think about as his fingertips traced your jaw before cupping the curve.

gojo pressed a sensually slow kiss against your lips.

“now then where to start…”

it was the anxiousness that he fed on, that you knew. he would watch from the bottom as you rode the roller coaster of anticipation all the way to the top. except with gojo you never really reached the peak. there would be twists and curves along the way but you never stopped ascending.

constantly waiting for the drop.

the jolt was more from the chill than the sudden action as his hands traced the path down your waist to hips. but the movement was enough to shift the blindfold just below your brow.

gojo tsks as his thumb draws circles against the inside of your thigh, resting at the cleft of your legs where he delivers a sharp pinch with his forefinger. closing your eyes tighter under the fabric, you steeled yourself to resist recoiling as you hissed through your teeth.

“toru…”

his lips met your temple.

“sweetheart…” he sang back. “ i won’t fix this again.”

his tone was sweet but the edging command levied more into the situation. his touch was firmer than before as he secured the blindfold again to its rightful place.

the next kiss was at your shoulder.

but the swipe of his tongue?

you suppressed a small whine of confusion as the appendage outlines the edge of your panties. the wet gesture was followed by the trail of his finger along the warm slick of your sex.

there was nothing stopping you from arching into the touch. no explicit directive. as far as gojo was concerned, you could squirm all you wanted as long as it didn’t disrupt the blindfold.

a cruel allowance.

he snatched your breath from your breast as his touch seemed to come from behind to cup your mounds. this touch was generous as the close proximity allowed you to press back without sacrificing much leverage.

“fucking you is fun...but this.”

it was a trap. a pleasurable deflection to lower your guard as he sunk to fingers to the knuckle. you kicked your leg out in reflex, hoping to catch something- anything, but were met with absence.

“if only you could see yourself. so beautiful, baby.”

if only you could see him. glimpse the sky hidden away in those pools. he told you he wouldn’t use his curse but you knew it was too inherent to keep it completely at bay. had it not been, the blindfold would never exist.

“that was so close too. i thought you were going to lose it again.”

you could hear it. the wide grin in his tone as his fingers continued to stroke, prod and fiddle within you. his thumb was employed to the mix, slowly rocking back and forth across your clit.

the hand squeezing at your backside reminded you of how you’d lost count of how many hands your boyfriend possessed.

surely onto two like any other normal man.

except gojo was far beyond that limited scope.

somewhere to your left, gojo hummed in a way that visualized a thoughtful expression. the hand at your rear moved out of unison to the gesture between your thighs only furthering the disarray of your illusion.

“what do you want, pumpkin? to stay like this or are you already greedy for my cock. perhaps you want it all?”

it was overwhelming to think about. his touch seemingly everywhere yet plausibly not. he was making you feel outside of physical touch that you knew. though the technique that was applied was lost to you.

gojo laughed under his breath. he could probably see the cogs of your mind turning, trying to grasp what you weren’t meant to hold. the man thrived on being unpredictable and you were a breeding ground for his own vices.

this time you felt it. the way he pulled his hand away, but the sensation was multiplied as each touch left you at once. the question of which was real was answered as you listened to the wet sounds of him cleaning his fingers with his mouth.

gojo was shameless as he left nothing to the imagination.

“the blindfold hardly budged this time. what a good girl. i suppose you’ll need a reward now. “

your noise of affirmant came as a broken squeak the moment gojo’s tongue lapped against your clothed core. he didn’t stop there, sloppily wedging himself under the elastic to nose his way into your core. you could feel the apple of his cheek against your apex and the corner of his mouth resting at your labia.

somehow making the process that much harder for himself transferred to you. the veins in your neck had to be a visual spectacle as you resisted the urge to turn and stuff your face into the pillow.

its unfair yet so deliciously forgiving. but you need something. the sheets clenched under your fists do nothing to stabilize your yearnings.

you want to be good for him.

truly.

but you just need-

“hm, you’re really struggling, huh? i spoil you too much.”

you don’t know when your arm lifted or how gojo’s head came to settle under your fingertips. but those are questions to go unanswered as you card your fingers through his hair and lift your hips to grind friction against your sex.

something unhinged leaves your lips as he closes his mouth on a kiss with underlying suction. the hold on his hair is the leverage you needed to bring you back away from the bed as you shudder down your spine.

your orgasm is resting at its peak, so pliable that you can feel.

but you can also see. just barely to the right of the slope of your nose.

it brings clarity to the fact that gojo does in fact only have two hands. both now preoccupied with tugging your undergarments down your legs. the glimpse of vision was also just wide enough for you to lock gazes with your bemused boyfriend.

the twinkle in his eyes coupled with the sharp grin against your cunt did not match well with the disappointment weighing on his tone.

“oh? perhaps i was too generous? just what am i going to do with you now, sweet girl?”

[whetstonefires]

in the shadows

hey guess who has two thumbs and just spent 5 hours straight writing another batman AU?

-

Batman wasn’t a person.

He faked it very well. When the League gathered, the line of his mask against pale skin looked natural and human, a little more perfectly fitted than the Flash’s but not quite as perfect as Green Lantern’s, which was an energy projection and not a real object and thus lay against his face flawlessly, without shift or gap.

His mouth didn’t bend into many expressions and his body language wasn’t voluble, but the emotive gestures that he did make were pretty normal. The rare smile seemed honest. He had a heartbeat, perfectly steady. His shadow (almost) always matched the shape that was blocking the light.

The stories that came out of Gotham, about the Bat—those could be exaggerations, born of terror and manipulated perception. Clark, of all people, knew how much you could convince people to believe things that weren’t real, because they made a better story. Even the scraps of photography and film showing a towering thing of black fog and long fangs could have been some clever trick with projectors.

The fact that Superman couldn’t see through his suit just meant it was well made.

He’d had to pool his observations with Diana and J’onn before he’d been sure he wasn’t imagining things. But Martian Manhunter knew shapeshifting, and said the block against his mind when he tried to touch Batman’s thoughts did not feel quite human. And Superman knew what posing as human looked like. And Wonder Woman knew truth, and its absence.

Batman wasn’t human. Which wasn’t the problem, of course.

The problem was that he was pretending he was. Pretending it rigorously in a situation where there shouldn’t be any need, unless he had something worse to hide. Pretending it in a way that overlaid on a certain inhuman predatory grace began to look very dangerous indeed.

Superman could see both things in him now, watching narrow-eyed through a roof into the room where Batman bent over a child’s bed, cape swirling up larger and darker than he let it get around them. The man and the hungry creature, flipping in and out of focus, neither ever gone but superimposed, like a trick picture that was two things at once.

Knuckles ghosted over the boy’s cheek, claws turned inward, and the child sighed softly, and sunk deeper into sleep. Batman’s heart wasn’t beating, but Clark could monitor the child’s vitals easily from here.

Batman drew his hand back, and tipped his head up—looking back at Superman as though the roof was no more a barrier to his perceptions than to Clark’s. Waited a beat, as if making sure his attention had been noticed, and then passed soundlessly between the other beds to the window, slid it open, and launched himself out through it and up onto the roof.

He didn’t bother to restrain himself to even a plausible approximation of human limits, now. The arm he reached up to the edge of the roof to pivot himself up by was too long, and his shoulder rotated further than it should have been able to, and he landed with impossible soundlessness in a billow of cape that was far, far larger than any cape that only reached to his heels should have managed, and which faded out at the edges into shadow. He knew he was found out.

Superman took the obvious invitation, and sunk down to join him. It was better, sitting like this, facing the same way on the ridgepole of a two-story building. Batman hadn’t hurt that child, that he could tell. There was no need to make this a confrontation.

“I don’t understand why,” he said at last. Out of deference for sleeping children, he kept his voice soft—he would have worried about a human being able to hear it, but now he knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Batman. “Why go to so much trouble to deceive us? We haven’t kept secret what we are. Not from you.”

