#Joker Out knew what they were doing by releasing it early

[izpira-se-zlato]

As heard on Val 202

[theodorecanaryhood]

The ticking time bomb

Jason Todd x male! Reader

Warnings: violence, homophobia, sex and swearing

Everyone has a story and not every story is the same, in fact some or most stories can be similar, but details are varied for every person.

In all honesty, anyone who says they grew up with the ‘perfect life’ is full of shit, at least that was Jason’s POV to that.

He grew up in a toxic home with his dad Willis Todd, his gun and drug dealer grandmother, Faye, Jason had no idea who his birth mother was until he was 14, to which by this point he was living on the streets.

Scared, helpless, alone and desperate to stay alive in Crime Alley, Jason attempted to steal the wheels off the Batmobile. Batman caught him though, but instead of grilling the young teen, Batman convinced Jason to go into care - also, highly convenient, Bruce Wayne just shows up and adopts Jason out of the blue.

Not too much time later, Jason is the second Robin. Angry at the world for his upbringing and problems, he becomes a little too much for himself. Getting captured and tortured, eventually murdered by the Joker.

Tragic, really tragic.

Jason came back a different person after his resurrection, even meaner and angrier than before. Which just played into Jason’s psychopathic tendencies, along with his constant role as the victim.

That was before, Jason likes to think of himself a changed man. But how much can one person really change? That’s the real question.

‘Fuck’ Jason moaned out as he held his hard meat in his hand, wrapping his fingers around the base.

Jason had been tense and stressed AF lately and needed some release, typically as a single man, he only knew one way to do it.

Jason stared at his phone as he watched the video of the woman get bent over, the man in the video slid himself in with ease as she called out in pleasure.

Jason had a hard time focusing his full attention on the woman, he kept saying to himself in his head that the video was boring, she’s too loud etc…then he just lost interest and felt himself not hard anymore.

Scrolling through the hub Jason wanted something a little more interesting, typing into the search bar for ‘blowjob’ videos.

Hitting a video out of nowhere Jason found himself instantly hard again, jerking himself till he was empty of his seed and stress.

See, most people know early on who they are and who they’re attracted to. But, Jason was taken too young to ever have time to figure out. Also, due to his ‘manly’ father, Jason always told himself he had to be ‘normal’.

Scenes from Jason’s childhood popped into his head, his dad Willis had a guy on the floor beaten and bloodied, hitting him over and over.

‘Fucking fag, don’t show your face here again’ Willis boomed, hate crime was not uncommon.

Willis Todd was known to beat up any man or woman, did not hold back even more if they were gay, or not white.

Jason hated Willis for what he did and what he exposed Jason too. Hated it so much he felt sick, no literally Jason was going to vomit.

Shoving his head down the toilet he vomited hard as he felt the agony come to bay, Jason had watched in memory as he beat himself off to two men having sex. Enjoying it so much, Jason came. Really hard, and liked it.

It had happened before in a time similar to this, as Jason recalled he couldn’t focus on the woman in the porn video, so focused his attention to the guy. His sweaty abs, his biceps and the moans. He loved it, and Jason hated that he loved it.

Jason cried to himself as he came to realisation that he is, in fact, exactly what his father Willis hates. He’s gay.

Willis Todd was long in prison by this point and Jason is a grown man with his own life, but he couldn’t help himself but revert his mental state back to the 8 year old, that saw his Father in action.

‘Fucking queer’ Willis screamed as he bashed the man around the head, the baseball bat hitting the spots that could do some serious damage, if not kill.

‘Fuck’ Jason muttered to himself, looking back at his phone to see the video still up, and watching it again.

Jason liked it, he really liked it and didn’t want to accept that he did.

Some time went by, Jason had been dealing with his own problems, but he couldn’t deny that he was feeling isolated. His pain and deep homophobia was battling together.

‘Hey, what can I get you?’ You asked from behind the bar, Jason sitting down in front of you.

‘Can I just get a Corona please?’ Jason asked, a little shy as he stared at you. You smiled and nodded.

Jason hadn’t played scenes in his head so much in a long time, though he did like that it distracted him from the trauma of his death.

‘You look lost, something bothering you?’ You asked as Jason sipped his beer.

‘You ever just start to rethink your life? Like, the lessons your parents taught you were wrong but, you almost always fail to think different’ he asked, you nodded a little with a slight shrug.

‘I guess, but then my parents always told me to be myself and love everyone the same’

Jason smiled, for what felt like the first time in centuries. He actually showed teeth too, feeling himself blush Jason quickly straightened his face.

Jason kept coming to the same bar and always being served by the same bartender, though it was clear he didn’t come for the service or the drinks, he came because he slowly accepted, Jason began to get acceptance from himself.

After months, Jason was finally able to find courage to ask for your number, to talk to you when you weren’t serving him.

Hanging out a few times, Jason felt an attraction but never said anything. He hadn’t had a real friend since he was a kid and didn’t want to ruin it.

‘So, you been watching it? Season 5 is way better, it gets really dark’ you bubbled in excitement, Jason was binge watching a series on Netflix you’d suggested.

Jason just enjoyed the company, he also really enjoyed that he was watching new things.

Jason also found himself jacking off a lot more to gay porn, but this time he was picturing himself with you. Moaning out your name. Coming hard as he smiled.

Was it your h/c hair that pulled him in? Was it your voice? Your face? Or was it simply that Jason hadn’t touched a man his whole life? Probably all of it, but you’d never let on who you were into. Men or women? Both? Neither?

‘We really should hang out more, maybe go catch a movie or something’ you said as you walked to Jason’s door, leaving another hang out session.

Jason nodded as he smirked a little, getting the door for you.

‘I’d really like that y/n’ Jason replied as you leant in and gave Jason a hug goodbye.

It was the first time you’d hugged him and Jason shot right up, if you catch the drift, realising he 100% was into you.

‘Take care buddy’ you waved as you left, Jason awkwardly covered his crotch area with his hand as he shut the door.

‘Crap’ he mumbled to himself, feeling the need for yet another release as he stood hard in his pants.

As time went on Jason felt he needed to just be truthful, tell you the truth.

‘It’s been bothering me for so long, I haven’t said anything cause I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything, but’ Jason began, you sitting opposite him at the table in Jason’s dining room.

‘What is it?’ You ask, concerned as Jason stopped himself, looking to the ground. Fidgeting with his sweater sleeve.

‘I like you a lot y/n’ Jason admitted, you smiled as you looked in Jason’s eyes.

‘I like you too’

Jason looked back as deep into your eyes as you did his, not hesitating anymore.

‘No, y/n I really like you, I mean I like you more than a friend’ Jason shyly told you the truth, you sighed and looked down to the floor.

Jason instantly regretted his decision and was aware he wouldn’t be able to take it back. You looked back up, placing your hand on Jason’s.

‘Took you long enough to admit it’ you chuckled, Jason looked confused.

‘What?’ He asked in shock.

‘I mean, you check me out a lot, you always try to cover your crotch when I come near you’ you smiled, Jason smiled softly.

Jason thought it sweet how you noticed it all but never said anything, as not to embarrass him. Jason also felt an overwhelming urge to touch you.

Jason leant in while placing his hand on your face, kissing your lips softly. You smiled into the kiss and pulled him in deeper.

Jason had mental flashes of his father, Willis, and froze for a second before abruptly pulling away. Making you pull away too in apology.

‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry’ you urged as you held a hand out, Jason shook his head.

‘It’s fine y/n, it’s not you, I’m just not ready for…’ Jason tried to explain.

You understood of course, everyone has their demons. And Jason definitely had a fair share of them.

However, he still felt shameful about himself and couldn’t admit the truth. Not himself. Not completely.

Jason watched the same videos again of two men going at each other, bareback. Jason felt so much pleasure being released as he spilled on himself.

‘Y/n’ Jason whispered to himself, feeling the warmth as he pictured your face. Then felt the nausea return once again.

Jason couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t keep denying himself. Especially, as you began to notice that Jason was avoiding you.

Jason texted you to come over as he poured some shots down, bucking up his courage.

‘Hey’ you smiled as Jason let you in, him smiling at you and giving you a side hug.

‘Thanks for coming y/n’ Jason said as he handed you a beer from the fridge.

You both sat on the couch in the living room as Jason tried to voice a way to express how he feels, why he has been trying to make himself distant from you.

‘I was starting to think you weren’t interested anymore’ you broke the silence.

‘No, I do really like you still, it’s just, I’m not ready’ Jason took your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.

‘Not ready for what? A relationship?’

Jason heard his dad again calling out homophobic slurs, his mind drifted to a different night he could remember. Willis had beat up a 16 year old boy, and his boyfriend. Jason stood and watched. Not knowing what to do.

‘Jason? What’s going on?’ You asked, bringing Jason back.

‘I grew up in a really bad environment, my dad beat up a few guys because they were gay. He did other stuff too. I could never accept myself since then’ Jason admitted, you took a slight grip on his hand.

You smiled with empathy as Jason she’d a tear from his eye, he was scared of what would happen to him.

‘It was a long time ago Jason, you’re a better person. Nothing bad will happen if you say it’ you wiped the tear away with your thumb as Jason took a breath.

‘I’m gay, y/n, I like you and I want to take you out, as a date’ Jason sighed as you smiled a little.

You leant in and kissed Jason as he pulled you in tighter. For the first time, Jason was enjoying this kiss as he just thought about you, being there with him.

Jason was so hard and could feel you were too through your pants, he rolled over and sat on the couch with you sitting on his lap.

‘Oh, Jason’ you gasped as Jason began to lift your shirt over your head. Him lifting his off too.

‘Fuck, I want you so bad’ Jason growled as he sunk his teeth into your neck and collarbone.

You threw your head back as you slid off Jason and removed the rest of your clothes, Jason doing the same.

Jason sat back down while you sat on Jason lap, gasping when you saw Jason dick that was at least 11 inches.

The two of you made out more as Jason gripped your ass cheeks, biting you all over. Sure enough to leave a mark.

‘You sure?’ You asked sweetly as Jason nodded, pulling you in for another kiss.

You slid down again as this time to you went on your knees and began to kiss, lick and suck Jason’s length. Which stood right up, exposed for you.

Jason had been in these situations before, he’d had sex before…many times. But, he never did it with men. He could never get that far. Denying himself so hard.

Saying that, Jason had never experienced a blowjob like this before. He had read about the differences between getting blowjobs from men compared to women.

Apparently, it’s better from men due to men knowing what they like to get from oral. Jason didn’t know if it was true, but he guessed it must be as this was the best he’d ever experienced.

‘I’m gonna come if you keep doing that’ Jason chuckled as you looked up at him.

‘Is that so bad?’ You laughed, as you crawled back up Jason’s seated form.

You slid down Jason’s big, hard shaft and gasped at the sudden pressure. Breathing deeply as Jason filled you up.

‘You’re so fucking hot’ Jason breathed out as he began with a rhythm that worked for you both, you gripping the back of the couch.

‘Oh God, Jason’ you called out as you arched your back, while meeting Jason’s rhythm.

It was minutes of bliss as Jason sped up and slammed into you, you moaning in the pleasure.

Jason placed both his hands on your waist as you rode on his dick, you jerking yourself while Jason grunted beneath you. His hard dick filling every part of you.

‘Fuck, Jason’ you almost screamed as you shot your seed out all over Jason’s stomach.

‘Shit’ Jason smiled, still holding your waist as you breathed out in bliss.

Jason lifted his hips up in an unbelievable way that your pleasure hadn’t come to a close, Jason grunted and threw his head back as he felt the start of the big finish.

‘Y/n, I’m coming, I’m coming’ Jason called as he began to hit into you slowly as he emptied himself.

You both panted put in satisfaction as you moved over and sat next to Jason. Your naked bodies, sweat sticking to the couch and each other, you both smiled as you sat in silence.

Jason took your hand in his again as he turned his head to kiss you, which you accepted with no hesitation.

You rested your head on Jason’s shoulder as he began to internally scream in happiness, Jason could finally accept himself. And, he had you.

[anxiousnerdwritings]

okay but Bruce’s sibling seeing the Jason is falling apart during the Titans show and being able to intervene before the Joker kills Jason Todd in the very last minute when (s)he realized that Bruce wasn’t doing shit to protect his kid and just not letting him go back? when Bruce asks about Jason returning to the manor after being released from the hospital, the sibling!Reader is like “nah, he’s staying with me” and Bruce tries to argue but the baddie is already walking out the door. for a moment Jason can only stare in awe before he shrugs and skips after his new mama. and Jason still becomes Red Hood but a more tamer version under the Reader’s influence. poor Dick wants to rip his hair out when he discovers that she probably would’ve adopted him too if he had asked.

I could totally see Bruce’s sibling!Reader having taken on more of a motherly/fatherly role to Dick and Jason than Bruce would when he took them in. If the Reader wasn’t there when Bruce first brought home Dick then they sure as hell rushed their ass to get there as quick as possible to help Bruce raise him. Then they ended up staying around for Jason too (and eventually the other kids to come). So they’ve been more of a prominent parent in their life than Bruce really was.

When the Reader first ever found out about either Dick or Jason taking part in fighting crime they were completely against it and it caused quite a riff between the two siblings. The Reader literally didn’t talk to Bruce for six months, not a single peep, even though they lived in the manor together and saw each other every day. It took the boys going to the Reader and telling them that they wanted to do this and that it was their choice to become Bruce’s sidekick. The whole thing still infuriates the Reader but they do ever so slowly start talking to Bruce again. The boys both know that the Reader wouldn’t ever come to accept them having any part in becoming a vigilante but at least this kinda smoothed things over between them and Bruce.

But the Reader would finally be forced to put their foot down now that Jason was in the hospital and he was going downhill. The Reader was always much more conscious and hyper aware of Dick and Jason’s mental and emotional health while living with them and Bruce than their brother really was. They knew being a vigilante would be taxing for them in more ways then one and then having Bruce be tough on them too had it’s affect as well. The Reader was always there for the boys though no matter what but they especially made it their purpose to be an anchor for both Dick and Jason. To always be their consistent form of love and warmth after everything. Whether it was a bad day at school or a rough patrol, the Reader was always their for them no matter how late or early the boys were in need of some reassurance and comforting.

So of course the Reader picked up on Jason spiraling and they weren’t going to allow him to be put in yet another environment that would only make him worse. They would take him with them and Bruce wouldn’t be able to stop them. They’re priority was making sure that Jason was safe and taken care of more than anything else but there could be a compromise made for Jason to continue crime fighting if that’s what Jason wanted. And he’s got no hangups about being taken in by the Reader whatsoever, honestly he’s ecstatic for it.

Meanwhile, Dick is beating himself up for never even thinking of the Reader adopting him themself. He is over filled with envy that Jason gets to be taken in by the Reader. Dick may even hit the Reader up and ask if it’s too late to be adopted by them now. But Dick would visit the Reader’s place a whole lot more now that they’ve taken in Jason, for a few reasons. He definitely wants to remind them that Dick is still around and that he still needs them too, he doesn’t want the focus to be completely taken off of him. He obviously doesn’t want to be forgotten by them now that they have their hands full with Jason. But he would also try to be more of a stable figure in Jason’s life too, sure a part of the reason is to look good in the eyes of the Reader but also to keep an eye on Jason too. No doubt that the Reader themself would ask Dick to keep an eye out for Jason too while out on patrol every now and again, just for added measure that he would be okay when he goes back to crime fighting.

The Reader would totally put Bruce in his place and it wouldn’t matter whether the Reader was his oldest or youngest sibling, Bruce will hang his head low in shame and take the scolding sent his way. He knows the Reader is right and that Jason may just need a change in environment and someone else around to get better but still it makes him feel like shit that he failed Jason as much as he did. He’ll try to make up for it though, both with Jason and his sibling. Bruce would want to eventually get back into his sibling’s good graces after all.

[imaginingmarvelandeverything]

The Foundations of Decay

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings: not comic accurate, death, graphic injury, blood, angst, so, so, so much angst

Word Count: 2879

A/N: In honour of My Chemical Romance releasing a new song, here’s the Jason’s death fic I promised. Didn’t think I would have time to post today, but my lab got out early. This is not comic accurate at all, so sorry about that, but I wanted to make this as angsty as possible. I might do more parts of this if people want them. Anyway, I hope you like it!!!

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“Take me! Just let him go!” Y/N screamed, nearly hysterical, her eyes never leaving the knife the Joker had pressed against Jason’s neck. Jason was pretty much limp in his grip. His mask was missing which meant she could see all the bruises on his face, and his suit was shattered in several places, red oozing from underneath each crack. His blue eyes were focused on her, wide with fear. She knew, after everything that happened with Dick, she should have never agreed for Jason to take his place. She should have fought Bruce tooth and nail against it. But she had not. And now they might both die on this roof.

“You’re not who I was expecting, princess.” The Joker tried to smile, giving her his usual grimace.

He was right, it was Bruce who was supposed to get the message. But he was out when it arrived and he had not responded to any of her attempts to contact him. So, she had come in his place because the message had said there was a time limit.

“Please, you can kill me. Just let Jason go.” The tears were screaming down her cheeks now.

“Mom, run.” Jason choked out before the Joker shushed him by pressing the knife closer to his skin.

Y/N’s heart broke, he only ever called her mom when he was sick or scared or really wanted something. “Please. If you want to hurt Batman, you can use me.” Even though the Joker knew Batman was Bruce, she refused to give him the satisfaction of using Bruce’s name.

“Maybe he’s not the only one I want to hurt.” A dangerous glint appeared in the Joker’s eyes.

He moved the knife from Jason’s throat and just for a moment, Y/N thought he was going to let him go. But then he plunged the knife into Jason’s stomach through one of the gaps in his armour and twisted the blade. Y/N screamed as he pulled the knife back out and laughed manically as he dropped Jason to the floor. He moved to the fire escape, ready to leave, but Y/N was no longer paying him any attention, not when her boy was bleeding on the floor. She raced forward and dropped to her knees by Jason’s side.

“Mom?” It was a question, but neither of them really knew what he was asking.

She pulled him into her lap, supporting his head as she pressed both of her hands against his wound. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m right here.”

“I’m sorry.” There was blood on his lips. “Mom, I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t have anything to apologise for.” She told him, looking at the blood pouring through her fingers. She knew there was no point even calling for an ambulance.

“Dick will blame himself, don’t let him.” He pleaded with her. “Dad too. It’s not his fault. Tell Grace-” He cut himself off with a sob. “Tell Grace I wish I could see her grow up, my baby sister. Don’t let her follow us, it never ends well.”

