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jawnjendes · 5 years

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it came back for more | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf

AN: let me know if i should give the goth gf a name bc like,,,,,,,,,,, idk just let me know,, also does anyone actually like this series lmao

masterlist | series playlist

"You're leaving me?" Shawn asked in mock disbelief.

I knew he was joking, but the fact that he said it as we were walking through campus, in the view of many passing students was a little embarrassing. There was just no getting used to that, like he couldn’t get used to my emotional distance sometimes. I just kept my eyes on the ground and continued walking next to him. No hand holding today. Doesn’t mean I don’t adore him any less.

"I made plans with Stella weeks ago," I told him. "We already bought tickets."

Shawn smiled, letting go of his pretend hurt. "It's cool. I understand, and I hope you have fun."

"Shit, me too. I feel like this movie is going to destroy me."

Yes, this is about the most anticipated movie of the year. Yes, I was more hyped than I have been in months. No, there will not be any spoilers.

"You're welcome to tag along," I added. "I mean, if there's still seats available at the theatre."

He shrugged off the invite, which I knew he would do. Shawn wasn't into this particular franchise, claiming he was tired of this type of movie. Can't say I blame him, plenty of people felt the same way. It was just hard to ramble at him about it because he didn't know jack shit. That was why I was going to the movie with Stella.

"I'll just stay home and watch Grey's without you." He smirked.

"First of all, that's mean and I would never do that to you. Secondly, Grey's comes back next week!"

"Oh yeah."

“Besides,” I added, “I’m gonna spend the night at your place anyway. Just like every Thursday.”

“Yeah, but instead of twenty four uninterrupted hours, we’ll get…” Shawn counted on his fingers. “...Less than that?”

We made it back to my dorm to find Stella lying facedown on the couch. Shawn and I shared a look as we entered the vicinity. Not that this wasn’t unusual, it was just hard to pinpoint her reasoning for this. I mean, I shouldn’t talk. Sometimes I lie on the floor without explanation wherever I please. Stella was used to that, but Shawn would ask if I “wanted to talk” or something.

"Did you get spoiled?" I asked her.

"No," she replied, her voice muffled by the cushions. "I'm trying to kill time. There's five hours left before the movie!"

I sighed and went to sit on her legs. "I know. I made Shawn take my phone because I don't wanna go online and see something I don't wanna see."

Stella picked her head up. "That's a good idea." She reached for her phone on the table, extending her arm towards my boyfriend. "Can you take mine too?"

Shawn chuckled, back and forth between the two of us. But he took Stella's phone. "You're both crazy."

"And what about it?" I said back. Then I reached for his hand. "Anyway, I need you to keep me busy for at least three hours." I smiled and batted my lashes in an exaggerated manner.

"Only three hours?" he replied with a cheeky grin as he took my hand and got me to my feet again.

"Ugh!" Stella interjected as she rolled off the couch. "I'm going to the library! And I'm leaving my phone so I don't go online! If I'm not back before we have to leave, just assume I killed myself because I got spoiled!"

"That's valid," I told her, "but I like you better alive."

Two of the three hours went by before Shawn practically tired himself out. He tapped out and rolled onto his back, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t blame him for pulling out (in every aspect) because it was close to finals season. Tensions were rising, he was finally feeling the consequences of missing assignments and poor exam grades. I knew that because I was going through the same thing. The semester was going to be over in a month, then I would be going back to California.

And Shawn was coming with me… for a week.

It got awfully cramped on my single size bed by the time Shawn was out like a light, so I got up and decided to get ready. I got dressed in the appropriate attire for this movie, a black t-shirt with the franchise logo and black leggings. Then I grabbed my makeup bag and sat down on the floor in front of my mirror. Halfway through my routine, Shawn awoke with a start.

"I'm up! Let's go again!" he said, sitting up.

I looked at him through the mirror, still blending concealer under my eyes with a sponge. "You're like, twenty minutes too late, my dear. I'm already getting ready."

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, nodding in response. "Okay…"

As he lied down again, I couldn't help but smile. Shawn was really fucking cute, and he had no right to be. I don't want to sound like that girl, because I’m rarely that girl, but how was I expected to spend three whole hours away from him tonight? Thursdays were usually our night, since neither of us worked or had class after four o'clock. I mean, nothing was going to stop me from going to this movie, let alone a cute guy with curly hair and a charming smile. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t miss him.

"You're still welcome to join us," I told him from where I was sitting.

"You really want me to go, eh?" he replied, shifting to his side so he was looking at me.

"I'm just saying, it's probably the only time you'll see me cry."

Shawn picked his head up, eyes wide. "Seriously?"

Between the two of us, he was the crier. Are we surprised at this point? I had my exceptions, like watching a new movie I was very passionate about, or when my chronic GI issues would flare up and give me a panic attack. However, I haven't gotten sick in a while, so technically only one thing was going to make me weep.

"Well," Shawn spoke after a while, "guess I'm going."

I knew I was expecting tear jerkers, but I still sported my inner and outer wings to the movie. Half of it smudged onto my eyelids and half was under my eyes. On top of that, I got a dehydration headache, because I refused to drink water during a three hour long movie. I did eat popcorn, even though it was well after the time I cut off food for the day. That sounds concerning, but it's a thing I go through. If I eat after 8PM I will spend the night barfing.

Shawn, Stella, and I left the theatre practically buzzing. The mood of the film and the other moviegoers kept our spirits high, despite the fact that Stella and I had visible mascara tracks on our faces. I cried at things you wouldn’t normally cry at in a movie, like when your favorite character breathes, or makes a dramatic entrance.

"Okay," Shawn said, "that was actually a really good movie."

"Good enough to convert into a stan?" I asked, holding his hand.

"Mm, probably not."

I quickly let go of his hand. "Fine."

Walking towards the parking lot was when I started to feel something. My abdomen felt a little sore, and it made me slow down my steps a little bit. I placed my hand on my stomach; It wasn’t excruciating, but it was noticeable.

"You okay, honey?" Shawn asked, looking at me.

I nodded quickly and got back into step with him. However, the soreness was persisting by the time we got back to my car. I unlocked the doors to let Stella and Shawn in, but I stood where I was and focused on this pain. Maybe I cried too hard at the movie. Maybe the popcorn I had was giving me a warning.

Either way, there go my late night plans.

"So, I don't think I should stay at your place tonight," I told Shawn when I got in the car.

"Aw, why?" he asked.

"My stomach is, uh, acting up a little. Not feeling too good."

"You're gonna let your stomach stop you?" Stella piped up from the backseat. She wasn't one to normally say things like that. She knew how serious I got when I got sick.

I looked at her through the rear view mirror. "You got plans tonight?"

She picked at her nails and stayed quiet for a minute. "I have a friend visiting."

"Just stay at mine anyway," Shawn said to me. "I have the tea you like, and medicine, and a shit ton of blankets to keep you cozy. I'll be there to take care of you."

"I don't know, I wouldn’t wanna put that on you."

"I really don't mind."

We’ve been together five and a half months. In those months, I have gotten flare ups a handful of times, and all of those times had to do with trying new foods that ended up disagreeing with me. Each time I was with Shawn, and I had to tell him to leave me to deal with my illness. He did so, reluctantly. He really wanted to nurse me back to health, though.