Alien, alien, user of alien weapon, magical princess…

Batman sighed. He spoke almost as softly as Clark had, and his voice sounded the same as ever, except for the fact that a human voice couldn’t get this quiet without falling into a whisper. “I’m not like you.” He turned.

He’d let some of the details of his human mask fall away—what must have been the exhaustively rendered texture of skin, the flakes of dry skin on chapping lips, a crease at the corner of his mouth that had suggested he scowled or smiled more, outside of his costume. There was no pretense of a jawbone, under the skin, though the jawline externally hadn’t changed. The cowl still looked like something he was wearing, but Clark knew it was not. It flexed like skin when Batman narrowed his blank white eyes and said, “I can see you know that.”

“You’ve visited that kid every day for weeks,” Clark said. “Why?”

Batman stared at him. “How long have you known?”

“Batman…”

“You’re confronting me now because you’re worried about my intentions toward Dick. He changed your mind about something. Ergo, you’ve been sitting on this for a while. How long have you known I wasn’t real?”

That was such a bizarre choice of words Clark almost skipped answering the question to chase it down, but he held himself back. This wasn’t a story, and Batman wasn’t even a hostile source so far, if it had been. “Wonder Woman, J’onn and I pooled our observations about four months ago, in April. We were pretty sure by the time we finished comparing notes.” He shrugged. “I suspected something a long time before that, but it’s hard to say when it started to be more than…a feeling.”

“A feeling,” Batman echoed. “Yes, it would start there.”

“So?” Superman prompted. He had liked Batman. He was the last person who could insist that someone hiding the truth of his own nature was reprehensible, though the sting he’d felt about it was an uncomfortable reminder of how much most of his friends would resent him, if they knew the truth. So he’d meant to let it lie, until Batman chose to trust them, or gave them a reason not to trust him. “Why have you been visiting…Dick?”

It wouldn��t be suspicious on its own—well, not very suspicious, all things considered, in context—except that Batman had changed, around the same time. Diana said his presence seemed deeper, Clark thought he seemed to be having trouble staying within the outlines of his human mask. J’onn agreed that he seemed somehow more powerful.

Batman stayed silent a long time. Eighteen heartbeats from the boy below them, slower than those of his peers because he had an athlete’s conditioning already and was more deeply asleep than most of them. At last, the being beside him confessed, “He’s carrying me.”

“What?”

“You noticed I’m stronger now,” Batman said matter-of-factly, in a way that almost managed to cover up emotion. “That’s his doing. I was…fading, when you met me. Not up to capacity. I’m not really meant to exist that way.” He glanced over at Superman again, as though evaluating his reaction, and Clark wondered if he had really needed to do that—if he really only saw out of his eyes. J’onn could make eyes anywhere he wanted some, but he needed them to see. Batman seemed somehow less constrained by biology than that.

“Is it hurting him?”

“No! No. It…shouldn’t.” Batman ghosted a sigh, voiceless, inhuman as the wind. “I don’t know that it’s good for a child to be around me. But I’m not…taking anything from him. I’m not…feeding on him, if that’s what you think.”

It was what Clark had feared. And probably anything that would eat a child would also lie about it, but Batman was his teammate and very nearly his friend. So it was reassuring to have it so firmly denied. He’d come braced for only a little and no lasting damage and he said it was fine.

“Please,” he said. “Can you explain it to me?”

“I suppose I have to.” Batman tipped his head back, to look up at the few stars that smudged themselves visible through the red blanket of light-polluted smog overhead. Clark could make out more of them, even with his ordinary visible-light vision, than a human could have. He wondered what Batman saw. “Will you tell the others for me? Your little conspiracy?”

“Not Green Lantern and Flash?”

“Hal and Barry can figure me out on their own.” That dry sense of humor was the same, even if it was bending amusement onto a mouth that could no longer pass as human.

A breath Clark suspected he didn’t need was drawn. “A different little boy made me up,” Batman said. “Bruce Wayne. You can look the story up in the newspaper archives.

“It was a little over twenty years ago, in Gotham. A mugger shot his parents in front of him.” Another slanted glance, and then he looked away again. He certainly acted like he needed his eyes to see. “It wasn’t more terrible than things that happen to a hundred other people every day, really. But he was the right kind of terrified and angry, in the right place, at the right moment…the police reports all say he tackled the mugger from behind, and got lucky that the man hit his head. But it was me. I took him down.”

He raised his face back toward the smudged stars. “I was such a small thing, then. If that vengeance had been enough—the killer taken in and sentenced, brought to justice—I would have faded away again. Things like me are summoned and dispelled that way all the time. Or he could have taken me back into himself—the danger was past, it wasn’t a chronic part of his existence, so I would have reintegrated, probably, and not hung around rising up to protect him for the rest of his life, and probably disrupting it in the process.”

That amused quirk to the horizontal slash of a mouth, again. “But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. He clung. He brooded. He wanted to protect everyone. And I grew.” Bittersweet and fond. “I grew until I really could help. Until anyone could see me, any time I liked. Until I was solid enough to get in half a dozen fights in one night without my blows starting to go right through the enemy.”

There was no way Batman was letting him know these things about how he worked, when he wasn’t holding back, by accident. They were being given.

“Where’s Bruce now?” Clark asked. Knowing it was probably a painful topic, but hoping to hear it was some rule of magic out of a storybook, that only a child had the right kind of belief to sustain a projection of this nature. That Bruce Wayne had grown up and moved on and had a career and a family, and perhaps didn’t remember that Batman was something he’d made.

Batman’s eyes closed, and vanished completely into the black of his head. He’d kept unspooling all the while he’d been talking, Clark realized, and the gouts and folds and flame-like flickers of his cape now sprawled over more than half the roof, leaving a great circle of open space around Superman himself, and a broad open route away from Batman, as though he couldn’t just go straight up if he wanted to get away. The billows of it had now collapsed in on themselves. His voice, when he spoke, was hushed and solemn, but calm. “He didn’t make it to sixteen. He died tackling a gunman who’d been holding up a corner store where he happened to be, buying junk food he wasn’t supposed to have. The cashier fumbled the register key and bent over to pick it up, and the man panicked and started shooting. Bruce saved lives, that night. But he didn’t survive. Because I wasn’t there. I was away protecting other people, like he’d asked me to.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark said. Inadequate as always, but more so, when he’d pushed for this truth and didn’t even understand enough to know how to offer comfort. He reached out to offer a comforting, boundary-respecting brief pat on the shoulder, like he might have when he had less idea what Batman was, and his hand hung still in the air, as the face Batman turned toward him was human again, so abruptly that even to his accelerated visual perceptions it looked like some sort of glitch.

“This is his face,” Batman told him, and the grief that hadn’t been in his voice before was worn on it, in the pull of the mouth and the bend of pain around the blank white eyes. He looked like he might cry. “The way he would have looked. He never…grew this far, but…”

“In memory of him, then,” Superman said, soothing, and was able to deliver the pat on the shoulder and withdraw. It sounded like Batman was in some ways the only surviving part of Bruce Wayne, and as such had every right to his appearance, but he clearly didn’t think of himself that way, and it wasn’t Clark’s place to try to alter his self-concept, or even make comment when he’d only just been introduced to it. “That seems appropriate.”

Batman shrugged. It looked very human, except for the way the cape parts of him reacted. “I knew it best.”

Had he held the memory of his…creator’s face in his head, updating it carefully to how he would have looked with every year or month that passed? That couldn’t be healthy. It also might be unavoidable, considering Batman’s origins.

“You went on protecting Gotham, afterward?”

“What else would I do?”

“And you joined us. When Starro came.” Batman nodded, as though that was only obvious. Clark supposed it was—when you were a supernatural entity created to protect human beings, why would you not answer a call to band together with other superpowered beings to save the world? “Why did you pretend?” he asked. “To be…”

“Human?” Batman asked. He snorted in derision, either at Clark’s inability to choose a word or his own deceit. “It wasn’t the first time. I talk to the police like this, sometimes. Witnesses. It reassures people, to be talking to a…person.”