“I won’t. I promise, I won’t.” The sobs were racking through her chest.

“Thank you.” His said weakly. “For taking me in.”

She pressed her lips against his forehead. “I’d do it again. You’re my son.”

He moved a hand up to her face and smiled at her before one final breath rattled through his chest. His hand fell away and his blue eyes fluttered shut.

“No. No, no.” Her hand shook as she brought it up to his face and tried to wake him up, even though she knew he was gone. “No. Please, no.” She clutched his body to her and screamed. The sound was broken, pure grief, and anyone who heard it would know that someone had just lost a part of themselves.  

That was how Bruce found her not long after, covered in blood and sobbing as she hugged Jason’s body to her. His legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees next to her, his hands reaching up and pulling the cowl off. He knew he needed to be Bruce Wayne for this, not Batman. His eye make-up streaked down his cheeks from his tears as he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder.

She flinched away from him. “Where were you?” She knew it was not his fault, but her grief reared it’s ugly head in her chest, looking for someone to blame.

“I’m sorry.” He knew there was no explanation that he could give her that would make it better. Not this time. “We need to call the police.”

She shook her head, gently shifting Jason onto the floor. Her hands moved to the remnants of his suit, systematically stripping him of all the pieces. The pieces she had built with her own hands, the pieces that were supposed to keep him safe. When she was done, she gathered all the pieces together and forced them into Bruce’s arms. “I need to call the police, you need to go back to the tower.”

“Y/N-”

She cut him off. “I got a message. It told me to come alone, so I did, and you were none the wiser.”

“No, I’ll stay-”

“Go home!” She screamed at him, a fresh round of sobs breaking free from her chest as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and moved Jason’s head back into her lap, her fingers running through his messy black hair in a sorry attempt to bring it to order.

Bruce watched her, his heart breaking, before he pulled his cowl back on and gathered Jason’s suit back up. He left, but not before pressing his lips against her temple.

She screwed her eyes shut and took a deep breath before dialling 911.

***

No one had been able to find Y/N any clean clothes and Bruce was so distracted that he had forgot to grab her any before he made his way to the station. They had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, but it did nothing to disguise the fact she was covered in Jason’s blood. The police had believed her story without a second thought. After all, it was not the first time she had run straight into danger without a single thought for her own wellbeing. The entire time they were at the station, she could not bring herself to look at Bruce and she knew he had noticed.

“Mr and Mrs Wayne, we don’t need anything else from you tonight. You’re free to leave.” Gordon told them.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Bruce nodded and turned to Y/N.

She kept her eyes forward, staring at nothing. But she moved her hand away from him as he tried to take it. They both stood and she wrapped her arms around herself as she followed him to where he had parked the car. She kept the blanket around her as she got into the car, unwilling to let the blood on her stain the expensive leather.

Bruce watched her curl into herself as he drove off and stopped himself from reaching out to touch her again. She had every right to be mad at him. He had failed to be there when she needed him, when the message came in from the Joker. She had to watch Jason be mortally wounded and had held him as he died in her arms. He had failed to protect them both.

They rode in the elevator back up to the penthouse in silence as she pressed herself into the corner. Alfred was waiting in the main room, but she walked straight past him and made her way upstairs. She knew Bruce was following her so she locked herself in their bathroom and ignored his subsequent knocking on the door. She turned the shower on high and climbed in, still fully clothed. She watched the red stained water run down the drain, washing her clean of the blood. Jason’s blood. She ripped the wet fabric from her body as sobs racked through her chest again.

When she eventually calmed down, she scrubbed her skin raw in an attempt to clean off all the blood before shutting the water off. She left the bloody clothes where they were on the shower floor and dried herself off.  She wiped a hand over the mirror to clear the steam that had accumulated and looked into her own red-rimmed eyes. She pulled the lens case out of the draw next to the sink and pulled the contact lenses out of her eyes, stowing them safely in the case. She took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom. Bruce was no where to be seen and she knew he knew that she needed space for a little while.

She got dressed almost robotically, pulling on a pair of leggings and a hoodie, and climbed into bed. She knew she would not be able to sleep tonight, but she did not know what else to do. There was a knock on the door and she was going to ignore it, but it was not Alfred or Bruce’s voice that called out to her.

“Y/N?” Dick cracked open the bedroom door and cautiously walked in. She knew Alfred must have called him to tell him the news.

All it took was a look at her other black-haired boy and she broke again. That seemed to trigger Dick too, because suddenly he was sobbing into her shoulder as she gripped onto him. She ran her fingers through his hair like she used to do when he was a kid, her mothering instincts kicking in and making him focus on his grief rather than her own.

“I should have been there. I could have saved him.” Dick sobbed into her shoulder, his hands turning into fists in the back of her hoodie.

“He knew you’d say that.” She told him through her own tears, succeeding in making him sob harder into her. “He told me to not let you blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. Sweetheart, there was nothing you could have done.”

She carried on running her fingers through his hair and he eventually cried himself to sleep. She tucked him in the bed and pressed a kiss against his forehead. She walked into the bathroom and grabbed the lens case and put it in the hoodie pocket, just in case Dick decided to go in the bathroom later, he did not ever need to see what they had recorded. She walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her, and walked down the hall to Grace’s room. She peaked her head in to find Grace fast asleep, none the wiser to everything that had happened only a few hours ago. Y/N shut the door again and made her way downstairs.

Alfred was sat at the table in the main room with the tea set in front of him. He poured her a cup and handed it to her as she sat down at the table. She cradled it in both of her hands, her heart feeling empty.

“Where’s Dick?” He asked her, his voice rough. She knew Jason’s death was affecting him just as much as the rest of them.

“Sleeping. He exhausted himself crying.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Where’s Bruce?”

“Down in the station, I believe.” He told her, watching her closely.

She nodded, and they finished their cups of tea in silence. She pushed her way up from the table and made her way over to the elevator without a word. Her mind seemed to be working logically again and she needed to be near him.

Bruce was stood at his desk, uploading his contact lens footage. As she walked over to him, she could see herself on the screen, clutching Jason’s body and sobbing. He had laid Jason’s suit out on one of her work benches. She knew he was letting her decide what she wanted to do with it. He paused the video but kept his eyes on the screen as she came to a stop next to him. There were tears running down his cheeks and she reached out and rested her hand over his. He turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded broken. “I should have been there.”

She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “It’s not your fault.”

He turned towards her and she threw her arms around him. She buried her head in his shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair as he pulled her flush against him. He used a hand to shove everything off his desk behind them and hoisted her onto the desk. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him into her as she rested her forehead against his shoulder. He leaned into her, resting his head on top of hers. They stayed wrapped around each other for a long while, until she pulled back.

She knew he was watching her carefully as she reached into her pocket with a shaking hand and pulled out the lens case. She looked back up at him as she held the case out for him. He was looking at her with wide eyes, understanding exactly what she was offering him. His hand shook almost as much as hers as he moved it from her hip and took the case from her. He stepped back from her, just enough so he could reach out and pull the top desk drawer open, stowing the case away until either of them could build up the courage to watch what it contained.

He moved back to her and opened his mouth to say something, but the elevator rattling to a stop drew both of their attention. They watched as Dick walked out, his blue eyes getting glassy again as he caught sight of Jason’s suit laid out on the bench.

“Alfred asked me to come and get you.” He forced himself to look away from Jason’s suit, his eyes focusing on them instead. “Grace is awake. No one’s told her yet.”

Y/N gripped onto the material of Bruce’s shirt, her eyes moving from Dick to Bruce. “What are we going to tell her?”

“I don’t know.” Bruce let out a sharp breath.

“The truth?” Dick suggested, drawing the attention of the other two. “At least, what you told the police. She’s old enough to at least know that.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” She pushed herself off the desk, her legs shaking as they took her weight. “We shouldn’t put it off.”

Bruce screwed his eyes shut and sucked in a breath through his teeth.  He turned to Y/N, took her hand and pressed a kiss to her temple before turning to face Dick. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The three of them got into the elevator and a few stray tears slipped back down Dick’s cheeks. Y/N reached out and squeezed his arm. He shot her a small smile, but it dropped again as the elevator doors opened and all three of them realised what was about to happen.

Grace was sitting with Alfred at the table with an empty bowl of cereal in front of her. She turned to look at the three of them as they stepped out of the elevator and Y/N tightened her grip on Bruce’s hand.

“What’s going on?” Grace asked them. “Alfred said I’m not going to school today.”

Y/N glanced at Bruce and knew he was frozen. So, she left him and Dick in front of the elevator, walked forward and crouched down in front of Grace. “No, you’re not. Some-something happened last night.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “A bad man took Jason.”

“What? Are the police going to get him back?” Grace looked from her mom to her dad and then to her brother, before looking back at Y/N.

“Grace, Jason-” Y/N took another shaky breath and looked up at the ceiling in an effort to keep her tears at bay. “Jason’s not coming home. He-he’s dead. No one could get to him in time.”

Grace’s eyes got wide as she struggled to grasp what Y/N had just told her. Dick let out another sob and Y/N glanced back at him as Bruce unfroze enough to wrap an arm around Dick’s shoulders and pull him into him. But then she turned her attention back to Grace.

“I don’t- He was here at dinner last night.” Grace’s blue-grey eyes got glassy.

Taglist: In the reblogs

“I know, sweetheart. He was. But sometimes… sometimes that’s all the time it takes for people to be gone.” Y/N explained, pulling Grace into her arms as she started crying. Y/N sat back on the floor, pulling Grace into her lap and running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to comfort her as she sobbed into her shoulder. Y/N glanced up at Bruce and knew he was thinking exactly what she was; nothing was going to be the same now.

Part 2

[neganium]

1 and 7 for the ask meme 👀

Hrmmmm. If I answer the first one, nobody would know what the hell I was talking about, anyways... But uh. I have a good one, I think; particularly bc this apparently became canon in an even more obscure sequel series to Kaitou Joker, Kaitou Shounen Jokers (Kaitou Boy Jokers); it's a nextgen story, so right off the bat we're in dangerous territory of potentially ruinous proportions. These kinds of things are always very hit or miss. The biggest issue I have with it, though (other than characters from the previous series barely making cameos at all, in spite of presumably being at least tangentially relevant to the plot as legacy characters, and one of my absolute favorites apparently not appearing at all, even so much as a mention as far as I am aware), is that to facilitate the existence of who is basically the main character, i.e. the previous titular character's son, they paired said character off with a a girl who is basically his sister in the original narrative. 😬

Like, they are not blood relatives (as far as is told, which, the manga in particular isn't really heavy on details bc the author wrote it by the seat of his ass nearly the entire decade-long run, barring a couple of exceptions; really the anime is a lot better irt a cohesive storyline), but like... I remember reading somewhere (and this is hearsay, so like... idk man, it's apocryphal at best but) that the author himself once described them as being like brother and sister, as opposed to a romantic relationship. And then he went and shoved them together for some kind of comphet nonsense, even tho there were at least a few other characters he could have potentially paired off with him if the comphet bullshit was really mandatory (including one that old posts in the tag speculated was the most likely suspect before the series properly released, but instead got paired with a character who is like 8 in the main series when she herself is clearly closer to Joker's- the main character's- age, which isn't clearly defined but is estimated to be somewhere in his early to mid-teens due to a comment by the author; bc Bee Puns, ig); but no, set him up with his own goddamn sister, why don't you. Fucking nasty asses.

As for seven, ah... maybe?? I have a lot of issues with Astro Boy nowadays. I don't outright hate it, tho, I don't think. Then there is uh, Roppu-kun? I barely know anything about that one, but it was kind of soured for me after a random falling out with the one other person I knew who also liked it (at the time, anyways; I suspect they were being petty about smth I said to them in private, about how they were behaving publically- as in, I got blocked, and it took me a few days to realize it LMAO). Pretty neutral towards it now, tho.

Honestly after learning something about my more recent obsession, Kaitou Joker (or more like, confirmation about something I was beginning to suspect/dread; went into that a bit on the catchall sideblog iirc), it came dangerously close to killing that for me. It still has the power, actually, if I think about it too much... Shit's already pretty tainted, after learning about what just the fans liked to do to these characters. Yick.

If I am not entirely coherent rn, it's bc I'm pretty seriously sleep-deprived and therefore having a hard time keeping my run-on sentences in check. Apologies.

[81scorp]

Constructive critiscism: Batman 1 to 4

Ah yes, Burtons and Schumachers Batman movies. Created in early 1939 by Bob Kane and Bill Finger, Batman, a man who fights crime dressed as a bat, has enjoyed great popularity and become a recognizeable character. He is so wellknown that you don`t even have to have read his comics to know who he is. Through out the years there have been several attempts at taking the adventures of the caped crusader out of their drawn, nonmoving, soundless original medium and bring them into the live action, moving, audible world of the cinematic medium.

In 1966 we had the Batman TV-series. The creators knew it was gonna be hard to have folks running around in colourful PJs and convince anyone over the age of 10 to take it seriously, so they just went for a fun, campy style.

Then in 1978 came the Superman movie. A movie still silly in some places but also sincere. It had some heartfelt and earnest moments that allowed you to take it seriously, and in a way, the same can be said about the Batman movie from 1989. These two movies are good examples for how to make good superheromovies. So, for future superheromovies, other filmmakers could look to these two for guidence, the blueprint was right there in front of them.

But in the 90s people seemed to have forgotten how to make movies like these. After Batman returns had gone a little too deep into Tim Burtonland the bigsuits at WB decided that the tone needed to be a little lighter for the next movie. On this point I agreed with them. They felt that they had to take it back to the campy style of the 1960s Batman series. On this point I disagreed with them. Dont get me wrong, I like the old campy Batman series, something about it felt more sincere than Schumachers Batman. It was made in a time when that was the best they could do. It took something that looked silly and played it very straight in an exaggerated, dramatic way. It reminds me of the comedy rule that the Zucker brothers had for "Airplane!": Deliver a funny line with a straight face. It had a kind of sincerity that the Schumacher Batman lacked. Schumacher`s Batman was made in a time when they knew that there were other ways to make superhero movies but decided not to. It was even made in a time when the animated Batman series existed, so, like I said earlier: the blueprint was right there in front of them.

The problem with the Schumacher Batman movies was not that they were trying to be live-action saturday morning cartoons. The problem was that they were trying to be live-action saturday morning cartoons and Tim Burton`s Batman at the same time.

Now, Ive been pretty harsh on Schumacher, who had to take a lot of crap for Batman and Robin when it came out, so now, with that out of the way, I want to come to his defense. I should point out that he did want to preserve the tone from the first two movies, but the executives at Warner Bros insisted that hed make it lighter and turn it into a feature-length toy commercial. And say what you want about Batman and Robin, but atleast it`s plot is not as messy as Batman V Superman.

Now, with that said, if I could run so fast that I could screw the laws of physics, travel backwards in time and change these movies, What would I have done differently?

Burton`s Batman

Tell me, have you ever danced with the SPOILERS in the pale moonlight?

Batman

Batman killing Ive talked about this in Batman V Superman and I should be consistent, so, no killing for Batman in this movie either. That scene where he blows up Jokers smilex factory? How about: that grenade that his car releases is a tear gas grenade that forces the Jokers henchmen to leave the factory where they are greeted by the GCPD. Im however, willing to make one exception to this rule: that bald guy in the clocktower. This was clearly a situation where Batman wasnt in full control and was forced to drastic measures. So Im willing to let this one slide.

Joker killing Bruces parents Didnt mind this when I was little but not everything has to be connected. His parentskiller should be an ordinary, nameless robber. I know, if Joker didn´t kill Bruces parents we wouldnt get the "I created you" speech at the end or the "Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?" line. But thats not really a great loss

On the fence: Killing Joker I understand why they killed off Joker and am kinda OK with it. But still, I can`t help with coming up with some ideas for what they could have done differently. How about: Joker falls but he has a parachute hidden on him that he opens up. But the wind grabs him and he lands in the Gotham river. They never find his body. Did he die? Did he survive? Who knows?

Batman Returns

Penguin being raised by penguins since he was a baby How the Penguins get him out of that basket? How did they raise him? I know, Im being nitpicky here, but still. How about: Oswald ran away from home when he was just 10 or 11 years old because his parents were cruel people who hid him away from the world because the were ashamed of his looks. He came to the Zoo, which was closed but he found a way in though the sewers. Thats where he met the penguins.

The way Selina Kyle falls through the awnings She falls through them like a hot knife through soft butter, a little too fast. She doesnt have nine lives, and I read that the filmmakers wanted her "deaths" to be ambiguous, something a normal human could survive. Her surviving this is a little hard to swallow. Maybe theres a way to have her fall through them a little slower but still keep it interesting and suspenseful. And then her fall could end with her landing in a big pile of garbage that softens her fall.

Penguin biting that guys nose I can see why this scared people and it wasnt really necessary. Lose it.

Batman killing Like I said before: Batman shouldnt kill. (Atleast not if hes in control of the situation.) That scene where he kills the big Muscleman with dynamite? How about this: First he throws the dynamite so that it lands somewhere where it does no harm to people. Then, when Batman meets the Muscleman he dodges his punches, pulls out a tazer and stuns him.

High-tech batarang I know what youre thinking: "But using High-tech gadgets is Batmans thing!" Yes, but a targetseeking, High-tech batarang? How about this instead: he uses an ordinary batarang, throws it at a crook, then, just as it returns to him a knife-thrower throws a knife that disrupts it`s trajectory, it falls on the ground and is picked up by the poodle.

Penguins "Youre just jealous because Im a real freak" line Yes, I know, its a small line and in this scene hes mad with rage and not thinking straight, but still. How about this instead: Penguin: "Youre the protector of Gotham! They don`t deserve protection! They deserve to BURN!"

Catwomans final death Yes, that scene where she gives Shreck the kiss of death. Sure, it looks cool but theres no way that she can survive that (and yet the movie decided that thats what she did). How about this: She kicks Shreck into the power generator, he is electrocuted, debris falls between Selina and Bruce, so it is impossible for him to see if she managed to escape or not. When the dust has settled Bruce finds only Shrecks burned corpse.

Schumacher`s Batman

Where does he get all those wonderful SPOILERS?

The tone Should`ve had the same tone as the animated series. I know they took some ideas from it, so why not the tone as well?

The look of Gotham These are supposed to take place in the same universe as the Burton Movies right? Lose the neon lights and keep the old look.

Batman Forever

The name of the movie I saw a video on youtube that explained the title*. Bruce was gonna hit his head and forget that he was Batman but then remember it again, realize that he was Batman… now and forever. But since that scene wasnt in the movie the title doesnt really have the same meaning or importance. Since this movie introduced Robin I`d call it: Batman and Robin.

