#// i crawled out of my assignment hellhole just do to this because it looked so cool SADLJKDAS

[zombiequincy]

THE BIG BLEACH HC MEME centering around politics, repost & fill out! For anyone who wanted to explore those aspects more, considering it played a big role in the story. Some things may be unknown to your Muse, just think in WHAT IF then & well, have fun and take your time!

BASICS

Name:   Giselle Gewelle    / / /    Age:   22    / / /    Gender:   female Race:   Shinigami / Quincy / Hollow / Fullbringer / Visored / Human / Other Currently lives:   Soul Society / Hueco Mundo / Silbern / Living World / Hell Exact Location: wouldn’t you like to know weather boy. Group(s): Sternritter

QUESTIONS

- Would your muse consider themselves more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - Would your muse consider their group more: GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see them: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their race: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ? - How does your muse think others see their group: GOOD / EVIL / NEUTRAL ?

- Is your muse considered a threat: YES / NO ?  From whom?:  Soul Society and anyone with a working braincell. - Is your muse powerful: YES / NO ?  Could they be considered OP:  YES / NO ? - Did your muse commit any crimes: YES / NO ? - Does your muse think they are doing mostly the right thing: YES / NO ? - Would society think the same: YES / NO / MIXED OPINIONS ?

- Does your muse think they are treated unfairly: YES / NO ? - Does your muse feel understood from others: YES / NO ? - Is it important for them what others think of them as a person: YES / NO ? - Would they welcome death:  YES / NO ? - Will they ever find peace:  YES / NO ?

01.0.  Do they fully stand behind the group they are part of? YES / NO. Why is that? Explain: The Quincy’s express a very grey area for Giselle, on the one hand they gave her her powers which she loves and adores greatly and uses to the extent where she can’t imagine life without such abilities, but they also remind her of past, which was painful and isolated and which she tried to separate from her adult self as much as she possibly could. As far as their goals of world domination and elimination of the Soul Reapers as revenge for the war which happened many years ago, Giselle does not care. She’s here for a good time. Not a convoluted revenge fantasy sorta time! 

02.0.  Do they like as things are in Soul Society? YES / NO. 02.1.  Is there anything they would change? Explain here: It’s old and crusty and out of touch with reality. Even in her brief stint spent there, Giselle thought it was dull and very behind the times. Needs more flavour! More spice!

03.0. Would they ever actively try to bring change (in general)? YES / NO. 03.1. Is your muse more: passive / active ?  Introverted / Extroverted ? 03.2. Does your muse care more about: others / themselves ? 03.3. Do they trouble their mind over a lot of problems, others? YES / NO. 03.4. Do they mostly involve: the world / everyone / themselves / comrades / friends / family / elderly / kids / teenagers / home / workplace / strangers / souls / humans / quincy / shinigami / nobles / fullbringer / visored / hollows / espada / arrancar / (former) boss(es) / pets / animals / zanpakuto spirit / enemies / partner / lovers / soul king / god / other…(add more) 03.5. Name (up to) three which are the most on their mind (optional, adding names): - girls - homicide  - what to eat for lunch

04.0. Do they think frequently about politics? YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Why is that? Explain: Giselle is too young to really care or understand the deeper ramifications and political systems at play within the Quincy hierarchy. She knows there’s an inner circle of Sternritter’s closer to Yhwach, but it rarely effects her so she just ignores it. She grew up privileged and she knows that gives her the luxury to avoid thinking more deeply on certain issues. Being Echt she knows she’s technically above other Quincy’s but doesn’t really get why or what purpose that gives anything she does. 

05.0. How do they feel in their current location: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 05.1. Why is that?:  Without the Sternritters or Quincy’s, Giselle has lost any real sense of purpose. Going back to her old life would almost certainly guarantee her capture by humans or Soul Reapers so she’s trying to find meaning or a goal that doesn’t revolve around the suffering of others and her own enjoyment of said suffering and its hard. At least she’s free.

06.0. Does your muse have any goal: YES / NO ?  BIG / SMALL ? 06.1. Does it involve anything world-changing: YES / NO ? 06.2. If goal or not, any future plans? Share here:  Get a mortician licence.

07.0. Does your muse know about the Original Sin of Soul Society*: YES / NO ? * curious? Read about it here. 07.1. If they knew, would it change their views on Soul Society: YES / NO ? 07.2. More: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ?

08.0. Who is the worst person in their eyes?:  Yumichika. 08.1. What should happen to them?  Execution (quick / slow death) / Imprisonment / Stripped of their powers / Torture / Repay for their sins / Pay a Fine / Social Work / lose their loved ones / Exile / other… (add more). 08.2. Explanation:  There are a good number of other characters who handed Giselle’s ass to her on a platter (Ichigo & Mayuri in particular), but that’s all part and parcel for a war. Even Yhwach who betrayed her and tried to kill her in the end still did her some good by giving her her powers. Above all, they still respected her most basic rights and identity. Yumichika she hates more deeply because he went low when it wasn’t warranted.

09.0. Thoughts on: Quincy Massacre if they knew: POSITIVE / NEGATIVE / NEUTRAL ? 09.1. Would they be alright with such thing happening again: YES / NO ? 09.2. Would they try to prevent it: YES / NO / DEPENDS ? 09.3. Explanation: The original Massacre happened too long ago for her to remember so she’s just kinda ‘Meh, sucks to suck!’ about it. Were there another attempt on a Quincy Massacre now, it would be a whole other thing because there aren’t very many Quincy’s left really to exterminate so of course she would try to prevent another all out extermination on her end because it would put her life at risk.

10.0. Would they ever switch sides: YES / NO ? 10.1. If yes, What could bring them to do so?:  A personal betrayal. 10.2. Would they create a new one: YES / NO ?  or join a current one? If so, which:  She had to join the Soul Reapers, however briefly, to get into the Soul King’s palace to kill get up to  Yhwach.

11.0. Does your muse follow a certain moral code*?:  YES / NO / GRAY AREA ? * (ethics) A written, formal, and consistent set of rules prescribing righteous behavior, accepted by a person or by a group of people. 11.1. What does it involve?: No transphobia. 11.2. What does it NOT involve?: Giselle is literally not above killing anything or anyone or making them do anything as her zombie. She is as depraved and cruel as you can imagine, if it brings her pleasure, she’ll do it.     

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE GROUPS ?

Central 46:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because: she doesn’t engage with them enough to really know what they do or if they’re fucked up on any deeper level.

Four Great Noble Clans:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because: same deal, she doesn’t interact with them enough to know what their problem is. 

Royal Guards / Gotei 13:   positive / negative / neutral .   ━   because: ghost cops deserve to die! Even if they teamed up in the end, they still took two of her friends hostage and used them in experimentation. That’s fucked up. If she see’s a soul reaper, it’s on sight.

Fullbringer:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  Funky little humans with some flavour of hollow. Not expressly evil or aligned with soul reapers so she can vibe with them. 

Visored:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  Same ghost cop, different hollow flavour. They make good zombies though.

Espada:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  All Quincy’s have a sort of guttural negative reaction to hollows to try and reject them. Giselle is no different. 

Quincy:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because: That’s her clique! 

YOUR MUSE’S VIEWS / OPINIONS ON THESE (IMPORTANT) PEOPLE ?

Aizen:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  Dude who sat tied to a chair...ominously. Would make for a poor zombie.

Yhwach:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  He tried to kill her twice. Bad vibes.

Mayuri:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  Too shiny and too annoying and too much of a book smarts and also stole all her sick zombies using science. Also experimented on two people she cares about so, die!

Kurosaki:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because:  Threw her through a building and broke her neck.

Soul King:   positive / negative / neutral.   ━   because: Big man in the sky that Yhwach tried to kill. Don’t know who he is or what he did, but eh. Maybe he had it coming.

CONGRATS, you managed till to the end, now tag your fellow bleach partners!

TAGGED BY: @skyvar​ cheers for creating this !! its awesome!! TAGGING:  i tag @diepower​ @oorigamii​ @oscuras​ @fleshpurifies​ and whoever else would like to do it

[chandelier-s-notebook]

If anyone wants to be part of a taglist for Assassinate But Nah, feel free to message me/send an ask/or mention it in reblogs.

Taglist: @sleepysnails @causeimfabulous

Ao3 link

----------------------------------------

It’s the last day of school and the boys have moved from their bench in the courtyard to the roof. Tommy might have had to con the key from the janitors, but they love him.

The three of them are just chilling when Tommy asks Tubbo a question. “So when’s your deadline?”

“For what? It’s the last day of school. All my work’s turned in.”

“Killing me,” Tommy states bluntly.

Ranboo drops his fork. “What?”

“What do you mean?”

Tommy smiles. “Don’t play dumb.”

“Tubbo? Killing you?”

“I’m not.”

“Just shove me off this building and get it over with.”

“Can’t. You’d take me down with you, and it’s only three stories so you might survive,” he syas without thinking.

“Hello? Tommy?”

“Shut up Ranboo.”

“But--”

“Shut up Ranboo,” he reiterates. “You’re free to leave.”

“But should I?”

Tubbo’s eyes don’t leave Tommy’s. “Who’s sake do you care about more? ‘Cause if it’s your own, then run.”

“So I was right! There’s a deadline, know there is, what deadline did Schlatt give you to kill me by?”

Tubbo looks away.

Ranboo’s freaking out six feet away from his two best friend having a calm conversation about contracted murder apparently. This was not how he envisioned lunch to go.

“Do you know why Schlatt wants me killed?”

“I stopped asking him ‘why’ after the third guy.”

“Third?”

“Sorry Ranboo?”

“Am I gonna die?”

Tommy’s face goes hard. “Is he?”

“No,” Tubbo’s quick to reply. “Ranboo’s fine.”

“Good.” Now that Tommy knows Ranboo is okay, he goes back to his light tone of voice.

“Should I be hearing this conversation?”

“No.”

“Not at all.”

“Oh okay cool.” Ranboo stress eats another mouthful of spaghetti. “Can I know what’s going on?’Cause it sounds like I shouldn’t leave you two alone.”

Both boys laugh a little.

“We don’t talk about…?”

“Don’t.”

“You know those Wright Family rumors Boob?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re true.”

Ranboo freezes. He’s ticked this boy post-death threat before. “Oh.”

“Toby Maron over here had transgenerational familiar debts to the Jays and was sent to kill me.”

“What?” Ranboo looks at Tubbo. This is just one of Tommy’s edgy jokes right? “Maron? Thought he was Jacobs? Isn’t Captain Maron’s son homeschooled?”

Tubbo doesn’t look at him.

“I’m gonna go.”

“Bye Boob.”

“See you later.”

He quickly packs his big, eyes darting between the two of them. “Don’t kill each other?”

“No promises.”

“I’d have done it by now.”

“Ranboo descends the stairs but swings back for a moment. “I’m not supposed to know this, right?”

“You aren’t.”

“Cover for us in History?”

Ranboo nods mutely.

“When is the deadline?”

“End of summer.”

“You know usually when cops work for the Mafia it’s ‘cause they want money, not they owe it.”

“Shut up.”

“How much?”

“However much you cost I guess.”

“Well shit.”

“I’m never getting out of this.” Tubbo lies down on his back. “Fuck. At least I had this year.”

Tommy throws his legs over the edge of the roof and looks out at the parking lot. “That’s all this is?”

“This job was designed to break me and get me crawling back for a sense of purpose. Of course it is. It was never going to be anything else.”

“You could get out.”

“Right. One, throw you off his building. Two, get into personal debt with Houver’s other Mafia family.”

“Oh come on. Our dads are literally childhood friends. And with my fake dad no less.”

“Because I was aware of that. Besides, none of the Craftsmen came to help us when gramnpa die and we got into this mess.”

Tommy picks at the roof. “Captain Maron didn’t tell dad.”

“So what?” Tubbo sits up. “Being assigned to killing you made him get his pen out of his ass and write a letter to his friend on the wrong side of the law.”

“Something like that.” Tommy turns to Tubbo. “Dad can get you out.”

“Dan Rough?”

Tommy laughs and shoves Tubbo lightly. “Shut up.”

“Hey don’t do that! If I go down you’re coming down with me.”

“We've been over this.” Tommy pushes Tubbo again.”

Tubbo glares.

“Be my friend.”

“I am your friend.”

“No I mean that’s the condition.”

“The condition for what? Buying off my debt?”

“Yep.”

“Being your friend? Tommy have you met your family?”

“And coming over for dinner. Kristen wants another girl around, and Jordan stopped talking to Dan and Phil after he got his promotion; they miss him.”

“Nothing else from us?”

“No not really.”

Tubbo buries his head in his hands. “So they Jays use debt to make me kill people. The Craftsmen want to use the debt to make us dinner?”

“Yep!”

Tubbo opens his mouth before closing it again. He stares at Tommy, trying to read him. “I’m a damn good assassin. That’s gonna cost you more than the debt.”

“Dad’s willing to pay. He’s been negotiating the debt transfer for months.”