Sickness is just so ugly. I didn't want to burden him with my physically unstable ass sleeping on the bathroom floor. I didn't want him to hear me puking in his bathroom. We just got to a place where things were Love sick, not Sick sick. Everything was so soft and sweet between us. For once nothing was grey, it was soft blend of black and pink. I didn’t want to taint it with my stupid gastrointestinal crap.

On the other hand, Stella is my roommate. She offers to look after me when I get sick, to which I always say no. I know how to handle it. Still, she goes to the extent of cancelling plans and breaking dates just in case I needed help. She was my safe person when went out. She was the extrovert who wanted and deserved to have a good time.

I had to stop by campus to drop Stella off, anyway. She got out of the car, reminding me once again that she'll have somebody over very soon.

Shawn turned to me once we were alone. "Please stay with me tonight."

"I don't need you to deal with my sickness," I said firmly. "It's nothing personal-"

"Okay, stop for a second," he told me. Then he placed his hand on the shoulder of my seat. "I know you know how to handle yourself when you get sick. It's like, a plan you've had to make and adjust over time, and you know it like the back of your hand. I get that, you know how to take care of yourself. I just don't want you to do this plan alone."

"I won't be alone, I have Stella." By that I mean, she's on standby only if things go really wrong... which is never. I’m not that sick.

This time, though… I’ve only felt actual pain one time before this.

Shawn gave me a look. "She's gonna be busy tonight. She wants to be busy tonight."

We stared at each other for a while. My stomach was flipping for reasons unrelated to illness. My boyfriend had stupidly kind, gentle intentions, and stupidly pretty eyes. He also had a very comfy bed.

I sighed. "Fine."

After some tea and rest, I felt a little better. I felt good enough to hop into bed with my boyfriend for about twenty minutes. It was fine until he was on top of me...

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Shawn frantically said, moving off of me. "Oh god, I'm so sorry."

My face was scrunched with pain, and I tried to control my breathing. The soreness from earlier turned into a sharp pain in my abdomen that made me push Shawn away from me. It was kind of a mood killer to say the least, since it made him panic.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice trembling. "How bad is it? What do you need?"

"Shh!" It wasn't intended to sound mean, but I was trying to focus on what my body was doing.

I struggled to sit up, so Shawn held my lower back to support me. He kept asking questions, but I was rapidly tuning him out. The pain didn't get any better or worse, but I was feeling something in my guts. I got up and dashed into the bathroom.

We're going to get just a little TMI. I wanted use the bathroom, but my bowels weren't having it. Then, I wanted to puke but my stomach wasn't having it. I didn't know what to do, so I just stayed on the floor in front of the toilet and let my body try to figure things out for itself.

I shouldn't have had popcorn at the movies. Sure, popcorn is light on the stomach, but Stella wanted extra butter, and I hadn’t eaten for hours. I knew what I was getting myself into, and now I was paying for it. Add popcorn to the list of foods that were now forever tainted with a bad memory.

Shawn came knocking on the door, his voice full of concern. "Honey, are you okay? Can I come in?"

I didn’t say anything but he let himself in anyway. He sat next to me on the floor, next to where I was leaning over the toilet. Delicately, he moved my hair from my face and held it back.

"I don't think I'm gonna puke," I told him, resting my forehead on the seat. My mouth was watering inexplicably, and I felt a tingle in my feet.

"Okay, then let's get you back to bed," he said gently, placing his hands on my waist to help me up.

Then, I actually puked. Yup, no more popcorn for me.

It goes without saying that I was up for most of the night. I only threw up that one time, but I felt nauseous until the sun peeked through the window. Not only that, I always got a bout of anxiety whenever things with my stomach got bad, and it intensified knowing that I wasn’t home at my dorm. I wasn’t in the comfort of my squeaky single size bed. I didn’t have my phone charging next to me here because the only other outlet was on the other side of the room. I felt so out of place and I wanted to run, but I knew I couldn’t because traveling would only upset my stomach more.

Shawn fell asleep when I reassured him that I wouldn’t spend anymore time in the bathroom. He was on his side facing me practically the whole night. When I felt okay enough to lay down, I put one of the extra pillows between us and faced away from him. He started stirring by the time I was finally sleepy.

When I woke up in the late afternoon, I was just grateful I didn’t have class on Fridays. I couldn’t get up even if I wanted to.

I rolled onto my back, only to find that I was alone. I rubbed my eyes, then quickly remembered that I fell asleep with smudged eyeliner, and I just made it worse. I sighed and looked out the window from where I lied. It had gotten cloudy throughout the day. Thank god, today was not a sunshine kinda day for me.

If only I had the energy to get off my ass and go back home where I wanted to be.

My eyes blankly stared at the ceiling. Whatever spirit I had left in me was slowly floating away. My incorporeal being was rising out of my physical being, until voices outside the bedroom caused me to come back to earth.

“Oh, let me just see her! Maybe I can help!”

A woman. I slowly moved onto my side, curling up under the blanket and trying to focus on the window. Then, I heard Shawn’s voice.

“No! Ah - I mean…” He was suddenly outside the door. “Let me see if she’s awake.”

Shit.

The door opened, but I didn’t move from my position. Shawn came up in my peripherals, and then he sat down on the empty side of the bed. His eyes met mine, and he smiled.

“Hey, you. How ya feeling?”

I blinked. “Tired… Not sick. Just tired.”

“As long as you’re not sick.” He brought a hand up to my head and stroked my hair. “Listen, my mom is here.”

“Why?” Seemingly innocent question, but it did make me feel some kinda way, and it certainly sounded like it.

“She comes every so often,” Shawn explained. “She’ll clean and do my laundry.”

Must be nice.

“I told her you were here,” he continued. “I told her you were sick, and she just wants to check on you.”

We had talked about me meeting his family. I joked about wearing a high ponytail with a pink scrunchie the way Meredith did in Grey’s Anatomy. Shawn replied by saying I’d be wearing a black scrunchie, duh. Clearly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this, the day after a particularly nasty flare up. I was severely unprepared and it was a couple of months too early. But how the hell am I supposed to turn his mother away when she was already here?

“I’ll go out there,” I told him. “Let me just wash my face first.”

Shawn looked pleasantly surprised. “Okay, great. We’ll be in the living room.” He kissed my forehead and got to his feet.

As I pushed myself out of bed, I noticed the persisting pain in my abdomen yet again. Not as bad as last night, but it was still there. I already knew how to handle this.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #fourtristattoosspring #shawn x goth gf #i think everything after this is gonna be posted in chronological order #no more out of order chapter updates lmfao #god i hope ppl like this series #im feeling inadequate and sensitive sry

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hecohansen31 · 5 years

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A Dinasty Of Three: (Sugar Daddy! Duncan+Sugar Mommy! Fallon Carrington+Sugar Baby! Reader)

A/N: Hello there guys,

A little time ago I published a little thing talking about how cool would it be for Fallong Carrington and Duncan Shepherd to meet (since thye are my favorite rich people, love all those dolars…) (I am being sarcastic obviously) (but also, I am poor… so…). And a few people seemed interested into this so I decided to try out the headcanon format for this, let me know as always what you think, any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated!