Two-Face Lets say that you know nothing about Two-Face, dont worry, its explained early in the movie that he cant make up his mind without flipping his coin. Theres just one problem: in several scenes Two-face has made up his mind about something and is only waiting for the coin to land in a way that he prefers, like when he and Riddler breaks into Bruces mansion. He sits on a couch and flips the coin several times, gets disappointed when it ends on the good side up and keeps flipping it until lands on the evil side up. A comicbook accurate Two-Face would have accepted whatever side the coin landed on. I would also not make Two-Face so campy, but more like he was in the animated series.

Riddler I have nothing against Riddler being a campy villain, he would be a nice contrast to Two-Face who would be more serious. Buut… I think I`d remove him and replace him with Sal Maroni, the man who scarred Harvey Dent and turned him into Two-Face. Which brings me to my next point.

Two-Face killing Robins parents How about this: Before the big show Dick Grayson hears the owner of the circus talking to Sal Maroni. Sal Maroni gives him the old: "What a lovely circus you have, it would be a shame if something were to happen to it" speech. The circus owner gets angry and tells him to leave. Then later at the big show: a trapeze breaks and Dicks parents fall to their deaths. Bruce, seeing himself in Dick, takes him into his custody. it is revealed that the trapeze broke because someone had sabotaged it. Speaking of Robin, that brings me to my next point.

Robins age I`d cast a younger actor to play Robin. Old enough so that youd believe that hes 15 to 17 but young enough so that youd believe that he would need a legal guardian to take care of him. I dont know how old Chris O'Donnell was when this movie was made, but he looked like he was 20 to 25.

Chase Meridian Nothing against Chase Meridian and there is nothing wrong with creating a new, original character for the movie. Buut… I would like to bring back a familiar one, like Catwoman. After Dick has figured out that Bruce Wayne is Batman and that Sal Maroni murdered his parents it becomes a race between him and Two-Face over who gets to kill Maroni. Catwoman shows up in Gotham and helps Batman track down Robin to prevent him from killing Maroni. Two-Face has already found Maroni and flips his coin. Batman, knowing Two-Faces weakness, throws a roll of coins made to look like the one that Two-Face uses (but without the scarred side). Two-Face is devastated, he cant decide without his coin. Robin is there and wants to kill Maroni but Batman talks him out of it. Maroni is grateful and thinks hes off the hook but Batman tells him that hes going to jail. Bruce wants Selina to stay but she declines, this was just temporary, she doesn`t see herself as the hero type. She suggests that he teams up with "Boy Wonder over there" and leaves. Batman teams up with Robin and they become a crimefighting Dynamic Duo. The end… atleast for now.

Batman and Robin

The name of the movie Since I changed the name of Batman Forever to Batman and Robin I have to change the name of this one too. How about: Batman: Midwinter Knight.

Mr. Freeze Make him (and his outfit) more like the animated series, and he`s only allowed three ice-puns Max.

Poison Ivy Make her more like how she was in the animated series. She could start with human looking skin at first then gradually be more green as the movie progresses and her hair becomes more unkempt. Like a garden without a gardener. At first she wears green clothes but as the story progresses she gradually gets rid of more of her clothes and covers herself with leaves to show that she is distancing herself from humanity.

Bane When I first saw this movie I didnt know who Bane was because I had not read the Knightfall storyline. But now that I do know who Bane is I can say that the Character named Bane in this movie is not Bane, its the Hulk in an S&M outfit. Loose Bane and replace him with some henchmen.

The Bat-nipples and the Bat-creditcard Lose them. Instead of Batman and Robin being invited as honored guests to the auction they are waiting on the outside, on top of the roof, ready to (literally) drop in in case some criminals decide to show up and rob the place.

Making Barbara Alfreds niece This is my inner comicbook purist talking. How about: Bruce starts to notice that some nights there are reports of Batman showing up in a part of the city where he knows for a fact that he wasnt. Must be a copycat. One night Robin runs into thi mysterious copycat and discovers that it is a woman! Barbara Gordon to be precise, Commissioner Gordons daughter! She explains that she cant just sit at home at nights when crime is on the rise, and the reason she uses Batmans identity is because he is a symbol that the criminals fear. In a way she is "piggy backing" on his reputation. If this bothers Batman she is willing to invent a new costumed crime-fighting identity, but in the end Batman doesnt mind so she keeps using her Bat-themed identity. She modifies her cowl though so that people easier can tell the difference between her and Batman.

And that `s how I would do it.

I used Jokers "wonderful toys" line from the first Batman for my spoiler warning for the Schumacher movies because I couldnt remember any interesting, memorable lines from them.

It is of course very easy for me to write these because I have the luxury of hindsight. And unlike the filmmakers I dont have a movie studio breathing down my neck, forcing in unnecessary changes and pressuring me to get it made before a deadline. Im sure Schumacher could have made a great Batman movie if the studio had let him.

"Getting a movie made in Hollywood is like trying to grill a steak by having a succession of people coming into the room and breathing on it." ―Douglas Adams

It`s a wonder any movies in Hollywood get made at all.

Started writing this 2024-02-03

I was gonna call this "Constructive criticism: Burton and Schumachers Batman" but from previous experience Ive learned that that title would be too long for DA. (Titles can be max 50 characters.)

*: "What Could Have Been: Tim Burton's Batman Forever" by Bullets and Blockbusters

Other movies on my Constructive Criticism list that you can look forward to

Supergirl (1984) Jonah Hex (2010) Dragonball evolution The Spirit (2008) The Dark Knight trilogy

And as usual: English is not my first language, so if my writing doesn`t seem to flow naturally, you know why.

[plungermusic]

“Indian Summer, It’s On It’s Way, Cool All Night…”

“… And Hot All Day.”

Maverick Saturday kept its (nearly) perfect run of perfect festival weather - blue skies, hot sun and light breeze greeted the gathering crowds, particularly on the open air Green Stage. Drew Young Band (below)had the honour of opening on the Green, and despite expressing shock at the early start (“I mean, I knew there was an 11am but the idea of playing music then was a new one!”) Drew and co (Kelly Bayfield second vox/bvs, David Booth drums/bvs, Kilby Mears bass, Andy Trill electric guitar) impressed with a suitably warm-but-breezy set, including a Knopfleresque Clearly with its airy harmonies, the chicken-picking line-dancing chug of It’ll Be Soon, the darker melancholic country of Georgia Line, and Sideways’ bouncy Tex-Mex-spiced stroll. The joker in the pack was the beefy roadhouse rocker Stuck On Believing, with Kelly doing a fine Shaun Murphy gritty counterpoint vocal, great drum and bass work, and gutsy guitar.

Following Drew, Suffolk locals The Joe Keeley band tempted us to stay put with a promising soundcheck for their twin-guitar line-up (particularly Jack Lawson’s cranked-up Les Paul!) Sadly once they got going proper, Jack’s way-down-in-the-mix sound and an opener drawn from the southern rock cliche songbook (name a bunch of states, mention outlaws, badmen and women) lost our interest and we headed for the bar.

Hannah Aldridge (above), another Maverick favourite, was playing as a duo (nominally… as her set progressed she was joined by various ‘friends’ from her UK touring partner Lachlan Bryan & The Wildes). Her honeyed Nicksian tones were perfect for the mix of Cali-country and southern gothic, with some excellent near-a cappella harmonies particularly in a cover of Lachlan’s Dugdemona with added atmospheric fiddle, and her own anthemic Burning Down Birmingham with its customary crowd-participation choir finale.

Blue Highways’ Brucetastic bluster was an ideal match for the Green stage: very much Plunger’s idea of ‘proper festival music’, they took full advantage with the full-on sprawling Bossness of Take Me Away, a barrelling She Moves, Have You Seen My Baby’s bouncy saloon country and the high-octane post-pandemic hedonism of I Wanna Party… and despite the setting they still held the crowd rapt with another emotional and intimate rendition of Tonight.

Canada’s Redhill Valleys (above) were another “Never heard of them… Oh, they’re great!” bonus: Chelsea McWilliams (bass/vocals), Tim Allard (lead guitar/vocals), Danielle Beaudin (guitar/vocals), and Matt Soliveri (drums) lit up the green stage with a mix of slick multi-vox Laurel Canyon country rock, Sunset Strip sleaze and 70s N’awlins funk. Nice to see them making full use of the two guitar line-up on Burn It Down and they also gave us a killer cover of Lucinda Williams’ I Lost It. Right up there with Mickelson as this year’s Maverick surprise discovery.

Evangeline Gentle’s self-titled release was one of Plunger's fave releases of 2020, but ‘events, dear boy’ had conspired against us seeing her live until now. She has a new look (think tycoon’s wayward daughter in a 40s Hollywood noir) but the sublime voice is unchanged, and although the rich production of the record was perforce absent in this duo performance, songs from the album (So It Goes, Long Time Love, Drop My Name) and new ones like Dancing At The Gay Bar, stood on their own right and stripped back highlighted Evangeline’s seductive fragile-but-defiant vibrato-laden vox… it wasn’t just the sun that had Plunger melting like mivvi by the end of her set.

Still a bit Evangeline-dazzled we drifted down to the Green to catch the end of Peter Bruntnell’s set. Shamefully (as he’s a bit of a ‘ledge’) Plunger have no idea what he played or even if it’s typical of his output, but it sounded pretty damn good blasting out across the sun-baked grass: Youngian anthemic progressions with extended wild flaring solos, eastern-drone spacey passages and hallucinatory shambling grooves with harmony guitar. One for further investigation, definitely.

The Sam Chase was a big Plunger favourite on our three viewings of him last year, and he proved just as entertaining here. His folk/rock/roots/kitchen sink-and-anything-else-to-hand set delivered tales of horror, murder, ghosts, drinking and despair with lots of excellent strings from violinist Chandra Johnson and cellist Devon McClive, as well as a generous helping of wry dark humour (like introducing Everyone Is Crazy But Me as “a children’s song - now what they mean is that it’s simple… since kids are generally at the dumber end of the spectrum.”)

Next up on the sun-drenched green were Treetop Flyers (above): presumably named for the Stephen Stills song they’re often billed as CSNY-ish. While chugging progressions and a splash of Youngian harmonica did hint at ‘Y’ occasionally (and there was indeed a brief snatch of intricate CSN harmonies) mostly this was robust, rollicking 70s roots à la Caravan-era Van Morrison, as epitomised in the soully bustle of Golden Hour - keys, sax and guitar driven by a Chapman-like powerful lead vocal - and several snare-led upbeat Motowny numbers, all ideal to get the Green moving.

Plunger’s first Saturday foray down to the Moonshine was for Tim Gerard: another return visitor and Plunger favourite, Tim proved equally at home in the Greenwich Village coffee shop troubadour narrative of Pretenders, the bluesy boogie of Trouble On The Move or the impassioned western-tinged Savannah. The impressive set also featured the live premiere of new song International Show a somewhat wry look at the ‘jet set’ life of the travelling muso!

Returning to the Green we caught the tail end of The Hanging Stars: despite the presence of the brilliant Joe Harvey Whyte on shimmering pedal steel what we heard leaned more toward indie rock than their professed cosmic country, although the not-entirely-protest song I Don’t Want To Feel So Bad Any More (introduced as being “for anyone who hates the Tories” - which raised a cheer from at least half the assembled crowd!) did combine pedal steel and jangly Rickenbacker to just that effect, so we could be wildly far of the mark…

Fellow Londoners Forty Elephant Gang (above) brought their newly beefed-up presence to the Barn, the addition of drummer and bassist adding a punchier feel to the mando folk-meets-punk field holler of Songs Of Praise (we did say it was perfect festival fare!) and the crowd-pleasing crowd-participation stomp of Hands Out Your Pockets. A particular Plunger favourite was the slow and Squeeze-y Nashville-via -Neasden waltz Young Man’s Game with its tight three-part harmonies.

Nashville native (and previous Maverick attendee… admittedly 12 years ago) Rod Picott drew a reverential crowd to the Barn. However for Plunger’s tastes his solo acoustic set was a bit unremarkable (despite some fine guitar and a nice line in US/UK culture clash gags… “A whole HOUR of radio for women?”) lacking either the variety of a Tim Gerard, the treacly warmth of a Drew Young  or the grit of a Mickelson, so it seemed an appropriate time for a meal break …

Plunger often lazily pigeonhole Lachlan Bryan & The Wildes as solely purveyors of outback outlaw ballads, and while there were some of those in their Barn return, particularly Ballad Of A Young Married Man, we tend to forget the Springsteeny lopes, dark tom-led swampy grooves and of course the previously Hannah-covered epic Dugdemona that really is a ready-made classic (and notable post-festival earworm).

With night falling, Plunger took to the Moonshine for another dose of Mickelson, passing on the way the Peacock stage which was rammed solid for the Gram Parsons tribute. With songs from all available acts, covering the alt-country hero’s back catalogue, including Tim Gerard (above) and most notably The Sam Chase who covered the Gram and Emmylou cover of Love Hurts in their own inimitable gruff,  threatening manner: you really believed that love would definitely hurt delivered in those tones… Down by the waterside, Mickelson’s smouldering twilit performance was another hugely atmospheric highlight (unchanged set or no) with some fantastic banjo playing, chiming Stillsian guitar and spine-tingling vocal sincerity.

Terra Lightfoot’s headline slot in the Barn (the first of two) was a stunning tour de force (and boy, what force - both vocally and with her cranked Gibson SG)! A trouser-flappingly loud guitar intro heralded Stars Over Dakota, followed by more heavy-riffing-and-doo-wop Stax/metal hybrids Called Out Your Name, It’s Over Now and Hold You with its audience call-and-response. Plunger can’t think of anyone else who can successfully mix light soully pop with rafter-rattling rock to make bobbysox metal (bubblegum rock?) Slightly (only slightly) more relaxed vibes came in new song The Only One Of Your Kind, and the shoutalong Pinball King. Slick Back Kid included showboating solo spots for both bass and drums, and a thrashy Consider The Speed (with Redhill Valleys sitting in) ended a thrilling set. Or almost… to the surprise of everyone (including the crew) Terra did return for a gooseflesh-raising solo encore of Angel From Montgomery, showcasing that phenomenal voice.

Ears still ringing, we stumbled off into the cool of the night, a little thunderstruck and somewhat crisped by the sun. Bring on Sunday!

[darling-i-read-it]

Out of Prison

Rick Flag x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: insinuations to smut, weapons, harley talking about what the joker did to her briefly

Author’s Note: harleys dialouge my beloved lol. I hope you enjoy darling!

Requested: by anon, Hi Dear, what do you think about this: Harley visits the Reader in the time she is outside the prison, just to find out about Rick and Reader. Maybe a surprise visit and Rick comes out of the shower, only with a towel and Harley just 'Oh, you finally capture the Flag😏'. I can't help myself, but the image of a surprise visit from Harls at readers home inclusive a half-naked Flag is just to funny😅

Summary: the request

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Harley smiled as the guards handed her the clothing she had been arrested in, her outfits from Task Force X and the small hammer she had on her.

“What about the gun?” she asked in her regular high pitched voice. The man handing her the things was practically shaking. He couldn’t believe she was getting out of prison. She would just come back in next week. But Waller kept her promises and she had promised to help those who worked for her.

“The gun isn’t legal. We keep it.” She let out an annoyed sigh.

“You gonna give me money for a cab?” The man just stared at her and she stared back. “Alrighty then. It was nice knowin ya.”

Her place had been ransacked and stripped for evidence so she couldn’t go back there. Plus, they probably leased it out to someone new. She had been in prison for a fat minute. The next best place was yours. She would probably be protected at your place. You and Harley had been friends for years and you had even helped protect her after she broke up with The Joker. You worked with Flag and Waller but had taken a liking to Harley. It wasn’t hard. She knew she was amazing.

Plus, it wasn’t that far from the prison! She could just walk.

With a skip in her step she walked toward your home again, smiling brightly.

====

You sat on the bathroom counter, flipping through the news on your phone. You looked through the prisoners that were going to be released within the next week. Rick was in the shower, washing away the night. The two of you had been secretly dating for a while and since it was the weekend you could hang out as much as you wanted without worrying about Waller’s watchful eye.

“Harley’s getting out today?” you said though it was more of a question.

“Harley Quinn?!” Rick called over the water stream.

“Yeah! You know that? I thought she had a couple more years. Three at least,” you murmured.

“I did not,” he moved aside the shower curtain. “You gonna go pick her up?” he asked. You shook your head.

“They usually let people out at night so they can get killed in the night life. It might be a mistake. I could have sworn she had more years left.” Rick moved back into the shower, washing his hair.

“Waller’s always moving things around. Besides,” he paused, “she’ll be back next week.”

====

Harley knocked on the door. You heard the knock faintly but over the water, you were pretty sure you had just heard something. But at the second insistent knock you slid off the counter.

“I’ll be right back,” you called. You slid into the main room and shivered at the cold. You loved the fog of the bathroom when someone was showering. You opened the door without bothering to look through the peephole. Your eyes went wide at the sight of Harley without her makeup, her hair in lazy pigtails.

“Hey hon!” she said with a smile. She walked into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. You shrugged and shut the door behind her.

“So it’s true,” you said. “Waller let you out early.”

“Yes she did! Now we can have a slumber party, like old times. We can paint our nails and I can tell you about the most notorious crimes Mister J did.” She put her bag down beside her with a smile and fell onto your couch. You laughed gently.

“We’ve never had a slumber party Harls.”

“Well we oughta.” She pat the couch. “And there is no time like the present!” You were about to speak again when the bathroom door opened. Harley jumped up quickly, grabbing her small hammer and launching it.

She missed Rick’s head by only an inch. He jumped, almost dropping the towel he was holding around his waist. He let out a sigh.

“Nice to see you too Harley,” he said. Her eyes went wide as a smile crept onto his face. She looked at you and then at Rick. She had been egging you on to ask him out for ages. She saw the obvious chemistry.

“Y/N!” she said happily. “You finally caught the Flag,” she teased. You rolled your eyes.

“He’s just leaving. You’re welcome to stay as long as you don’t kill anyone in the building.”

“Can’t I stay for dinner?” Rick asked, leaning against the door.

“Yes of course,” Harley said. She jumped over the couch and grabbed his muscular arm. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything. I used to be an amazing cook before you know…” She imitated electric shocks then went back to her smiley self.

“Well then go at it Harls,” you said. You looked at Rick. “You can stay for dinner.”