Tubbo picks at his food. “I’m too headstrong for this.”

“Wonder where you got that from. Cough cough took six years for your dad top ask for help.”

“Shut up.”

“Be my friend. Without the whole conflicting interests thing.”

“You promises there’s nothing else?”

“Uhm. Oh! If you get trigger longing, ask if Phil has a job before you shop around.”

“Because he owns me?”

“Something like that.” Tommy pulls off the edge. “Are you going to kill me Tubbo?”

“No.”

“Let me help you.”

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“The only thing Lani has to do is go to normal dinners.” He holds up his pinky.

Tommy interlocks it with his own. “Promise.”

Tubbo nods. “Get me out of this fucking hellhole. Please.”

“There’s only a few more hours of school. You’ll live.”

Tubbo gives Tommy a look.

He laughs and offers the boy his hand. “Come on. Let’s go make Ranboo choose between sitting on the side and hiding from us, or sitting in between us.”

“Evil.”

“Are you actually my friend?”

“Yes.”

“Did you befriend me to get closer to Tommy?”

Tubbo nods. “Yes.”

“Were you going to kill me?”

“Nope. That was never on the agenda.”

“Comforting.” Ranboo turns to Tommy. “So are we just keeping him?”

“Yes we’re keeping him!”

“We’re keeping your would be killer?” Ranboo asks incredulously.

Tommy takes Ranboo in. “You aren’t comfortable with that. Okay. That’s fair.”

“Tubbo how do you like Switzerland?”

“It’s nice.”

“Great.” Tommy pulls out his phone to start texting someone.

“You seem perfectly fine with being friends with your assassin for debt,” Tubbo notes

“Part of the business.”

[imaginesbymk]

“My Favourite Patient.”

Gotham One Shot

Summary: you’re Jerome’s psychiatrist and new friend. But before he gathers the courage to ask you to be his, he grows upset when you get assigned to a different patient after the Arkham Asylum head office labels your relationship with a patient as inappropriate.

Pairing: Jerome Valeska x Reader

Author’s Note: inspired by Harley & Joker, obviously—but more angsty & definitely not the way the Joker treats Harley in paralleling to Jerome x y/n. this is a 600 follower special!!! like i said, one shots requests are not open, but i’ll be opening them and taking a few once i hit 1k!! [milestone masterlist]

“IS that a diary?” 

Jerome nodded excitedly and slid the small book over to your side. You examined the cover, noticing how he had decorated it with letters and kiddie stickers, and what really stood out was the giant ice cream centered.

“Do you update it daily?” you ask, half opening it.

“Meh, I try to. Often times I find myself just doodling the hell out of the margins.” Jerome watched you flip it open completely, skimming through. You were surprised to see how crazy Jerome went with the writing and cartoon doodles scribbled everywhere. 

Most of them included his dreams of how to get back at Bruce Wayne, getting into depth of how he was gonna do it, and there was a drawing of him getting tortured with bees.

You flipped to the recent page he last worked on, and your eyes fixated when you spotted your name being written at least five times, then the giant heart drawn around the initials 

JEROME + Y/N

“Uh...”

Jerome cackled. “Hope you don’t mind being featured?”

You shake your head and slid the diary back to his side, chuckling. “I don’t mind at all.” You jotted a few things in the clipboard, noticing at the corner of the folder Jerome’s mugshot taken for the second time after escaping, dying, resurrecting and being brought back to Arkham, this time his face was cut and sewn back on respectively.

You wouldn’t enjoy gushing about it, because the thought was downright odd. But you also couldn’t deny it. You and Jerome developed a close bond, and soon the tension between you two were hints that it was leading to something more than just a psychiatrist-patient relationship. 

Jerome shared the same age as you, and you were one of the gifted people to get your Ph.D at a fine young age. You were so close to luring Jerome to something bigger in hopes of taking good care of him and helping him become better than the kind of guy he was known to be. 

When it was simply you and him alone in the room during his appointment, you got glimpses of his character, and he was falling for you. Who would have thought you would have reciprocated those feelings without even telling him first.

But, you weren’t here to win yourself an inmate boyfriend. Your job was to help him.

Glancing at the clock, you gathered all your things and heard the buzzer of the room go off. Two guards walk in to escort Jerome back to his cell.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Jerome winked at you and obeyed orders. “See you next week, doc. Oh! Can I bring my diary to our next appointment?”

“Of course you can,” you smiled.

He smiled, the recovering stitch from his sewn face stretching out a bit, making you cringe. “Man, you are the best, y/n! The best doctor to cure me in this funny farm, at least still on the journey of doing so.” He laughed and he was tugged away to leave.

You smiled back again, without realizing your last words would mean all the galaxies and stars to him like magic. “Anything for my favourite patient.”

The following week, Jerome skipped down the halls when the line to the recreational room cut short, and he was stopped when he was told that it was time for his appointment. Beaming with excitement, he grabbed his diary just like he was promised to be allowed to bring with him, and he was taken down the corridors and into the familiar office.

Just days before, Jerome worked like a surgeon preparing the next page of his diary dedicated just for you. It was much more detailed and there were more smiley faces and hearts doodled around yours and his name. The words “BE MINE?” were scribbled at the bottom of the page as he planned on surprising you with the proposal as soon as you would open to the recent page.

The guard unlocked the door with the known buzzer blaring, and Jerome hopped in like a showman. 

“Hello again, dear! Good to see ya-” 

He stopped. Someone was sitting in your spot opposite to where he was supposed to sit in. There was a doctor in the room, but it wasn’t you. The doctor was middle aged, more experienced, but gave off the unwanted, boring vibe. He looked up from the report he was reading and shot Jerome a blank stare. There was nothing friendly in his greeting unlike how you greeted him like a friend whenever he showed up.

“Mr. Valeska, have a seat.” His monotonous voice almost made Jerome’s skin crawl.

“Who the hell are you?” Jerome asked.

“Your psychiatrist.”

“I think I’m at the wrong appointment. Y/n is my psychiatrist. Where are they?”

“I’m afraid y/n has been assigned to a new patient. It was arranged at such short notice, but they’ll no longer be requiring their time on you. So I’ll be replacing them.” The doctor frowned at Jerome’s diary held in his hands. “Oh, you can’t bring that in here.”

Completely baffled, Jerome tries making his way out the door, however the guards caught on quick and restrained the angry ginger down in his seat. The whole time, all Jerome could do was stare at the psychiatrist so angrily and hungry for revenge. It’s not like the doctor was at fault, but seeing him and not y/n made Jerome’s blood boil.

Several days pass, and Jerome did not see y/n until one stormy afternoon when walking down the halls. It was a new corridor he had yet to explore, and he couldn’t help but take a peak through the slot. He squinted his eye, and felt his heart drop to his gut.

He saw you, but you couldn’t see him. Your new assigned patient was speaking to you in slow mutters, something you had yet expected when dealing with Arkham asylum inmates. Jerome couldn’t believe it, why did you have to go? It wasn’t common for Arkham psychiatrists to just switch patients.

“You! Valeska!”

Jerome glared at the guard who incompetently showed up at the door they were supposed to, well, guard. “Keep moving.”

As soon as his name was called out from the halls, you shot your eyes at the door, ignoring the patient you were with. Jerome was quick enough to grab the keys from the guard’s belt, unlocking it and barging in.

“Jerome?” you jumped.

“Yeah, hi. Quite a surprise to see you with...” Jerome glanced over at the inmate, who had drool running down his mouth. “That thing.”

“Jerome, I’m with a patient right now, and this is a confidential session. You can’t be in here.”

“Not until you and I figure out why I’m no longer your weekly problem anymore.”

Your face fell, and something from your look tells Jerome that you knew the answer to that. The guard goes to grab Jerome, but you stop them. “Wait! Give us a minute.” Jerome grinned while shooing the officer out the door. 

You sighed. “Last week, I got called into the head office. The person who owns this hellhole told me I can’t be your psychiatrist anymore.”

“Why?” Jerome asks, taking a step closer.

“They said they found our friendship to be inappropriate. I know the point of this job is to engage with my patients and develop a bond while treating them. But after monitoring us in the session room, they weren’t too happy. They threatened to revoke my license and fire me, but I told them they could just assign me to another patient. So they did.”

Jerome’s world collapsed like an apocalypse. What a ridiculous reason, he thought. They’re just jealous that they didn’t have a strong connection with anyone the way I did with y/n. You were such a positive impact ever since he was locked up, and now the positive was all being taken away.

But what tore his cold heart to broken icicles was the fact that you found an alternative, and that meant you couldn’t see Jerome anymore.

“That is just childish,” Jerome said in a low voice. “I care about you so much, y/n. But you could of came up with another idea instead of treating some rando who drools like a baby.”

“I can’t lose my job, Jerome,” you tell him. “And besides, you and me being a couple? It can’t happen. Not here.”

“Oh, it can.” Jerome stretched out a smile. “I am your favourite patient after all.”

You shook your head. “Jerome...”

He took another step and took your hand, as if he was preparing for a waltz. You stood stiff. “You and me, we can get outta here. We can be together and turn Gotham upside down and play with it like a tether ball. We just gotta think of a plan. That’s only if you wanna be with me.”

Finally, you were able to say those words. “I do wanna be with you, J.” He smiled and pulled you close to his dirty and distressed sewed face, and kissed you passionately, ignoring the patient that sat in the chair like a lifeless statue.

Pulling away, he still held onto you. “Don’t worry, toots. I escaped before, and I’l do it again with pleasure. I’m a man with a plan, and you, y/n, are mine.”

You smiled and kissed him again as thunder and lightning struck outside the gothic window. Just like the initials and hearts written in his diary, Jerome was a man of his word.

—

tag list: @lotsoffandomimagines

[holographic-chogi]

Protector pt.18/?

Author: holographic-chogi

Pairing: fem!reader x skz

Warnings: swearing, abuse, violence, the cold.

A/N: So, I’m very torn on whether or not I want to do a sequel. I have another story I’m planning for sure, so there will be more content regardless. However, I kinda love writing these characters so if you guys want to see more, I’d love to continue with this universe. We aren’t at the end yet (we’re a few chapters away) but we’re approaching. Lol and to anyone reading all these author notes for the first time, I’ve been extending the story quite a bit, hence me saying we’re getting close to the end all the time. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!! Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: a virus has wiped out most of humanity, and society has collapsed. People survive in groups where they live in constant fear and a struggle to survive. Women were the primary victim of the virus, leaving few behind. You are one of the few, kept in secret since the beginning. However, you’ve just been caught.

Masterlist

The overwhelming soreness was the first thing you noticed.

You woke up on the floor, sprawled out beside the bed, back to the bare wooden floor. As you became more and more lucid, you became aware of the several points of pain spread throughout your body.

Your left shoulder, your right forearm, your neck. Your wrists. Not to mention, a nasty headache.

You forced yourself up, limbs shaking from exhaustion and overuse. Would it have killed you to crawl into bed before passing out? You guess you could cut yourself some slack this time.

You lean back, flinching as your back cracks in various places. Sore was absolutely an understatement. 

You flinched as your door swung open, a feeling of dread sinking in as it revealed Hyuk on the other side. He seemed very nonchalant as he eyed you and the room up and down. 

“Damn. He really did go to town.”

You don’t bother responding, choosing instead to continue stretching out your back.

He clears his throat, and you finally spare him a glance. He looks smug. “Taeil sent me over to make sure you weren’t still tied up.” he crossed his arms, licking his lips as he continues to stare you down. It makes you shudder. “I almost wish you were. I bet you’d like that, hm?”

You narrow your eyes at him. You feel vulnerable in your current state, especially with this man looking at you like you were prey.

He continued, kneeling down to your level. It was then you realized that his look was becoming one of lust, no longer just smugness.

“Strip.”

Your eyes widen and your knuckles go white from the grip they have on your forearms, completely ignorant of the pain it causes. You couldn’t handle another one of these sick freaks, not the way you are now.

You can’t hold back the exhale of relief once you hear the knock at the doorway.

“Hey, I’m here to pick her up.” Hyoseob’s voice, thank god.

Hyuk looks back lazily at the open door, before looking back at you. “Next time, then.”

He strolls out, as if nothing had happened. Clearly Jiho and Taeil weren’t the only people to fear in this place; you couldn’t be any less safe. 

Hyoseob walks past him, and the two don’t exchange so much as a nod before Hyuk closes the door behind him.

As soon as the latch clicks, Hyoseob’s visibly relaxes, before scanning you up and down warily, “rough night?”

You burst out laughing, unable to ignore the hilarity of that understatement. Your whole body radiates pain as your shoulders shake; your voice think with hoarseness as you use it for the first time today. “Yeah. We’ll call it a ‘rough night’.”

He snickers a little, “Yeah, you look like shit.”

You chuckle a bit more, before letting your laugh die down. “I bet.

He sits on the floor next to you, “any specific reason you’re on the ground?”

“I think I fell asleep down here last night,” you pause, “Or maybe passed out.”

He nods, holding out a hand to you, “ready for breakfast part two?”