That was the same reason J’onn made himself look more human, even in blatant green—it wasn’t entirely unlike why Clark kept his own life as Clark, why Superman didn’t wear a mask. “But why…” He’d gone to such lengths, to maintain the façade. Human jaw and teeth, sculpted solid to catch X-ray vision behind flesh he’d carefully made permeable to it, when even now with the image of Bruce Wayne’s face restored he wasn’t bothering. Consistent physical proportions. Always running close against the edge of normal human limits, of strength and speed and length of jump—not hanging back, but not throwing himself onto the front line either, contributing as much with tactics and analysis as actual combat. “Why try so hard to convince us?”

Batman shrugged. “I wasn’t holding back that much. I told you. I was fading. I was never meant to last. Once it turned out the team wasn’t a one-time thing, I still didn’t want to go through the whole…process of revelation.”

“But you’re doing it now.” Clark found he was grinding his teeth, because he was putting together a picture he didn’t like. “Because. Now you’re expecting to survive.” Batman had been dying. He hadn’t thought it was worth the stress of being honest with them, because he hadn’t expected to exist long enough for their relationships to matter.

Superman glanced down through the roof at the sleeping children, and one child in particular.

“I wasn’t there in time to save his parents, either,” Batman said, and Clark knew that feeling—all this power and yet you could still arrive too late, and be too little. But Batman was defined by that feeling, founded upon it almost, so it probably struck him deeper. “But I was there afterward. I protected him from the followup attacks, meant to stop him testifying about the sabotage he’d witnessed.

“And he clung to me, whenever I came…I do try to comfort them, especially when it’s children, but usually they’re at least a little bit afraid. He wasn’t. And he didn’t have anyone else to cling to. They wouldn’t let his parents’ friends in to see him more than once, and then they left town. And then, after I came to tell him that Zucco and his men were taken care of for good, when I left I felt the distance opening…I realized I was…his, now.”

There was a strange, wondering ache in the way he said it that made it easy for Clark to repress his own discomfort with the idea of anyone belonging to anyone else, and of something that looked like a grown man asserting an intimate personal bond with an unrelated child. Batman was supposed to belong to a child, it was how he’d been made, and he’d expected to die by inches in the absence of the one who’d made him, and now he suddenly wasn’t. This little orphan was the most precious thing in his world, that was plain, and to Clark at least it was equally plain that he felt a deep guilt at replacing the boy who had been his world before.

He wondered, suddenly, if Batman had ever been this honest with anyone in his existence. Had he been this open even with his Bruce, or had his need to protect led him to put on a front, and conceal every uncertainty?

The pale smudge of Batman’s face was still and remote, and his voice was nearly calm, but the darkness of his cape had spilled out over the whole roof now, and it was gently writhing. The route out for Superman, opposite Batman’s main body, had shrunk to the merest footpath. Was that there out of instinct, or a more conscious courtesy?

“You don’t have to leave that,” Superman said quietly, flipping his thumb toward the corridor of open shingle and beam. “I know you aren’t trying to trap me, and it won’t anyway.”

The path snapped shut almost instantaneously, and a little of the strain in the atmosphere faded—Batman had been holding himself back from encircling him completely only with continuous effort. Why? Did he naturally expand to fill the available space? Or was expanding in the form of the cape an expression of emotion that was uncomfortable to suppress, in the same way it was hard to sit still when you felt anxious, or hold your tongue when you got mad?

His teammate’s whole torso was turned away, now, and this too was easy to read—shame at his own inhumanity. In front of Clark, of all people. But then, Clark made it look easy, didn’t he? It even was easy for him, when it came to things like looking like he fit in.

J’onn should have been the one to come. But it disconcerted him not to be able to pick up anything Batman did not intentionally share—Clark didn’t think he’d learned to read human body language yet, beyond the most obvious things—and Batman had been known to use fire.

“It didn’t seem wise to seem to be trying to threaten you,” Batman said flatly, into the night.

“Thank you,” said Superman, because while he didn’t mind at this point, it would definitely have made him uncomfortable earlier, before Batman had made himself so vulnerable. “Could you, do you think?”

A sidelong look. “You’re less invulnerable to magic,” Batman said. “Probably.”

Something to keep in mind. The Flash was the only teammate he had now that he was reasonably sure he could take three falls out of three. Maybe they could start practicing against each other, if they could find somewhere they could risk making a mess on that scale. Sparring—he and Diana had tried it out, gingerly. If Batman wanted to stretch out his re-expanding powers in a secure environment…

“Do you have any plans, going forward?” Now that he had a future to plan for.

“I have someone who helps me,” Batman replied. “Bruce’s guardian, after his parents died. He wanted to leave Gotham, after…but he stayed. To try to help the city, in Bruce’s memory. And to keep an eye on me.” The amusement this time was bitter. “We don’t really get along. He thinks Bruce died because of me—that I made him feel invulnerable, and then didn’t protect him. He’s projecting. But I suppose that’s what I’m for.”

Clark made a face; he didn’t like the idea of people being for purposes. Even people who’d been made. This wasn’t the time to argue about it. “But he helps you?”

“He helps.” Batman glanced down, toward Dick’s bed, as though once again he could see through the roof. “I’m trying to get him to agree to take Dick in. He did a good job with Bruce, even if he doesn’t think so.”

“Will that be the best for Dick?” Clark asked, as neutrally as he could manage. He could tell Batman’s intentions were good, but he didn’t know if putting a child entirely within the influence of a supernatural being that had latched onto him, without an external line of support, was a good idea. On the other hand, putting him in the care of an adult who would know he wasn’t delusional could only help. And Clark could be the outside support, if necessary—not that he wasn’t under Batman’s influence himself, but he wasn’t within his circle of it the way this Alfred seemed to be, resentment or not. The resentment might be the most dangerous part.

What part of this train of thought Batman sensed, he couldn’t tell, as his comrade only retorted, “It can’t be worse than here!”

A group home with four beds to a room certainly wasn’t the best environment, but surely he couldn’t be here much longer. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He doesn’t get much privacy. He agreed to meet with Alfred last time he ducked into a closet while I was there, so now Alfred’s the focus of the plan.” Batman sighed again. “He’s so brave,” he said fondly. “It worries me. I wish he were somewhere safe.”

The wild impulse rose to offer to step in, to take the role of legal guardian if this Alfred wouldn’t. Clark sat on it. He didn’t want a child, he wasn’t equipped to care for a child, CPS would be able to see that perfectly well in a single reporter in his 20s living in a one-bedroom apartment in a somewhat run-down building. He didn’t even live in the same state, and child placement was handled on a state-by-state basis so even petitioning for custody would be horrifically involved, never mind obtaining it. Also, he had a secret identity to protect.

He couldn’t always help. The hardest lesson in life, and one he had to keep relearning.

“So your plans are…to get Dick into a safe home environment.”

“And keep him alive,” Batman affirmed. Quick, and firm, and almost not obvious about what a vital goal this was to him. Keeping this child alive, the way he’d failed to keep the one before.

“Of course.” Clark nodded. If everything he’d been told was true—and he thought it was, it felt true—then there was no need for the League to intervene. Gotham was probably safer than it had ever been. “Can I meet him, sometime?” Partly to do his part as an outside support network. Partly because he was curious, to meet this child who’d been able to reach his hand into Batman’s chest and close his fingers around his heart.

Batman glanced over, and then seemed to relax. Even the endless piles of his cape seemed suddenly to behave more like ordinary fabric. “I passed, then?”

“What?” Oh. Of course he’d known. Clark had hardly been sneaky. “Yes.”

“Not that I know what you were planning to do if I hadn’t.”

Clark didn’t know either, other than get Dick away of he seemed to need it.