“Thanks.” He kissed your forehead. “I’ll get dressed. I won’t be long, don’t wanna ruin the slumber party.” You scoffed.

“We’re gonna have a great time without you,” you said, patting his chest. “But I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Oh you’re both so cheesy, I love it!” Harley called from the kitchen. He shut the bathroom door again and you walked back to Harley. She gave you a smile as she took out the pots and pans and turned on the oven. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” she whisper screamed.

“What was I supposed to do? Call the prison?” She rolled her eyes.

“You could have come during visiting hours,” she muttered, annoyed. You pat her back.

“Well I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Harls.” The door opened and Rick reappeared, fully clothed this time. He put a hand on your back, leaning over you to see what Harley was doing.

“You’re not gonna burn down the house are you?” he asked.

“No I am not. Even if I did, you’re not my Colonel here Flag. This is Y/N’s place.” You nodded a bit.

“She is right. Go on at it Quinn. Wow us.” She smiled.

“I will!”

[writingsfromhome]

Bad Timing I

A/N: This is you and your ex, (Detective) Harry, winding up in each other’s lives again after a traumatic event in your life. I’ve had this idea in my notes app for like a year, and I just decided to go for it this week! It’s a little all over the place as I set it up but I think the next part will go a lot better if you can stick with it (and I appreciate you if you can <3).

Warnings: Violence (guns), PTSD?

Part 1 / (.5) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

I had booked Thursday and Friday off in advance. I made sure my e-mails were forwarded, my clients were told I wouldn't be in, and any internal matters were allocated to my assistant. It was going to be a relaxing long weekend where I could have a homemade meal for once and watch Netflix all day. I was my branch’s youngest director and even though it was a fulfilling job, I hadn't had a day off since I got the position four months ago.

This was probably why, at 9am, I get a call from my assistant. One of our bigger clients was refusing to discuss his loan terms with anyone and wanted to speak to me directly.

"Tell him I'm not in Adam, you shouldn't even be calling me-I have the bloody day off."

"Yess but he said he's coming in at 10 and if you're not here he's switching banks for his personal and business accounts." Adam stuttered. “If you lose this client H-”

"Jesus," I look at my outfit and the time-I barely had any time to make it to the bank; it took me 40 minutes just to get to work. "I'll be there-distract him if I'm late. Oh! Ask about his daughter's new private school!"

I rush to my room and apply minimal makeup, pull back my y/h/c hair and throw on my black cigarette pants and a blazer. I'm halfway down the lift when I realise I was still in my t-shirt. "Shite," I mutter. I button the blazer and put my scarf around my neck so it's covered. That was decent enough for my day off.

I arrive breathless and sweaty 5 minutes early to the bank despite the cool weather. Might have seemed like a win if that wasn’t when everything went downhill. Just as I walk up to the side door, waving at Adam who was walking out to greet me, a crash from the entrance startles me.

"Hands up!” A loud voice booms from behind me. “Don't touch a fucking thing!" I turn, seeing Adam’s shocked expression, just in time to be shoved to the floor by four people dressed all in black, and wearing celebrity masks. In all my time working here, I’d never been part of a bank heist and some part of me is frozen, mind blank. I wasn’t even supposed to be here!

"I said to put your hands up!" The one with a Brad Pitt face points the gun around the room as people scramble for cover. I inch backwards to the counter as I watch them manhandle the customers and pull our bankers to the floor. I release a breath, trying to snap out of the shock I seemed to be in. The base of a column digs into my back and I focus on that to ground myself, scanning each robber, and where my employees were. Adam has his hands on his head, the closest one to me. I try to catch his eye to reassure him but he’s squeezing them tight. I didn’t blame him, Brad Pitt stands over him menacingly. I look to the customers, they weren’t trying to be smart--that was good. I’d watched enough TV to know that was never a smart move.

Just as I think that, from the corner of my eye, I catch Cole, one of our guards reach for his gun. A loud shot echoes through the small space and I swivel my head trying to see what's happened while making sure everyone was okay. The thief wearing a Kanye West mask, manning the front entrance of the bank, had shot Cole in the arm and he was bleeding all over the floor. My first instinct is to help him but I'm yanked back down before I make it a step.

"We’re not missing the next person who moves a muscle. I want you all to drop your phones in the middle! No. Fucking. Funny business." The thief who shot Cole points his gun to all of us and it takes all of me to not hyperventilate. I hear a few people crying but I don't dare look. Instead, I watch on as David Beckham drags Cole to the side and ties his hands behind him. I can see by the wincing that they didn’t care whether they twisted his arms too hard. This wasn’t a petty robbery, they were hardcore.

"Who has the passcode to the vault?" Brad Pitt asks as one of his friends goes around zip tying everybody's hands behind them. When nobody answers he shoves the gun in Adam’s face and I let out a sob. What did we do to deserve this?

"Me," I choke out. “Don’t hurt him, I have the passcode. I know it.”

"You?" The man asks. "You better not be lying bitch or you'll be joining your friend there."

I nod as he pulls me up by the arm and uses my scarf to tie my hands. I try to stay calm, the only way I could get through this before the police arrived was to keep my calm. Everything in me is screaming to do something--fight, scream, swear, cry, but I keep my mouth shut and follow Brad Pitt and the joker to the back. I'm led at gunpoint to the vault and they untie me so I can put in the code and my thumbprint. The one in a Joker mask presses her gun into my back and I know the least of my worries was a bruise but that was the only thing I could focus on.

She shoves me forward when I pause, hovering my finger over the finger pad, in the distance I hear sirens. Please let us all be okay, I pray.

"Don’t be a fucking hero, let’s go!" The female behind me yells in my ear and I rush to press my thumb.

As soon as I finish the procedure, I feel an explosion like fireworks against the side of my head and everything goes dark.

H POV:

I walked into the station around 10, just having come back from a nearby escalated domestic call. It wasn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever been involved in at 10am on a Thursday morning.

"Harry, there seems to be some sort of commotion near Holborn, the director wants you in his office." Serena, the receptionist tells me gravely. I don’t even consider the street, assuming it would be another criminal to go after. But when I go into the office, we get the rundown: there was a robbery happening at the HSBC. That’s when I understand the gravity of the situation.

"We’ve sent a few men right now, they seemed to be armed so proceed with caution." He warns. I had been on the force for over four years; I moved rank fast and knew how to handle myself so the warning was mostly for the junior constables. But my heart thuds violently in my chest when I think about the possibility...no. I had to focus. But I can’t help but try her cell on our way to the scene. When it continues to ring, my thoughts go to the worse place possible. I know I hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a year, like she wanted, but if anything happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

When we arrive at the scene, the thieves are still inside. I make sure nobody makes any moves, following protocol, and trying to gauge the exact situation inside. But before I could give orders, a man holding up his zip-tied hands shuffles out of the building. I notice the terror on his face and the fact that he's not armed.

"Down!" I say. The restless energy building up inside of me makes every move feel frantic.

"They left out the back! They left!" The man's shaky voice reaches our ears. I gesture a few of the officers to head around back and radio in the update.

"Get his statement, be sensitive,” I snap at the closest officer before I take a few of my officers indoors. The scene inside only reminds me why I do what I do, there's glass on the floor, phones in a pile and bullets littering the floor. Everyone looks shocked, people are crying, and a man in the corner is bleeding profusely.I scan all their faces but I don’t see her. I pray that she might have taken the day off today or something, even though I knew she rarely every did. Where was she?

"Medical," I order. I face the crowd, "You're all alright, If everyone can slowly get up and follow Officer McGregor out, we'll see that your belongings are returned to you and collect statements later. You’re all alright now."

"Sir," a bloke off to the side steps forward from the group getting up. "Our manager was taken to the back...we're not sure how she is, she hasn't come out...”

I reassure the crowd she should be fine. I didn't want them to see me panic, not to mention if we had any casualty the press outside were going to bombard this crowd with insensitive questions and I really wanted to keep this on the low. I was considered young for a DCI and any screw up meant I took it twice as hard. And I didn’t know if I could behave normally if I didn’t find her in any way except breathing. I put on my brave face.

I get an officer to stand by and venture cautiously into the back, spotting an open vault. I hurry into the area when I spot her, laying motionless on the floor.

“Y/N,” I rush forward, skidding on my knees to check on her. “Pleasepleaseplease.” I put my fingers to her pulse and nearly shout in relief. She was alive! I send a thanks out into the universe, to whoever was watching over her. “Y/N! Y/N, can you hear me?”

Her eyes flutter under her lids. I turn her gently onto her back, she was wearing a Green Day t-shirt under a smart jacket and trousers--that was unlike her. She always dressed very smart. I gently remove her short strands off her face to reveal a nasty bruise on the side of her head. I try to stifle my heartbeat; it scared me seeing her like this. I’m about to call my officer but her long lashes flutter and suddenly she's looking at me, dazed.

"Y/N! Are you alright?" I inquire. She blinks, and then again, her eyebrows drawn together as she stares at me. I try again, “Y/N, answer me please! Are you alright?”

"I...do I...bloody look alright? Where did they go?" She snaps out of her daze and tries to sit up but her hand goes to her head which must be throbbing. I place a hand on her back so she doesn't fall back down.

"Oh thank god,” I sigh in relief, she could talk. She was alright. “Th-they’'ve managed to escape. We'll deal with that. You were knocked unconscious so we should get you checked-”

"Those bastards," she snarls. I bite back a chuckle as I help her up. She pushes me away as soon as she's on her feet. "I wasn't even supposed to bloody be here today you know that? It was my day off and....Jesus.” She clutches her forehead. “How's everyone else? Chris? Adam?"

"Everyone is fine, your guard’s being taken to hospital. Everyone else is untouched, we need to have you checked out though." I am mesmerized, as always, by her ability to talk about ten things at once.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s my case, I guess,” I tell her, expecting the question. She scowls. “I’ll have to ask you some questions later, but Y/N we need to have your head checked.”

“I’m sure you’d like that,” she mumbles.

“You’re proving by the second that you’re quite alright but we’ve got to get you to a medic anyway,” I gesture forward so she can walk ahead of me. I didn’t want her falling or anything. The constable at the door watches her walk out and eyes me warily.

"She need her statement taken chief?"

"I'll take her down to the station myself--she's hurt." I dismiss the officer and follow Y/N out. I wanted to keep an eye on her right now. “Can I help you walk?”

“My legs are working fine,” she snarls whilst clutching her forehead.

Your POV:

I could not believe today's turn of events. I was supposed to have a relaxing day off but instead, I’m rushed to work so I could be held up by thieves, forced to help them rob my branch, only to be mildly concussed. And the person on the case is none other than my ex-husband Harry Styles.

The only thing going for me is that I don't cry easily (or i would be a sniffling mess right now). And Harry was the last person I wanted to cry in front of although he’s seen me at much worse. I push aside those memories, ignoring his lingering eyes and try to walk ahead of him.

I cover up my shaking hands by stuffing them under the blanket I'm wrapped in when Harry leads me to the ambulance. He stays to the side while the medic goes through a questionnaire and informs me on what I need to know about being mildly concussed. All I could think about is the feeling of a gun pressed to the small of back, the chill of it through fabric. 

"Miss?" The medic asks.

"Sorry, I got it. Yes. Thank you."

"I asked how you got here?" The medic begins to look concerned. Shit. I did not want more attention.

"I...meant I got what you were saying. Sorry, I rode the tube in."

"Great. You can ride with me to the station," Harry says from the side. I avoid his gaze but I have to agree. There was no way I was taking the tube during a time like this. I had a concussion.

So I'm sat in the back whilst Harry drives with his partner. I catch Harry glancing in the rear-view more often than he should and when we make eye contact, he gives me a reassuring smile. But sitting in the back of the car, I feel like the metal tip of a gun still keeps my spine straight. My lungs feel like they're not expanding large enough for air and I clutch the seatbelt strapping me in. I try to name all the countries I could remember--a coping technique I’d used since I was a kid to try and distract myself.

"You alright miss?" The other officer sounds concerned.

"Yeah," I choke out. "Just a little stuffy back here."

"Oh ‘m sorry," Harry opens the back window and I greedily gulp the fresh air coming in. My panic subsides and I settle back into the seat.

*

"And that's all you remember?" Harry sits on the desk chair next to me even though his own seat remains empty behind the desk.

"Exactly as I've told you, like, 20 times Harry."

It was now two hours later; I'd sat waiting for an hour before receiving my phone only to find multiple calls from the bank’s higher-ups. After dealing with them, I had to wait another half hour before finally being interviewed. I proceeded to drink two cups of bad coffee while giving every detail of what I remember, their masks, and so on. Every time I said something that could help, Harry would backtrack and I would explain it three different ways. It was frustrating and the repetition kicked my anxiety up so that I was on the edge of a breakdown. I grip the arms of the chair and respond to Harry. "Listen, alright, why would I not be telling you the full story? Of course that's all I bloody remember! It's not like I had an out-of-body experience and I saw them leave through the back door.”

"I'm sorry Y/N, it's just routine." Harry keeps a straight face on.  "We have a few suspicions we're trying to corroborate by interviewing everyone involved. I promise I’m just being thorough-"

"Yeah yeah alright, you sound like you're reading from a bloody manual," I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh into the silence. When Harry doesn't say anything, I look up to see him watching me with an amused expression.

"What?" I ask, annoyed.

"It’s been a while...I forgot how charming you can be.”

“What can I say, you bring it out in me.”

"Very interesting outfit by the way," he takes my snark in stride, gesturing to my outfit with his pen instead. I cross my arms in front of me. He's still got the stupid expression on his face, it looks unchanged from the one he used to give me once upon a time. When he found something I did funny but in a loveable way; the feelings that surface are almost unbearable.

"Don’t judge my outfit, I had to rush to work for our client meet-oh shit." I pull out my phone and check my email but there's nothing from the client. Probably avoiding the shit show. I notice the time, with all the time I’d wasted today I may as well not have taken the day off at all.

"So you weren't meant to be at work today except for this client? Bad timing isn’t it." Harry reads to himself from his notes. I stare at him, wishing I could burn a hole into his skull to see if he really had a brain in there.

"I've told you this five times before, Harry. You're literally reading from your notes. If you're just going to ask the same questions over and over I’m sure you can find the answers in there and I can go home."

"Right but something doesn't add up, I just want to make sure I have all the details."

"Do I have to be here to watch you do your mental maths?" I wasn't very nice when anxiety and frustration became my base emotions. But Harry knew that.

He looks at me, eyebrows raised at my snark. "I'm sure that you want to get to the bottom of this just as much as I do-"

"But that's not my job," I remind him. "That's yours. I've done mine, and I'd really just like to go home." My voice cracks, and I feel a rush of embarrassment.

"How about I drop you off home? I can walk through the day with you once more during the drive?”

He looks at me expectantly, “I’d rather stab myself in the eye.”

"Best not to with the concussion,” Harry pushes my buttons, and I’m kind of surprised. The last time we saw each other he’d been accommodating to my anger but he was pushing back today. Like he used to when we were together when he riled me up simply because he found it amusing.

When I scowl though, he gets serious. “Y/N, just let me give you a ride home and we can talk more.”

I didn’t want to stand around arguing, I was tired, so I just agree. He smiles, his dimples making a pretty appearance. Damn him.

H POV:

I’m surprised she agrees to ride home with me. I knew Y/N had a stubborn streak and giving in to my offer was new. She’d made it clear last time we saw each other that she wanted nothing to do with me. I was also curious to know where she lived, I’d only been to her office once since we’d split. And that was usually to drop off papers.

She actually answers my questions on the drive, albeit they’re one word answers, but she gives me space to talk out some theories I had. But she also disagrees with most of them, pointing out their flaws. The comfortable back-and-forth between us is bittersweet. This was why we were married once upon a time. We worked well together; after all, we’d been friends for years before dating the other. It was the friendship I missed the most when I thought about us.

When we drive up to her address, it’s a townhome in a decent part of the city. Her promotion clearly had its perks.

I leap out of the car to open her door before she could but she beats me to it, scowling at me as she realises what I was trying to do.

“So you live here?” I try to ease into a conversation, get her to open up, ask her how she was doing. But she looks at me like I’d asked a stupid question, waving her keys.

“You’re kind of dense for a detective,” she says when I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“Forget I asked,” getting personal was useless.

“Done.” She always manages to get the last word. She climbs her steps but I follow her up. She eyes me as she finds the correct one on her key ring. “What?”

“I just-have you got anyone living with you?”

“What’s that got to do with the case?” She asks, her defenses going up.

“You’re concussed, it’s best you have someone with you for the next 24 hours like the med-”

“I’ll be fine Harry,” her sharp edges soften but still, she only opens her door wide enough to step through. I can barely see anything behind her except for a hall.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” I try again.

“Nice of you to care,” the way she says it implies a deeper meaning, one that borders on a dangerous topic.

“I’m serious Y/N, this--a concussion’s no joke. And it was traumatic what you went through you really shouldn’t-”

“I’ve been on my own for a while now, I’ll be okay.” There she goes having the last word again. I raise my hands and back off.

“If you say so. I’ll...head back to the station but if you need anything, well, you know how to reach me.”

She nods, closing the door softly behind her. I sigh, it was a whirlwind last few hours but I was just grateful Y/N was going to be okay. I know she hated me, but I still cared about her. It was hard not to. We’d known each other for over a decade, and even though I hurt her in our past, and she might not agree with me, I cared. Caring about her didn’t have an on/off switch. I only wanted her to be okay. Maybe even happy.

Y POV:

I go through the motions for the rest of the afternoon, mostly I sit zoned out in front of the window while the morning plays like a loop in my head. Something about having your life hang in the balance of a stranger’s pointer finger made it feel so fragile. It unraveled me, and I can’t focus on anything. I just keep feeling the gun on my back, and smashing against the side of my head.

I keep my head iced, and avoid screens except to send out a couple emails and to call my sister after 8 voice messages that progresses from panic after hearing the news to annoyance as I don’t respond. When she finds out Harry’s on the case she swears.

“That bastard,” I can see her face in my mind, the one where she pursues her lips like mum used to. “You should report him, conflict of interest right? It’s traumatic enough what you’ve been through, you poor thing. I was just talking to Lewis and he said I should come down to stay with you this weekend-”

“That’s really alright,” I nip the idea in the bud. I loved my sister dearly but she was an overly anxious person and I don’t think that would be helpful for me right now. “It’s just a mild concussion, the medic said I should be cleared after 24 hours so it would only be a hassle for you to come down here.”

“Alright,” she says grudgingly. “But you say the word and I’m on the first train out. And I’ll give that ex of yours an earful if he’s anywhere near you again.”