No. You’d even rather have another date with Taeil. Just the thought of Jiho’s face made your entire body tense. “I’m guessing I don’t have much of a choice.”

He spoke solemnly, “you probably don’t.”

Luckily, he had grabbed your good hand as he hoisted you up, pulling you to your feet as you winced. You wobbled a bit on your feet as vision spotted black, gripping Hyoseob’s shoulder to keep yourself from keeling over. “Sorry, I’m just kinda lighthea-”

You freeze mid sentence, clutching your gut as overwhelming nausea radiated from your stomach, “I-I’m,”

You vomit again, doing your best to lean away from Hyoseob as you lose what little contents of food you had left. When you look back at Hyoseob, you see his face clouded with worry.

“What happened to you?”

“I’d rather not get into it”,  you croaked. Your voice sounded terrible.

He nodded knowingly, “You’ve obviously been strangled, from the bruises and vomit, and,” He raises your right arm, revealing the burn on your arm, “And you’ve been burned. Anything else I should know about?”

You look at him blankly, voice deadpan, “My other shoulder is dislocated. Pretty sure my wrists are fucked up from those ropes too.” You nod towards the ropes lying loosely on the ground beside your bed.

He slowly lowers your hand, “We need to see if you can walk on your own. If you can’t, we’re gonna need to push our plan backward a few days.”

You pull out of his grasp, determined, “Oh absolutely not, I can walk.” 

You start trudging towards the door, ignoring your body screaming at you to rest. “I can’t survive another day in this place.”

---

You were sitting back at the table from yesterday, nervously tapping your spoon as you were taunted by the empty seat in front of you. Hyoseob was beside the table again, eyes directly ahead of him.

You whispered under your breath, “What am I gonna tell Jiho about the bruises? You said they were visible.”

He looked down at you for a second, pointedly, as if to say ‘you know you aren’t supposed to talk to me in Jiho’s house’.

Then you heard the steps, and the familiar racing of your heart continued.

However, to your surprise, Jiho rushed past you, beelining for the door. “Sorry, can’t stay for breakfast. There’s been someone spotted nearby on patrol.”

You open your mouth to ask who, but Hyoseob notices and beats you to it, “Anyone we should be worried about, sir?”

He shook his head, “He’s gone now, but that Thai kid from JYP was spotted snooping nearby, so keep an eye on Y/N” He glared at you, “seems you can’t stop causing trouble.”

Your heart thuds in your chest. Bambam? What was he doing here? Did the others know something was wrong? You kneaded your hands together, smiling to yourself.

Little did Jiho know, you really, truly, weren’t alone.

Jiho scoffed at your expression, turning towards the door before adding, “He won’t get far.”

Sure about that? The man has some long legs.

As the door closed behind him, Hyoseob spoke from behind you. “We should leave now, nevermind waiting until tonight.”

You whirl around in surprise, “are you sure that isn’t too risky?”

He nods, “Everyone’s gonna be distracted with the intruder today, and no one will question us being alone, since I’ve been assigned to protect you.”

It makes sense. Excitement begins to bubble in your stomach as you stand from your chair, breakfast forgotten. “Then let’s get the hell out of here!”

He chuckled before gesturing to your plate, “Food first.”

---

Despite the hurry the two of you were in, you couldn’t deny how good the chilly air felt. The snow was obviously an obstacle, but it looked so pretty as it collected on the ground.

You had been “escorted” to your room to grab your things, and the two of you had traveled through the forest from there. The snow clouds above made it difficult to identify the cardinal directions, but you could still make do.

However, the pace the two of you were going at was fast. Faster than what was comfortable, especially in your condition. Your breaths were ragged as you tailed behind him, a familiar burning feeling returning to your lungs.

When you vomit the first time, Hyoseob stopped to cover it, making sure it’s untraceable. It’s a common after-effect of being strangled, but with each time you did it, he appeared more and more concerned.

You braced yourself against a tree with your good arm as you retched, fingers numb as they clutched the bark.

“Fuck, Y/N. Can you make it?”

You nod vigorously, wiping your mouth before staggering over. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

Could you? You weren’t sure. What you were sure of, is you would die trying before staying another second at that hellhole. You’d much sooner give your life to the winter before any of those men, any day.

And so you kept going. You tried paying attention to your surroundings, but Hyoseob just powered forward. What surprised you, is that beside your own fear, he seemed terrified too. He had seemed so calm and unmoveable before, but you couldn’t miss the trembling in his fingers as he pulled you forward. You’d blame it on the cold, if it weren’t for the look in his eyes.

Like wild game just before you shoot it between the eyes.

Suddenly, you hear shouting in the distance, and the two of you freeze.

You look up at him, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, it sounded far off.”

He shook his head, gripping your hand tightly. His breath showed in a cloud as he spoke, “Not far enough, and it’s in our direction. They’re tracking us.”

He released his hand completely, “I have to throw them off now. You’re on your own from here.”

You shivered as he rubbed your forearms, trying to warm you up before he departed.

“Stay traveling in this direction until you find a clearing, there’s usually a ton of rosehips there, but I can’t guarantee it because of the season.” He turned away from you, ready to bolt. “From there, there should be a path to the left that takes you to the farmhouse. It’s long, but you can make it.”

You smile at his retreating figure. “Rosehips can survive the winter just fine.”

“So can you.”

Taglist: @leetaemintrashnumber1 @peachescherryheart @lico-rice526 @claire4799 @lanie-is-a-unicorn @tottalbabe

[adobe-outdesign]

Re-Created: Chapter 4

After Joey passes away, Henry finds a way to make everyone look human again, one by one, using the Ink Machine. And this story is going to have a happy ending, even if he has to write it himself.

[Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6]

Allison sits down beside Henry, perching on the edge of an old crate. “Hey.”

Henry closes his eyes, burying his face in his hands. “I’m an asshole,” he mutters.

“I already talked to the Lost One for you. They’re going to stay at the hideout with us for a bit while they work on figuring out who they are.” Allison places a hand on his back sympathetically. “But that’s not the only reason why you’re upset, is it?”

Henry sighs, lifting his head. “I don’t know. I’m trying to help however I can, but I feel like I’m just making things worse.”

“Henry, you saved us.”

He closes his eyes again. “I was reading over Joey’s notes the other day. On his failed attempts, I mean. There are so many reports about the cartoons not being able to stabilize... it was just luck that you didn’t end up like Jack.”

“But we didn’t.” Allison pulls away her hand, staring out into the river of ink before them. “Henry, we’ve been trapped here for years. The only thing that was keeping me going sometimes was telling myself that things would get better. It doesn’t matter if you fail sometimes. You give people hope, and that’s all they need right now.”

Henry continues to stare out into the ink. “I feel like I’m no better than Joey.”

“Joey didn’t ask before killing people,” she reminds him.

“I guess.”

Allison stares at him for a moment, waiting for a further response. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Why did you come back?” Henry turns to her. “You said Joey was gone when you went outside. Why didn’t you just leave?”

Henry stares at the sketch lines on his hand. “I don’t look like a real person. I’d be arrested or something if I tried to leave.”

“That’s not what I mean. You could have just came here and lived peacefully with Boris in the safehouse for eternity. Instead, you start trying to help everyone. So I’ll ask again: Henry, why are you here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it because you’re trying to fix Joey’s problems?”

Henry’s expression turns distasteful. “No. Joey’s problems are his own fault. Not mine.”

“So why are you here?” she demands. Henry stares at her as if about to argue, then stops, returning his gaze to the ink.

“I guess... I don’t care whose fault it is. I’d love to just stay with Boris, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t... sit there knowing everyone else was suffering.”

“So you’re not like Joey, after all.”

Henry finally smiles.

“No. I guess not.”

He slowly rises from the edge of the dock, running a hand through his hair. Allison gets up to stand by his side.

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’m going to find Jack and try again. It’s possible that the first time was just a fluke.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

Henry crosses his arms, newfound determination in his eyes.

“Then we’ll keep trying.”

They had found Jack back down in the flooded sewer, moaning softly. He was no longer a bloated mass off ink, but instead resembled the average Searcher crawling through the halls. Still, the hat was unmistakable. 

Henry kneels by the edge of the sewer, putting the finishing touches on a new pentagram. Boris watches him nonchalantly, eating a can of soup he had found somewhere. If Sammy was there, he wasn’t interested in showing himself.

“That should do it,” Henry mutters, and the Searcher rears up at the sound of his voice. Henry walks into his line of sight and Jack drops back down onto his hands, starting to crawl forward. Henry slowly steps backwards, towards the symbol.

“That’s right. We’re going to try one more time, okay?” He knows the Searcher can’t understand him, but talking helps soothe his nerves.

Henry side-steps the pentagram when he gets to it, continuing backwards until he’s standing behind it. The Searcher continues to crawl forward with a rasping noise, unaware of the symbol. As Jack moves over it he looses shape and melts away, the hat staying whole for a second longer before also dissolving. Henry swallows the lump in his throat.

“C’mon, Boris. Let’s go say hi,” he says with more confidence than he feels. Boris nods, and together they run through the department, the distance feeling longer than usual. When they reach the garage Henry stops a few feet short of the door.

“Out of breath,” he mutters, which is a lie as he was fairly certain he didn’t need to breathe at all. In reality, he simply didn’t want to find out what had happened. If he stayed out in the hall, he could pretend everything had gone smoothly.

But the moment can’t last, and he forces himself to walk through the doorway.

Tom is standing by the machine. Allison is kneeling on the floor, hand on someone’s back as they cough violently. They have a hat.

Jack’s coughing fit ceases and he looks around the room in bewilderment. He was overweight with a round face, and Henry’s pretty certain he can see a large bald spot underneath of his bowler hat.

“What? Where is-?”

“It’s okay,” Allison soothes. “I’m Allison, and this is Tom and Henry.”

Henry steps forward, relief sweeping over him like a wave on a beach. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Henry. Henry Stein.”

“I’m...” Jack’s voice trails off as he frowns, staring into space. He shakes his head. “I’m Jack. Nice to meet you.” He squints. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“We can talk more after you’re rested,” Allison interjects. Henry shoots her a grateful look. “Do you feel okay?”

“I- I think so. Maybe?” He puts his hands over his ears and slowly relaxes, shoulders slumping. “It’s so quiet,” he whispers.

“Here.” Tom walks over, offering a hand. The lyricist takes it, unsteadily rising to his feet. “It’s a long walk back to our hideout.”

“It would be nice to get the infirmary up and running again,” Henry muses. “It’s only a short walk from Joey’s back door.”

“Well, right now it’s full of ink and broken beds,” Tom mutters. Jack leans against him for support, already being overtaken by exhaustion, and Tom grunts under the weight. “Now stop talking and start walking.”

Henry returns to the hideout with a box full of Joey’s employee records to find Jack already awake again, talking to the Lost One, who seems somewhat spooked by his presence. They stop when Henry comes in.

“Hey there,” the animator greets as he sets down the box. “You doing alright?”

Jack takes off his hat, running his hand through his thinning hair. “I mean, I think so. Allison filled me on on the details, so, y’know, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Henry taps the cardboard box. “I brought some stuff over from Joey’s. You can look through it and see if there’s anything about your life outside. If you want to, of course,” he adds quickly.

“Yeah, that sounds... good. Thanks.” Jack shifts his weight uncomfortably, looking away.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just... my mind...” The lyricist goes silent for a moment, thinking of how to word his concerns. “It’s like... back in the ink, there were lots of other people, and your thoughts and everyone else’s thoughts were all mixed together. So now there’s suddenly no one else, and it’s kind of terrifying. Does that make sense?”

“No, I get it,” Henry reassures.

“But it’s more than that. I remember lots of things, but I don’t think they’re my memories. Like, I remember kissing at least three different people’s wives. Which I would never do,” he adds quickly, seeing the expression on Henry’s face, “because I’m not into woman. Uh- those types of woman, I mean. And I’m already married.” He holds up his hand, which sports a shiny yellow ring as proof.

“I didn’t even think about that. I guess when someone’s pulled out of the ink, it just retrieves whatever memories you have at the time, even if they’re not yours.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal. Anything’s better than that hellhole. I’m just... not really sure who I am right now, you know?” Jack gives a weak smile.

“If it helps, I don’t know anything about myself,” the Lost One offers. Henry forgot they were there for a moment.

“Speaking of which, Allison said she gave you a list of names to look over. Did you find any that feel right?”

“Maybe.” The Lost One gestures him over to the table, which is covered with several sheets of employee names and phone numbers. They point to one, a drop of ink falling from their finger and staining the paper. “Freddie Greenwalt,” it read.

“You sure?”

“I... no,” they confess. “But when I read that one, I got a flash of... something. It was the first time that’s ever happened to me.”

“As long as you’re happy with it. We can get you fixed up shortly, if that works for you.”

The Lost One nods. “Thank you,” they say softly.