“All of this is off the record, of course,” Batman added. It was a testament to how distracted Superman was by Batman’s problems that it took a long second for him to realize the potential implications of that choice of words, and read in Batman’s posture and the way his cape had developed hooks of tension in some of its folds that they were entirely intentional.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“You attended a press event in Gotham two years ago. You still feel like you, no matter how you dress.”

“Well.” Superman tried to shake the sudden tension out of his shoulders. Batman was a good detective and data analyst, that hadn’t changed with the rest of it. He’d certainly tracked down the name of the gentleman from the Planet. “I guess that’s fair. And of course it’s off the record. I won’t even tell J’onn and Diana anything but the basics without your permission.”

“Oh.” Batman clearly hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

“You have a right to your privacy.” Clark thought back over his own approach to the whole situation and said, with a gentleness born somewhat of guilt, “You are a person, after all.”

“I’m really not,” Batman said, corner of his mouth ticking up just slightly to underline the easy irony in his voice. But the great spread of cape had fallen into easier, more geometric wrinkles, and Clark was beginning to learn to trust that over what he said with his borrowed face. Though he could almost definitely lie with the cape part of himself, too, if he needed to.

“Don’t…” His tongue flickered across the back of his teeth; be brave, Kent. “Don’t talk about my friend that way, huh?”

[thebigqueer]

Solangelo - "Let's F*ck with the Patriarchy" - One-Shot

Summary: Nico tries on makeup for the first time.

Word Count: 1388

TW: Internalized Homophobia, Homophobia, Swearing

Read on AO3

“Will, are you sure this washes off easily?”

Will pauses before Nico and raises his eyebrows. “Yes, Nico, it does. Don’t be afraid.”

Nico’s lips turn down in a frown, betraying his anxiety. “I’m just… nervous. I don’t want someone to see me.”

Will sets the eyeliner in his fingers to the side and leans towards Nico. “Nico, if you’re not ready, then we don’t have to try it. I don’t want to push you into doing something you don’t want to.”

Nico shakes his head quickly. “No, I want to, Will. I just… I just don’t want anyone to see me. I just want to experiment for now.”

Will smiles softly. “Okay. But let me know if you want me to stop.”

The shades of the Apollo cabin are drawn, bathing the two in darkness. Nico asked for this specifically so that he could be sure no one was watching as Will applied makeup on him. He asked Will to do it a few days ago, anxiety sparking in his eyes, as if he were afraid someone would judge him for it.

Will steps over to Nico tentatively, brandishing the eyeliner pen again. Nico looks at it hesitantly, as if he’s nervous it might just stab him in the heart and kill him. Will tilts his head. “Do you want me to put it on or do you want to do it yourself?”

Nico shrugs. “I’ve never had experience with eyeliner. You should do it.”

Will knows Nico isn’t speaking out of plausibility, but he also sees the other half of the truth behind his dark eyes: he’s scared of admitting himself into the world of femininity. He’d rather someone else dip him in.

Will nods in agreement. He uncaps the pen and places the side of his hand over Nico’s cheek, basking in the softness of his face. The tip of the pen is mere millimeters from Nico’s eyelid, but Will doesn’t start drawing yet. Nico’s eyes are shivering and his body stands rigid, ready to run if he needs to.

“Nico,” Will says, “I just want to tell you that this is your decision. You don’t have to be afraid of falling into femininity. You aren’t going to be fitting into the ‘gay stereotype’ or anything. Lots of people do this.” A sad sigh escapes his chest. “Society has told us that femininity is to be looked down upon. But it isn’t. Everyone is different. Some people are more feminine than others, and others prefer to express masculinity. Make-up is only a small aspect to someone’s identity; it doesn’t make you gay or girly or anything. It just makes you you.” He smiles again, and Nico opens his dark eyes, peering at Will intensely. “I think you’re brave for trying this. Don’t be afraid, okay? I’m here with you.”

Surprisingly, Nico’s eyes glaze over with tears. None come out, but Will’s heart swells with admiration for his boyfriend. The son of Hades smiles. “Thank you, Will.” He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Will’s hand shakes a little as he glides over Nico’s skin. He’s nervous, too - he doesn’t want Nico to hate it. It’s his first time truly experimenting with gender and nonconformity, and he doesn’t want to ruin the experience for him.

As Will works, Nico asks softly, “How did you feel when you first started wearing makeup? Were you nervous?”

Will pokes into the corner of Nico’s eye, careful to avoid stabbing him directly. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “I was. I come from the south, and there… Well, people aren’t that open to stuff. My mom was great with nonconformity and stuff but it’s just… the narrow-mindedness was intense, you know? It was hard to be me. When I first started getting into makeup, I was just really scared.” As he speaks, Will glides right above Nico’s eyelashes, creating a thin black trail of ink across his olive skin. “I thought it was weird to wear makeup. That’s what gender roles taught me when I was younger and living in Texas.” He turns the ink up at the outer corner of Nico’s eye, creating a small wing. Sighing, he adds, “I guess I just had a lot of internalized shit in me.”

As Will steps back and admires his work, Nico says, “How did you get over it?”

Will tilts his head as he gazes at the black line on Nico’s eye. It’s not as neat as he’d like to be, but it does seem to fit Nico’s idea of a “thin” black line, so he leaves it be. Pressing his fist to the other side of Nico’s face, Will answers, “It took a lot of time, honestly. A lot of self-reflection and, well, talking to Dionysus. I had a little bit of internalized homophobia, which you already know.” Again, as he speaks, Will draws a flat line over his skin. “Just… yeah, it was hard. So don’t worry, Nico. I know how you may be feeling right now. But… it gets better. And I’m glad you’re experimenting through all this. I’m proud.” After twirling the ink up, Will releases his hold on Nico and steps back admiring his work. His lips quirk into a smile. “Okay, you can look into the mirror now.”

Nico hesitates for a moment, stepping an inch forward but then quickly retracting his foot back. He offers Will a nervous glance, and behind his eyes the son of Apollo notices the fear, the shadows. Though Nico says nothing, Will gets his message loud and clear: What if I hate myself?

Will only offers an encouraging nod. And Nico steps forward.

Nothing spectacular happens. No fireworks go off, no sparkles, no confetti. The earth doesn’t explode, and no earthquake happens. But when Nico sees himself in the mirror, Will knows the world has somehow changed for him. His mind turns in on itself as he glances at his reflection. Will can almost see the merge of two worlds: the feminine and the masculine one. They clash on Nico’s face, creating a crater on his moral beliefs.

Nico’s breath hitches as he gazes at himself. His face isn’t too intense, really, but Will understands how much of a shock it is to see a slightly different version of oneself. He steps back to give Nico his space, to explore this new world.

Nico touches the corner of his eye gently. His skin pales a little, and for a second even Will wonders if this was a bad idea to introduce him to makeup. What if he isn’t ready for the new experience?

Time stills. Neither of them move; neither of them breathe. They simply gaze at Nico’s reflection, gauge the look of his face.

Then a wavering smile leaks over Nico’s lip and he turns to Will. He opens his mouth to say something but his words stop in their tracks.

Will raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently.

Nico tries again. This time, his voice finds itself again: “I think I like it.”

Will smiles at him. “Good. I’m glad you do.”

“Should I… keep this on for a while?” he asks. Will wants to tell him that it’s his choice, that he should do what he wants, but he knows this is a delicate situation. It’s one of those moments where Nico’s really asking for a decision to be made for him. He’s not sure what counts as a good idea anymore.

Will caps the eyeliner and rolls it over the dresser. “How do you feel? Are you ready to share this part of you with the world yet?”

He sees the hesitance in his eyes, the calculations of all the possibilities.

Nico takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I want the world to see me yet. But I like it.”

“We can stay in here then. That way not many people will see you, and you can still wear it.”

Nico’s eyes glimmer at the suggestion. “Yeah. That’s what I want to do.”

“We can play a boardgame.”

“We could play Mythomagic.”

“Okay, nerd.”

“Says the one with the NASA posters all over his bed.”