I smile at my sister’s overprotective nature, “I appreciate the offer, but I think I can manage that fine on my own.”

“That you can,” she laughs.

But when I put down the phone, the silence creeps in again. And normally I loved the quiet but like a broken record player, the voices and sounds from this morning continue to play in a loop in the silence.

I give up after 7 and start preparing for bed. But a call interrupts my nightly routine.

“Y/N,” it’s Harry. “It’s me, Harry.”

“I do have call display,” I say dryly.

“Right, I...wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

“Is this about the case?” I was hoping he was calling to say the bastards were caught.

“Oh...not exactly. I was wondering if you’ve fed yourself. I’m in your area for work, it’s my last call. I thought I could bring you some takeout or...?”

“I was about to get ready for bed.” I reply.

“Oh. That’s early? Have you had dinner?”

I think about the pathetic cheese toast I’d managed to make. My stomach growls thinking about food, I didn’t seem to have an appetite until he’s said something. “Fine, only if you’re in my area.”

Surely, not even 10 minutes go by and by doorbell rings. Harry stands outside with a takeout bag, his pressed shirt from this morning is more rumpled with a few buttons undone.

“I parked on the street--is that alright?”

“I guess? You’re just here to drop this off.” I shrug.

“Actually I uh, I thought I’d keep you some company.”

“I...” I don’t know if I should be offended. “I don’t need company. I only agreed to the takeout.”

“I’m part of the package,” he hides the bag behind him, a smug smile on his face. I roll my eyes, it was too late to do this with him.

So I leave the door open and head inside, tightening my robe around me. Harry was part of my past and having him here, in the place I’d built myself back again, feels wrong. This was where I’d shed the identity of being a divorcee before 30, and here he was. When I turn to see why he was so quiet, I find him scanning my gallery wall and smiling at the pictures.

“Hey, I’m on here,” he points to a small group picture.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I walk back to him to get the food. “I just looked good there.”

It was a shot from my sister’s wedding, Harry and I with the newlyweds. It was taken a few weeks before we’d made us official actually--moving from friends to lovers was maybe one of the bigger mistake I’d made in life. Another was agreeing to marry him.

“I look pretty good too,” he leans in closer. I ignore him and take the cartons of Chinese out and grab cutlery. He joins me, I hand him a beer and take a sparkling water for myself. “How’ve you been feeling?”

“Okay,” I shrug. “Just sorting through it all. Trying to avoid screens, all that.”

“That’s good,” he steals a chicken from the container I’m dumping into my plate. I eye him but he just grins, chewed food between his cheeks. I let it slide. “So you’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion or something?”

I sigh, “That’s not true, I only have a mild concussion!”

“Well I’m not a bloody doctor!”

“Thank god for that.”

“You’ll never stop doing that will you?” He rubs his chopsticks together and attempts to eat with him. “Always so snarky.”

“I can’t help it,” I continue to watch him fail with his chopsticks and pick up a fork. “It sustains me.”

“You should try being nice for once.”

“Tried it once, didn’t work out well for me. So...here I am.”

I was being passive, I knew that. He knew that with the way he eyes me over his food. He keeps quiet though, knowing there was nothing he could say in this moment to make a difference. We eat in silence until he receives a call and he leaves to take it. I clean up so by the time he gets back I’ve just loaded the dishwasher.

“I know the sleep thing’s not true for you,” Harry says as he approaches. “But I think I should stay here overnight. Just to make sure you’re-”

“No,” I cross my arms. “There’s no reason for you to stay the night Harry. I don’t need you here.”

“It’s for your peace of mind-”

“It’s for your peace of mind Harry. And frankly, I don’t care about your peace of mind. I don’t want you sleeping over, I’m not comfortable with that.”

“Y/N, c’mon! It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we didn’t sleep in the same bed for years--I’ll be sleeping on the couch! You’re not in your best shape and it’s just for a night, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something to go home to?” I ask. He shifts his gaze and shakes his head.

“Nope, my bachelor pad just me. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

I dry my hands and watch him, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I knew him well enough to recognise the wide stance, shoulders back, and jut of his chin. He wasn’t backing down.

“I don’t want to hear you, Not even a peep. I’ll make up the couch but this is the one and only time you’re wearing me down, you’re lucky I’m not in the mood to argue-”

“Promise,” he holds his hand up to his chest, a grin on his face knowing he won.

I leave him with a comfortable setup and head up to my own room. There was a spare upstairs but I don’t think I could handle him sleeping next door to me. It was weird how in just one day I’d seen more of him than I had in the last couple years and now he was sleeping in my living room like we were okay. Not like he wasn’t the man who’d broken my trust, and my heart.

As I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep as the day replays in my head, another set of memories infiltrates my mind and keeps me from sleeping. The story of Harry and I, the naive beginning, eventful middle, and heartbreaking end. My mind repeats its history and I don’t fall asleep for hours. When sleep finally comes, my dreams are haunted by the same memories.

[gifted-burnout-archive]

It’s Just a Costume

Requested?: Yes! I got two requests I merged into one, where Y/N is dressed really nice and all the guys in the office are ogling her, and Jim gets un poco jealous, and another request around the Halloween episode where Dwight turns up as the Joker and when Y/N comes in as Harley he thinks it’s a sign they are meant to be together.

Word Count: 4.2K+

Author’s Note: I have been given a burst of energy recently and want to make sure all the requests I have gotten are written (even if these ones are from a month ago (I’m so sorry)). I like the idea of jealous Jim, not gonna lie, because it seems like this would be his only actual flaw. I hope you enjoy; this is my second thing with smut so bear with me.

Warning: SMUT. oral (female receiving), intercourse, sex while on the phone. I went a bit off the rails, this is new territory for me.

--

No-one in the office knew you were a cosplayer.

They did not need to know what you did in your spare time, or that you had a whole room in your apartment dedicated to rolls of fabric and your beloved sewing machine. You were actual quite well known within the community, had your own blog about the behind the scenes of costume making and tips for convention goers.  But it was your little secret, and most certainly not something you wanted broadcast at your day job.

Not even Jim knew.

The pair of you had been dating on the down low for a good few months now, actually coming on a year, and while he knew all about your love of comic books and your going to conventions, he wasn’t yet aware of the whole ‘dress up like comic book villains and paint your body completely green that one time’ sort of commitment. It’s not that you thought he would mind, if anything he might find it quite cool, but you weren’t ready to share your guilty pleasure with him just yet, and that was ok. Jim got it.

You had joined Dunder Mifflin about three years ago now and were currently filling in the receptionist role while Pam was off in New York at corporate. However, due to doctor’s appointments and compulsory trips to HQ, you had never had the chance to dress up for Halloween at the office. The whole team joined in to some degree, and with the new Batman movie having just been released, you had the perfect costume idea for the occasion.

You had cosplayed as Harley Quinn a fair number of times in your life, and for this year’s Comic Con you had actually made a Dr Harleen Quinzel costume to match the grunge, dark, jaded Joker Heath Ledger had played in the summer blockbuster. It was all handmade, simply because nowhere in Scranton sold the lab coat or dress you had envisioned in your early sketches, and you even took the time to make up a fake nametag, print out a Joker casefile, doodle love hearts with the letters ‘J+H’ in the margins.

You were a woman of detail, you liked to make sure everything was up to your standard, and even got yourself some black ankle boot high heels that match the aesthetic perfectly. The costume as a whole looked great, you wouldn’t even lie, so when you realised your were finally going to be in Scranton to participate in Halloween, you woke up early that morning to sort your makeup and slip into the red and black dress you had designed yourself. You grabbed the lab coat and props, including a pair of glasses you didn’t need to reflect the comic books, and headed out the door to your car.

Whatever forces held reign over your life must have bee reluctant for you to show up at work. Not only did you have to stop for gas when you were sure you had a full tank a few days ago, but a breakdown on your usual route to work had made you thirty minutes late, and the last person to entire the office.

“Morning Hank!” You greeted the security man with a wave, and he replied with a grunt, invested in his newspaper. You called the lift, your phone pinging as you stepped in the lift.

Jim: Not like you to be so late, Y/N. Tut tut. Xx

You rolled your eyes at the message despite the smile on your face, pressing the button for Dunder Mifflin’s floor before texting back.

You: Just heading up now, traffic was insane this morning. Can’t wait to see your costume Xx

You caught your reflection in the steel doors and quickly tidied your hair, which had been blown around a little by the wind. A part of you was nervous, was the outfit too obscure for the office to get? You banished the thoughts: you looked great and that’s what counted.

The elevator doors slid open, the entrance to the office decorated with spider webs and plastic pumpkins. You had made sure to stock up your desk with plenty of candy the night before, and with a smile on your face, you entered the office and sat yourself at the reception desk.

“Sorry I’m late guys…” You apologised offhandedly, pushing the glasses up your nose and logging into your computer, humming along to ‘Thriller’ that was playing in the background on low volume. You had made sure there was a Halloween CD in the player last night too.

It took you a moment, after you had logged on to the computer, to look up at Jim to wave hello, when you realised the whole office seemed to be looking at you. You made sure you weren’t imagining things, blinking a few times to focus your vision, but it was definitely the case.

Everyone was staring.

“Do… Do I have something in my hair?” You asked, oblivious to what everyone else was seeing.

What Jim was seeing.

Your costume for the occasion wasn’t just nice or pretty, it was stunning. The fabric hugged your curves just right, it showed a little more than a fair amount of cleavage, and your heels just emphasised the lace stockings you had decided. Jim was never a man to objectify, but even he couldn’t help but gawk at how sexy you looked that morning.

Thankfully, Phyllis decided to break the silence, walking over to your desk and pretending to pull a piece of fluff from your hair. The rest of the room, the males especially, hurried themselves back to work at that.

“Oh, thank you Phyllis. My morning was chaotic, I knew something would go wrong.” You laughed sweetly, still completely clueless as to what everyone was looking at. “I love your Raggedy Ann look!” You complimented, offering her a candy. She took it with a sweet smile.

“Thank you Y/N… You really went all out this year, you look great.” She offered back, and you felt a blush of pride coming to your cheeks.

“It’s my first time getting to participate in costumes at the office, I thought I’d give it my best shot.” You explained, and with a kind nod, Phyllis headed back to her desk, leaving you to start responding to phone calls.

--

The day continued in an… Odd fashion. Every twenty minutes or so, one of the guys was up at your desk, asking for something. First it was Ryan dressed up as Gordon Gecko, who you complimented on the suspenders, then Creed, the first Joker impersonator, then Toby, who had gone for the classic skeleton, and Kevin, the second Joker, then Andy, who guffawed when you guessed Mister Mistoffelees, and finally Dwight, Joker number three. Dwight seemed to be visiting the most, whether it was to fax something or ask for a call to be forwarded, he was suddenly a whole bunch nicer to you today. It was around lunchtime, when Dwight made his way up to the desk for the sixth time, that you finally asked for an explanation.

“Hey Dwight? Is everything alright today?” You asked, leaning forward in your chair to smile at him, not noticing your co-worker’s eyes flick down to your chest.

“Uh…” He seemed to stutter on the thought, before straightening himself up. “I just didn’t think a girl like you would be interested in comic books, that’s all. Your outfit just caught me off guard, I wanted to check you were really dressed up as Harleen.” You nodded and smiled.

“You know, you’re the first person to guess my character right all day! I started to wonder if it was too out of the box, if I looked like I came in dressed as a pharmacist or something.” You giggled, and Dwight let out a nervous laugh along with you.

“You have done the character justice… You look good.” He stated with a firm nod, and you handed him a candy in thanks.

“So do you, Dwight.” You complimented back, glancing up at the clock. “I’m going to sort out my lunch.” You excused yourself, standing up and heading over to the kitchen with your coffee mug, lab coat left behind, and glasses perched atop your head.

Your exiting the room allowed for multiple of the younger, testosterone-filled men of the office to get a good look at your ass in the red and black number you had created, and for Dwight to rush back to his desk and get Jim’s attention away from you, his girlfriend’s, ass.

“What, Dwight?” He snapped, not in a good mood at all. He had spent the entire morning watch his co-workers flirt with you, and he didn’t like it. He couldn’t even blame it on you, you seemed completely oblivious to what the outfit was doing to them, to him…

“I was right.” Dwight said with far too much excitement, looking back at the kitchen as you poured yourself some coffee.

“Right about what?” Jim entertained the creep he had worked beside for years, the given adjective not simply because of the Halloween look he had decided on. Jim had never found the fun in dressing up for Halloween, and today wore a nametag with ‘Dave’ written on it. He sipped on his coffee, watching Dwight build up the courage to speak with a raised brow.

“Y/N is in love with me.”

The statement had Jim spitting coffee back into his cup to avoid choking, but Dwight seemed unfazed by the reactionWhile you were unaware of any sort of connection, Dwight had been pining over you since the moment you landed in the office. And Jim had known, of course, thanks to a night at the bar that left Dwight calling out your name as he was piled into a taxi. But what had given him the impression you liked him?

“How are you so sure?” Jim asked, and Dwight scoffed, folding his arms in defence.

“Well, if you must know, I’ve been studying her body language towards the men in the office for quite some time.” Jim’s eyes widened, and Dwight looked him over. “She’s a young, fertile woman, and this is breeding grounds. Out of everyone in the office she could be attracted to, she distinctly shows affection to me. Today she has spoken to me five separate times of her own volition, she has given me two pieces of candy and she matched my costume. The signs are very clear, Jim.”

“She matched you?” Jim asked.

“Her outfit, Doctor Harleen Quinzel? She is dressed as the Joker’s romantic interest.” Dwight explained it to Jim like he was dumb, and quickly quietened down as you returned back into the room, walking past their desks. Jim smiled as you approached, causing you to blush a little.

“Hey Jim, I got you a fresh cup, you’ve been nursing that one for a while.” You passed over the coffee to your boyfriend with a bite of the lip as he took a sip of the fresh brew.

“It’s perfect Y/N. Thanks.” He gave it the nod of approval and you made your way back to your desk, waving at Dwight as you walked by.

“Hey costume partner.” You joked, and Jim raised an eyebrow at you. You mouthed a quick ‘what?’ at him before sitting back down and picking up the ringing phone.

“See?” Dwight whispered, dialling his next number with a manic grin on his face. “She clearly is trying to mate with me.”

--

By 3 o’clock, Jim couldn’t ignore his jealousy any longer. Ryan and Toby had asked if you were free later, but Dwight… Dwight was going above and beyond. He had spent the day slacking on his work and trying to entice you with cups of coffee, possible prank ideas and chain emails that got you to giggle twice. Frankly, Jim wasn’t quite sure what to do. He had been the one to suggest keeping your relationship quiet, more because he knew the badgering Pam and Roy had gotten when they dated and didn’t want that for you both, and because he didn’t want to come on too strong.

But now, almost a year on? He had just been working up the courage to say the big three words, and you come in dressed like that, then actively flirted with the guys at the office, with Dwight? He wasn’t angry at you, but he was angry at someone, or something.

As 4 pm rolled on, and with no sign of Michael returning from his move in trip with Holly any time soon, the office had begun to pack up for the afternoon, and Jim decided to make a move. He was, technically, in charge of the office for the day. So, as the troops started to file out, Jim held you back.

“Y/N, can I have a word please?” Jim’s face was neutral, his tone leaning to the scolding side more than anything, and you looked at him confused.

“What’s up Jim? The rest of the team are heading for the bar, you not coming?” You asked, waving to Phyllis and Oscar as they headed out.

“Michael’s office. Now.” Jim ordered, though his voice was soft. You nodded, stepping through into the office. Jim turned to see the last people packing up, Dwight seeming quite content on staying until you left. “Dwight, would you head out with everyone else? Y/N and I will catch up. We need to run over some files Michael messed up last week.” Jim was convincing in his act but didn’t very much care. With a sigh and a glare, Dwight headed out the door with Kelly on his heels, leaving you and Jim alone in the office. He locked Michael’s office door for a safety measure and pulled shut the blinds.

“That isn’t good…” You laughed from your seat on the desk, legs swinging as you watched Jim begin to pace. “Halpert? What’s wrong?” You had noticed he had been off balance today; you had assumed it was a few bad sales calls that caused it.

Jim wasn’t quite sure what to say now he had you alone, so instead he decided to act. In two steps, he crossed the room to Michael’s desk and pressed his lips to yours feverishly, his hands coming to your cheeks as he kissed you with raw passion you hadn’t ever seen in him before. You did nothing to stop him though, instead shrugging off the lab coat and letting it fall onto the oak you sat on, spreading your legs for Jim to move closer and tangling you fingers in his hair.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all day…” Jim muttered, pulling away for a moment to catch his breath. His hands moved from your face to travel your body, landing on your ass and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Teasing me in that dress…”

“I have?” You moaned out, surprised by the admission from your boyfriend, and the PDA. You knew you looked nice today, but a tease?

“Why do you think all the guys in the office have been extra attentive today?” Jim chuckled, and it clicked in your head.

“Oh… Oh my god!” You gasped, followed by a giggle. “That makes a lot more sense…” you paused for a moment, pulling Jim close by his tie. You weren’t one for anything hardcore in the bedroom, but with Jim, you knew how to push his buttons. “Is that why you dragged me in here? You were jealous?” You asked with a smirk, loosening his tie until it was on the carpet, and starting to unbutton his shirt.

“So, what if it was?” Jim countered, his thumbs running along the hem of your skirt before pushing it up your thighs, revealing the lacy tops of your stockings and your match black underwear set. He audibly groaned at the sight, his trousers becoming increasingly tight. “The things you do to me Y/N I-” You cut him off by reconnecting your lips, finishing unbuttoning Jim’s shirt and moving on to his belt as he shrugged the fabric from his shoulders.

“You know, you have to remember that this… This is just a costume.” You whispered in Jim’s ear, moving his hand to your underwear, which he swiftly pulled off. “You get everything underneath…” the words dripped from your tongue, sultry and tempting and more than enough to convince Jim to press two fingers against your folds.

To say you were wet was an understatement, and the smirk on Jim’s face did nothing to aid the situation. You were wet for him, from the way he kissed you, the way he touched you, and no-one else. With a pull on the front of your dress, the elasticity of the fabric working in Jim’s favour to expose a lacy black bra, he simultaneously slipped two fingers inside you, earning a moan as your head dropped back.

Jim made sure to tease you first, his thumb flicking over your clit to provide jolts of pleasure but no real stimulation, the fingers pumping slowly inside you, getting you used to the intrusion, forcing you to relax a little.