Even negative one, just remember to be nice!

Also I sadly might have ignored a bit the “sugar daddy/mommy” part so I am a bit sorry, but the story took this kind of road, so… sorry…

I still hope that you will enjoy it!

(also I have arrived only on the first season of “Dinasty”, so please mind that, and avoid spoilers, because I had to check a thing and I got spoiled… ver sad story…).

Let me know if you thought this was cute and you want more about this universe (BECAUSE I HAVE IDEAS!).

Just going to tag @multi-fandom-slut (hope you will like it!)

SUMMARY: Being Duncan’s baby girl was already difficult, but what happens when a third party enters the relationship… and when that third party is Fallon Freaking Carrington?

WORDS: 1,8 K.

WARNINGS: Poly-Relationship, DD/LG themes (MM/LG, also), mentions of sex and oral sex.

· You might be Duncan’s Sugar Baby, but you still work for him, mostly when he is off to any kind of long journey, and you are feeling lonely and you know… shopping and the rich life can get so annoying. (no, I don’t because I am poor, but…).

· And you end up having to work with Fallon Carrington.

· Which is not a good thing for you, at least, since you actually know Fallon.

· She was your high school’s bully and the first girl you ever crushed on, hard.

· So, you don’t have an exact happy memory of her, and this prompt you to be a “bit” cold to her (you don’t talk with her unless it’s necessary).

· ”I am starting to think that you don’t like me” “Actually I don’t like you, so you are right”.

· And Fallon just can’t understand why you are being so cold towards her.

· Till her brother makes her realize that maybe it was because she had been a bitch to you in high school.

· And from then on, she starts apologizing to you.

· At first you try to keep up the cold persona, feeling that she is not being sincere, but influenced by the fact that you still harbor a crush on her and the fact that she seems extremely into you and your work…

· You end up actually enjoying your work together, even going out, sometimes.

· Duncan is happy to hear that you got a “friend”, but then you share also the fact that you are getting again feelings for Fallon.

· Duncan is very open-minded about your relationship, mostly because Fallon wouldn’t be the first girl you two shared and suggest to you to host a dinner with Fallon, so he can get to know her better and think about a possible three-way relationship.

· Fallon is very nervous, but she and Duncan immediately get along, talking about business things and discussing the Republican way…

· You just drink and are happy in the backhground, smiling shyly every time one of the duo catches you looking at them, clearly overwhelmed by the beauty and elegance that they spread in the dining room.

· You finish the dessert and technically there would be no reason for Fallon to stay and Duncan starts to kiss you in the way that means business, straight up in front of her.

· And whereas you are very picky with public display of affection, you understand that this is Duncan’s test to Fallon to see if she can handle you both.

· She does.

· She follows you both into the bedroom, mumbling something about “needing to stop all the sexual tension going on in the room”, locking discreetly the door, meanwhile Duncan already rips off the pink Valentino dress you wore that night, meanwhile Fallon takes the hint and sheds ungracefully her Louboutin heels, before crawling on top of the plush bed.

· And here Duncan just takes a step back, leaning against the headboard, with his arms crossed above his head, and let you two enjoy yourself.

· Fallon is nervous AF; she might be a bad bitch and a very tech savvy babe, who knows how to destroy your career and arrange perfectly your engagement party, but she is clueless to what to do with a girl (a very pretty girl also).

· “You have never experienced in college?” “Private catholic school, sadly”.

· Her uneasiness is eased by a few gentle kisses, before you undress her gently, always asking for confirmation and taking just this once the lead in, making her feel any kind of pleasure, both from simply holding another body close to what it feels like to have an expert tongue between our own legs.

· She becomes addicted to the feeling and soon you will find yourself to have to work more on her body than anything related by a possible agreement between the Morell Corp and Shepherd Freedom Foundation.

· Duncan pumps himself gently, clearly impressed by the show and only dares to interrupt it to bring you an own dose of pleasure, his tongue flickering alongside your entrance to make sure that you are wet enough for him, before taking you, a show of power for Fallon, who is coming off her high only right in that moment, watching him between relaxed and lazy lashes, before bringing him into a kiss and then moving to kiss you, tasting both you and herself.

· And the taste is addicting, enough to make her search more, meanwhile Duncan thrusts into you.

· He is extremely taken aback by Fallon taking the lead.

· But he is pleased.

· They sometimes fight like two idiots for who gets to take the lead, till they hear your moans because you started touching yourself meanwhile they thought about what is the best for you (more like who is bets for you) and they decide to team up to punish you.

· Which is a very bad thing.

· Because Fallon might be new in this whole thing, but she knows exactly how to edge you and then leave you there and whereas Duncan loves the good old idea of spanking you to mark you up…

· Fallon is more subtle, bringing you almost over and then pushing you back and sometimes not letting you cum.

· “Baby, you just pushed two fingers into mommy’s little treasure chest, and that is against the rule” with a very soft tone that she uses only with “mommy’s favorite baby”.

· Honestly, she is a bit scared to go rough on you.

· She knows that Duncan does it with no problem (you have been together for two years before Fallon so that man knows you inside and out).

· But she is afraid that she will hurt you again and it will make you run away.

· Because other than the amazing sex… you are two amazing partners.

· You are very nice and soft, the kind of thing she needs after her work gets too much, or if she had a bad day.

· You just run to her, hug-attacking her and she might roll her eyes and say that you are childish but she cherishes those time when she gets to hold you and feels a little bit loved.

· She loves the fact that Duncan is actually very attentive at whatever she has to say (work or not work related) and has an extremely high consideration of her, no matter if she makes a mistake (he has supported and helped through so many, never running away).

· Still it takes her a lot of time to get used to the fact that maybe you are not just fuck-buddies, that it is not you and Duncan anymore, but she is also there.

· For you and Duncan it’s quicker: you took one look at each other’s happy faces and decided that you wanted Fallon in your lives, no matter how much she tried to push you both away (which she did, LIKE A LOT).

· You would have stuck around.

· She understands it all when after once again Alexis disappointed her, and she comes home to them smiling and laughing sweetly but as soon as they take in her tears (FALLON CARRINGTON DOESN’T CRY!) they go in immediate “console-Fallon-mode” being extremely patient with her and giving her all the time she needs.

· From them on Fallon is much more secure, mostly she is less jealous of you both, understanding that you are in a team, you are in this together. (*with Troy Bolton’s voice” “WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER”).

· You get talked shit by journals.

· Fallon will have their head.

· Duncan has had a stressful day, cue to you making him relax, meanwhile Fallon talks with those “imbeciles” of his workers.

· You are spoiled rotten, and not with just affection.

· You have them around your little finger two of the richest people the world ever met, and they literally adore you.

· (also you are not with them for their money, with Duncan it might have started like that but then you ended up falling… HARD… for him).

· (Fallon honestly is a bit insecure about this at first, but then she understands that you are not going to leave her if she becomes suddenly homeless… also she is pretty sure that you are almost as rich as her…).