“Henry,” Jack speaks up. “You said you wanted to get the infirmary up and running again, right? Because I’ve spent a lot of time there - head colds, you know. I was thinking I could go down there and clean the place up a bit, so everyone has somewhere to rest once they’re changed back. I could use something to do other than stare at the fish tank all day.”

“Sammy’s in that area a lot,” Henry warns. Jack just shrugs.

“I know his schedule. I won’t be down there when he’s down there.”

“Well if you’re okay with it, then it’s fine by me.” Henry turns his attention back to the Lost One, smiling. “Come on. You haven’t been outside yet.”

The next few weeks went by quickly. Freddie had turn out to be a young-looking person with short, dark hair who had wept uncontrollably after they had changed back. Afterward, they assigned themselves to assisting Jack with cleaning up the infirmary. Boris, when not playing cards with Henry, joined them in their scrubbing.

A few Lost Ones had slowly trickled in after Freddie, all equally anxious about the ritual. Each one was successfully recreated, with only a few minor deformities plaguing some of them. They hadn’t cared less.

“I thought there’d more of you,” Thomas had pointed out eventually. One of the Lost Ones, a quiet person with a deep voice, had spoken up.

“Sammy’s been preaching against you in his sermons. Anyone who would otherwise be interested is bein’ chased off by him.”

Thomas muttered something under his breath about Sammy being a bastard and left.

Henry, meanwhile, had found a message written close to their hideout, down close to the floor.

CAN YOU HELP US?

He hadn’t hesitated to respond.

YES

[baritonetcc]

Talent

I can’t believe where I am, I look like a protagonist of a cliche anime scene. Allergy-inducing blossoms and buds rain down around me, in a slow breeze, so more like a caramel rain. My only ride is running late, so I’m forced to remain on school grounds past my scheduled time of death. The school courtyard is empty, since school has been out for long enough for the buses to leave, and athletes were changing for sports practice. I’m sitting under a tree, finishing up a book that I stole from my English teacher’s shelf (thanks, Mr. Bradner). Oh hey, speaking of Mr. Bradner, I should go hang out in his room. The breeze is blowing majestic fronds into my not-so-majestic hair and mouth, so an empty classroom would be a nice chance of pace. I’m sure Savannah has stopped annoying him by now and pissed off to whatever hellhole she crawled out of.

I’m walking up to the building where Mr. Bradner’s room is, and Andrew Pratt bursts out of the doors, clearly late for track practice. 

“Where have you been, Tommie? I’ve been looking for you forever! I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

Oh boy, here we go with his questions. If he asks me for answers for the math review again I swear-

“So some of the band members have been wanting to perform in an ensemble for the talent show, a big band. We wanted to play ‘Feel The Love Go’ by Franz Ferdinand, and we need someone to play the alto solo...?”

He knows that I’m going to say yes, doesn’t he. He couldn’t have asked any other alto sax player? He couldn’t have had another instrument play it? I think it would be really cool on piano. 

Thinking that I wasn’t getting the hint he continued, “So would you be interested in it? We really wanted to give it to you...”

I finally open my mouth, knowing that Andrew’s coach is going to murder him. “Sure. Text me when you can, now go to practice.”

Andrew is so good at life. He gets along with his family, he has an amazing dog, he’s a great trombone player, and he’s a track star. I wish he was better at managing his time.

I sink into a desk in Mr. Bradner’s room, where he’s correcting papers. He likes to work until he’s done with whatever task he assigns himself before going home, so I don’t say much. I go through the tasks I have written in my planner, and it’s quite bare, more than usual. I occasionally look up to see Mr. Bradner scowling at someone’s chicken scratch, or whoever’s in the hallway. Hey. Mr. Heser’s walking by. Eventually, my phone buzzes with a text. 

Andrew P(rat)t: Kyre has all the music for the group, u should go take a look ok?

What a slacker, I hope he trips because he was texting me instead of tying his shoes. I gather my things and head down to the band hall, where Mrs. Kyre resides. I get to thinking about the important questions. Who else is in the group? Why can’t I just NOT be in the talent show? I was hoping I could spend the rest of the year taking it easy, without having to worry about the talent show in June. I find myself in the band room, where Mrs. Kyre conveniently remembers to hand me the music upon seeing me. Andrew set me up for this. I whip up my hair and bust out my saxophone. I stay in the actual band room, since it’s not being used and I’d rather not lock myself in a practice room. I glance at the clock while wrestling the ligature onto the mouthpiece. I can’t believe it’s already almost four, I should’ve just walked home. I warm up quickly, look through the music, and begin trying it. Whoever wrote this isn’t half bad at transcribing, and they thankfully took mercy on the alto saxes. It was probably one of Andrew’s nerdy friends. Wait. I’m one of his nerdy friends. 

I dig into the piece, and I get into the solo part. I honk my soul out with the epicness that Adolf Sax couldn’t even begin to imagine, when I see someone walk in out of the corner of my eye. I’ve never sightread this well in my entire life before. Hell yeah, check out this badassery, Mrs. Kyre! And then I realize it’s not Mrs. Kyre. It’s Miss Avery. In that moment, I forget what key signature I’m in. I don’t know what measure I’m on. I forget how to finger any of these notes. What’s a note? I hopelessly squeak a half-assed attempt at the rhythm written on the page, then stop because I think my ears have actually fallen off.

Miss Avery smiles at me. Of course she does. She doesn’t know half of the effect she has on me. I try to talk to her, but all the words stick to my throat on the way up. Oh, and my saxophone is still in my mouth.

“Wow, that’s some real nice stuff there. You’re so into your whole band thing. I love it.”

I know she’s lying. That was the worst sound I’ve heard since hearing someone MacGyver a thick layer of aluminum foil in between the rollers of a Polaroid camera, then threw it at a running band saw when the shop teacher walked by. I didn’t even know my instrument could make such racket.

“Thanks, Miss. Are you looking for Mrs. Kyre?”

“Yeah, actually. Oh, there she is.”

Miss Avery and Mrs. Kyre set to getting completely distracted with whatever they talk about, and I get through the rest of the song.

I can’t believe I’m in Andrew’s living room with my saxophone. Honestly, it’s kind of cozy though. All of us practicing together, on these nice pillows and not in the band room. The entire way here, I complained to my friends via text about going to Andrew’s house, but I’m enjoying myself more than I made it seem. It’s a nice tone overall, and it’s a nice change since our drummer isn’t here. It’s a calm and quiet evening, and some jazzy tunes makes it powerful. His mom also makes otherworldly cupcakes. They don’t even have frosting or anything, but they taste like a sweet, buttery blanket of the warmth of innocence. It’s a week before the final show, and we’re really just working on dynamics and expression to really nail the song. Since it’s so close to the show, there’s been a lot of hype. Miss Avery asked me if I was going to see the talent show. I really wanted to surprise her, so I told her I was going, rather than informing her that I was in it, like the good child I usually am.

It’s the night of the show. I’m standing offstage in my snazzy tux (thanks, Andrew’s mom) and holding my saxophone. I usually don’t wear anything like this, which is why I’m borrowing something that Andrew’s mom pulled out of his closet from a couple years ago. He’s tall and skinny, so I didn’t have to steal anything recent from him. Last minute, we figured the stage would be blazing by the time we got on, so we ditched our jackets. The sleeves of my stark white shirt are neatly rolled up, and it’s not a bad look for me. This shirt fits surprisingly well, with the buttons over my chest doing their job, even if Andrew is a stick compared to me. Apparently, one of the trumpet players had a problem with the fact that she wore her nice diamond earrings, and I wore purple gauges. I can’t wait until she finds out that they glow in the dark. They match the album cover of the song we’re playing, so I think I win here.

I peek around the curtain, since nobody really cares at this point. The theatre’s seats are filling in with equal amounts of snickering teenagers and parents with genuine concern for our generation. I silently thank them as my eyes wander. Our theatre has planetarium-style lighting, along with the typical lights lining the wall. It’s calming to see all the bustling shadows of people finding a place to sit. I look up towards the back, and see Miss Avery coming in. She seems like she’s in a rush, and she’s looking around frantically. I dismiss the idea that she’s looking for me...but, is she? She spots a group of other teachers and they wave her over. Probably not, then. 

A couple kids eventually take the stage to thank everyone for coming, and begin intoducing the acts. I suck on my reed absentmindedly.

There’s a few dance groups, which were definitely all entertaining. Someone did a backflip off of a chair. There’s a lot of people who sing, including Savannah, who sang some basic, repetitive pop song. The musical acts are impressive, but maybe I’m just biased. Finally, the curtains close, to open for one last time. A bored looking junior steps on with a microphone, telling the theatre, “The last, but not least act we have is a band ensemble. They will be performing ‘Feeling Love Go’ by Fronz Ferdindand.” Whatever, close enough. “The group consists of various members of our school’s band, and features a saxophone solo, played by Tommie Byers.” That’s me. 

We hurry to get all of our equipment on stage. The most terrifying part was Talon’s fancy Moog keyboard setup, and making sure we were all in the right place. As we’re setting up, ‘Paper Cages’ plays. I’m wondering who’s responsible for shoving Franz Ferdinand down everybody’s throats. It’s probably the drummer. Our bari saxes conveniently bump their stands together, knocking over their music. I stand in my assigned spot perfectly, and the curtain opens. I haven’t even thought about Miss Avery again until now. Did she enjoy the rest of the show? Has she already gotten up to leave early? Once my sight adjusts to the dark sea of humans, I find her, with her eyes trained on the stage. 

The song kicks in, starting with just the rhythm section. The winds then pick up on the melody, and the guitarist strums out funky chords. Talon and his brother work magic on the keyboards. The brass delivers a bright punch, lead by Andrew. I swell with anticipation as I feel my solo come up. For some reason, I look right at Miss Avery, who has no idea what’s going to hit her. I wink. God, that was probably so cringe-worthy. I bust into my solo, starting small at first. Then I’m out there, jumping the octave, and tonguing some banging rhythms. The winds start doing this siren sounding pattern to fill in. Am I dancing? Oh God, I’m dancing. I kick out my legs and do that weird swinging squat swing like every dramatic sax player does. The brass kicks out, except for one trumpet, which follows the siren action. My solo ends after some dizzying sixteenth notes, and I’m still swayed by the music. The rhythm section continues the ride with the winds, until the song ends on a kind of questioning note, almost as if we are prompting the audience to react with whatever they were holding in the whole time.

Everybody loses it, maybe because it’s just the last show and they want to go home. All the show’s participants rejoin on the stage for pictures and such. Some kids were getting flowers from friends and family. I run down into the rapidly emptying theatre, still huffing, still red from the lights, and still holding my saxophone. My neck strap digs into my skin, as I chase after Miss Avery. We make eye contact, and she grins at me. 

“So, what did you think?” “What did I think? Well, I didn’t! That was awesome, kid! When you stepped up with that solo, my mind was blown. You did great up there, and I’m sure every person in this room enjoyed it!”

“Oh, thanks! I...I worked really hard on it, and it was really fun, actually.” “You don’t have to say that, I think we alllll knew how much fun you were having up there,” at this point, Talon’s younger brother came to retrieve my awkwardly dangling saxophone, “and I had no idea! How come you never told me that you guys were getting together to do this?”

I chuckled, “Well, I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“That was amazing, and I’ve never seen you like that before. Come here!”

Before I know it, her arms are around me. I can’t imagine that it’s pleasant to hug a musician so passionately right after their performance, but my endorphins don’t care. Miss Avery gets a parent to take a picture of us together, and my new lock screen is Miss Avery with her arm around me in front of the stage. I’m still wearing my neck strap.

[huntertales]

Part One: Your Nerd Is Showing. (LARP and the Real Girl S08E11)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader investigate the mysterious deaths of two LARPers who were engaged in a game involving an actual fairy. While digging deeper into the game, the boys discover the queen of Moondoor is a familiar face they met just a few short years ago, an I.T. woman named Charlie Bradbury.  Word Count: 6,140. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You wanted to say things were finally starting to look up for the better since getting back to your own head space. Sam was back in business with you and Dean, but the decision forced him to leave Amelia along with the happy life he lived a year ago that he was thinking about wanting to have forever. The choice didn't just effect Sam, in order for this to work again, Dean ended his friendship with Benny when it was realized that the vampire only caused more harm than good to keep around. The reason why Dean had kept the brotherly bond going for so long was for the reason that Benny had saved him from that hellhole and felt like he had owed him. You thought saving the vampire’s life twice was enough payment for what he had done. At some point he was going to have to let the past go, all of you had to in order to make room for the future.

You had gotten Cas back just a few weeks ago without a real explanation of how he got pulled out of Purgatory, you wanted to turn a blind eye and pretend that maybe it was the universe spitting him out of a place where he didn't belong. But that didn't seem to be the case when the angel starting acting strange, in a way that you didn’t want him to be around until you figured out what was going on. You were starting to grow happy that he decided to skip out on all of you and kept quiet. Kevin was still trying to figure out how to read his half of the demon tablet, but he wasn't making much progress. You and the boys were left going back to what you knew well, roaming around the country and looking for a case to keep you occupied until something better came along.