“You know sweetheart…” Jim’s voice had dropped an octave into a growl that made you shiver. “You could always wear stuff like this more often…” The words caught you off guard, and Jim played to his advantage, speeding up the pace of his fingers and adding a third, earning a gasp from you, one of your hands flying up to cover your mouth as another moan rolled past your lips.

“Jim…” You whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers curled, tension already building in your abdomen.

“Nobody’s around, move your hand away.” Jim ordered, and you did as instructed. He smirked in approval, picking up the pace with his fingers and dropping down to his knees, eye-level with your dripping cunt. “All this just for me?” He teased, and you whined as his tongue darted out to lick your bud.

“This isn’t fair!” You whimpered, legs trembling, but Jim just smiled.

“You teased me all day in that dress Y/N, I would say this? This is perfectly fair.” Jim finished his statement by switching his fingers inside you for his tongue, and you couldn’t help but thread a hand in his hair and pull him closer.

“Fuck… Jim I’m close.” You warned, Jim slowing down the pace for a just a moment to throw you off, to make you think he wouldn’t let you cum. Your stomach had begun knotting, your whole body tensing up as Jim’s tongue lapped your juices and his thumb pressed down on your clit. Jim moved his face away, planning to finish you off with his fingers again, when a sudden noise jolted you both from the sex-induced haze, and ruined whatever orgasm you had been building up to.

The phone was ringing, and Jim knew the number.

“Answer it.” Jim stood up as he spoke, pressing his lips to your neck. You moved back a little, and Jim looked up at you with a wicked glint in his eye, and you couldn’t lie, it excited you.

So, on the fourth ring, you picked up the phone.

“Hell-oh?” Your eyes widened, and Jim captured your lips in his as he pressed his cock against your heat, having undone his pants while you were preoccupied.

“Hello Y/N? This is Dwight. I was wondering what time you would be leaving the office.” Dwight’s voice on the other end was loud enough for you both to hear, and Jim rocked his hips forward as your lips parted, entering you. You did your best not to moan, Jim’s size was still something that shocked you a little despite almost a year of dating and sex.

“O-oh, hi Dwight.” You responded with shaky breath, biting down on your lip as Jim pulled out again. He was watching your with a playful grin on his face, daring you to moan down the phone, to reveal the compromising situation the pair of you were into his rival. To add insult to injury, he decided to bottom out in you as you began speaking again. “We-WE!” You gasped, slapping his arm with your free hand, only to receive his lips on your neck in return, this time intent on leaving a mark.

“So tight for me…” Jim growled in your ear, and you let out a whimpering, alarming Dwight on the other end.

“Are you alright?”

“Just fine, Dwight. G-got a p…papercut.” You had to stop and breathe, covering the speaker on the phone to let out a whimper, much to Jim’s amusement. “These files are worse than we thought. We might be here a while, head on without us.” You said as quickly as you could, Jim beginning to pick up the pace of his thrusts, your walls clenching around him and earning a groan.

“Well, I could assist if you would like?”

“It’s alright, we’ve… We’ve got it handled. See you tomorrow, Dwight…” You held onto Jim, his movements bringing back round the release you had almost managed to get.

“Right, well, goodni-” You hung up the phone before Dwight had time to finish, letting out a pent up moan as you lay back on the desk, finally relaxing into the rhythm of Jim’s cock pounding into you.

“You asshole.” You hissed through the pleasure, fully giving in to the experience, while still noticing the proud look on Jim’s face.

He knew he had it good. Becaause he could say, without question, the girl everyone wanted was his. He could see it. As you, his Y/N lay on the desk beneath him, hair haloed around your head and breasts now inching free from your bra, dress ridden up to your abdomen and the straps halfway down your arms, moaning and begging for more, Jim knew he had officially won whatever game the world had been playing him in.

“Don’t lie, you love it.” Jim groaned as your walls spasmed around his girth again. His own release was fast approaching, and by the way your lips had parted in pleasure, the trembles that had once again started in your legs, he knew you were close too.

“Jim…” You moaned out, confirming it for him. You reached up, pulling him to lean over you by the neck, shifting his position inside you to press right against your sweet spot, his strokes becoming sloppy but more forceful.

“Fuck Y/N…” He muttered, the light from the window catching on the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Cum for me…” He moaned out, and with a final stroke you were pushed over the edge, the tension in your stomach finally releasing and sending moans and curses tumbling from your lips.

You were so gone in the moment that you didn’t notice Jim still, finishing himself, and only after a few moments, and a kiss from Jim on your forehead, did you return to reality.

“We… We really had sex in the office…” You laughed in disbelief, looking around the room. Your clothes were scattered, the desk a complete mess thanks to the hasty sex session. Jim was just watching you as you sat up, a smile on his face, and he pulled out, tucking himself back into his trousers.

“I’m going to get some wet paper towels from the bathroom.” He suggested, shrugging back on his shirt and starting on the buttons as he left you to catch your breath.

By the time you had both cleaned up and fixed your clothes back into something semi-presentable, it was dark outside. Neither of you cared much, walking out the office cuddled into one another, Jim’s arm over your shoulders and yours around his waist.

“You know, I think we should tell the office we’re dating.” Jim announced as he led you over to your cars, and you pulled out your own set of keys as he put his stuff in the trunk. It took you a second to process the proposal, but you looked up and grinned.

“Really?” You asked, and Jim couldn’t help but kiss you.

“Well, yeah, bit tired of not getting to show off the girl I love.” Jim said with a wink, and you kissed him again.

“I love you too.” You promised, the first time you had shared the words between you, but it was clear you both meant it.

“There was silence for a moment, you opening your own car and setting your work bag on the back seat, closing the door as you thought for a moment.

“You know… I cosplay…” You blurted out, and Jim turned to you in surprise. “You know, you mentioned this would happen more often if I wore more stuff like this… I can assure you there is plenty more.” You giggled as you said it, blushing red.

“That… That is very interesting information…” Jim looked like he was going to say something more but went red from ear to ear. Even after the encounter upstairs, Jim was still his goofy self.

“Why don’t you come over tonight?” You offered, to which Jim quickly nodded, leaving you both laughing as you got into your separate cars, only to meet twenty minutes later at your place, a step further in your relationship.

[hysteriium]

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆;

(𝐆𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞)

(𝐀/𝐧 ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth​ they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them. 

( 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think. 

( 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ): DK! Joker x Reader. 

( 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ): 7,600+ k words!

( 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence. 

The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief. 

“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice. 

The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.  

You can do this.

Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–” 

That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.

The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running. 

You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper. 

“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.

“I can see you really tried there.” 

You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he? 

“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“No,” he smirked, petting your head. 

Curse his height. 

“Now, uh, what is it, doll?” 

You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”

“I’m not going.” 

“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”

“Gee, I can’t imagine why.” 

You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.

“J, I can’t just not show up.” 

You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath. 

“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and...” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearly beloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have ever happened?” 

He scoffed.

“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”

“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars. 

It broke your heart. You could've sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.   

“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  

He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so. 

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”

You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.

“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!” 

“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.

Damn it.

“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.

It didn’t work.

The third, well… 

You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it. 

And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word– 

That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you. 

Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first. 

“Will this make you, uh, happy?” 

All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?” 

“My being with you.” 

“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’. 

He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.” 

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m not that cruel.”

You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.

“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late. “Thank you!” You shouted. 

You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.

Third time’s the charm. 

Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.  

Knock knock knock!

“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rude intrusion. 

“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.

You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.

This was it.

You breathed in one last time before opening the door.

“Okay, I’m re–” 

You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.

His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam's apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks. 

It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.

“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning. 

You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling. 

“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady. 

He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips. 

All fidgeting stopped.

You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold. 

The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk. 

“Peach,” he cooed. 

You were going to have to reapply later. 

With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him. 

“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself. 

Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him. 

“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!” 

True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. The tap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with. 

“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”

“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work. 

“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.” 

“Hmm,” he trailed off. 

Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green. 

The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.  

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.

“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!” 

He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed. 

“All done!” 

As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.

“Wait! I have to walk you through something.” 

At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention. 

“Conditions!” You announced.

“Ah. Now there are conditions.” 

“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.” 

“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.” 

“Promise me.”

He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”

“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach. 

It would have to do, though.  

“Okay,” you whispered. 

He stood up now, towering over you. 

“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips. 

The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact. 

As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed. 

“What are you–” 

It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed. 

“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring. 

The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days. 

Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving. 

Clearly safety was his middle name.

Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting. 

After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust. 

He sniffed, “it smells like...” he paused to grimace, “high society.” 

The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.

“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.” 

“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.  

“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.  

“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism. 

“It’s hard not to.” 

“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”

That had to get him. 

“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’ 

You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”

“I can try,” he spat sourly. 

You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.

One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?

“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth. 

Maybe this was a mistake.

Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago. 

You fought the urge to run. 

“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.

Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath. 

“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.

“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand. 

“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?” 

She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”

Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.  

“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.  

You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.

“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–” 

“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.” 

Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out. 

It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.

“I think I should go check on him now.” “Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision. 

Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology. 

Your stomach turned. 

You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.  

Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm. 

“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt. 

“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.

Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him. 

After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset. 

“They think I’m lying about you.”

He swallowed.

“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.

Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier. 

Pee-yew. 

Everyone here sucked. 

“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her. 

“J, you promised to be good!”

Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.

His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.

“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement. 

“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.” 

He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.

“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?” 

“Hmmph.”

It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.

The message was clear: 

I’m new to this. 

Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation. 

Something had changed. 

Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.

How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’

At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him. 

“Hey– what are you doing?”

No response. 

“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain. 

“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.

You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment. 

“So what? What are you doing?” 

“What does it – ah – look like?” 

He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren't all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away. 

“Well aren’t I just full of surprises.”

He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo. 

“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but. 

And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right. 

Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.

“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it. 

His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles. 

As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt. 

Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash. 

Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.  

In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean. 

“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that. 

The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good. 

He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you. 

“You fucking bitch!” He roared.

You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you. 

“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.

“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth. 

“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.” 

The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade. 

“You’re both going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.” 

“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.

“So you do know who I am–” “The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.” 

“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.” 

“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man's statement.

The groom gritted his teeth. 

“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your big day.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation. 

Yeesh. 

“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming. 

While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.

“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here. 

With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom. 

He smacked his lips. 

“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse. 

He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?” 

With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side. 

“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”

All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye. 

Hah!

“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her. 

When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation. 

“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?” 

“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.  

“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”

“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.

“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?” 

You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.  

“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”

It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing. 

J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer. 

“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut. 

He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance. 

Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed. 

Silence prevailed again.

Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms. 

“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”

“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.” 

“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly. 

Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again. 

The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.

“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale. 

“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.  

He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.” 

“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?

“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected. 

“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–” 

You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic. 

“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”  

You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness. 

“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady. 

“Mine,” you whispered. 

In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete. 

Supernal.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand. 

Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song. 

“Sleep well, sweetpea,” lulled a sweet voice. 

[soulmate-game]

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

[bringmebackdude]

Heaven

Pairing: Duff Mckagan x Reader

Concept: 

Word count: 1,141

(some fluff, angst)

The tall clumsy blonde closed the door behind him, trying not to make a loud noise with his presence, but his cowboy boots thought otherwise. The thumps of the heels hitting the wood echoed through the apartment, still, you were too deep in your sleep to hear he was back. He knew you would be mad because he had left almost ten hours ago when he promised it was just a couple of drinks. It wasn’t the anger that scared him, it was the disappointment that used to peak in your beautiful eyes. Those eyes he promised to never see them turn dull.

“Shit!” he exclaimed in a whisper after accidentally pushing a chair. His body stood still, waiting to hear the creaking of the bed as you woke because of his dizziness, but there was no noise.

Regardless of how much alcohol was in his system, fear invaded his being. What if she left? The dark brown dusty boots made their way to the bedroom you shared with him, he was uncertain if he could bear the idea of you not being around anymore. And it was all his fault. Hazel eyes stared at the wooden boards, before gathering the courage to look at the bed, finding the beautiful woman who would wake them gleam every time their sight was set on her. Your soft hair spread across the pillow, pink lips slightly parted, with blue sheets that covered your delicate body. He was so lucky. Quickly taking his shoes and pants off, he jumped under the covers, softly wrapping his arms around you and pulling the weight so he could cuddle you. 

You snuggled up to him, eliciting a smile from him, who left a sweet kiss on your forehead. With the tour, recordings, rehearsals, and parties, Duff easily got caught up in the wild rockstar life, sometimes forgetting the most important part of it. The one he was grateful to the universe for crossing into his path. His life changed completely when he met you; found a confidant, a best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a person who would never judge him if it wasn’t for the best, a lover, the worst joker ever, but most importantly, the love of his life. 

Michael was so unfamiliar with true love from someone who wasn’t a relative, his previous relationships weren’t the worst, but the feelings between him and the ex-girlfriends were almost uncomfortable on some occasions. He was invaded by joy when little moments returned to his memory, those when he was sober. When you cooked his favorite food, the time you finally played a full song on a guitar after he spent weeks teaching you, and the time you helped him bleach his hair after you insisted he looked way hotter with his natural blonde mane. Two years of being with (Y/N) , the one his sisters adored and loved having her home for a visit, the one who baked Christmas cookies with his mother and buy him, the one who would buy him an ugly sweater to match together at dinner. This was the girl his family looked forward to his marrying, as well as he. Heaven was a place on Earth beside her. I’m not giving you up.

The next morning, your arm reached to the other side of the bed, looking for the warmth of your boyfriend’s body, once again finding the side empty and cold. It wasn’t a surprise, there were plenty of times when Duff would prefer to crash at Slash’s or Izzy’s place so you wouldn’t see how drunk he was. So, like any other day, you got out of bed, grabbed some underwear, and walked straight to the shower, trying to avoid all those thoughts that plagued you. What if he slept with someone else? What if something bad happened to him? Maybe I should call Slash just to make sure he’s alright. Although all those previous times the same questions came to your head, he always walked through the door like a drunk mess, but safe. And that’s all you needed, for him to come back home, safe and sound, to you. A long black shirt with the Ramones logo was your choice of an outfit to leave your bedroom, lazily walking out of this one and smelling the sweet scent of food being cooked. Who’s cooking? No one stayed last night and the only one who had an extra key to the apartment was the band’s manager. You found the silhouette of your boyfriend facing the stove, and he made the gesture of moving something that was in front of him.

“G’morning.”

He quickly turned around, giving you that pearly smile you loved so much, “G’morning, beautiful” returning to his previous position.

“You didn’t come home last night” the words slipped out of your mouth.

“I did but it was pretty late, Slash was having problems with Renee.”

You didn’t respond, because you couldn’t care less about other people’s relationship problems while dealing with yours.

“I made breakfast...” putting a plate in front of you with a stash of fluffy pancakes, maple syrup dripping on the sides with chopped walnuts on the top.

“We didn’t have any walnuts” you looked at the food in front of you, it wasn’t burnt or messy. They looked almost like the ones iHop advertised.

“Steven went to the market early this morning with me, you like ‘em right?” he sat on the chair that was facing you from the other side of the table.

There was silence for a few seconds, “Duff, I’m not sure I can keep doing this. Pancakes are not going to mend months of heavy drinking and finding you passed out outside the building.”

“It won’t happen again, (y/n)”

“You keep telling me that, but it’s always the same story!” the silverware made a loud noise when you dropped them on the table, anguished.

“I know baby, and I’m so sorry.” He quickly kneeled beside you, intertwining his fingers with yours. There was despair in his eyes, something you haven’t seen before, and that awakened hope within you.

“You need to go to rehab,” Releasing one of your hands, you caressed his face, feeling his soft skin mixed with some acne scars from his teenage years, “tour is over, you need to get better, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I will, but I can do it myself” he nodded, moving his sight to face your palm and give it a soft kiss. “I promise” saying those magic words, those you hoped meant what they were. The bassist stood up, leaning towards you, and kissed your lips.

A weak smile appeared on your face, really wanting to believe him. You were giving him another chance to have your whole heart in his hands. Deep inside knowing he was falling straight to the void of alcoholism if he wasn’t already in it, and that you would keep helping him, even if it meant getting swept away too..

[into-crazy]

horror and chill

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader one shot

Summary: You and J watch a horror flick. Eventually you both grow bored, turning your attention onto one another. You don't make it through the movie.

Warnings- Cursing, NSFW, SMUT, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, light knife play, spanking, use of the word daddy(once), unprotected sex, brief degradation, choking, light blood play, J style fluff, ages 18+

This sort of popped into my head while I was watching a scary movie. I'm a sucker for watching horror movies in the dark. Let's just say my self indulgences deff kicked in with this one whew! Also forewarning, it’s very long.

The month of October has always been a favorite for you. That time of the year when Autumn is in full effect. The air outside is cooled down, where it's not too hot and not quite cold yet. Seasonal items return with a comeback, available to stock up on- whether they be edible goodies or scented candles. Then, of course, there's Halloween. Or spooky season, as the kids like to call it.

That special time where watching horror movies is an absolute must. Ordering takeout, nothing on but panties and an oversized tee, cuddling on the couch with a blanket, turning out all of the lights, and blasting the volume on the television to get the full effect. Yeah, it's one of your most prized traditions.

You and Joker have been together for well over year now. Let's just say he was around this time last year. He knew of your passion for this month, but he hasn't fully experienced it with you. Since that was a point where your relationship- if that's what you want to call it- was still fresh. Too early to establish complete trust and understanding in one another. Actually, you believe that still may be the case for J.

Not that you have anything against it. He's a highly complex and guarded man, he has a difficult time trusting people. In fact, he doesn't. But he's allowed you- and no one else- to come this close into his life, and it's pretty damn close. He trusts you enough and he's trying. There's nothing you'd ever do to betray that. You've come to accept it'll take a longer period before you'd get there fully.

Though it can be rough sometimes, you've had your fair share of fights. But he's never given you a reason to leave. You trust him, you've grown to love him. And while J would never confess to it, would never say it aloud, he adores you. He shows it in everything that he does for you. As for love, you've become aware and accepted that the word doesn't apply to him. He can't love. And that's okay.

Fast forward over to now, already a week into October. It's a Saturday night, and you're ready to continue your cherished routine, but with your beloved J. You've only watched two horror flicks thus far. Both nights had been alone, minus him and the takeout. He's been busy with his usual chaotic jobs, which kept him out later hours into the night. However you don't care about that right now, he called and informed you that he'll be home for tonight's showing.

"An' don't ah, don't ya dare start without me." J warned on the other end of the phone line.