· (Still you joke a lot about it “Duncan I am with you for a reason and we all know what it is” Fallon: “Sadly not your dick”).

· Mostly they love taking you to shopping trips.

· Fallon likes them mostly because of “changing room sex”.

· You were a bit ashamed by the idea, scared they might catch you (usually Duncan is not allowed to follow you to the changing room, but the shopping assistants were all too happy to accompany Fallon Freaking Carrington into your changing room).

· But then Fallon slipped her hand in your panties… and you were gone.

· You obviously reenact the entire thing for a very jealous Duncan.

· Also, once Fallon bought a strap-on and you were absolutely into it…

· … Duncan was less excited…

· (he is going to kill me, but he low key enjoyed it).

· Duncan doesn’t give a damn about what Annette think of him dating two (beautiful and talented) women not when at the end of the day they treat him like a king and make him feel so love that he once cried after a particular sweet night, spent together, laughing at old photos.

· (it’s also there that he realizes he wants children with you two) (Fallon is not too convinced about it, because she is young … and you are young and also… she doesn’t want to turn as Alexis).

· (You reassure her that she won’t).

· (Also, when it happens, she actually can’t help but caress your swollen stomach each time she can, and she gets to hold the baby immediately and she swear that no matter what she will protect the babe with all heart).

· Blake is more worried about how this might affect the family, but Fallon tells him that she doesn’t need his blessing because she has already all the blessing that mattered: hers.

· Krystal is very happy (and you and Krystal get along very well, always chatting about how much your respective husband and boyfriend are two idiots, with much love).

· Steve is absolutely in love with you and Duncan, she can see that you are both a very good influence on her

· Sammy Jo is honesty the one you get along more and is the one who drags you into any kind of crazy experience (Duncan and Fallon sometimes are not happy about it, but also, they love your champagne inebriated laugh).

· Anders really likes chatting with Duncan, also he is forever starstruck by the fact that you can get both Duncan and Fallon to do anything you want, and at first you thought that you were nothing but a gold digger, but now he is just impressed by the way you can just caress Duncan’s hair and kiss Fallon’s ear and get them to actually be nice.

· Alexis discovers it into some gossip magazine.

· Blake in the end comes around it.

· “I mean it is better to have Duncan Shepherd in your family than against you”-

· And you are very glad you are in each other’s life.

Guys as always any feedback is welcome!

Negative or positive, just to understand if what I am doing is right or wrong!

Thank you to anyone who will do it (*gets Duncan’s wallet* I will give you five dollars!).

Hope you enjoyed it!

-Heco Hansen.

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suitov · 5 years

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Wild Ex Appeared!

(This might be added as a chapter to a longer work; depends if it fits in.)

This short is tagged as suggestive and placed under a cut because people refer to, y’know, hanky-panky. Just refer to it. Nothing happens on screen.

(Also cut for spoilers to Izuru Kamukura’s Cuddly Toy, I guess.)

————

Dandelion has a baseline cute of approximately 1×1024 kilohamsters, so you can take that as read when I draw attention to something particularly cute about him.

In this case, he is being cutely awkward around the man who just greeted him by slapping his backside and saying “Oi, Hoemaeda”, causing him to yelp. (He is also cute when startled.)

Dandelion squeezes the back of his own neck, looks at me, laughs nervously, looks at me again, and says “Oh, hi… Toma…”

“This your latest?” asks the man, noticing the exchanged looks and nodding in my direction.

“I am called Izuru. Are you his previous?” I counter. This dance club is not an ideal place to hold a conversation of more than a few words, even in this relatively quiet corner. I would not even be in the building except that Dandelion is and Dandelion loves to show me off. (He is cute when he is smug.)

“I mean, technically, I guess.” He has to talk at a distasteful volume for Dandelion to hear him over the music. “What would you say, Nagi, how many one-nighters ‘til you’re official? Or would others in between break the streak?”

Dandelion hides his face in both hands.

“Wait, hold on.” The technical ex notices something about Dandelion’s left hand, then looks at mine for confirmation. “Is that a ring? Izuru, buddy, why pay for what you can get for free?”

“Oh, do you know where to get free rings?” I ask in a tone of polite interest.

Dandelion aarghs into his hands.

The ex does not appear to know how to respond.

“A-anyway!” Dandelion almost shrieks, having stopped hiding for now. “Toma! How have you been!”

“Oh, you know. Been around. How about you? I heard you graduated that fancy school.”

“Y-yes.” Dandelion rallies at this reminder of his superiority over the talentless hordes. (His thinking, not mine. I do not find that quite as cute.) “It was amazing, seeing the Ultimates up close, watching them refine their hope into something to spread light across the globe! And that’s not to mention Iz—”

The ex snorts at this. Apparently the topic of hope is not unfamiliar to him. “So, you too good for the likes of me now?”

“Um—”

“Because, fancy talent or not, I seem to remember you liked it a lot when I…” He steps suddenly closer. Dandelion is trapped against the wall. Dandelion’s breath hitches. His pupils dilate.

“Still dirty little trash, I see,” says the ex.

I wait for the look that will give me permission to intervene.

Instead, Dandelion grabs the ex’s arms and politely returns them to his sides, then slithers away to stand next to me. “Someone else’s trash,” he says firmly. “Anyway, nice catching up.”

The ex grins, shakes his head, then goes to rejoin the crowd.

I slip an arm around Dandelion. “Are you all right?” I say into his ear.

“Yes… I… ugh.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fine—it’s just… ugh! A year since I’ve seen him and he’s still a dick. Why does he still have that effect on me? I… I really am just…” (He seems upset at himself, which is still cute, but mostly worrying.)

“It’s fine if you find other people exciting and sexy. It doesn’t bother me,” I begin, but no, that is wrong. This is not about my feelings. It bothers him.

Dandelion stares at his engagement ring and says “mm”.

I switch gears. “Although it’s just as well he got lost before I had to drag you into that corner and mark my territory with my teeth.”

Dandelion is cute when startled. And this is a positive startlement. So I continue in this vein.

“Of course you know I could beat him up with a single finger,” I say. This bluster makes me feel silly, but Dandelion is worth silly. “And will, if he decides to bother you in future. If he doesn’t know how to value you, he can’t have you. After all… you are mine.”

And there are the glazed eyes. The bottom lip grazing the top teeth. And here comes the blush. Predictable yet always tiny differences. I can paint a thousand different shades on his skin without even touching him. Who could fail to love such a responsive canvas?

“Izuru,” Dandelion pants, “please, take me home, right now.”

I do so. And then I spend several hours reminding him what it is they say about one man’s trash.

#kamukoma #suggestive #izuru kamukura #nagito komaeda #ikct #izuru kamukura's cuddly toy

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internetremix · 5 years

Note

In IR lore, what are the personalities of your personas? Basic likes and dislikes?