Will laughs gently. He tugs at Nico’s fingers and intertwines them with his own. “I’m glad you tried this. Let’s fuck with the patriarchy, forever and always.”

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Every Drop of Grace

Endverse destiel

Rating: on the border between M and E (I’m over cautious, probably most people would say M)

About 3k

“Do you ever wish we could have something...normal?” Dean’s voice falls into the quiet night, a stone falling into a once-still pond.

Cas can’t hold back his snort. “Dean. You grew up hunting monsters. I’m a fallen angel. There was never going to be anything ‘normal’ about either of us.” Dean huffs in response, burying his face deeper into the hollow of Cas’s neck. “It also doesn’t help that our relationship–if that’s what you want to call it–began after the end of the world.”

“The world didn’t end,” Dean protests weakly. “It’s still here. It’s just…”

“Right,” Cas says, giving in to the urge to roll his eyes–it helps that Dean is behind him and can’t actually see his eyes. “The world is still here. We even have this tiny bit that’s almost safe.”

Dean doesn’t argue, though Cas can feel how much he wants to. Cas idly wonders if Dean ever argued a monster to death, but he doesn’t voice the thought. He doesn’t want Dean to leave. He smirks into the darkness, though. He can absolutely imagine a cocky, 13 year old version of Dean facing down a werewolf. “You’re doing it wrong!” shouts the smaller, higher-voiced Dean. “You need to lull me into complacency, then strike. No wonder you’ve been caught by a kid.

Cas chuckles softly at the made up–but completely plausible–memory. At Dean’s questioning hum, Cas skips his imaginings and brings the conversation back to where they started. “Considering the chaos all around us, I’d say what we have is amazing, Dean.” Having you at all is amazing, he does not say.

Dean smiles against Cas’s skin.

There is much Cas misses about being an angel–healing, flying, super-strength, not being so damned fragile–but on the opposite side, there are so many things that make the Fall worthwhile. He’d touched Dean when he was still an angel, and it had been nice enough. Better than nice even; there’d been something special about touching Dean from the first time he’d held the hunter’s broken soul in hell. But in this his human senses are far superior. The touch of Dean’s lips on the soft skin between Cas’s shoulder blades makes his heart race, his breathing quicken. Dean laughs, not more than a soft breath, and Cas’s stomach flips at the heat across his skin. He’s getting hard, just from a few small sensations.

Yes, the Fall was worthwhile. Even if they’re doomed, he wouldn’t trade this for all the Grace ever created.

Dean goes on, most likely unaware of Cas’s growing arousal. Cas focuses on Dean’s voice and on keeping his own breathing as even as possible, and soon he’s nearly as lost in Dean’s memories as Dean himself.

“I always tried to find fun stuff for Sammy, growing up.” Dean’s voice catches a little on his brother’s name, but he pushes through. “Most of the things I did pissed Dad off, but I didn’t let him stop me. The kid had to have something good in his horror of a childhood. Little things: a bag of marshmallows to roast over a campfire, a Monopoly game we could play in motel rooms, a baseball cap I knew he wanted. I found a pair of roller skates in his size once; I think he was about eleven. Man, that was a mess. Dumb kid took off like he knew just what he was doing and two yards later fell flat on his face. Dad put four stitches over his left eye and lectured him the whole time about what if that rock hit your eye instead of your forehead, blah blah blah. Sammy took it like a champ, didn’t flinch once, and as soon as Dad was gone Sammy put the skates right back on and took off again. And that time he didn’t fall. Well, he did, but not right away, and not so he needed stitches.”

Cas can tell Dean is working up to something, even if it all just seems like rambling. Dean is a roadmap, and sometimes Cas can follow. “A few months before I turned 16 I stole Dad’s car for a couple hours and took Sammy to a drive-in. You ever…?” Dean answers his own question before Cas has the chance to even shake his head. “Nah, you weren’t much of a movie-goer back in your halo days. At a drive-in you sit in your car to watch a movie–outside, at night. You park by a little speaker that pipes the sound right to you, and the screen is gigantic, big as...well, I don’t even know, it’s been too long, but trust me, it’s big. You look out the front of the car and all you see is the movie. You’ve got the sound filling up the car and the movie filling up your eyes and it’s like you and whoever you’re sitting with are in your own little world, whatever make-believe world the actors and all the rest made for you to live in. For a few hours, anyway.”

Dean’s voice is rough, almost raw. “That’s what we have, Cas. A few hours in a bubble full of make-believe, until the bubble pops and it’s the end of the world again.”

Cas wants to scream, to deny every word, to tell Dean it isn’t make-believe, it isn’t, and he wants to spend every minute from now until they fall to dust proving it, but instead he hears his traitorous mouth whisper, “I know.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says, and Cas isn’t sure which of them Dean is trying to comfort. “It’s okay. The pretending, the bubble–it’s enough.”

It isn’t. Cas wants it all, wants every bit of Dean. His smiles and his glares, his laughs and his curses, his happy chatter and his incoherent tears. He wants to be fucked into the mattress and then hold Dean in his arms until the sun comes up, to have Dean stay all night instead of slinking away in the darkness.

It isn’t enough. The coffee’s been gone for awhile, but he wants to make Dean tea in the mornings, good strong tea to bring a little of the sparkle back to his green eyes. He wants to go with him on foraging runs, venturing out of their little corner of the world to find supplies to last them just a little bit longer. He wants to have Dean’s back, to protect him, to keep him safe. He doesn’t have his mojo anymore, but he still has his blade, and he’s had millenia of practice to hone his skills.

Cas doesn’t want only darkness, grasping and clutching at each other when the rest of the world sleeps. He wants to give Dean every kind of pleasure, and maybe a little bit of peace. As a fallen angel, Cas doesn’t think he gets to go to heaven, but he doesn’t mind. He has here, he has now.

So this little bubble of half-truths and fairy tales…

It’s not enough.

Cas’s eyes begin to sting. “Fuck.” The word is mostly air, barely a sound at all, but of course Dean hears. Because Dean can see through Cas’s pretences too. That’s how these things work.

“Cas?”

“It’s nothing,” Cas says, but Dean sees through that too, maneuvering them both so they’re face to face on the narrow bed. Cas closes his eyes, willing the tears to stop before they can properly begin. He hates to cry, hates to have his feelings fly so far out of his control that they stream down his face in the form of wet, salty tears.

“It’s nothing,” he says again, when he trusts that his voice won’t give him away. Then, grasping at the first thought that passes through his head, he says, “I just don’t like when the bubble pops.”

The lines around Dean’s eyes soften. He presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead and says, “We’ve still got a few hours. I’m not going anywhere.” His yet is unspoken but Cas hears it anyway.

Dean’s got one hand holding the side of Cas’s face, fingers threaded into his hair, the other resting lightly on his hip. Their legs are tangled together, and when Dean moves in to kiss Cas again their hips move together and Cas can’t take it anymore. There is so much skin, it feels like skin for miles, but also like he can feel every individual cell, every molecule of Dean’s breath, every miniscule drop of sweat…

“Dean,” Cas groans, because it’s too much, his brain is going to overload. It doesn’t matter that they had sex not long ago–Cas needs more, needs to be closer. “Dean.” It’s almost a prayer. “Please.”

And Dean is there, even before he calls, pushing him onto his back. Dean kisses Cas, hungry, and Cas is happy–eager–to be devoured. He’s got his arms wrapped around Dean, clawing at his back, trying to pull them closer together. There’s a part of his brain screaming that Dean thinks this is all pretend, so maybe if Cas can get them close enough together, if he can somehow press the truth into Dean’s skin, then maybe Dean will understand.

But then Dean thrusts his cock (hard, so hard, and all for him) against Cas’s, and he stops thinking and just feels.

Cas throws his head back and Dean nips at his throat; Cas hisses and claws at Dean’s back again. There’s a growl coming from deep in Dean’s chest, but Cas can feel the smile against his skin. They both like the small shocks of pain–reminders of life.