"Well then you better hurry back," you playfully teased into the phone, "I already ordered the pizza and the movie is set to play."

That conversation ended about forty minutes ago. You sat on the couch in your shared apartment, waiting for him. Everything good to go, pizza has arrived, scented candles are lit, movie ready to proceed at the click of a button, and the lights are off- save for the small lamp by the entryway. The overall setting feeling eerily, just how you like it. It also feels quite romantic, which is a bonus.

You're wearing one of J's dress shirts with a blush thong underneath. Wrapped snug in a huge fluffy blanket in your designated spot(rightfully decided by you as this was your apartment first). Since he prefers to keep the apartment cold, you tend to get chilly a lot. Which was fine considering you have J and a vast selection of blankets to keep you warm. Currently, you have the blanket. All that's missing is J.

What's taking him so long? I'm gonna start the movie, I don't care. He'll just have to deal with it.. and I'm not rewinding it either.

You began to ponder while sitting in silence. Fingers tapping impatiently on the remote, debating whether or not you should carry on without him. With a loud huff, you glance over at the pizza box on the small table directly in front of you. In the amount of time you've waited, you managed to eat two slices already.

Then, you heard the familiar ruffling noise at the front door. The sound of the lock hurriedly being turned getting you to shoot your eyes towards it without moving your head. The door swings open and in walks J in all his glory, quickly shutting and locking the closure behind him.

"I'm home-ah!" A lilt in his voice as he exaggerates his arrival.

"You're late," you return displeasingly.

He narrows his glare at you, "well uh, hello to you too."

Rolling your eyes, you motion with your fingers, "I was this close to starting the movie without you. What took you so long?"

J works on shrugging off his plum trench coat. "What can I say? It was such a ah, easy breeze to get here." He throws sarcastically.

Shaking your head, you laugh, "I'm sorry J, I didn't mean to sound rude. I just missed you is all." You really do appreciate the extra efforts he goes through to make sure he gets here safe and undetected. To not be traced or followed. Be it by his fellow rivals, Gotham police, and in some cases- the Batman.

"Yeah doll, I know," he licks his lips, "I know." You watch him remove a few of his other articles to get more comfortable. His face paint isn't too disheveled which tells you his day went rather smoothly. Or as he prefers to call it- boring.

You open up the blanket to make space for him. Patting the empty spot right next to you, "hurry and get over here, pizza's getting cold."

Left in his purple slacks, dress shirt, and socks, he shuts off the last light before making his way over to plop onto the couch next to you. He allows you to snuggle against him. With the cover behind him, he doesn't feel the need to wrap himself in it. You, on the other hand, have your end burrito wrapped over you. Finally, you stick your hand out the blanket to hit play on the remote.

Twenty minutes in, you were beginning to grow less and less interested in the film. Nothing but a predictable storyline with a bunch of weak jump scares. Not to mention the overly cheesy acting. Though it wasn't completely terrible, it had a few good points to it. However this film probably won't make it onto your rewatch list. You failed to previously read the reviews for this one like you normally would when picking a new movie to watch. The plot sounded good when you had read it. Oh well, you gave it a shot.

J wasn't fond of the movie either. He's actually more bored of it than you are. Occasionally would he exhale blatantly or comment on one of the bad moments that came across. This. Is. Torture. He thought to himself staring blankly at the screen. And not the good kind. Alas, he'll bite his tongue and miserably sit through another hour because it is your movie night, and he knows how much this means to you.

You can't help but feel bad for having him sit through this with you- for you. Soon, you lost total interest in the film and your mind began to drift.. elsewhere. To his hand, resting freely between your soft thighs. His palm feels so warm against your flesh. But that's just J- always giving off heat. He's like your own personal heater. Sometimes warming you to the point you don't even need a blanket because it becomes too hot. Speaking of which, you removed the cover, preferring his signature warmth over the fabric's any day.

Your fingers start to brush lightly on his wrists and knuckles. The subtle touch earns you half smile followed with a pleased hum, which you see in your peripheral vision. He hasn't caught on yet, but your need for him is building fast.

You scooch closer to him in attempt to get his hand where you need it most without him catching on just yet. It didn't work, his hand isn't touching you. It's right there, mere millimeters away. Thinking about how amazing his hands feel when he touches you. When he grants you with friction as he rubs your throbbing clit. The wonderful spots he reaches when he relentlessly fucks you with those paint speckled fingers. Curling them deep, making you writhe and cry beneath him.

Clamping his wrist, your breath hitches at the thought. Shit. That was audible. For a split second, you thought you might have blown it. But Joker took it as something from the film frightening you.

"Quiet doll," he shushes, "you an' I both know the ah, movie ain't scary."

Fuck, you can't take it anymore. You want him to touch you. With a slight roll of your hips, you manage to get his hand to brush against your clothed heat. The smallest bit of friction causes you to release a muffled whimper.

J's arm stiffens and his face instantly snaps to look at you. You seize, halting your movement. No question, he felt what you did, sees the burning desperation in your eyes. Tossing his head back, he erupts in a delighted, high pitched cackle. "Oh-" more cackling laughter as he glances at you again, "so that's what that was." A malicious smirk spreads his scarred cheeks. He firmly grips the inside of your thigh, pulling you against him. "What happened bunny? Growin' needy?" Cupping your clothed mound, his fingers rub you teasingly.

"Yeah," you admit, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. Tightening your thighs around his wrist. Would've been no use lying to him when he'd easily seen and felt otherwise.

His rubbing comes to an abrupt stop. He taunts, "Ahh, this was your idea, hm. You were the one keen on a movie night, remember?"

"I know, but-"

"Ah-ta-ta," He cuts you off, "But nothing. This is what ya wanted, so that's what we'll do. We'll ah, sit here and watch."

Suddenly, he lifts you, effortlessly moving you into his lap. You yelp as your back is pressed flush against his torso. He separates your legs apart, you can feel his cock beginning to harden under you, pushing into the plush of your ass. One hand wraps around your chest, to roughly knead your breasts. The other slides under the shirt, gliding over your abdomen, down between your legs. To rub harsh circles on your excited clit through the thinly soaked fabric of your underwear.

"Ahh- fuck!" You whine, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder, reaching around to grip his green locks.

J starts to kiss and nip his way down your neck. Leaving dark patches into your skin, accompanied by red and white splotches- completely marking you. Once he was satisfied with his marks, he leans closely by your ear. "You're dripping, doll," he whispers huskily, his hot breath brushing against your neck. "Now, you will sit here and watch the flick like a good girl, while I play with this needy little cunt of yours. No fussin' or fightin'. Got it?"

"Mhm, yes sir," you answer. Biting back the urge to smile at the thought of finally getting what you want. Fighting it off because, let's be real here, you know with J, it never comes along that easy. But he always makes it damn well worth it.

"Good, now sit still." He growls lowly onto your neck. With that, he pushed your panties to the side and began his torture. His fingers transitioning from fucking your aching hole to rubbing the drenched digits on your throbbing clit. Whispering twistingly sweet and dirty words into your ear while he slathers your own arousal all over your pussy.

He'd bring you close, on the verge of your orgasm, only to stop his movements entirely. Tearing it away from you before you could fall over that edge into pure ecstasy. You grew more and more frustrated each time he'd do that. Though you haven't fully, but you're rapidly losing your composure. Which already may be broken. Sweat is forming on your hairline, tears are prickling your eyes, your breath is starting to hitch. Starting to want it so bad you're teetering towards retaliating to get what you crave.

Joker's counting on it. He thrives on edging you, demands the control over you. As much as he prefers having you entirely at his mercy, he likes it when you lash back. Finds it rather amusing, makes for something a little bit more interesting. See how far you'll go before you snap so beautifully.

And that's now.

You start to buck your hips against his fingers that are going in and out of your pussy, along with his thumb assaulting your clit. Feeling that powerful knot reforming, you need to orgasm. "Oh f-fuck! Please!" You start pleading, "I-I can't take it anymore. Please J, l-let me cum!"

"You wanna cum?" He hints, removing his chin from your neck.

"Yes, God- yes please!" You cry out, clawing your nails into his thighs. Clamping down to gain better leverage. The wild rolling of your hips gets your ass brushing more against his hardened cock. Your arousal had already soaked through his pants a long time ago.

"Fuck," he hisses through gritted teeth, digging his fingers hard into your hip that's sure to leave an array of dotted bruises. He bucks absently into you, licking a wet, hot trail up your neck. "Mm, dirty girl. So you wanna play that game-ah?"

He moves his fingers faster and harder. Even over the loud volume from the television could the wet squelching sounds deriving from his ministrations be heard. The air filled with the scent of sex- your sex. So desperate and ready to let go and orgasm. It's driving you crazy.

"P-please- Ahh! Can I cum?" You plead. Hoping he'll reward you at least for asking.

"You can cum. Go on, babygirl. Cum on my fingers." He finally grants, fingers continuing to get you to ecstasy.

Well you didn't have to be told twice.

You release with a broken cry, orgasm gushing out onto his digits. Drenching the fabric of his pants beneath you. Your body spasming madly over his own while you ride out your high.

Coming down, J removed his hand from your pussy. His fingers are glistening, coated in your cum. He sticks them into your mouth. "Clean my fingers of the mess you made," he growls the command in your ear. Groaning in approval when you comply. Eagerly licking and sucking his digits clean of your juices. "Come here," he grabs your face, turning your head, making you look at him. "Give me a taste."

He kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth to savor the taste of your delectable juices. You kiss him back feverishly. One hand fisting in his hair, the other goes to stroke his cock. Still clothed, still hard. The action causing him to snarl against your lips, "such a greedy little thing. Always ah, wanting more. Ya just can't get enough of me, huh?"

"Never," you huff with a grin, "and telling by this-" you rub him again, "neither could you." His eyes snap to glare into yours viciously. Ohh, he's gonna make you pay for that snarky remark.

With hasty movements, J turns you around so that you're now facing him. Straddling his lap. He tears the shirt that adorned your body open, buttons flying to scatter the couch and floor. Someone's gonna have to sew those back on later, most likely you. He removes the shirt from you, carelessly tossing it aside.

With the large article gone, it granted him with a better view of the mess you made on his custom, pricey slacks. His entire crotch and thigh area is completely drenched in your juices. He gave a sigh which tried to make him sound annoyed or displeased. However, with the straining bulge pushing against you below, you know that was far from the case. His eyes traveled to land on your barley covered pussy, he groaned at the sight. The flimsy fabric of your thong sticking to one of your wonderful, wet lips. Your orgasm, still dribbling out your cunt.

He hooked a finger under the thin strap hugging your hip, pulling far enough only to have it fall and snap against you. Chuckling at your slightly startled reaction. "Bad girl. Misbehaving, talking back, making a mess of my pants? These aren't exactly 'buy at the store' ready. Maybe I should put your dirty mouth to use and have you suck your own juices up, hm?"

"I misbehaved?" You mock a pout, fully knowing what you did. Regardless, asking anyway.

His kneads the plush of your ass roughly. The callousness of his hands making you shiver in his grasp. You may think this position is in your favor, that you could use it to your advantage. But Joker's got you right where he wants you. The stern look in his blackened eyes and the firm hold he's got on you make that known. "You ah- were supposed to make it through the film without so much as a fuss. Remember that?"

"I was?" Your fingers ghost up his chest, "I don't remember that part." Now you're pushing it. He notices the smile threatening to creep your face. One of his hands shoots up to grasp a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your marked neck.

"Yes," he acknowledges slowly trailing his lips up your throat, "yes you do. You just chose to be a brat and not listen." His tone is dangerous, and it would've been absolutely frightening had you been anyone else instead of the only person he cares about in his life. Even though he'd never verbally admit that, frustrating as it is for him, he does care. He does. Which is why whenever you feel that tingle dubbed as fear creep up your spine, you still hold assurance. The flesh of his scars brush the underside of your chin, making you moan unabashedly. "Ya know I gotta punish you for that."

J uses his hold on your hair and hip to guide you to lay over his lap, your naked stomach pressed against his wet thighs, and most of all, his erection. He reaches over to the small table beside the couch, plucking an item you assume to be one of his signature knives. The distinct clicking sound indicates you were correct. It's a switchblade.

He drags the razor sharp blade along your spine until it reaches your underwear, almost on the verge of slicing into you. The thrill gets your heart pounding faster in your chest and ears. You love it when he cuts you, and he's aware of that. But this is a punishment, so you won't be getting what you want.. least not yet. Placing it under the strap, he tears the article to shreds, carelessly nicking you a few times in the process. Alright, so the little nicks he can't control. Those just come naturally. Tossing the ruined fabric aside, he palms your ass cheeks, favoring a spot to start spanking. "Count. We'll ah, stop when I decide you've had enough."

His palm came down hard against your ass, sending an electrifying jolt through your entire body causing you to yelp. "One!" You count. The stinging grew worse with each spank. He hit you hard, but it wasn't anything you couldn't bare. Warm tears steamed down your reddened cheeks. It hurt in a wonderful way, your pussy leaking more arousal as it progressed. He continued to spank you until he grew bored of hearing the same cries and whines.

"Last one bunny," he subtly praised, soothing over the bright marks in your flesh that are starting to welt and bruise. With that, his hand came down a final time. This one stinging the worst.

"Fif- fifteen." You manage to rasp, mind overcome with the lust you had building up. At this point you need him inside you. You need his cock buried deep in your aching core and you need him now. "Please f-fuck me J. I need you!" Your body arched into his as you begged.

J snickered, "need me huh? How bad?" His hand went back to your abused ass to shove you forward, so that your pelvis was atop his as he purposely rolled his erection against your painfully heated sex. The friction drawing a long, strained moan from your lips which pleased him. "Tell me bunny. How, how bad do ya need my cock?"

"Bad- oh so fucking bad- I need your cock! P-Please J, please daddy, fuck me!" You practically shout, resorting to the word daddy. A word which you hardly use, but do when need be. And now was a time of great need.

A snarl left his lips as he yanks you off briefly to undo his pants and shove them down. His cock finally free from the uncomfortable confines, he sighs with relief as he takes it into his hand, pumping a few times. The tip, red and angry with his precum beading out. "Get over here now," he growls impatiently.

Wasting no time, you swing your leg over both of his, reclaiming your previous place of straddling him. You grabbed-rather pawed- his shoulders for leverage. His thick head lines up with your dripping entrance, then he pulls you down, driving his length inside with a powerful thrust. Knocking the wind from you as he filled you. Fuck, how he stretched you so good.

After a brief second for you both to adjust- you to his size and him to recompose himself- he instructs you to- "Move."

To which you do. Rapidly bouncing yourself up and down on his cock. Unashamed at the loud moans and whimpers continuously leaving your lips. This was exactly what you needed, and having been denied lots tonight it felt amazing to finally have this. You moved like your life depended on it.

J grunted as he met your thrusts with his languid ones, his hands guiding the movement of your hips. He held back from pounding into you, oh how he's going to pound into you, just not yet. Which means he's definitely in the mood to tease you to an extent, in any and every way that he can. What an asshole.. Your asshole.

Your arms went to wrap around him. To your surprise, he didn't shove them off. Instead, his chin went to rest in the crook of your neck, catching glimpse of the illuminated TV screen. The movie was still on.

"Mhm, you're just a horny little slut, aren't ya?" He sneered. "Can't even get through a movie without having my cock inside of ya."

There was no way you could give him a proper response. So wrapped were you in the exhilarating feeling of him that any words to a sentence you tried to form wouldn't come out. What did manage to slip out was muddled babbling. He snickered at your incoherence.

The female protagonist on the screen started to scream. The shrieking noise caught both your attention, though your actions didn't falter. "This woman's a terrible actor," J criticized the lady, "her scream is so fake, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes- ah," you return finding your voice, "It s-sure is."

He removed one hand from your hip, gliding it up the valley between your breasts to grip your neck. Glaring menacingly into your eyes momentarily before muttering, "I think you could give me a better one." You knew from his low tone that something malicious just popped into his head. His fingers tightened, "Let's see if you could scream louder than the girl on the screen. Can ya do that for me sweets?"

You nodded feverishly within his hold, "yes J."

Satisfied with the answer, he began driving his cock vigorously up into you. The harsh slapping of skin heard as his hips pound mercilessly against your own. The spontaneous change of pace left you almost completely breathless. Your orgasm was fast approaching. Eyes squeezing shut as he fucked you relentlessly. You screamed, "Oh fuck!"

Your beautiful screams rang harmoniously in his ears like a favored tune. That he could play on repeat over and over and never grow tired of hearing. Your screams and moans are definitely his favorite sounds, aside from explosions and gunfire. He can't help but want more. Crave more.

"Come on doll, get louder," he teases, "I know ya could do better than that." He went to tug your head to the side, exposing the junction between your neck and shoulder. Sinking his yellowed teeth in, biting down hard to draw blood. That was just the push you needed. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench tightly around his length, releasing a shattering scream as you cum violently around his cock.

J lapped the fresh blood from where he bit you. "Hm, that's it," he groaned, "now that's a real scream." He kept going, his pace never letting up. In fact, soon as your hands went to tug at his hair did his thrusts speed up.

You yank his head from your neck to look into his intoxicating eyes, moving to glance towards your blood on his lips. Crashing them with yours to taste that savory metallic flavor for yourself. You take his bottom lip between your teeth and bite down harshly, earning a rumbling groan from him.

He's getting closer and closer to his own peak as you're nearing another. When you feel his thumb move to rub rigorous circles on your sensitive clit, you release his lip with a sharp cry. "J!"

Your walls clamping painfully tight around his throbbing dick, vision blurring as you cum. Nails digging into his broad chest, probably creating tiny bruises under the shirt.

He relishes in the pinch of pain you give him. Combined together with your sinful noises, the sight of your face contorted in ecstasy, and the feeling of your tight warm walls. With that, he buries himself in you and cums hard. A moan mixed with a groan like noise slipping from his lips while he shoots his hot load into your cervix. So much, that some leaks out while you milk him of every last drop.

J collects his breath before lifting your weight up to slip out of you. Your pussy lips are so swollen that his cum isn't even able to drip down once he's out. He sets you onto the couch beside him, getting up to go into the restroom to clean himself and grab a damp rag to bring back to you.

As you regain yourself, you manage to sit a little more up on the couch. Wincing, trying not to sit up all the way due to the soreness already starting to form between your legs. You wrap the blanket around your naked form and silently contemplate. The sex was amazing sure, but you still felt bad for ruining movie night with a terrible movie.