Kristen: Goggles is An Child and behaves as such. She's very cheerful, very curious, a bit mischievous and also 100% obsessed with making fanwork of her internet family... like a goddamn weirdo. She'll usually be hanging out with everyone, spot some sort of inspiration, squeak with joy and then rush off to write or draw. She's also the defacto leader of the Smol Squad, which is composed of herself, Shyner, Jojo and Chi-chi, and she's usually the one squeaking out ridiculous plans in muppet for dumb shit like stealing cookies and trying to trap people in fanfiction scenarios. She likes to help and can often be found doing such things as assisting Xander in his many schemes or just popping up to provide shit like charts or hold things for other people- basically whenever it would be funny to have some goddamn muppet backing something up.

She loves plush toys, particularly Crockernanner, and also loves sugar, star decorations, and cuddles. She likes being picked up and loves attention, and she's pretty consistently attached to at least one person, often her big brother Split if she's not with the Smol Squad. She is in eternal war with Phill since he bullies her constantly, and will occasionally try to set up elaborate traps for revenge only to fail miserably. Also she's a huge weeb. She does not like to sleep and will often go days without it before being dragged off by some bigger person to take a goddamn nap you ridiculous child. She is also very afraid of thunderstorms, she doesn't like loud noises or the dark.

She also has... various flaws and problems. But those are spoilers and I have no idea when/if we’ll be doing story stuff with IRsonas so I don’t want to give too much away with that.

Sorry this is very long, I think about my child a lot.

Jojo: JoJo is also a very happy child... like, stupid happy all the time. Like, they don't really have a concept of being angry. they're either manic happy or a bit sad. They love to find any way to make anybody smile or laugh, whether it be a somber happy, or a crying fit of laughter. They thrive off of happiness. They're a bit mischievous as well, and will try to play pranks and swipe things to chew on. They'll just appear in random places you'd never expect. like, in the pantry, the vent, or in your drawer. They chew things all the time to keep their dragon teeth sharp! They do tend to come off as obnoxious and kind of useless sometimes? But that's ok.

They love happiness, rocks, swimming, sandwiches, Vanilla coke, coffee, pianos, stars, ghost stuff(horror genre), and laughter. JoJo is pretty similar to Goggles now that I think about it x_xJoJo is best friends with Phill, and will always be on him in some way. Like his leg, back, holding onto his scarf by their teeth, etc. They're also very close with Goggles and Shyner, and Scott (even though Shyner tries to chase JoJo off with knives, JoJo will take it as a game of tag or something)JoJo doesn't like being yelled at or being told to go away. They get spooked easily by loud noises. They always get paranoid when they think someone is mad at them and will go to ungodly lengths to make them not mad or slightly annoyed with them, which sometimes makes people more annoyed with them than they were before.

JoJo is just an exaggerated version of me XD

Atwas: Atwas is fairly easy going. They make light of things often, and often hide serious sentiments behind jokes. They’re the type to roll with goofy and silly situations, and are very “yes and” type that enjoys escalating things in the name of light-hearted fun. They enjoy playing pranks, especially ones that take advantage of their hologrammatic nature (being able to enter and ‘possess’ electronics is something that they take advantage of often). Being technically in the cloud and a part of the internet at all times, they will often chime in with fun (often unrelated or humorous) metrics about situations and people as they occur—and often forgets that having a HUD isn’t something everyone has access to.

Being ‘technically’ invulnerable, atwas isn’t phased by the more dangerous things that go on in the IR tower, but usually prefers being a spectator or commentator as opposed to being an active participant in general shenaniganry. They don’t have any particular animosity towards anyone, and will occasionally help manage technical parts and functions of the tower.

They enjoy things like tech, cold weather, tea, fun statistics, darkness; and aesthetics like Film Noir and Retrowave.

They dislike things like excessively hot weather, being interrupted, getting too personal, having to put in a lot of “effort”, and being out of the loop.

Shyner: Shyner can easily be summed up to a tsundere in denial, and is the definition of an agent of chaos. If something goes wrong, she’s the one pouring a trail of kerosene to let the fire spread. She's loud, impulsive, and really doesn't give two shits. While quirky and charismatic, she’s also sarcastic and witty, reveling in the amusement of making fun of others. She’s often stubborn and impatient, thinking highly of her own beliefs and angered by those who dare to challenge her ideals. She also lacks a filter, and enjoys garnishing her words with colorful profanities. Filled with gripes of past trauma, she’s engaged in a constant internal war of turmoil and grief. She’s incredibly cautious and closed off around those she doesn’t trust, and can be very selfish. Despite this, she’s loyal to the few people she cares about, going out of her way to put them first if a dire situation were to arise. She’s also very sneaky and mischievous, often finding amusement in spying on others. Her MBTI is INTP-T.

Her hobbies include stargazing, ghost hunting, spying, and Satanic worship. She enjoys melancholy vibes, horror movies, animals, thunderstorms, and has an unhealthy obsession with sweets. Yes, this child will stab you without hesitancy if you take her cookies. She dislikes seafood, big crowds, kiddie leashes, and is afraid of experiencing intense emotion she doesn’t understand.I love my satanic smol bean very much. If I may be so bold as to dive into the nitty-gritty psychology, Shyner possesses many flaws, a lot of which I personally struggled with growing up. She is a reflection of my past self, some gripes with my current self, and the perception of how I could have turned out if I hadn’t met my family at IR. Hiding behind the exterior of being a merciless bully, she still has an intense internal desire to be a good person, but gets frustrated and often derails herself in the process of fighting her desire to act on impulse. She keeps most relationships with people at arm's length, fearing that if someone were to think highly of her, it would only be a matter of time before they’re disappointed. If we were to go full-fledged story mode, she would most definitely have an intense character redemption arc, making the revelation that being shitty to those who care about her isn’t the way to run from her problems and hide away from her own sense of self-insecurity/hatred.

Phill: Phill likes mischief, bad jokes, sexual undertones, Jojo, sexual overtones, bullying Kristen, and the colour pink. That's it xD

Jojo: :D yay

Alex: Alex don't give a shit but is for whatever reason the bossman and is also as powerful as silver age Superman, just don't try actual murder of the crew and he won't yeet you into the sun

Moon: 2019 Moon is an idiot. If we didn't know any better, we would assume he was born from nothing but an old head of lettuce in Satan's refrigerator. Think like Scott from Monster Prom, but different. He knows his right from his left, but the compass is still just "NESW" to him. Impulsive, lovable, and kinda loud, this muscley dumbass will do practically anything you tell him to if he finds it enjoyable. When paired with a few people, he works well as a second to many dynamic duos. Brodingles and Moon/Split and Moon are two really good ones, dangerous shenanigans ensue. Can and will rap like a beast, any challenge to a freestyle will result in a career ending and a death being sentenced. Extroverted people pleaser, definitely shooting high to perform and when adapting to a character, goes a little too hard. This man played Gander in Charlottes Web and didn't stop making goose sounds for months. Did I mention he's also a disney princess? Singing, animals, mortal enemy falling to their death? Everything

Dawn: ToonWolf/Dawn's personality falls within the confines of recklessly adventurous who doesn't think things through entirely. They like to try and rope others into going on various hikes, treasure hunts, mythic/cryptid searches, etc. Unapologetic sailor mouth. They will fight for friends and family. Various animals, trinkets, treasures, and cool but useless garbage are brought back to the tower often (oops theres a liiiiiiitle bit of hoarding). Sometimes those animals consist of dogs, cats, lizards, bears, wolves, The Great Noble One, horses, lions, elk, you get the idea (Can I keep them?Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaseeeeee??????????).