You were lying down in the backseat of the Impala, not looking for sleep, just enjoying the peacefulness of the quiet ride you hadn't felt since the arguments and fighting started with the boys. There was nothing better than hearing the rain hit the metal roof as Dean's music played quietly up front. This was what you loved. But what you didn’t particularly enjoy was the feeling of your jeans feeling tighter than you were used to. You knew you were already a few more pounds away from not being able to get into your jeans anymore. And weeks shy of a stomach that wasn’t going to look like you were getting little chubby from eating.

While you were relaxing in the backseat and occupying yourself with the silence, Dean was in his rightful place behind the wheel and his brother in the passenger seat right across from him. Every so often the older man took his attention off the road to steal a glance at you from the rear view mirror to see that you hadn't changed much over the past few hours. He snuck a glance at his little brother from the corner of his eye to see Sam was occupying himself with a map that was illuminated by the small flashlight he was holding. Even Dean could see in the darkness the sullen expression on his brother's face. It wasn't exactly the passive anger he had shown for weeks now, or the regret he was probably feeling from leaving a life he wanted behind. He just looked like he needed some fun to get him back into the swing of things again.

“You okay, man?” Dean asked his little brother.

You moved your gaze away from the window and turned your head slightly forward so you were looking up at the back of the boys' head when you heard Dean's question directed to the younger Winchester. Sam was silent for a moment before he answered. "We have the most powerful weapon we've ever had against demons, and we can't find a way to use it."

“Yeah, well, Kevin’s on it. And when he finds something, he’ll call. So we wait.” Dean said. It was the answer that nobody wanted to hear at this point in the game when you had something big brewing up. Kevin was working his hardest at trying to find anything about closing the gates of hell, but even you had to admit you were growing antsy at finding something. “Look, all of us had a rough go over the couple of weeks. And,uh, I know what you guy up wasn’t easy, Sammy. Maybe we ought to take the night off—go see a flick, hit a bar or two, have some fun.”

"You remember fun, don't you, Sasquatch?" You teased the younger man as you pushed yourself up to a sitting position. You were now leaning against the front seat of the Impala with your head poking between both of the brothers, your attention focused on Sam as you gave him a smile with an arched brow. "Let's squeeze some in before it’s too late.”

Sam knew what you were really talking about from the subtle joke you slid into the conversation, his brother presumed you it was about the closing the gates of hell and the tedious process it was going to bring. You leaned back in your seat when Sam’s phone began ringing. He shoved a hand into his pocket and looked at the caller I.D., and speaking of the prophet, he noticed Kevin’s name pop up on the screen when he looked down at his phone.

“Kevin, what do you got?“ Sam answered the phone thinking it was the prophet, however another voice he hadn’t heard in a couple of weeks. It was the hunter who was in charge of looking after the kid. “Garth. Hey. Really? Okay. Uh, yeah. Thanks, man.” You furrowed your brow slightly in curiosity from the one sided conversation you were hearing Sam have with the other hunter you had only worked with once, and nearly ripped his head off. Garth took over the role of Bobby, checking up on hunters and keeping an eye on the most important person in the supernatural world right now. It seemed from the sounds of Sam’s conversation Garth called to give the three of you a case, however the younger Winchester was caught up with one little factor he couldn’t help himself but ask before he ended the call. “Oh, wait, hey—hey Garth. Garth, are you there?” Sam asked the other hunter. You heard the man on the other line reply with a yeah when you leaned forward in your seat to eavesdrop on the conversation. “How’d you know where we are?” The hunter’s response made your lips stretch into a smile, “You’ve been Garthed.” “Look, it's bad enough that you're tracking us, but it's even worse when you say we've been ‘Garthed.’” Sam said, seeming not amused as you were from the man’s catchphrase that you knew he was going to try and make a thing. The both of them discussed a few more things before Sam ended the call, a sigh falling a second after he hit the end button. “Okay, we got to lose the GPS on our phones, because Garth has been tracking us, and other hunters, apparently, to assign cases.” “Smart. A total Bobby move.” You said. You admitted to Garth straight to his face you never liked the idea of him taking the place of the older hunter who passed. But you came around, and seemed happy at seeing him excelling in the role. “What's the deal?” “Uh, well, it's close—Farmington Hills, Michigan. Dude got ripped limb from limb inside his locked apartment.” Sam told you the details of the case that Garth called about. You winced slightly at the thought while Dean muttered about how that wasn’t good. “Working a case. As long as we're waiting on Kevin, that'll be our fun.” You were tempted to make a remark about how much of a downer he was being at focusing so hard on the job and not letting loose after the tense weeks all of you had. But you stopped yourself when you started to think about things from his point of view. Sam's kind of fun wasn't what you or Dean had in mind, his was left behind in the motel in Texas with a broken heart. He wanted to forget about the life that he left behind and focus on the very thing he was going to be doing for the rest of his life. You had a feeling you wouldn’t be in the mood for anything fun if what you wanted was ripped away from you once again. You knew it was going to take some time for him to adjust to the way things were. And when he was finally over his past maybe you could force a smile on that face of his and make him feel a little bit happier about his choice.

+ + +

The next morning you and the boys headed to the crime scene dressed in your fed clothes to try and see what you might be able to learn yourselves about what could have caused a man to have his limbs ripped apart. You flashed your badge to the officer guarding the door and offered him a smile when he glanced nonchalantly at the identification and nodded his head for the three of you to head inside. The place was still crawling with the forensic team and a few officers going over the crime scene to see what they could learn about what caused a man to be ripped apart limb by limb. You were here for the same reason, but looking for a different type of suspect and evidence to find the killer.

You followed behind the boys as you took a moment to take a look around the apartment of your victim. First thing you noticed was the movie posters on the wall of a certain genre you strayed away from and a complete shelving space dedicated to what appeared to be all sorts of fantasy looking toys. Your observation was quickly cut short when your attention was drawn away from the shield you were looking at and the sheriff that was in charge of this investigation.

“Sheriff. Special agent Taggart.” Sam introduced himself to the older man before directing his arm to Dean and then you. “This is my partner special agent Rosewood and special agent Crane.”

“FBI? You guys are quick.” The sheriff said. It seemed he was expecting the feds at a later date in this investigation, you were a little surprised that you were here so soon as well. You had arrived in Michigan late into the evening and got a few hours of sleep before Sam suggested on getting to the crime scene before any sort of possible readings could be tampered with. “Haven’t even got the body out.”

"Well, the FBI is all work, no play." Dean jokingly said. You knew well enough that the man wasn’t making small talk with the sheriff when he looked over to his brother to give him a smile. It was more of a subtle petty jab. You refrained yourself from rolling your eyes at his childish behavior.

"You know, why don't you give me and agent Crane the tour while our partner looks around?" Sam suggested as he gestured an arm to you. “I like to think her and I work together best.”

"I work better on my own." Dean added.

"Your world, agents." The sheriff said, shrugging his shoulders as he turned around and started to head to the bedroom as he waved a hand for you and Sam to come along. "Follow me."

The three of you exchanged a silent exchange of words from a simple nod of the head. You and Sam followed behind the sheriff as Dean headed into the kitchen that was empty for now, giving him peace to scan the room for any sort of readings. You made your way into the bedroom where the victim had been found murdered in his own bed, all of what remained was an outline of a torso and head that were covered with a white bed sheet. You found yourself staring at the bloody marks left on the sheets of where his limbs used to be before they were ripped off by some unknown force. You knew it had to be psychically impossible for someone to rip off a human limb with some rope and willpower alone. Even if a handful of people were involved in this crime. But there wasn’t much evidence to show that there was anyone at all.

“Vic’s name was Ed Nelson, thirty-one years old, an insurance-claim adjuster.” The sheriff began informing you of the basics on the victim. You continued to look around the room to see there was blood splatter all over the walls. This poor bastard died brutal and bloody. “He lived alone, which was a real shocker, considering his place is full of toys.”  

“So what happened?” You asked the sheriff.

“No sign of forced entry. Near as we can tell, he was tied up and pulled apart. Died of the shock or massive blood loss.” The sheriff said. You could only hope the death of the victim was quick and painless, but the sight of the bedroom and all of his splattered blood made you guess he felt his limbs being ripped out from the socket and skin ripping from his body...you stopped yourself from thinking too much about it, shuddering in disturbance. “Dealer's choice on that one."

“So what about these chains?” Sam wondered as he looked down at the duffel bag lying zipped open with all sorts of clothes still inside, making it look like the victim had just come back from a trip and didn't bother unpacking just yet. You peered closer to see there appeared to be just that, and it looked oddly familiar to you, making you wonder why the victim had some lying around.

“That’s actually chain mail.” The sheriff corrected the younger Winchester. You found yourself giving the sheriff a slightly surprised look as to why your victim, had some medieval hardware packed with his everyday clothing. You got a shrug and a smile from the sheriff. “We did find clear rope-burn marks on his wrists and ankles.”

Sam decided to head over to the victim to see if he might be able to find something that could explain what happened. You followed behind him as he crouched down to the ground to examine the left arm. Lifting up the blanket covering the limb, you hovered over Sam's shoulder to see if there was anything suspicious. And you sure did. You found what appeared to be a mark on the forearm that looked to be an old tree. It could have been a tattoo, but your gut was telling you otherwise when you and Sam made eye contact, both of you presuming it might have meant something more than just some ink.

“So, anything...missing from the body?” Sam asked the sheriff as pushed himself up to his feet.

“You mean aside from the arms and legs? Uh...nope.” He said, chuckling at the man’s odd sounding question “All there—twig and berries, too.”

"What about the neighbors?" Sam continued. "Did they hear anything weird?"

“Uh, neighbor downstairs said she got woke up in the middle of the night by the sound of horses stomping their feet and galloping. We didn’t find any hoof prints. She probably heard a TV or was having a bad dream or she was high as balls. Fortunately, we got a real lead off his cellphone.” The sheriff said, heading out of the bedroom and to the living room area that was just a few steps out of the room. "According to the phone records, Ed's last call was from a guy called Lance Jacobsen. An accountant, also thirties, also lives alone."

Your focus was momentarily cut away from the sheriff for a moment when you saw Dean stepping out of the kitchen. You gave him a subtle look, wondering if he might have found anything useful, but the shaking of his head told you otherwise. You let out sigh and directed your attention back to the older man to ask, "How's he a lead?"

“The two of them talked together for fifteen minutes, and then Lance sent Ex here all kinds of angry texts. Some of them were your typical threat stuff, but some were a little weird.” The sheriff said. Dean wondered what he meant by weird. The sheriff looked down at his notepad for reference and flipped through the pages to find the exact words. “Like, uh…’You small bleed for your crimes against us,’ followed by an emoticon of a skull. And this beauty—’I am a mage. I will destroy you.’”

“Huh.” You mumbled underneath your breath in curiosity from the texts that did sound like they were threatening, but in a context that was a bit odd. “Maybe they were…” Your eyes wandered around the apartment once more as you looked around at the vast array of collectibles from all sorts of sci-fi and fantasy genres. “Talking in a language they could understand.”

“These kids today with their texting and murder.” The sheriff replied. He had to be in his sixties at least from the graying hair and beard, a little too out of touch with what people he would call his grandkids and what they liked to do in their free time. You offered up a polite smile, not exactly sure where he was going with that sentence. "My men just brought Lance into the station for questioning.”

“Well, we’re gonna need to take first crack at the suspect.” Sam said.

“Like I said, agent,” The sheriff repeated what he said once before. “it’s your world.”

The sheriff seemed compliant with whatever you and the boys would need long as you kept up pretending you were FBI and here to help solve the case. Sure, you would have loved to spend a few days relaxing and doing something fun, even though a few of Dean’s suggested activists you couldn’t participate fully in. It was having the three of you back together and enjoying one another’s company was what you really missed. Working a case and finding out what could have ripped a man's limbs off wasn't a bad way to spend your time, either. Long as you and the boys were back together without bickering, you would consider yourself having fun.

+ + +

The drive to the police station wasn't too far from Ed Nelson's apartment, making it a few minute drive before you were heading inside the familiar setting you've seen dozens of times before. When you were pretending to be a federal agent and the rare occasions when you getting in trouble for doing said thing. You and Sam were ready to find out which interrogation room the suspect was being held in, Dean insisted that he needed one more cup of coffee before grilling someone.

While Sam waited around for his brother to fix himself up the drink in a paper cup he found along with creamer and sugar, Dean offered to make you a cup. You agreed to have a hot drink, but changed out the coffee for a cup of decaffeinated tea—one sugar packet and just enough creamer to change the tea into a slightly cloudy color. The creamer had to go first, and then the sugar. Your instructions were a bit odd, that’s what you expected was the reason why Dean was giving you a funny sort of look.

"What's with you lately?" Dean couldn't help himself but ask when he followed your directions to the T and handed over the warm to the touch cup to you. You furrowed your brow slightly as you brought up the paper cup to your lips, feeling the steam tickle your top lip as you blew on the liquid to cool it down. "Normally you’d kill for a cup of coffee. But you haven’t touched the stuff in weeks.”