Holding himself up on one forearm, Dean reaches between them, wrapping his strong, calloused fingers around both their cocks. A moan escapes Cas’s lips, and Dean chuckles softly. “Do you remember the first time we did this?” He’s looking deep into Cas’s eyes, and not for the first time Cas suspects he sees a bit of faerie in the emerald depths; enchanting, beautiful, tricksome, and dangerous. He knows there’s nothing to the thought; he knit Dean back together molecule by molecule, saw every strand of his DNA.

Dean twists his hand in a particularly skillful way and Cas is pulled back to the present. Their first time. Yes, Cas remembers. How could he forget?

“Summer sun,” Cas manages, in between gasping breaths. “Your freckles…”

“My freckles?” Dean laughs. “That’s what you remember?”

“I might be only human now, Dean Winchester, but I remember–” He gasps as Dean’s palm brushes against a particularly sensitive spot– “I remember every second of that afternoon with perfect–” Another shuddering gasp– “Perfect clarity.”

Dean’s hand stutters to a stop, and when Cas sees the look in Dean’s eyes something in his stomach twists. Don’t be too real don’t be too real shouts a voice inside his head, clearly battling with the part of him that wants Dean to know everything.

I’m a mess, he thinks.

To Dean he says in a low, broken voice, “I was leaning against the trunk of a tree, looking up at the sun shining through the leaves. It occurred to me that I’d never spent any time looking at trees, or leaves, or much of anything at all while I was an angel. I did what I was told. Didn’t even take time to look around and enjoy the view.”

Dean’s hand starts to move again. For a moment Cas’s eyelids flutter closed, his eyes rolling upwards in pure pleasure, but then he continues, concentrating on speaking slowly and carefully and without breaking. He almost succeeds.

“I hadn’t been human long. A month? Five weeks? Not long enough to get used to human senses. So when you walked up and the sun shone down on your face, your freckles standing out against your pale skin… And then you put your hand–” The memory of Dean’s hand reaching out is too much and he has to stop to breathe, to gain control, because he doesn’t want to come yet. The story isn’t over. “You put your hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Hey Cas.’”

That had been it. Just a touch, some freckles, and his name on Dean’s lips.

“There was something in your eyes,” Dean says, taking over the narrative. “I hadn’t meant to kiss you. But you looked...kissable. Blue eyes wide and…” He gives his head a quick shake. “I don’t know what it was. But as soon as our lips touched I knew it was the right thing to do. Knew I shouldn’t have waited so long to do it.” At this Cas raises his head up just enough to slot their lips together. It’s an electric current, sharp and warm, just like it always is.

It’s home.

“And then you pushed me up against my cabin wall.”

They’re both breathing heavy now, each of them close to their release but trying to hold on.

“It was the closest wall I could find,” Dean says, a little defensive, a little embarrassed. “And it was a little more hidden than the tree we started out against.”

If Cas had the breath to spare he’d laugh. He lets out a puff of air instead, and Dean’s eyes light up in response. “Yeah,” Cas says, teasing. “Sun shining down on us, completely visible from three sides, only blocked by the cabin. Couldn’t be bothered to–”

Dean stops him with a kiss. Cas doesn’t mind. Cas’s mind is full of lips and skin and hands and sparks and pleasure that is building and building and threatening to heave him overboard–

Cas is on the edge, barely hanging on, when Dean stops.

The stillness is both total and false. Neither of them moves, almost as if they are frozen in time, and there is no breath of wind coming through the open window, no branches scratching at the roof. But there are two hearts pounding, two men gasping for breath, and the whispers of a thousand words not being said.

Cas refuses to be the first one to speak. He knows if he opens his mouth, he’ll never stop.

It feels like an eternity has passed–though it’s probably only been ten or fifteen seconds, Cas’s sense of time has been skewed since his Fall–when Dean breaks the silence.

“What do you want, Cas?”

“Everything.”

Cas tells the truth, the real truth, before he can think, and for a moment he wishes he could somehow call the word back, erase it from history, go back to their bubble of make-believe. Dean would probably let him brush it off. He could call it sex induced lunacy. It’s probably even true.

But no. No. He’s fucking tired of pretend, of half-truths, of bedtime stories. This isn’t enough. He means it, he wants everything.

Dean is looking into his eyes, searching for something. Cas can’t read his expression, he’s guarding his thoughts too closely.

It hurts, having Dean hide from him. They’re naked and in each other’s arms, and Dean’s…

Well, really they’re both hiding. They’ve been hiding from the beginning.

Shit.

There’s a burning behind Cas’s eyes again, but this time he can’t blink the tears away. When the first tear rolls down Cas’s face Dean pulls back, a fraction of an inch, in surprise. His thumb wipes away the tear.

“Cas?”

“It’s not enough,” Cas says. “I can’t do this anymore, Dean. I meant what I said, I want everything. All of it. I want to spend the night with you and wake up with you in the morning. I want to kiss you in the daytime, with the sun on your freckles. Are you ashamed of me? The camp screwup, the broken angel? Because people talk, Dean. Everyone knows you come here, and they know what we do, and they don’t care. The world is falling apart. There are bigger things to worry about. There are bigger things for us, too, but right now all that matters is I can’t hide anymore. I love you, Dean. I think...no. I know I always have. And I don’t want to waste another second hiding in the dark.”

And Dean just looks at him. Once upon a time Cas put Dean together, molecule by molecule. Saw every bit of him. That’s how Cas feels now. Examined. Seen.

Known.

It should be horrifying, but it’s Dean, so Cas just looks back, waiting. He doesn’t even wipe away the tears that keep falling despite his best efforts to blink the damned things back.

The silence goes on so long Cas is sure Dean is going to get up and walk away. It’s okay, he tells himself. I want more, I want everything, but to love...that will never end. It will hurt, but I’ll still love him. No matter–

And then Dean is kissing him. It’s not heated, or frantic; it’s a soft, gentle kiss and makes Cas feel wrapped in love. They both smile, their foreheads pressed together. “Wish you’d said something sooner, Cas.”

“Didn’t want to push you away.”

Dean pulls back a little. “That’s...well, yeah, that’s…”

Smile widening, Cas says, “We’ll work it out.”

In what Cas supposes is an answer, Dean kisses him. A bit more playful this time, he even bites at Cas’s lower lip. Cas can’t hold back his moan. The feel of teeth rasping against his skin…it’s almost too much.

And then Dean’s hand starts moving again, tugging and twisting at their dicks. Cas is almost startled, he’d been so caught up in his confession of– but now isn’t the time, he’s groaning into Dean’s mouth and he thinks there might be words but his brain isn’t quite connected to the rest of his body at the moment. All he knows is good and Dean and so much love and skin and when Dean murmurs Cas’s name it’s too much for him and he spills his seed between them. Dean chases after, a punched out sound falling from his lips.

They lie together, still, their come sticky and drying between them. Somewhere far off in the camp a door clatters shut.

“I wish–” Dean starts.

“I know,” Cas interrupts. But it’s not the time to dwell on what might have been.

Dean shifts them into a more comfortable position. “Okay.”

“We should–”

“No.” This time it’s Dean interrupting. “Not yet. We can clean up in a few minutes. Right now I just want to hold you.”

Tucking his face against Dean’s chest, Cas murmurs, “I can’t say no to that.”

Dean somehow pulls Cas closer, and Cas’s skin sings. Worth every feather, he thinks. Every drop of Grace.

**

For @bend-me-shape-me ‘s Dean/Cas summer prompts!

Week 2 (drive-in cinema) and week 3 (I can still recall our last summer)

I hit week 3 kinda sideways…but it works!

[arteacactus]

Can we get a sick fic Janus hiding in his room until someone else breaks down the door? Cause he thought no one would care

this is so out of nowhere bc i like never get fic requests here anymore it’s like always on my sideblog hissceit ,, but it’s 10000% welcome and appreciated JDFJFD thank u .. also i apologize for how needlessly wordy this is HAHA i strayed from the prompt like .. a lot

warnings for sickness , the coughs , vomiting, sore throat , etc , the whole shebang-- and some cursing 

-----

It’s not that Janus had never been sick before, it’s just that...