Overall they are most comfortable and relaxed in/around water and likes a whole lotta things including sailing, swimming, adventure, stargazing, animals, mythology/legends, friends, family, and drawing.

They dislike waking up early, limitations, being talked down to, boredom, desert/hot/humid/dry weather, coffee, and the movie "Cube"

Tex: Tex is an avid cryptid detective + has a surprisingly good intuition when creating conspiracy theories about them to follow. Mm lots of memes and disguises. Smart, but usually just off on their own thinking about other stuff.Totally has a wall in their room dedicated to figuring all the cryptids out with like, red string and everything.

#whole crew #ask the ir crew #irsonas #sorry I know this isn't everyone we have a big crew and not everyone is up to answer this stuff #Anonymous

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fordarkisthesuede · 5 years

Text

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 1

Thank you for all your kind words so far!!! （*’∀’人）♥ I'm slowly reading that nice pile of new TT works you all made! ♥♥♥

(And I’m sorry for the delay,

Important Spoiler Tags: more talk of dead bodies, blood mention, mental illness

{Prologue} {Next Chapter}

Read on AO3 or continue below:

[Chapter 1: A Different Ceiling]

John Doe stared wide-eyed up at the whitewashed ceiling, feeling his breath catch in his chest and release too fast. He could practically hear his heart thudding in his ears like the world’s worst wake-up call.

Where am I? He asked himself.

He turned his head as he tried to breathe slowly. Dull light streamed in through the thin chicken-wire over the window - a standard of mornings in Gotham. There was flat blue paint on the walls, a familiar photograph sitting on a nightstand, a clock (oh, it was 7:20, that was helpful) and a phone there that he wasn’t technically supposed to have.

He snatched the phone off the surface and swiped up, barely paying attention to the illuminated rollercoaster that was his lock-screen. A selfie of himself and Bruce Wayne greeted him, only partially obscured by a couple of icons. He’d taken the picture three days ago, during their last visit; he could see the phone’s little timestamp in the corner, underneath the clock. He took a deep breath and focused on Bruce’s face.

Bruce had worn that really good cologne that day. He could smell it lingering on his own shirt for hours afterward, bringing to mind memories of his short stay at Bruce’s house.

He felt his panic start ebbing away. He wasn’t in Arkham Asylum anymore. He wasn’t in the Old Five Points, either, or the abandoned Funhouse, or Ace Chemicals. He wasn’t dreaming or being delusional or…

John pinched himself and winced slightly at the sharp sting it made in his wrist. Nope, he wasn’t under any kind of drug-based hallucination, either. Just like the day before that, and the week before that, and the fortnight before that.

But his subconscious apparently hadn’t caught up with reality just yet. He kept dreaming of everything else. Everything that could have gone wrong, or everything that did go wrong, but amplified by twenty.

Things should be different now. They were different now. Bruce was fine. John was….well, here.

The halfway house he was in was one of the better ones in the city. It wasn’t the best, of course, considering John’s past...difficulties, but it was better than where he’d ended up last time. There weren’t any bars on his window, his room actually had some color in it that wasn’t just a stain, and the only rat he’d seen so far was outside of the building.

His thumb hovered over the messenger icon on the screen, and he looked at the little digital clock in the corner. Was it too early? Bruce had been on patrol, and he’d already bugged him after one nightmare.

But it was a different one. He’d only dived over the railing towards that bubbling vat of chemical waste before. He’d had that dream before, always feeling like he’d fallen onto his back on the mattress afterward; he was almost used to that one.

This time he’d been covered in blood. He could only see the Funhouse floor, the countless bodies there, forming a grotesque ring around him, staring at him with unblinking dull expressions...

John rubbed his forehead. He really didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted a distraction and comfort and Bruce’s soothing voice in his ear.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and the first line from Bruce’s text dropped down from the top of the screen.

John hit it like lightning and let his brain simulate Bruce’s voice.

I’m close by. Can I come see you before work?

Bruce was heaven-sent, surely. A gift from a god of some sort. An absolute treasure John didn’t deserve to even look at.

He hovered over the keyboard. Should he wait a minute? Should he just say yes with all the exclamation points he felt in his heart?

No, no - Bruce might want to see him to get comfort of his own. Which meant he needed to loosen up a little.

Ha ha, I knew you couldn’t resist me ;)

John waited a moment, his brain buzzing that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to joke with a man that might have stayed up all night again… Maybe he should amend it with a ‘j/k’?

What can I say, your raw animal magnetism has a tendency draws in bats.

John laughed to himself.

Ha ha ha! I bet I can amp up the magnetic power to get you here *faster*!

No need. I’ll be there in 5 mins.

…you’re that close already?

How’d you know I’d say yes?

I had a feeling you would.

Plus this is important.

Important. So, a nine-out-of-ten chance it was about Bruce’s stakeout last night. John pushed aside the budding worry that something had gone horribly wrong - Bruce was talking to him. If he wasn’t fine (or at least Bruce’s definition of it, which was ‘alive and secretly hurting somehow’), he wouldn’t be speaking to him.

Unless someone had found out about his secret identity, knocked him out (or worse), stole his phone, discovered where John was staying, and was coming to kill him and taunting him about it by masquerading as Bruce...

...but that was a preeetty low chance.

Ok. Drive carefully, there’s a bunch of lunatics out there.

And I would know! Ha ha ha!!

I’m always careful.

I’ll see you soon.

Ten minutes, five minutes - hell, John could be ready to see Bruce in one minute. He threw on the closest things from the drawer, smoothed his hair back, and paced over the tiles a little, darting his eyes out the window towards the mediocre parking lot. It was funny how different it looked compared to Arkham. He still sometimes felt like he’d wound up in a different wing of it rather than a whole new place...

He blinked, remembering that St. Dymphna New Life Home had a somewhat different set of rules and that he could leave his room. And unlike Arkham, he didn’t have to ask or do someone a favor or play innocent. (Most of the time, anyway…)

He was already out in the hall, feeling like he should rush even though he knew he didn’t have to, passing other rooms, other snoozing patrons, turning a corner, and smacking right into Mickey.

Mickey Williamson had a serious case of ‘resting bitch face’. Well, that coupled with paranoia and aggressive issues.

“You trying to start somethin’, clown?” Mickey grunted, staring down at John.

From anyone else, it would’ve been a threat, but John had helped Batman take down Bane; this guy was a limp noodle in comparison. Still, picking a fight - even a verbal one - wasn’t a good idea. Neither was shrugging it off. “Only part one of my plan to brighten your day,” he joked. “I know you don’t like loud noises. How else am I going to get your attention?”

Mickey gave a short hmph, clearly satisfied. “...what’s the plan?”

He definitely wouldn’t buy that it was a secret. “A joke! Why are lawyers buried ten feet underground?”

Mickey looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment. It was hard to tell if he was rolling his eyes or thinking about it. “Okay, why?”

“Because deep down, they’re not that bad!”