You felt yourself freezing in your spot from the observation that Dean made about you that you hoped would go unnoticed, or presume it was a reason that wasn't worth mentioning. But you should have known better. Dean was trained in this sort of lifestyle to pick up the small cues that made you...well, you. You managed to keep your cool as Dean stared at you, his eyebrow raising slightly at why you were taking so long to answer. Suddenly you could feel the words "He knows" screaming in the back of your head. You heard of pregnant women getting frazzled and confused while they were carrying, and it seemed you caught the "pregnancy brain" early.

“That’s cause, uh...” Sam jumped into the conversation when he noticed you were starting to look a bit nervous as the seconds started to pass while you tried to think of a good enough of a lie to steer the topic into another direction. Dean gave his brother a slightly confused look as to why he was answering for you. “Y/N told me she hasn’t been feeling well lately. Thought it might have something to do with the drinking and caffeine. I suggested she cut it out for a while to see if she might feel better. You said that Y/F/N wasn’t much of a drinker, right?” "Yeah, I did, actually." You agreed with the white little lie that sounded good in your mind. Sam was smooth at being able to come up with a story right then and there, evening going for the person you were pretending to be to try and cover up any past behavior that might have been suspicious. Dean seemed satisfied with what you fed him as he walked off to throw away the sugar packets and creamer. You let out a sigh of relief as you looked up at the younger man who was now standing next to you. "You know, you’re pretty good at this whole lying thing.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders at the ability to come up with a story in the matter of seconds. What can I say? I've been doing it my whole life. And it’s not the first time I’ve lied to Dean about something…”

“Oh, Sammy. Come on. We talked about this. Try not to bring your gloom while we’re working.” You said, knowing well enough the conversation he was mentioning without even having to speak a single word. You lightly hit him on the chest as you began walking off to the interrogation room with your cup in hand. You looked over your shoulder as you grew a smile and gestured with your free hand for him to grow one of his own. “We’re supposed to be having fun, remember?”

Sam rolled his eyes at your attempt at humor as he followed behind you into the interrogation room where your suspect was waiting since the cops picked him up about an hour ago. You set down your cup as you stood over the metal chair that was directly across from the suspect’s, giving you a chance to greet the man with a friendly smile. He looked up from his folded hands on the table to give you a nervous expression at the sight of not one, but three authority figures here to question him about the death of who he would call soon a friend, despite the texts that landed him here in the first place.

“Lance Jacobson? We’re with the FBI.” Sam was the one who introduced you to the man as he took the seat right next to him as Dean took the one next to you. All of you sat down and got yourselves comfortable for the routine questions you were about to ask him.

“The FBI?” Lance asked. He sounded surprised from his tone of voice at everything happening this morning. Too fast for his brain to comprehend the events all in a row. It would be stressful for anyone in his position. You gave him a moment to process why you were here as you attempted to take a sip of your tea. “I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe Ed's dead.”

You found yourself momentarily stopping yourself from doing nothing when you saw Lance burst into tears as he let out a few hiccuping sobs. A natural reaction for someone who was coming to terms with the death of their best friend. You furrowed your brow slightly as you looked over at Sam, both of you wondering if Lance was a really good actor. Or he was truly mourning the loss of a good friend in front of your very eyes. You furrowed your brow slightly in disturbance as you looked over at Sam who sat next to him, wondering if this was really happening. Not that there was anything wrong with a man crying about his pain, for some reason, you were starting to feel awkward, unsure if you should console him.

“Lance? Lance, just—just breathe.” Dean spoke up, trying to be the one to get the man to focus again for a few minutes so the three of you could ask your questions and head out to continue on with what you needed. Lance managed to compose himself for a few seconds as he lifted his head up to stare at the older Winchester. “Just breathe. You’re fine.”

Lance managed to keep himself together for all of two seconds before he started sobbing again. You took a sip of your drink as you watched the man go through himself at letting out a few more tears before someone tried again to get him back down to reality. "We just need to ask you a few questions." Sam told the man, reassuring him that it wasn't a serious matter quite yet. "Try to calm down."

“We want to know about the texts you sent Ed last night.” You explained to him, watching as he wiped away his tears and half-attempted to compose himself.

“I told them when they brought me in those texts weren’t from me.” Lance said.

You narrowed your eyes slightly as you gave him an expression to show him you weren’t falling for such a weak attempt at his lie. “Well, your phone and Ed’s phone say otherwise.”

"No, I mean, they were from me, but they weren't from me me." Lance attempted to clear up the situation with an explanation to you and the boys that sounded justified in his head. However you found yourself staring at the man across from you with a blank expression. You would admit that you were a little more slower at thinking from the lack of caffeine to kick start your brain. But you had no clue what the hell Lance just said, and what he meant by anything.

“Did you really think that sentence was gonna clear things up?” You asked him.

“I’m sorry. This is all a big misunderstanding. Those text messages were from Greyfox the Mystic to Thargrim the Difficult. Our characters in Moondoor.” Lance attempted one more time to explain himself by giving more details and names that sounded like something straight of a fantasy novel. You found yourself staring into the distance as you tried to think if you had read anything with the names in them while Dean stared at the man with a blank expression, having not a single clue where this was going. "Moondoor is a game that Ed and I play. We're LARPers. Live-action role-playing?"

"Right. LARPing." Dean said, nodding his head. He offered a smile to Lance to show him that he understood all of that part. Good times."

“We play Moondoor every other weekend at Heritage park.” Lance said. “All the info about it is on our website.”

"You guys have a website." You repeated after the man, pretending to sound impressed.

"Yeah, one of the players designed it." Lance said. You were feeling yourself becoming overrun with the urge to start laughing at the man for what he liked to do in his free time. Not that you weren't a stranger by indulging things into things nerdy and what not, you managed to hide your smile as you reached for your cup of tea again. You and Dean looked at each other from the corner of your eye as you exchanged a slight snicker, Sam flashed you a warning glare to knock it off. “In fact, if you log onto the site, they should have posted pictures from last night’s feast. I was there all night.”

“What does any of this have to do with the texts?” Sam asked the man.

"I play a character named Greyfox the Mystic. I'm a very, very powerful mage in the game.” The details Lance gave didn’t clear anything up on what that had to do with anything. You raised your brow slightly as you pretended to be impressed by his alter ego he liked to play as before telling him to continue on. “Ed is…” Lance started to talk about his friend, but he found himself letting out a sigh as he corrected himself. “Ed was Thargrim the Difficult of the Elder Forest, son of Hargim and Bouphin, brother to—” While Lance was going on about the details, he found himself being lost in translation from the familiar blank expressions. "He was Lancelot to my Merlin."

“Ah.” Dean mumbled, finally beginning to understand some of the context of the situation. “Well, if you guys were so tight, then why the threatening messages?”

“We were named to the queen’s honor guard in anticipation of the battles of kingdoms this weekend. I thought he broke protocol, so I called Ed after game hours and accused him of cheating, and then I challenged him to a duel.” Lance said. Sam repeated after the man, wondering himself if he heard the last word correctly. “Wands and swords at dawn.”

"Now, just out of curiosity," You entertained the subject matter as you traced the rim of your paper cup. "When you say 'wands,' do you mean magic wands?"

"No. Un-magic wands, agent. Because what I really want in a duel is an un-magic wand." Lance sarcastically answered your question. You give him a look to show him you were being serious. In this line of work you learned to take everyone's word with a grain of salt. "Yes! Fake wands! It's a game!" You rolled your eyes from his response as you grabbed your cup up from the table to take another long sip of it to try and finish it. Lance thought it was the perfect time to continue on with his mourning that you had momentarily stopped. This time with an extra touch. "I can't believe it. Oh, ye gods! Thagrim the Difficult has fallen!”

Lance tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling for a second, Dean found himself following the man's gaze, wondering if there was something around that he couldn't see. The man burst into tears once more as he started to sob once again. You blinked as you watched him go through himself, not sure what you could do to make him...stop. You decided your time was done here and got up from your seat. However you couldn't leave him just yet crying like this. You awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, telling him that everything was going to be okay.

You and the boys headed out so Lance could grieve in privacy, what there was from the two way mirror and the security cameras. But you had good a feeling that wasn’t going to be much of a problem for him. You let out a sigh when you were finally back into the main area of the police station. Sam shut the door behind him as the three of you tried to make sense of what just went down.

"So?" Sam asked the both of you. "Do you believe Dungeons and Dragons?"

"I've seen a lot of people cry in my time from my time growing up and hunting. Those weren't crocodile tears, guys." You said. "That's not our guy.”

“So what are we looking at?” Sam wondered.

“You and Y/N saw the chain mail.” Dean said. “This could be ‘Fifty Shades of Grey Fox’ for all we know.”

“All right, well, let’s check out the Moondoor site,” Sam suggested. “see if Lance’s story checks out.”

You and the boys headed to the nearest available computer to see what you could find out in the quick search that it would take. You sat yourself down at the computer and pulled up a new internet browser. It took only a few seconds before you were at their homepage that looked pretty impressive and well put together. "'Welcome to Moondoor, Michigan's largest LARPing game.'"

“And here I thought we needed to get out more.” Dean muttered underneath his breath. His remark made you let out a quiet chuckle as you clicked on the photo gallery to see what you might be able to find and what this whole thing was all about.

You pulled up the pictures that must have been posted this morning. A slideshow of what appeared to be Lance in his costume seemed nothing more than some Renaissance fair. He seemed like he was having the time of his life with a grin on his face and women crowding around him. Part of you felt like this was something that from the outside looked like it was only for the type of people who occupied their parents' basements as teenagers playing their games of Dungeons and Dragons and watched Star Wars religiously. The people who found a safe haven in a fantasy world while in reality they were being shoved into lockers and teased for what they liked.

You would consider yourself a bit of a nerd. You enjoyed reading at every possible second you could get and prided yourself on the knowledge you worked hard on to discover, along with many other talents that were a bit useful while hunting. But you never quite had the problem of being labeled as a nerd. Sure, Dean had muttered the insult here and there, but you knew deep down he was one himself. It seemed his curiosity was peaked at what he saw. And you knew it wasn't because he saw Lance being kissed by two different women on the cheek, showering him with affection.

“Huh.” Dean mumbled, pretending to be only half-interested. “It actually looks kind of awesome.”

Sam gave his brother a look from the corner of his eye as you let out yet another quiet chuckle. "All right, there's a video." You said, pushing the mouse over to click on it. "Let's see what this is all about."

"Moondoor. A world of intrigue, honor, passion." You dropped your hand to the desk as you watched the video begin by opening up to a man who was dressed in a replica outfit that almost one like a knight before leading to a few shots of all sorts of people dressed in costumes, along with a blacksmith. You raised your brow slightly as the narrator continued on introducing the groups of people. "Four kingdoms—Followers of the Moon, Elves, Warriors of Yesteryear, and the dreaded Shadow Orcs. All will fight on the fields of Never in the biannual battle of kingdoms. PIck up a sword or a mace. Take control of Moondoor and defend the current ruler…”

The video played on with shots of the fake kingdoms of people and their respected outfits that differentiate them from others. And like every good kingdom needed a queen. You watched as the video cut to what appeared to be a knight handing a bouquet of flowers to a woman dressed in her respected crown and throne. You silently thought to yourself about how pretty her dress was, however your gaze was quickly shifted from her outfit and to the actual woman on the screen.

“Wait, is that…” Dean found himself taken back at a face that seemed all too familiar.

You watched as the shot of the woman zoomed in closer, giving a shot of the redhead as she smelled the bouquet of white flowers and stared into the lens, giving him a smile. “The Queen of the Moons.”

You hit the spacebar on the keyboard, stopping the video from playing anymore. With the video paused on the queen's face, you looked over your shoulder and pointed a finger at the screen, suddenly overcome with curiosity how they had met this woman before. And you had a feeling there was a good story behind this. "You know her?"

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[dreamingofketchup]

ash & dust

Merry Christmas to the amazing @ghost-kaiju!! I’m your secret santa! I hope you’ll enjoy this fic and the rest of the holidays! (and hopefully this will be uploaded to ao3 soon if I actually figure out how that site works haha)

I picked your first prompt: Kakuzu and Hidan: tag team of hitmen/assassins in modern AU (art or fic)

The Organization gathered the best hitmen from all around the world, masters of deception and assassination; freaks and outcasts and terrifyingly strong. Their methods are not the cleanest – but they always get the job done.

Kakuzu was considered a veteran among the members. No one really knew where he came from; they wasn't even sure Kakuzu was his real name and not many could claim that they had ever seen his face. There were only two things they were sure about: he would do anything for the right amount of money and he never fails a mission.