The sound of J coming back in hadn't even registered with you until he waved his hand in your view, tearing you from your thoughts. You blink quickly, offering him a smile to hide it. But J had already seen the small frown when he walked back. And he wanted to know the reason behind it, since it was out of the ordinary. Usually you're always smiling in your post orgasmic state.

"What's carving a frown in ya, pumpkin?" He asks, a hint of concern in his tone as he hands you the small towel. The strange nickname causes you to giggle and he eases knowing you're alright.

"It's nothing J," you say shyly, "I'm just.. I'm sorry the movie sucked. I promise I'll pick a better one next time."

He hums, saying nothing else as he sits back down beside you. Draping his arm behind the couch behind you. Blankly watching the last of the movies end credits while you clean yourself with the rag.

You start to laugh again, "Well, now I really wanna carve a pumpkin. This place could use a couple. How about tomorrow I get some for us to carve?"

He grins sinisterly, "ya know, I'm usually carving into people."

"Pumpkins are less messy. Like, way less." You playfully respond.

"I like messy," he huffs.

"Yeah I know you do." You smile knowingly at him, lightly tracing the hexagonal patterns on his shirt. "I thought it would be fun. You don't have to if you don't want to."

J licks his scars as he ponders on it. Any activity having to do with a carving into something with a knife, count him in. "Ah, what the hell. Alright. What better way then to uh, help me spruce up on my slicing skills." He traces his hand out in front of him, as if he were carving a smile into something. This action causes you to release a genuine laugh. And in that moment, J relishes in hearing yet another one of his favorite sounds~

Woah, so that's the end! I hope you guys liked it. Again, sorry that it was so long. I can't help but make these super lengthy when it comes to smut😭

[another-cancer]

Chapter Two: There are Criminals, Lots of Them

Fucking hell, she thought. She knew the city had villains and other criminals. She just didn’t consider she would ever run into someone as powerful as Scarecrow this early on.  

“You need to back the fuck away from any of the kids. And go back to the sad little hole you crawled from,” Marinette said.

She probably should not have said that. Scarecrow was practically fuming, but he pushed a grin to his face. He was attempting to hide any effect Marinette’s words actually had on him. The grin was a bit off-putting to Marinette. However, she knew from her research what Scarecrow's deal was and off-putting grins belonged to the Joker.

“Listen, Kid, you should move out of the way and give me one of those kids you’ve shoved behind you. Unless you want me to take you? But you wouldn’t want that, right?”

Marinette was a trained assassin, she wasn't going to give up a kid in exchange for herself. Instead, she was going to do something she had done many times before, use herself as bait.

“Take me.”

He had already underestimated her and she would use that to her advantage. She wasn’t just a ‘kid.’

“You’re crazy kid, but sure I’ll take you,” he begrudgingly said, he was confused, Marinette would use that against him.

She pushed the kids further behind her and slowly started walking towards him keeping eye contact the whole time. It sent a chill down his spine. It was right in that moment he should have turned back, it was this moment he realized the 5 foot 2 girl was no ordinary street kid. He felt unsettled by her harsh glare.

And once he had her wrist in hand he understood the feeling, because this extremely tiny girl flips him, a grown man, over without much effort. Marinette’s assassin skills were thankfully still intact.

“What the fuck kid,” Scarecrow said from his position on the ground.

“I told you to go back to the sad little hole you crawled from.”

He boosted himself back up onto his feet ready to fight the girl, “You’re gonna regret that kid.”

“Sure,” she was smug.

He charged, she dodged. He charged again, she dodged. She pounced, she landed the hit. She was quick on her feet, graceful even, in another life, she could have been a heroine dazzling across rooftops. She was now on the offense. Instead of charging headfirst, she jumped around allowing her to land kicks. And she was kicking his ass.

Until he pulled the gun. Fuck. It was aimed at the kids behind the dumpsters. Fuck. She would never let that happen. So she moved her body. It wasn’t the smartest idea, but it was the idea she had at the time. The bullet didn’t hit any of the kids, but it did graze her upper arm as she rushed to get the kids out of the way.

When she looked back the scarecrow was gone. What a fucking coward.

“M are you okay?” The youngest kid asked.

“Em, I’ll be fine, it just grazed me.”

A nine-year-old said, “Just a couple inches over and it would have torn right through your mussel.”

“Well, aren’t we glad it wasn’t a couple of inches over?”

“Mari, that was so brave,” A seven-year-old named Jess said.

“No, it was stupid, but I needed to protect you guys. Never do what I just did, it’s dangerous and reckless.”

“Okay Mari,” the three kids said in unison.

None of the kids even looked concerned or frightened by the bullet being so close to them. None of them cried. None of them looked fazed. This city had already broken them, the same way Marinette was already broken by their ages. It was painful to watch. And it left her to wonder could it be reversed ?

That night she bandaged her arm where the bullet glazed and watched the kids tuck themselves into corners ready to sleep and for a moment the whole world felt still. In another universe she would be putting on a band-aid tucking her siblings in. Unfortunately, the world constantly needed to remind her this wasn’t another universe, this time the reminder was from the piercing scream of Em.

Can’t I get a fucking break, she thought. The answer was unfortunately no.

Em’s screams were getting louder as Marinette ran through the abandoned building trying to find the exit in the dark corridors. Then they just stopped and Marinette was panicking and running even faster.

She finally found her way out into the alleyway and outside was Em kicking as much as she could with a gag around her mouth. Marinette stayed calm and lurked in the shadow. She did a read of the situation learning there was only one man in his 30’s. She knew she could handle this.

She stepped out from the shadow without making a noise. The man was facing away, but Em could see her. Marinette brought her finger over her mouth erging Em to stay quiet while Marinette approached the man from behind. She tapped the man’s shoulder causing him to turn around and see the girl standing there. This would be the second man today to underestimate her due to appearance.

The man grinned thinking he would be taking two kids instead of one. Marinette punched. She wasn’t typically that brash with her movement, but it had been a long day and she simply wanted to put the man in his place. He released his grip on Em while taking the beating.

“Em go inside, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Marinette said.

As the small child entered the building the man said, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Marinette ignored him and continued her attack. Her attacks were powered by anger, a method she was taught to stay away from as a child. After all, those who were angry made mistakes. But she couldn’t help it. For once in her life, she was allowing herself to be angry and to be fed up. The other man didn’t even land a hit. He was unconscious on the concrete and Marinette was still putting force behind every hit.

She didn’t even realize someone was watching her until she heard the voice ask, “Kid what the hell are you doing?”

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[queercraftingchonk]

A Real Life Mass Effect Love Story, shared on N7 Day 2021

This is the story of how my boyfriend introduced me to Mass Effect, and how--after a mental health crisis interrupted my first playthrough of the trilogy--I returned to it (thanks to the recent Legendary Edition) and that same partner [evolved from bf to: spouse!] helped me finish the trilogy for the first time; now he reads my ME fanfiction every weekend with me...💕

[Bonus cute handfasting pics at the end for those who read thru this dorky gaming anecdote]

So, it's early 2015: I graduated from college less than a year before. I was working part-time and lived with my boyfriend and his long-time roommate. We'd been together for a little over a year at that point. Playing games together was/is one of our main shared hobbies. (He was excited to get his PS3 back from repair when we met because the recent remaster of the DuckTales game had just come out on PSN.) I had missed the Mass Effect Trilogy entirely. I knew of it vaguely, but was unfamiliar with Bioware. My partner knew me and my love of science fiction (SF). He owned a physical copy of ME1 and suggested I play it after I finished whatever RPG I was playing at the time.

Once I got to the Citadel the first time and spoke to the volus and elcor ambassadors, I was HOOKED. I wasn't a fan of shooters (and remain reticent to play them) but role playing as a powerful "psychic" woman in a space opera invested in talking about alien politics? Sign. Me. UP.

I wilted sadly when my excitement over dating Tali was dashed with a two-for-one disappointment my bf had to break to me: (1) the ONLY non-human romance option in the first game is Liara; and (2) Tali is ONLY romanceable by Sheploo. (As a bisexual, I sensed Tali's kinship. Years later, I discovered she WAS intended to be bi, but the weird morality panic that FOX / conservative news shoved at Bioware, after a PG-13 lesbian scene involving Liara became public knowledge, led the developers to run with more cowardice in the second game when it came to queer characters and romance scenes. Bi Tali and Pan Jack were intended to be canon.)

I decided to go for Liara, because of course. Why would I want a HUMAN?! (I have the maturity to now admit I am a shameless alienfucker & monsterfucker.) Kicked Ashley out on Virmire (only now doing a playthrough to appreciate her) and had my bf help me be sure Wrex survived. I liked Garrus though steered him more in the paragon direction of my Shep (and general morality when playing games).

When I beat ME1, my bf was EXTREMELY EXCITED. "Mass Effect 2 is one of, if not my, favorite game of all time. I played it a shameful amount of times," he admitted. Our roommate agreed and teased that they could probably recite several dialogue trees from memory just through osmosis of sharing living room space when he played on console. (He played the trilogy as they were released--and so, to prepare for the third and final game, and knowing the series was known for its branching storylines and consequential choices, he made over 12 distinct save files with varied choices, including an everyone dies in the Suicide Mission save.)

When Garrus *fucking* Vakarian sighed, man spread his digitigrade legs, and spoke in that joyful but tired dual-tone as he reunited with Shepard...WELP, I prayed the goddess would forgive me for having to break up with Liara. (But really, let's blame all these games for refusing to engage in ethical polyamory. Fools.)

As many first timers, I was FLOORED by the opening of ME2. Like..what? ...w a t ??!? Shortly after Shep woke, I just turned to my boyfriend, PS3 controller in my hand, and shouted: WHERE ARE MY FRIENDS?! I was ~feral~ for my crew. My partner, bless him, did *not* spoil who Archangel was, but he *did* have to push me to do that dossier mission first in order to sate my unease being on a HUMAN SUPREMACIST SHIP with STRANGERS (except for Joker, the one joy I had). (Also bless my partner for urging me to let myself indulge in renegade replies sometimes by explaining the morality system better, cause there's such good content in the renegade stuff and also fuck Cerberus.)

I continued playing, but would stop suddenly after recruiting Kasumi Goto. It wasn't the fault of the game; I was really enjoying it. I was eager to get Tali and Liara (though was sad Liara wasn't a squadmate) while my bf quietly vibrated excitedly in anticipation of seeing my reaction to Legion. (We both ADORE robots / AI / synthetics in fiction, and as an IT guy, he found how the geth are written to be very compelling and thoughtful artificial intelligence in SF.) However, a mental health crisis derailed everything.

One hospitalization later, I had no job, new medications, a place on a therapist's wait-list, and a list of activities I once enjoyed that no longer gave me happiness. Game Grumps provided some of the only bits of comic relief I enjoyed besides the comfort I still got from my bf and roommate. (A fun[?] fact: when our front door broke on a -20°F blustery day, the landlord came over and made jokes about the Fire Code where he put the insurance issues ABOVE our lives as priority, laughed it off when called out by my bf, and then chided us about the lease while I was freezing and having a panic attack; we had to huddle at a nearby Dunkin's for warmth while he shoddily put plexiglass on our door as our poor cats hid from him and the cold.)

Eventually, I crawled from that crisis thanks to a personal support network and having insurance through my dad's work as a letter carrier. Medical and student debt were accruing, but I still had privileges that helped me through.

But...for a long time, returning to ME2 only reminded me of that awful time. Eventually, the years passed where I felt I'd rather restart the trilogy than pick up from my old save file. We’d have to fiddle with the consoles currently hooked up to do so; it seemed to much of a hassle. But then...

Summer 2021: My partner and I have been married for 3 years now; I came out as non-binary 2 years ago, in part thanks to the huge support he gave me. I come to learn about the Mass Effect Legendary Edition available on the PS4. I struggled finishing my second semester of grad school (which has interesting problems thrown in due to the pandemic). My partner wants me to treat myself after I hand in my last final paper. When I mention that I heard about the ME:LE and am considering trying the trilogy again, he grins from ear to ear and eagerly supports my purchasing decision. 

It’s fun to get back into it, but I did not miss the Mako, the clunkier combat, and the more limited romance options again. I just really wanted to get back into ME2, but I needed to complete the trilogy, carrying over my data and everything. I make Scáthach Shepard, a sentinel spacer war hero. (How I role played her ultimately informed the Jane “just” Shepard of my main fic How to Love a Biotic God(dess).) I ask for my spouse’s help. He remembers how I roleplayed my paragon femshep and recalled all the important decisions I made in my first playthrough. (He does accidentally sacrifice the Council instead of saving them, though, and while I was upset at first, he really showed how it didn’t matter at all and now we flip off the council together.) With his help, we get through ME1 quickly but thoroughly.

I startup Mass Effect 2 and SPEEDRUN to Garrus. (I did romance Liara again for the first game, btw.) I am just like, "shut the fuck UP Jacob/Miranda, we are GOING to OMEGA!" (Apologies to Miranda...just Miranda.) My spouse is delighted watching me play his favorite game.

I quickly realize that, the only logical explanation I have for Shepard's penchant for speeches, talking to everyone about all the issues, and her plucky charisma that somehow translated well to a Quarian court martial is that she definitely, absolutely did Debate/Mock Council at the academy. (This headcanon becomes canon for my and my spouse when we watched Shepard, in ME3, yell at the quarians and the geth SO GOOD that she solves the SF alien version of the Israel/Palestine conflict.)

Shepard is a Debate Nerd. It is obvious.

When I begin the Garrus romance (after wanting to strangle him over his CaLiBrAtiOnS because ME2 really lacks the casual dialogue/banter of the other two games) I am immediately CHARMED. That line about him respecting Shepard more than anyone in the galaxy? Perfection. Iconic. I am DRENCHED. His worry over interspecies awkwardness? Not wanting to ruin his cornerstone friendship? His awkward euphemisms and flirtations? I ADORE THEM in part because I cannot help but think of my partner. I tease him about it--especially some of the lines he tried to use to be cool on our first date. Let's just say a Heat Sink euphemism would have been more tactful. xD

As my spouse expected, I LOVE Legion the moment I meet the geth prime unit. We talk at length about how the geth work as a society and just geek out over them generally. I don’t do a full “blind” playthrough because I refuse to lose a SINGLE crew member on the suicide mission. (My partner warned me about an eventual “turning point” to watch out for, and I correctly anticipated that point to be the Reaper IFF mission.)

When Garrus’s cabin romance scene comes, I am delighted while also railing against Bioware for the most CHASTE SCENE ever. Where is that flexibility test they were talking about, hmm?! The whole thing is sweet as hell, even if I wanted Scáthach to get. that. turian. dick! (If my life had a narrator, it would be here they would say: “...and thus the seed of desire to read fanfic was planted after nearly a decade of drought regarding interest in fanfiction.”) I start ME3 the same night I beat ME2. I am in DEEP. It is summer. I am determined to beat this trilogy thoroughly before my last semester of grad school starts at the end of August.

My husband helps temper my expectations about the ending of the last game. However, he never played the DLC for ME3 and finds it adds a lot to the overall experience of the trilogy’s end. I managed to befriend Liara after breaking up with her and then absolutely have Scáthach become a one turian kind of woman. I am in deep, ya’ll. I am smitten. The hand hold when they reunite on Menae? WOOPS, HYPERFIXATION TIME! 

I cry so much in the last game. Frequently, good tears of narrative catharsis. Curing the genophage with Mordin? Helping Legion upgrade the geth as he sacrifices himself and Shepard saves both Rannoch races? *chef’s kiss* And of course, the Citadel DLC is a fucking delight. 

Finally, the ending comes, and with my utter love of EDI and the Geth, I CAN’T choose anything other than synthesis, based on how I understand Scáthach Shepard. “No Shepard without Vakarian.” WEEPING. “I...love you too.” I am DEHYDRATED. Then the blast of green light, an epilogue with giant fucking implications, and then...it is done.  I hold my spouse and feel that immense emptiness at the end of an incredible RPG. I become agitated over synthesis at the same time I wonder if others role played their Shepards as trans like I did. I remember that I have an old Ao3 account I never really used...

Within weeks of completing the trilogy, I’m on Ao3, I make a new Tumblr after abandoning the site in 2013 due to Witchblr toxicity, and finish my first fanfic in ages--Just Shepard, an explicit imagining of the Shakarian ME2 romance scene with a trans woman Shepard based directly on my Scáthach. (I realized that Shepard’s preference of using her surname could actually come from using it when she was seeking out a preferred name, and ended up finding it more comfortable to use. Hence my fic just had her choose Jane for herself as a legal name, but actually preferred being called Shepard.)

I start writing a longer fic of undetermined length that takes this particular Jane “just” Shepard and start reworking the Synthesis ending entirely using my very good geth boi Legion to pull some strings and stick it to the Catalyst. On my birthday, I upload the first chapter of what will come to be called How to Love a Biotic God(dess) and read it to my spouse. He is supportive and sweet. I am obsessed.

I apologize to him that I keep talking about Mass Effect and obsessing over it, but he is here for it and vindicated in his prediction that I would love this space opera game. As it becomes clear my longfic is going to be an ongoing project, and that I’m eager to share it, we slowly start a regular reading session together. 

Eventually, the habit sets in: every weekend, when my morning bird husband comes to rouse his night owl enby wife, we cuddle and then open Ao3 on our respective phones. Along the way, he started using the Dragonball Z announcer voice to read the chapter summaries; he reads the narration and deeper voices, like Garrus, while I chime in with the higher pitched voices like Shepard and Tali. I am occasionally ribbed for spelling/silly grammar errors; he receives teasing back when he misreads something in particularly hilarious or terrible ways. 24 chapters in now, and this weekend ritual continues~ 

When I make our inside jokes part of my fic (like how I reacted VISCERALLY to the “teens” at Grissom Academy in ME3 looking like divorced 30-somethings with alimony to pay) he has to stop reading for a while to catch his breath from laughing. I share the posts I adore on Tumblr, and dive deeper into the Mass Effect fandom over a decade after the first game came out. 

I love the stories I’m telling with these characters, and sharing said stories with a fandom I’ve found welcoming thus far. None of this would have happened had my partner not brought my attention to this trilogy six years ago--and if the Legendary Edition hadn’t came out (especially for the PS4, as I don’t have a PC capable of running AAA games).  I wanted to take my first N7 Day to share this personal anecdote with ya’ll. Video games can be so meaningful as art as well as a shared hobby. <3 

I want to keep pics of our faces off Tumblr, but managed to throw together a cute little collection of photos from our handfasting a few years ago to give some image to my tale of dorky love:

(Yes, that is a Dualshock controller as well as a D20 hard chocolate cupcake decoration...)