Mickey gave a short, boisterous laugh that was definitely genuine-sounding, despite the smile slipping off his face shortly after. “Okay, that was much better than the one about the rotisserie chicken you told Chuck yesterday.”

“Yeah, I guess when there’s more than one meat that cooks like that it kinda takes away the punch…”

He crossed his arms. “So what’s part two of ‘plan’ of yours?”

“What, and ruin the mild surprise? Mickey, how long have we known each other?”

“Four weeks.”

“Exactly! And have I ever done you wrong in all that time?”

His jaw shifted slightly. “That green sauce you told me to use the other day made everything too spicy.”

“Okay, honest mistake on my part, I didn’t think you’d use that much… But that aside?”

“...no,” he admitted with a slight shrug.

“Mm-hm! So trust me - it’ll put a smile on your face!” John emphasized with a click of his fingers towards his bulky neighbor and a grin of his own as he slunk away. “Probably,” he muttered to himself, completely unsure of what he would do next. Mickey might not have been as scary as Bane, but John was constantly trying to be on his best behavior, so getting on Mickey’s good side - along with everyone else’s - was for the best.

John glanced briefly the camera in the corner of the open stairwell, seeing it still pointed down the hall. He knew from the angle and shape of the lens that the corner of the stairs was a safe place to talk if Bruce didn’t want his lips recorded.

The thought made him giggle a little to himself. It took two flights of stairs to get down to the welcome area, where’d he’d no doubt have to wait as Bruce signed more pointless pieces of paper and -

And there he was. Bruce Wayne, standing there, signing away another visitor’s form and chatting up the easily-charmed nurse for the sake of his public image.

He was radiant, even under the fluorescent lights. A gorgeous demigod - no, a hero, a warrior of the highest class, out to mingle amongst the common criminals without his armor. John felt like the atmosphere had shifted and grown warm, and there was something about the way Bruce’s flirtatious smile wasn’t reaching his eyes that made John’s stomach feel all light.

The real smiles were all his. His, his, his.

He knew he had to wait until Bruce passed through the little security check, but for what felt like for the hundredth time he just wanted to walk over it and ignore everything that stood in the way of them. His fingers itched to touch Bruce, grab his hand, his wrist, anything, and he couldn’t. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, waiting, waiting, and smiling wider as Bruce caught his eye.

It didn’t matter how small the little smile back on Bruce’s face was, it was genuine. It made John chuckle: that silly girl at the front desk thought she had half a chance with Bruce? Ha!

John barely heard the guard talking about how they should go to the visiting room a-s-a-p. He knew the rules - visits were a maximum of sixty minutes, they had to be conducted in the visiting room unless a doctor signed off otherwise, and if a therapy session, work, or a meeting with the social worker was scheduled John would have to go to that no matter what.

Blah, blah, blah. There was no rule on how long they could take to walk to the visiting room. And John was willing to bend and break rules into tiny pieces for Bruce any day.

“Hey, John.”

“Hey, Bruce,” he echoed back in the same tone, grinning just a little wider. “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“I drive fast,” Bruce shrugged with a small smirk. They left the guard to pretend he wasn’t listening or watching them leave in his peripheral vision. “You doing okay?”

“Is our new mayor crooked?”

“...possibly?” Bruce answered tentatively.

“Exactly!” John joked.

Bruce wasn’t keeping his eyes focused on the stairs. Cautious concern worked its way onto his face, which John felt simultaneously annoyed and relieved at it. It was amazing having him for support - every doctor he’d ever had stressed how important a good support system was - but sometimes it made John feel like he was being babied. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Take it any way you want! Doesn’t change the fact that I always feel better when you’re here.”

Bruce frowned slightly. “Is something wrong?”

John rolled his eyes. Bruce was toeing the line of babying. Why could he not take a good dark joke? “No, Bruce. I’m not being mistreated, I can take care of myself, and I’ve taken my meddies like a good boy.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, and he got that stern look that made John’s brain give a little burst of adrenaline. His more dominant side always made John want to challenge him...and swoon, usually at the same time. Bruce took hold of his arm, his grip firm but not entirely threatening, and pulled him discreetly underneath the camera so they wouldn’t be seen; both stood side-by-side with their backs against the wall, Bruce’s grip on his arm loosening. “You’ve texted me in the middle of the night several times this week. I know you’re not sleeping well.” His too-blue eyes searched him. “I won’t say anything if you’re not okay, John. I just want to know what’s wrong.”

John thought briefly about retorting with ‘you’, but that was so incredibly untrue that John couldn’t even try to lie with that sorry excuse. He couldn’t say he was ‘fine’, either, despite the habitual urge to. He wasn’t, Bruce knew it, and they did make that promise to be honest with each other...

“It’s just...you know, my brain, being...rude to me.” He knew that wasn’t a good enough explanation, but Bruce was giving his ‘I’m taking you seriously’ face. John always liked that expression. He didn’t see it enough on people. “I just keep having, you know,” John fumbled, rubbing the back of his neck to try and dispel some of the awkwardness, “bad dreams. I mean straight-up barbaric ones, Bruce,” he felt his lip curl in a sneer at himself, “My brain compacts all my garbage memories and twists it into something worse.”

Bruce took hold of John’s hand so smoothly it actually took him by surprise. John stared at him, wondering if he’d said something wrong. He should explain, shouldn’t he?

“I think… I’m still adjusting. Like, I know you’re here, and I’m here, but...it’s like my brain secretly doesn’t like the change and is punishing me for it,” John continued, giving a short, nervous giggle, “Which is ridiculous, because this is more than I could’ve hoped for in a lifetime!”

“Have you mentioned this to Dr. Song?”

“Umm…sort of?” John gestured with his free hand. “Sans graphic details, but, uh, yeah.”

“Is it why you’ve been texting me so late? You wake up from them?”

He didn’t quiiite want to put it like that. He didn’t want to keep thinking of those stupid dreams. “That, and I miss you,” John answered with a sly smile. Their fingers were entwined - he stroked the Bruce’s thumb with his own, feeling the old tiny scar there, slightly smoother than the rest of his warm hand.

The reaction was more of what he wanted to see right then - Bruce had that sweet longing look in his eye.

“I’m literally counting down the days, Bruce,” John purred, feeling much more confident as Bruce’s face flushed a delicate shade of pink. “I’d do anything just to kiss you right now.”

“We shouldn’t,” Bruce replied, looking like he was trying to talk himself out of doing just that.

“That’s not what you said last time,” John teased quietly with a grin, turning to lean his shoulder against the wall. The delicious aromas of expensive cologne and hair conditioner clung to Bruce’s collar, bringing to mind the more sordid details of that last visit. “In fact, I remember you pinning me to the wall and kissing me until you couldn’t breathe.” He’d give anything (any mild luxury, a whole week of visits, all the good night’s sleeps he had left) just have a room alone with him for a while. “I’ve had a hard time thinking about anything else since then.”

He could almost see the struggle between reason and desire in Bruce’s mind. He tried to hide his little shudder as John leaned in a little more; oh yes, John had him right where he wanted him. Bruce might as well have licked his lips.

“Or do you want me to do the pinning this time?”