And his latest partner (Kakuzu preferred not to talk about what happened to the ones before him), Hidan, was also a peculiar one. A runaway kid who started out from the drug business in one of the gangs in the other side of the country and who soon gained fame when he – all alone in a summer afternoon (almost a year ago by now), wielding only his knife and a gun - murdered the head of the rival gang. And survived. That was when the Boss took interest in him and offered Hidan a place in the Organization. He refused at first. Then he refused again. Only when he realized – almost too late – how many people were after him (after the disgustingly high bounty on his head) did he accept the offer of the Akatsuki. No one really understood why didn't the Boss just hand him over for the money.

Together they were unstoppable. Hidan might not have been the most discreet one around – but he sure as hell enjoyed his job. Too loudly usually, lord, he just wouldn't shut up for a moment - but he was not afraid to get his hands dirty. Kakuzu was sure he would successfully finish a mission even if he got both his arms blown off. That brat was a fucking mess.

Kakuzu had to admit that Hidan, despite being the insufferable little bitch he usually was, complemented him quite well. The way he killed was ruthless and painful, but he was honest; he never killed from behind. He always told his victims what he's there for; sometimes they fled, some tried and fought back. Every now and then Kakuzu would watch him fight through the scope of his rifle, the fire in Hidan's eyes (he never bothered to ask about the unnatural eye colour; that was the least weird thing about Hidan), his rapid movements full of pure strength and brutality. He was anything but majestic, a demon incarnate, ugly and loud and ecstatic. It was so different from Kakuzu's cold and habitual professionalism; Hidan was alive when he was playing with death.

And nowadays there was something else in the way Hidan fought. A month or two ago while digging through Kakuzu's book collection he found an old book (Kakuzu couldn't even remember seeing it; he hadn't the slightest idea how it got there.) about an ancient, long forgotten religion, built on violence, pain and human sacrifice. It was practiced thousands of years ago, but Hidan claimed there were still people who called themselves the followers of the vengeful and bloodthirsty Jashin. And he would pray before a mission, holding onto some ugly handmade rosary. It was weird and disturbing, his devotion to this newly-found deity – and the prayers had the tendency to get annoyingly long. Kakuzu in exchange complained a lot about it, even though he understood him way too well; in this profession, in this life one needs such a fixation to avoid going insane.

---------

A few days ago the Boss called both of them to assign them a new mission; not a top one but better than nothing. All they had to do was to get rid of an enforcer and his posse from a Northern City gang. It wasn't unusual for the Organization to get involved in gang or mafia issues; the Boss could always dispatch someone who had affiliations with someone around. And this time it was Hidan. The target was part of a gang named Coppers who originated in Yugakure, Hidan's hometown, operating somewhere in the western blocks of the city. Hidan still had his sources (and the stupidity to actually accept the mission and go back) and Kakuzu decided not to ask too much.

The day of the mission arrived and it was time for him to leave now. Half past five; Hidan should be here already.

And as he left his flat, he could already spot the man leaning against his car on the sidewalk, eyes closed, rosary brought upon his chapped lips. He didn't pay attention even as he approached him. Kakuzu stood next to him in silence for almost a minute. Hidan knew that he was there. Kakuzu knew that he knew. The usual.

- Hey.

No answer. He tried again. Hidan didn't even bother.

- Couldn't you have done this at home? We should get going, idiot.

- Fuck off, I'm in the middle of something. - Hidan hummed, eyes still closed. They were going to be late.

- Can you really say “fuck” in a prayer?

- I'm praying for a good kill and you scold me for swearing? Nice.

- That's not what I meant. But could you just finish it in the car? - He threw their bags in the trunk of the car. He was starting to lose his patience.

- Whatever. I'm going to have to start again anyways, because someone interrupted me.

At that point Kakuzu decided not to say anything. He got in and reluctantly though, but Hidan crawled on the passenger seat too. He started his prayer again, and Kakuzu began driving. If there was one thing he was grateful about in Hidan's fucked up religion is that at least the prayers were silent. Mostly. After about twenty minutes of silence Hidan opened his eyes. He leaned back, stretching his arms.

- Finally that we got a fucking mission. It's really been a while.

- Yeah. - Kakuzu nodded.

- The Boss hates me I tell ya. That's why I hardly ever get any missions.

- Kakuzu decided to bite back his initial reply for this, and right before his silence could have been classified as awkward he could change the topic.

- So you know those guys?

- More or less. The Coppers were our buddies. They are real big on smuggling and whores, at least they were back then. Knew a chick there, always got her meth from me.

- Doesn't it feel weird, going back to them with this contract? - Kakuzu glanced over to his partner.

- Listen, they would've gladly shot me for a dime if things turned that way. And in fact, things did fucking turn that way so I don't give a shit.

- Fair enough.

Hidan sighed and rested his head against the window. They were sitting in silence for minutes. The sky was dark; tiny yellow dots indicated the neighbouring towns on the horizon.

- I wonder how things go up there nowadays.

- You miss them?

- You could say. I dunno. These kinds of people were my family for so long. As close as it can get with such people I mean, we just didn't hate each other as much. Better than nothing.

- Crime brings people together. - Kakuzu nodded.

- Yeah. Hard times but I liked it there.

- Would you like to go back?

- I couldn't, even if I wanted to. - he started fiddling with his rosary, staring out of the window blankly - And I really don't get why they turned on me. I did what they wanted, damnit.

- Trust me, I know the feeling. - Kakuzu sighed. His markings would not let him forget that even if he wanted to. – But my bet's on the money.

- Yeah, of course, I know, money's the most important thing, it makes the world go round and it's the only thing that matters, yeah, yeah. - Hidan groaned, his words soaked in the purest sarcasm.

Kakuzu didn't respond to his obvious bait, being lost deep in his thoughts. Maybe they really weren't that different after all; no wonder Hidan chose to get pulled into this disturbing borderline fanatism he calls religion. He had to keep his thoughts occupied with something. Yes, he knew this too well.

- We're almost there. - Hidan's voice pulled him back from his thoughts.

They soon reached Yugakure. It was already dark, old street lamps and buzzing neons guiding them through the streets. They parked down a few streets further; as they got out Kakuzu pulled up his hood and adjusted his vest, looking around the street. To put it mildly, it was ugly and worn; so many of the buildings in ruins, and those that were intact were covered in graffiti and piss. Nobody cared to clean the trash from the street. Hidan started talking, as if he noticed the way Kakuzu stared.

- You know, for so long this hellhole had the reputation of being the nicest, cleanest place up in the North. Really. Then about, let's say, ten years ago... - he was visibly struggling to find the right words. He touched the rosary hanging on his neck - shit happened. Man, I was a snotty lil kid but I still remember the riots. Half the city was in flames. Everything went downhills since and nobody fucking cares.

- I remember hearing it in the news once, yes.

- So yeah, that's fucking it. Welcome to Yu' I guess.

- Great. - Kakuzu sighed - Let's get going.

The streets were empty. On one balcony Kakuzu saw two girls smoking, but that's all he could say about the life he saw in the city so far. Even the street of the bar was relatively empty, a few drunk people leaning by the walls, smoking god knows what and talking about matters he was sure he should be grateful he didn't hear. He was eyeing a taller building across the bar; that roof would be just good. He pulled up his scarf higher on his face.

- Let's get to it. Find a good place. And take care.

- Fine. - Hidan waved and turned around; he decided it was time for him to cover his face too.

Kakuzu picked up his bag and took his way to the rooftop. The old exit ladder was painfully creaky, threatening to fall apart with every step. Hidan was waiting in the alley a few meters away from the bar. Kakuzu could see his lanky figure clear from the rooftop, as the blinking neon painted him in a different color with every blink. There was that particular shade of red which suited him so well. But the green wasn't bad either.

The Target should be coming out soon. He put his rifle together and waited. Every now and then a group of drunk people would come out but none fitted the description and the photographs. He was sure Hidan was already at the end of his patience.

Not an hour passed when another group of men came out. Five of them; ragged clothes, greasy hair and already shitfaced enough that none of them could walk straight. He recognized the man from the photograph, walking behind the others. He had a bottle in hand but he really looked like he would simply pass out if he had one more sip. Kakuzu leaned closer to the edge of the rooftop and waited a few seconds. One of the men looked up. Too late.

- Get ready. - Kakuzu said into his headset. He pulled the trigger.

These long seconds never failed to send chills down his spine; the shock, the gasps, the despair – the body falling on the ground, confused shouting, the disguised fear in their eyes that they will be the next, that they should try and reach for their gun---

But they can only fail.

He saw Hidan walk towards the confused group, hands tucked in his pocket. That shit-eating grin on his face would have been a reason enough for those guys to pull a weapon on him.

- What- what the fuck is happening? - a surprisingly sober voice could be heard from the small group.

- Vulture's back bitch, that's what's happening. - Hidan grinned, gun already in his hand; he looked into his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

But that boy was fast, the bullet only grazed his scalp as he jumped away. He pulled out his gun – but he didn't have the chance to use it as a bullet came flying from the left, hitting the gun out of his hand. The next bullet went for the spine. The boy fell on the ground with a heavy thud, dust flying in the air around him.

- I could've dealt with him alone! - Hidan shouted angrily; Kakuzu just smiled and reloaded. He was sure of that.

But Hidan didn't have time to be angry as another guy rushed at him, flinging a knife around wildly. Hidan was laughing loudly. He could avoid the cuts easily; the combination of alcohol and adrenaline is good for bloodthirst but not for coordination. Hidan was still having his fun nevertheless; next thing Kakuzu heard was him shooting that drunk bastard on the knee before starting to beat him up.

The gunshots didn't seem to faze the citizens and neither did the wailing of that man; Kakuzu expected turmoil and police sirens, people to be barging out of the bar to see what's happening. But nothing. The silence, save for that drunkard's screams, was disturbing – what kind of people are these, what the hell's going on, is this a trap?-, but it only made their job easier. Hidan kept on punching the guy until his face was all dark and unrecognizable – when did he put on those brass knuckles – and he kept on rambling about how he will be a fine sacrifice, he has been chosen, Jashin will appreciate him. Kakuzu sighed and looked away and tried not to listen to the rest of this speech.

There were two people left when Hidan started fighting with this one but it seems they have run away; so there are still sensible people left in this city. He wondered if they would alert anyone and he could only hope Hidan would finish his fascinating brutality soon. He started packing his stuff.

Then the body fell on the ground lifeless. Kakuzu got his bag and climbed down the ladder, rifle in his hand. Just in case. He found Hidan standing by his building, kissing his rosary yet again. Lord, they'll be caught if he starts praying here. But he was lucky, Hidan opened his eyes right as he got off the ladder.

- Man, this was too quick. They were no match. - Hidan walked up to him, wiping his hands in his once-white shirt.

- Can anyone be?

Hidan laughed out loud; his voice echoed from the dirty walls. Somewhere in the distance a dog started barking.

- But Vulture? Really? That's the lamest name I've ever heard. - Kakuzu continued.

- Fuck off. Whose prison name was Stitches anyways?

- Wow, you actually remembered something I told you?

- I was just guessing.

The streets were empty as they left. Nobody followed them, they couldn't even hear any sirens, nothing. They got to the car in safety, which Kakuzu carefully checked before getting in. Nothing. Again.

- This place is fucking weird. - Kakuzu sighed as they got in the car.

- Told ya. - Hidan laughed.

- This wasn't exactly a subtle attack and no one cared. You were there and no one fucking cared. I prepared for a bounty hunter or two, and nothing, not even the police came. Not that I mind.

-Yeah. Well, everyone is so invested in their own bullshittery that they just don't give a fuck about others.

- So I guess you are only an urban legend now at best.

- Most likely. Fuckin' great.

- I see. You want one? - he asked as he pulled out a cigarette packet out of his pocket. Hidan held his hand out immediately.

- What kinda fucking question is that?

Hidan put the cigarette between his teeth and with a smirk he leaned closer to light it with the end of Kakuzu's.

- That's pretty much the least practical way to light a cigarette. - Kakuzu rolled his eyes, but his light grin betrayed him.

- Oh shut up, you know you find it hot. - Hidan laughed, blowing out the smoke.

- You are hopeless.

And they left the city. Mission accomplished.

[jokers-sweethearts]

Jokers Daughter Imagine: Harleen

Request: @fanboyswhereare-you And for the Joker one, maybe he had a kid from another relationship and her and Harley have trouble getting along? Sorry if it's long, Is rather have one long one than spamming you ask box lmao.

/////

The storm raged over the parking lot as you sat in the car looking up at Arkham Asylum trying to work up the courage to go in. N matter how many times you did this, and at this point it was probably in the hundreds, it never got any easier. Being away from your father knowing he was locked up in here was bad enough but then going in and not even being able to feel his arms wrapped around you was worse. 

You grabbed the umbrella and took a deep breath before opening up the car door and venturing into the wild. You had your id, fake of course, and purse ready to be examined knowing the routine like the back of your hand. As you walked in the guards gave you the same dirty look they always did, raising an eyebrow to why a girl your age would keep coming to visit the Joker day in and day out. Little did they know and you just wanted to scream it at them sometimes.