Well, he’d never been sick before.

He wasn’t positive why (which irked him; he hated being in the dark about things, especially things concerning himself), but he had some theories- the most plausible one thus far simply being that while Thomas had always viewed the Light Sides as human, to some extent, he saw Janus as a two-faced snake; a monster kept hidden away in the shadows under his bed. And monsters didn’t get touched by things like disease. So while the others got touched with sickness occasionally, Janus never did.

But if Janus was getting sick now..

That implied that after he told them his name, Thomas started seeing him as somewhat human, too, with vulnerabilities like the rest.

He wasn’t sure just how he felt about that, but he didn’t love it (he liked being untouchable, okay?).

Ah, well, Janus supposed the why didn’t matter much at the moment. He could ponder that after the fact.

Right now was the time to think about how to end it, because it was pure torture.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, his head throbbed and his body ached in places he never knew could ache, his eyes were sore and oozing and his nose wasn’t faring much better. His throat was raw as if he’d spent hours and hours screaming at nothing, and even after trudging his way into the Dark Side’s kitchen for a cup of tea (though it was more like a cup of honey and lemon with a hint of green tea), it felt absolutely no better; in fact, he just felt worse, because he had to leave bed, go downstairs, spend twenty minutes standing around to make the tea, and then go back up the stairs to his room again.

He’d been fidgeting with his blankets for the past three hours; having them on made him too hot, having them off made him too cold, and so he settled for having one leg covered and nothing else (oddly enough, this was actually a good compromise). The air in his room was hot and stuffy which certainly didn’t help- nor did it help his sinuses any, as it made his headache pound worse and his airways were thoroughly blocked off. He dreaded drinking or swallowing anything as it sent the most uncomfortably painful sensation down his throat and rendered him to a groaning, pained mess.

He clutched his pillow weakly, pressing his head into the hot surface. He hated this. Usually, he thrived in the heat, as his room was typically colder than a jail cell, but this time he wanted it gone. He wished it was winter, just so he could full-body launch himself into a mound of snow and sleep for eternity. 

He felt a slight tug, the distinct feeling of someone requesting his presence, and promptly shooed it away. Not only was he just wearing pants, but he was sick, and he’d rather die than show that level of weakness to anybody.

Three days before, when he’d first felt his symptoms come on, he’d briefly considered going to someone for help; perhaps Remus, because he was his best friend, or Logan, because surely he’d know how to handle diseases and how to cure them, or maybe even Patton, because he was a father figure and might have even made him soup- but he had quickly banished the thought. Sure, maybe they knew his name now, but they still really didn’t like him and had absolutely no reason to help him and not laugh at his predicament.

Well. Remus liked him well enough, but he would have just taken his morning star and bashed Janus across the head with it and called it good, so Janus had to pass on that.

Another tug came, a little more forcefully this time, and Janus dismissed it, just as forcefully. For a little precaution, he took a deep breath and waved his hand, locking up his room so no one could rise up/appear in it, nor could they come through his door. The strain it put on him to maintain that lock was almost enough to make him pass out, but he didn’t dare remove it; he couldn’t risk anybody seeing him in this state. 

He forced his body to roll over to the side, pressing his face into his pillow and sighing in relief as his nose unplugged just enough to take a deep breath in. He found himself actually wishing he’d sneeze, just for the temporary relief it brought. 

He pointedly ignored the next few tugs that hit him, though they weren’t as forceful and harsh as the past couple were. He could only assume the only reason they actually wanted him up there was to lecture him, because him being incapacitated like this surely was affecting Thomas in some way that they didn’t like.

Well, sucks to be them, Janus thought in mild frustration, I’m staying right here until this all goes away and I don’t want to die anymore.

Eventually, the incessant tugging slowed to a stop, and then they finally left him alone.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Janus curled his body into a tight ball, cringing at the sticky feeling of his sweaty skin against his silk sheets, and tried to fall asleep.

Thankfully, sleep claimed him easily, and he drifted off.

However easily it came, though, it certainly wasn’t very forgiving. 

He didn't wake up randomly, but he kept getting thrown so many vivid nightmares and odd, fever-induced dreams that he almost wished he was waking up every few minutes, if only to get away from whatever things his mind kept throwing at him.

He wasn’t awake, but he was aware of his own constant tossing and turning, his bed creaking in protest every time he thrashed and threw his body around the mattress, and when he finally did open his eyes (his throbbing head wasn’t very appreciative of it), he realized he’d somehow twisted himself so his head was at the foot of his bead and his blankets had been fully tossed onto the floor. His pillows weren’t faring much better; only two of his usual six remained in place, and they were mangled to death, the rest on the floor with his blankets.

Janus truly couldn’t bring himself to give a damn- instead, he weakly pushed his body upright, trying not to topple over as his head swam, and fell right back down in the proper position. Thankfully, though, his head not touching the pillows in a while meant they were delightfully chilled, and he moaned aloud at the lovely sensation it brought him. Absently he wondered if he should gather the strength to get himself an ice pack or run an ice bath, but thought better of it. After all, he was still part snake; he’d rather not throw himself into a self-induced comatose state from the cold. 

He blindly reached out and grabbed ahold of his bedside clock, a little antique thing he designed himself to fit his aesthetic despite being very poor at reading Roman numerals, and squinted as he tried to decipher how long he’d been asleep for.

He nearly dropped the thing upon realizing he’d slept for eleven straight hours.

He slid it back onto his nightstand and groaned loudly, though it quickly turned into a pained, chest-wracking cough. He couldn’t avoid it; he had to get up and eat something, or drink something, or get literally anything in his body, because whether he liked it or not, that was the only way he was going to get over this thing quicker. 

He managed to move just enough to get up and off the bed (nevermind the fact he nearly fell straight on the floor the second he stood), and took a couple shaky steps towards the door. The moment he reached out to turn the knob, though, the knocking started.

He froze, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stared wide-eyed at the piece of wood in front of him, the only thing separating him from them.

There was a call of ‘Janus?’ that was so soft, Janus didn’t actually know who it came from; but that didn’t matter now, because the doorknob was turning and fuck, when did he let go of his lock?

Janus snapped his fingers, and managed to summon all but his hat when the door opened and revealed- much to his surprise- Virgil.

Janus and Virgil blinked at each other for a moment, dumbfounded, but thankfully, Virgil didn’t seem to see anything off about him, and just lowered his gaze and shrunk into his hoodie, refusing to meet Janus’ eyes.

“We- uh, they were trying to call you earlier today, you know.” Virgil’s voice was low and gruff, and Janus could honestly say this was the best possible Side to come see him. Remus was loud and shrill, Patton was too cheery and Roman was boisterous- Logan probably wouldn’t have been awful, but with his insistence to look everyone in the eye as he spoke to them, Janus was sure he’d have deciphered what was going on in a second.

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, internally cringing at his rough tone. He cleared his throat, which was screaming in protest at speaking. 

Virgil didn't seem to notice- or if he did, he didn’t care. “Well. You made them worry, and they sent me to come collect you.”

“Worr- Collect?” Janus echoed in confusion, taken off guard by everything Virgil said.

“Yeah, uh, you worried them so now they won’t take no for an answer. You’re gonna have to come with me.” Virgil, at least, seemed a little sheepish saying this, but he also has a particularly determined and frustrated look to him. Clearly, he wasn’t happy being the one picked to come ‘collect’ Janus, and he wasn’t going to take no from him as an answer, either.

“Wh-” Janus was cut off as Virgil gripped his arm, and any protests he could have made died on his tongue as they started moving. Dizziness attacked him with such ferocity that he was honestly astounded that he hadn’t immediately fallen over, and his stomach lurched at the speed they were moving. Of course, he didn’t bring this up, just took a deep breath and pushed through. After all, Virgil was the last person he wanted to know about his current state.