Being escorted to the private room to see your father was always annoying, as if you didn’t know the way, but what helped was that on the way there all the madmen and criminals of Gotham gathered at their cage bars to see you. Unlike the guards they had dwelled deep within Gotham’s underworld and knew exactly who you were. They wanted a glimpse of the daughter of the Joker every day.

When you got the the door you knew your father was behind you were able to relax a little bit. The guard unlocked it and put a hand on your back to push you in, not wanting to keep the door open for long. He closed it and locked it loudly behind you. Your father was sat feet chained to the ground and arms locked in a straight jacket. His head shot up and eyes lit when he saw you standing there.

Joker wanted to trip out of the restraints and run over and pick up his daughter and spin her around. He wanted to hold her and run his fingers through her hair and get out of this hellhole. It took everything in him not to break his own bones to slither out of the jacket. 

You ran over to him smiling and jumped on his lap to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close to you. You felt him rest his cheek on your shoulder and the struggle his arms were having to return the hug. It was bittersweet to know he couldn’t touch you but he wanted to.

“I missed you so much princess” he said in a deep and tired voice.

“Don’t be like that it’s only been a day” you said getting up and moving to the chair on the opposite side of the table.

Joker laughed, it felt good to smile genuinely instead of doing to intimidate the guards and being on the receiving end of the joke, it was like a heroin rush to him. He leaned across the table to be tentative to his girl.

“How is it in here daddy?” you whispered so the guards wouldn’t hear you addressing him as your father “Are they being horrible to you?”

Joker sighed flattered that his daughter worried about him, “No baby I’m okay. In fact...” he hesitated to say what was on the tip of his tongue while he let a malicious smile cover his face. Whatever he was thinking about pleased him. 

“In fact....” you said in a playful, mocking tone leaning forward to match his stance.

“Someone in here” he lingered on each word “has made it very tolerable” he continued to smile and closed his eyes rocking his head back and forth like a happy child.

You gave him a confused look not understanding what he meant. ‘Someone’ you thought to yourself, you thought you were the one that made him happy, made being in this place easier. You felt a strange sensation build up in your chest.

Joker saw his daughter not grasping the concept completely. He ran his tongue over his metal teeth pondering what to say.

“The psychiatrist they assigned to help me. Turns out she’s quite the looney tune herself” Joker cackled so loudly you knew it was going to send shivers down the spine of the guards.

“So what?” you said aggressively. When you heard that it was a she, you knew what that meant. It hurt. “Now that you got her you don’t need me?” your shoulders rose with tension and you leaned back in your seat.

Jokers upper lip quivered like a wild tiger snarling at it’s young. “Don’t talk to me like that” he said matching your aggression.

You looked down at your feet crossing your arms, letting him know his you couldn’t say what you felt you were going to show it. Joker hated seeing you closed off to him, that was the last thing the two of you needed while he was locked up in there. It meant he couldn’t swipe you off your feet with flowers and kisses and make you forgive him. 

“I know you inherited some of my crazy baby, but that is just insanity. I need you more than anything” he said in a softer voice.

“Then what’s the use of this doctor?” 

“oh princess princess princess.... you know daddy would do anything to get back to you huh?” he said and his condescending tone bothered you, but his words were exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Yes” you looked up at him giving him wide eyes and a pout knowing he could never resist those.

“Well I’m doing anything. I need help from the inside to get out of here, right?” he didn’t give you time to answer before he continued. “Just some more time with the doctor, and she will give me all I need to come home to you”.

Joker saw his daughters eyes wander around the room contemplating what to say, he knew it was a lot, but what he said would go no matter what you said. That’s how it worked and that’s how he liked it. He didn’t like to see you upset, but he was convinced he knew best for you.. and everyone and everything for that matter.

After a few moments of silence you looked him deep in the eyes, “Promise?” 

Joker bowed his head before you with strands of green hair falling down, “Promise”.

But there was still something burning in your chest that you had to soothe, “And promise you’re just using her and you’ll forget about her when you get out?” you asked your father with hungry eyes.

Joker lifted his head up to match you. His face went serious, like you had never seen it before. There was a slight twitch of his eyelid before he closed his eyes for longer than usual. 

“Promise” he said not taking his eyes off you, there was something unnerving about it but you let it slide because you were curious and had more questions.

“So what’s her name?”  you asked and saw your fathers eyes jolt to the side of his head to look at something behind you. 

You heard the doors unlock and turned around to see a blonde woman walk in. Glasses and files all ready, that must be her. 

“Ahh Dr. Harleen Quinzel.....” he slithered her name off his tongue like a snake. Giving you your answer. “You’re early”.

When Harleen saw you sitting before her she became equally fascinated and intimidated. She had just laid eyes on you for the first time but she already felt the love she had for your father. She approached you reaching her hand out for a shake, like the three of you were normal citizens.

“Ms Quinzel please meet-”

“(y/n)” Harleen cut Joker off, her liberalness with that made you uneasy. “Your father has told me so much about you” she grabbed your hand from your side when you didn’t raise it and started shaking it. Like she was a crazy fan meeting their favorite rock star.

You turned around and gave your father an angry glare, asking with your eyes why he was talking about you. He raised his non existent eyebrows and mouthed the words ‘i love you’. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Harleen and ripped your hand out of hers.

“We’re in the middle of talking” you said coldly.

“I was hoping I could join the two of you so we could... “ she bit her bottom lip and you couldn’t tell if he was excited to say the next word or scared. “...get to know each other!”

Just her asking that, feeling that she was in a position to ask that, made your skin crawl. You turned back to find your father just as eager for a response as Harleen was. You scoffed to the disappointment of both of them.

“I think I should just be leaving”. you said marching towards the door and knocking on it to let the guard know you were ready to get out. You heard the chains on your fathers feet rattle as he tried to get up calling your name but you didn’t stop. 

You marched towards the front entrance faster than the guard did. Usually there were tears streaming down your face and barely being able to pull yourself away. You grabbed your purse and id from the front desk and basically ran back to your car. You weren’t jealous, you were too mad to be jealous, that would come later at home.  You wanted to get into your car and drive off and forget that it happened but the other part of you, the more malicious part wanted to wait. To attack her when she came out, find her car and follow her home to burn her place down, but more than anything you just had a few words for her. Words that would hopefully but the fire in her eyes right out.

You wound up waiting hours and hours until nightfall. Watching all the employees waiting until the blonde doctor finally emerged with a skip in her step. You kept close to the shadows avoiding the parking lot lights until you saw her at her car. 

“Hey” you said in the most intimidating voice you could muster, expecting to startle her but she didn’t even flinch. She turned around and giggled at you which was infuriating. 

“Oh sweetheart you can’t scare me!” she said like the two of you were old friends.

“I’m not your sweetheart”.

“Oh but you are your daddy’s. And your daddy is very important to me” she spoke with such ease you didn’t know what to make of it all. “I hope that one day we can get along. I don’t plan to ever leave your father. “ she reached up to try and touch you but you stepped away, watching your plan unfold. “and I never want to leave you. I want to love you like my own. Anything that your father loves I welcome to my life”.

Something other than anger started to boil in you. She could never understand. Your father was all you had. No mother no nothing. he was always there and you were always his girl. The thought of even being replaced or a part of your father not being yours anymore hurt like hell. You didn’t want a new mother, you didn’t want your world to change, you just wanted your dad back home and everything back to normal. Before Harleen ever got there.

“Listen blondie” you poked her chest with your finger in a playful manner before in an instant taking both hands and pushing her back against her car “I’m not your daughter. I never will be. Stay away from my family. He’s not capable of loving you. He never will. He only loves himself and I a a part of him. It’s just the two of us got that?” you didn’t even wait for her to respond before you speed walked back to your car through all the shadows you came from. 

You just wanted to get home and curl up in your fathers bed and pretend like it didn’t feel as though your world was falling apart. You couldn’t deny that the idea of having a mother, a completed family like all those normal people was intoxicating. But no one could ever appreciate your father. No one could ever give the loyalty and love he needed. 

As the days dragged on and your father returned as he always did from his stints at Arkham, you could relax and be happy thing were back just as he left them. It was the two of you out in the world again and nothing could stop you. Joker realized how much himself and his daughter needed bonding time, so he did what he always did when things were tense. He got the purple lamborghini out and took her for a drive at night. They didn’t need to say anything to each other, just being with each other on the road was enough.

Just as he was about to lean over and kiss your forehead you were both taken a back by a roaring sound behind the car. You turned around to see out the back window and Joker adjusted the rear view to see. You couldn’t believe what was fast approaching. It was the doctor. Harleen. You turned around to face front with your jaw dropped.

“daddy?” you said and he knww you were going to be furious with him. “What the hell is she doing?”

“Princess I...”

“NO I mean what is she doing? You told me no you promised me we could forget”

“Hey I didn’t ask the chick to track us down did i?” Joker said laughing to try and calm you down.

“I don’t know, I can’t trust what you say anymore can i?”

“Baby doll please don’t me like tha-”He was interrupted by the yelling outside of his window. Harleen was right next to the drivers side screaming at him to pull over. he tried to ignore she was there at all but he was having both sides of his head burned into from the two girls.

“okay baby you want the truth?” he aid in a voice that almost sound like an average joe “It was more than just therapy sessions in arkham”.

You didn’t know how to process what you were hearing. You didn’t think it was possible that the man you loved and confided in more than anyone, the only person, would lie to you like that You shouldn’t have blown it off in arkham when you knew something was wrong. Just as you were going to open your mouth to speak your father slammed on the breaks and threw his arm across you to keep you from bashing your head on the windshield. 

“Oh you pain in the ass” he said with a grin stretched over his face. It freaked you out, he was saying it in a playful manner like he was enjoying this. 

Harleen got off her motorcycle that she had crashed on the ground and started walking towards the car.

“Daddy can we please just go?” you begged with pain in your voice.

Joker turned off the ignition and turned to you but didn’t look at you. 

“baby listen. You are the center of my world and I love you. Love you so much you make me crazy. but....”

“you want a mother too” you blurted out remembering Harleens words about taking on that role.

“well not exactly I mean I think it’d be nice for you to have a mother Im fine without a mother I ha one before.. well... i think.. didn’t like it probably killed her I was thinking more aof a romantic thing for her and I and you can do the mother thing and -”

“DAD!” you screamed at him loud enough for the whole city to hear so he would start rambling, he always did that when he was nervous.  and he only got nervous when he thought he pissed you off. “”I dont care about having a mother I dont need one. But she can’t be loyal to you. How can she? She’s on the side with batman and the cops shes a doctor she will just manipulate you and-”

“Shhhh shhhh Joker put his finger up to your lips. Now you were the one acting neurotic with your thoughts, A trait you picked up from him.

“Baby she helped bring me back to you. “ joker was giving in to what he felt back in arkham.. He didn’t want to fight it. he liked it. ”if she didn’t care about you or me she would have kept me in there all to herself” he looked up and saw Harleen standing there waiting patiently.

You couldn’t deny the look in your fathers eyes. He was happy, a happiness you hadn’t seen before in him. A happiness a daughter couldn’t give a father, it was reserved for the other woman in his life. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, yes you were jealous he was giving his attention to someone else. But now on top of that you felt guilt. Guilt for trying to keep him away from the happiness he was basking in now. 

“try to think of it this way baby, you know how hard I am on the people you bring home to date? huh?” you took your face in both his hands and kissed your forehead.

“yeah?” you said understanding the comparison he was about to make. “I know what youre feeling but you always tell me that they cant take my place so think of it like this.” he pulled your face into his and tightened his grip to show how serious he was “no one” he growled “no one will take your palce.” you nodded through his grip and he released you taking a deep breath. “now let daddy have some fun and take care of this”.

You watched as your father stepped out of the car and approached her, you still wanted to rip her hair out but the look on her face was making you pity her even more. Maybe you werent giving your father enough credit. If she could convince a man like him to change his mind maybe you should give it a chance. 

You stepped out of the car and held onto the door for comfort, not approaching them. They both turned to you and Harleen began to walk  towards you ignoring jokers hand trying to stop her.

“(y/n) I really just want to”

“Shhh” you stopped her “I know blah blah love and all that” she stood there worried so you let out a tiny giggle to make her feel better. that small gesture had her over the moon and her face lit up with excitement.  “You really care about my father?”

She nodded yes unsure of if she should say anything, she finally let out a silent “Yes” before blinking rapidly an d saying it more loud and clear “yes”>”

“I want to believe you” Joker began walking over and placing a hand on Harleen’s back

“How do I prove it?” she said with determination, ready to do anything.

“The ultimate test. The oath.” you said looking over at your father.

The Joker smiled and couldn’t contain his cackling. He knew exactly what you were talking about and his laughter reassured you he agreed.

“Get in the car” he said.

Driving through gotham with the three of you in the car, your nerves were shot but you were fascinated by the looks your father and Harleen were giving each other. Was it right? Was it okay to be happy? You didn’t have answers to your questions but when you saw the reflection of the neon green letters on the windshield of the car, your heart began to bet normally again. You were about to find out is she could really love your father.. and you. The answer would change your life.