Once Virgil brought them across the line that separated the Dark Sides from the Light Sides, the immediate bright artificial light from the lamps and ceiling lights making his head pound in a way that was even worse than what the red light of the heat lamps in the snake terrariums in his room caused. 

The air here, though, was clear and fresh, and he basked in the coolness of it as it surrounded him. If it wasn’t for the lights, he’d almost be tempted ask to stay for a while.

Once they made it to the living room, Virgil released him from his grasp, and slunk over into his own corner in the stairwell- and Janus found himself standing right next to Logan.

Unfortunately, they were all staring at him.

Time to put your acting skills to work, Janus, he thought to himself as he heaved an internal sigh, and plastered a toothy grin on his face that bared his sharp canines just enough to make them flinch away.

“So. I was summoned?” His throat protested speech, but thankfully his voice came out smooth and silky, not one bit of it hinting towards his predicament.

“Yeah, and you never answered..?” Thomas seemed more concerned than anything, but Janus definitely saw some suspicion on Roman’s expression (he couldn’t blame him, after how his name reveal went), and Patton was more fidgety than usual. Logan, bless him, didn’t seem to be acting any different, and Virgil looked just as bored as he usually was.

Remus, however...

Well, Remus was looking at Janus with a suspicious gaze similar to Roman’s but far more scrutinizing. Janus briefly felt a flare of panic. If there was anyone here to notice he was off, it would be his best friend, who he lived with and saw every day.

“I was resting, Thomas, would you blame your personification of self-preservation for taking a day off for self-care?” Janus’ tone was exasperated. He wasn’t lying, not really; he was resting, and he was taking a day off for self-care.

Just.. more than one day.

“Respectfully, I have to.. what is the term, ‘call bullshit’?” Came Logan’s voice next to him, and he hoped to God that Logan didn’t notice Janus’ feverish tremors. “You’ve been MIA for the past few days, and it’s escalated to the point where Thomas is beginning to react to it. There is something else going on, and we’d like to know what’s going on.”

Ah, yes, for the good of Thomas, Janus couldn’t help but think a little bitterly, Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like they’d worry about my wellbeing. “I’m afraid I wasn’t bullshitting you, Logan,” Janus replied coolly, “It was the truth.”

“Then how come your room looked trashier than Remus’?” Virgil’s voice, where earlier it was comfortingly gruff, was now an offputting growl. Despite his words, though, Janus could tell he was trying to act like he didn’t actually care. He took note of that, because Virgil caring about him was odd.

“Rearranging,” Janus replied simply, and hoped they took that alone as an acceptable answer.

Of course, they didn’t.

“You never rearrange,” Virgil’s tone turned accusatory, and then Patton cut in. 

“Well, maybe then that’s why he’s doing it now? For something fresh?” He sounded hopeful, as if he couldn’t wait for this entire conversation to be over. Janus felt similarly.

“I’ve lived with him, Patton, I know him, and it’s not something that happens.” Virgil argued, but this seemed to set off Remus as he cut in with, “And you left, so who are you to claim you ‘know him’?”

This sparked an argument amongst themselves, as they fought over the sudden new topic that thankfully centered around Virgil more than anything, and with Logan, Roman, and Thomas trying to mediate, there was no attention put on him anymore.

Janus took this momentary distraction to let out a sigh of relief, the mix of loud voices and trying to act like nothing was up was doing absolutely no good for his headache and exhaustion. He mourned the loss of his hat, because he could have used that to hide his face away from the lights that were bearing down on him and making his skin feel uncomfortably hot.

Though perhaps that was from all the layers of his outfit.

Unfortunately, though, as the seconds passed, the voices seemed to get louder, the lights got brighter, the clothes got hotter and his stomach was churning, his hands were sweating, his head was pounding his legs were getting shaky oh god his ears were ringing oh fuck fuck stop the noise please turn off the lights please stop please stop-

Distantly, he felt his throat start hurting intensely and he realized he was speaking out loud, stammering out pleads that were growing muffled as everything swamped him. His hands raised to cover his ears, trying to drown out the noise around him, and his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed, feeling something warm and wet trickle down his face- tears? Was he crying? No, surely he was just imagining the feeling- but before he hit the hard floor, he felt something grab a hold of him, long, spider-like fingers gripping the undersides of his arms like a lifeline. He felt sharp nails and soft ruffles and realized Remus had caught him, he must have run from his spot to catch him before he fell, and Janus felt the stinging gaze of everybody on him. He felt like a mouse that was dropped into a snake’s cage for feeding, cowering beneath the penetrating gaze of the predator before him. The roles were reversed, and he hated it.

He managed to pry open his own eyes- when had he shut them?- and the moment he saw the horrified gazes trained on him, he fled.

He forced himself from Remus’ arms and he vanished, retreating back to his room, where the lights were off and the curtains were shut and the only thing he had to deal with was the light of his snakes’ heat lamps.

The hot, stuffy air attacked him with a vengeance, though, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He stripped himself of his clothes again, his skin glistening, heat radiating off of his person. 

He hurriedly locked up his room again, and fell to his knees beside his bed, and retched.

Thankfully, he’d managed to grab his trashcan, but it didn’t make him feel any less humiliated.

He thought he was doing himself a favor, hiding his state from all of them, but from not going to just one of them when he could, he had ended up breaking down in front of all of them. 

Body trembling and chest heaving, Janus collapsed onto the hard floor beneath him, unable to pull himself onto his bed, and curled up into a tight ball.

He wanted this to end.

Janus was so caught up in his misery that he didn’t even notice pounding on his door, all of his senses wrapped up in himself, in his throbbing head and hot skin and burning throat and sore stomach and the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, until there was a deafening ‘crash’ and splinters of wood came flying into his room.

He flinched at the noise and forced himself to sit up, but the sudden movement made him gag, and he found himself panting like a dog trying to cool himself off and calm down his raging nausea. 

There was a barrage of voices at first, but they were quickly hushed- from what, he didn’t know- and then a delightfully cold hand clutched his bicep, and he couldn’t hold back the relieved moan he let out in response.

“I’m gonna put you in bed, okay, Janus?” Came a soft voice- Remus- and Janus didn’t protest as he was gently lifted up by the Creative twin. Admittedly, he didn’t even know Remus could be that gentle, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

There was some quiet shuffling and the sound of a dull ‘smack’ and then someone cursing softly, but soon enough Janus was set down on a set of smooth cotton sheets, clean and cool, and an absolute blessing.

“Jan-Jan, why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” Remus’ tone was scolding, like a parent to a young child (ironic, considering Janus was the one who raised Remus), and Janus opened his eyes just enough to see Remus’ face swathed in the shadows of his room. 

“Weak,” Janus croaked in reply, his voice wrecked, “Di’n.. wan’ see.”

“Your pride is going to be the death of you,” Remus sighed, and Janus heard some other voices pipe in.

“We would have helped you, Janus,” Thomas sounded sad, almost regretful. For what, Janus would never know.

“Indeed,” Logan’s voice was a comfort, Janus was willing to admit. “In fact, I will begin researching how to best care for this as soon as possible, so you are in utmost comfort while you recover.”

“I’ll make some soup,” Came Patton’s quiet promise, “And water, and tea.”

“I changed your bedsheets,” Roman seemed shy, “If you need me to, I can try and make a set that keeps you cooled down.”

Janus almost moaned aloud at the thought, and Roman must have seen it in his expression because he perked up right away. 

“Sorry for, uh, dragging you away so forcefully,” Virgil muttered, and Janus just managed to flap his hand dismissively. 

“You didn’ know.” He mumbled weakly, and he felt Remus’ cool touch brush away hair that clung to his sweaty forehead. 

“And now we do. So we’re going to take care of you, because we care about you.” He promised in a tone with no room for argument, with the others murmuring in agreement behind him.

And for once, Janus believed him, and let himself be taken care of.