John considered just pulling him forward and kissing him anyway, but that would ruin their little game. He liked seeing how far he could push Bruce. He watched Bruce’s baby-blues flicker slightly between John’s eyes.

The admonishment in his voice was gentle, like the squeeze he gave John's hand. “We really shouldn’t.”

“Alll-riiight,” John said with a playful pout, “If you say so, Bruce.” He pulled away and crossed his arms, wanting something else to do with his freshly-warmed hands. “You got spooked when that door opened last time, huh?”

“It’s more like ‘I don’t want people to think you got out because of my influence’,” he retorted quietly with a slight smile.

“Well, they’re not wrong, Bruce. I wouldn’t be in here without you,” John pointed out with a shrug in the general direction of their surroundings. “But I get it. So, if you’re not here for a good ol’ round of canoodling, it must be work-related, huh?”

He looked slightly embarrassed. “I actually just wanted to see you.”

John felt his heart skip that middle beat. “Oh! I mean, when you said ‘important’, I thought… Oh, geez,” he blustered, tapping his thighs with his fingers, “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He brought his hands together, looking up at Bruce with his best puppy-eyed expression. “But you’ll tell me how last night went anyway, right?”

Bruce had that cute little smile perking on the corner of his mouth. “Of course.” The smile slipped away just as soon as it appeared. “Not well. The shipment coming in was sabotaged before it came into port; I found all the crew dead.”

“Uugh,” John grunted, putting his hands in his pockets. “Did you at least get B.M.’s guys?”

“No. Their van combusted not long after I boarded the ship. G.C.P.D. found three dead, the last one’s presumed missing. We think it’s a rival gang - C.S.I. was still examining the wreckage when I left.”

“Sounds like a rough night.”

“It was. I barely got a power nap in before-”

“John?”

He glanced down the stairs, towards the voice - Devi, one of the few women staying there. She’d been there for three months already, coming out of her second stay at the county clinic.

“What’re you doin’? We got work in five minutes.”

“...we do?”

“Yeah, it’s Tuesday, man. You comin’ or what?”

He didn’t want to, but he should. “If I don’t make it down there, hijack the bus to wait for me,” he joked.

Her face lit up. “Hey, an upside: I can finally get one of Peralta’s Boston cremes in you.”

John grinned and gave a dramatic gasp. “Devi, you scoundrel, that’s dirty!”

“You’re the one makin’ it dirty, man!” Devi laughed, “I better see you down here in five, or I’m tellin’ the warden,” she teased as she turned the corner, her ponytail of tiny braids shifting as she walked.

Bruce had that calculating look. “I’m sorry, John, I didn’t know you had work today, either.”

“That’s okay, Bruce, I forgot entirely!”

Bruce looked far away, like he was thinking through something.

“Um, you okay?”

“...she didn’t question us standing here.” Bruce turned his gaze to him again. “Do you think she knows something?”

“Devi? Nahhh, she’s on the level.” Weeell… “Our level, I mean. Even if she ‘knows something’, she’s no rat.” Bruce still looked concerned, the big worry-wart. “Look, it’s fine - I’ll go get on the bus with the other crazies, go sit in a back-room sewing den where no one sees me for half the day, and text you if she tries to blackmail me so your other half can pay her a visit.”

Bruce’s little smile returned, making John want to just reach out and caress him like the treasure he was. “You don’t need an excuse to text me, John. You can do that whenever you want.” The sincerity made John’s stomach twist a little. “Just be careful. And have a good day at work.”

John wondered if everyone else in a relationship felt a little burst of joy at the simple well-wishing phrase. “Right back at ya, Brucie,” he said, nudging Bruce’s shoulder with his fist. He leaned in a little, lowering his voice just so Bruce could hear. “You know what I’ll do if anyone hurts you.”

Just as soon as Bruce got that complex look of desire-in-denial and mild alarm that John had wanted to see, John tossed him a wink and whirled around, leaving him to puzzle it out as he descended the stairs.

He grinned to himself, feeling much more relaxed and in-control than before. “Don’t stay too long, Bruce, or you’ll start thinking you live here!”

*~*~*~*~*

The Eastern harbor was one of the more seedy places in Gotham. Batman often fenced the place as part of his patrol, and John could name every mob that made a hit on the infamous 13th Street.

So naturally, it was one of the few sections of the city that would think of employing former Arkham inmates. It was a twenty-minute bus ride every morning to get to their respective jobs. Most of the residents in St. Dymphna were leased out to the laundromat or the incorrectly-named Lucky Hotel down the street. Occasionally one would go to the weird fish market to work in the back, gutting and descaling whatever was brought in. John was so far the only one to be placed in the Stitched Up Alterations joint next to the laundromat.

The bus was discreet, looking more like a white van with the city logo than a repurposed short school bus. It made John long for the flair of Lil’ Puddin’; it might have just been a stolen car he’d had repainted, but at least you knew who was coming.

He gave a little wave to Devi as he passed her heading towards the laundromat, leisurely making his way to the back alley around the place. He passed the always-smelly dumpster and the brick wall covered with graffiti - grinning slightly at the ‘fuck the agency’ tag someone had made with a decent imitation of his clown-smiley-face - and entered through the back door.

It was a small space, crowded with giant spools of various fabrics in all kinds of colors and patterns. There was a little group of headless dress forms in a few different sizes that he had recently cleaned the dust off of, one of which had what might be a burnt-orange off-shoulder dress pinned to it, likely for prom. Or was it homecoming? John never really knew which was which, but summer was only a couple of weeks away, which meant it was likely for whatever the last dance of the year was, and it was definitely new.

Though the color really wasn’t in season. It put him in mind of the fall, of the range of makeup he’d been eying in his few hours of freedom in Gotham half a year ago... He touched it, feeling the synthetic satin under his fingertips. It hadn’t been there yesterday, but it was real.

He passed the shelf of jars filled with colorful buttons, and the rolls upon rolls of fabric, taking a moment to run his hand over the beautiful purple broadcloth he’d half-hidden in a stack, and checked his lonely workstation. A pile of pieces to work on, all folded and tagged, sat at the table by the sewing machine.

He flicked through the pile. Boring, mildly interesting tack job, ooh nice pattern, boring, and

S.Townsend. Beautiful calligraphy, almost like it was from someone with years of practicing their signature. (John would know – he had roughly eight years of practice and he knew his wasn’t anywhere near that pretty.)

“Why does that name sound familiar…?”

A quick search turned up a few results, but nothing recent stood out… There were too many famous S.’s with Townend, apparently – a musician, some newscaster miles away, a convicted murderer ten years ago, some yacht owner…

“Ah-haaa.” One of Gotham’s one-percenters. Sonja Townsend, the chairwoman of Wayne Enterprises. “Why would a member of Bruce’s round-table go here?”

The ticket was recent, made yesterday at closing and wanted in half an hour. An easy enough job - just adding a ticket pocket to a very new purchase. The tag for the jacket was still attached to the sleeve - on sale for fifty bucks, marked down from two-hundred.

“A big-wig who doesn’t always buy big, huh?”

That was...definitely strange. Suspicious, even, considering Wayne Enterprise executives made so much it was a surprise they didn’t try to declare themselves kings.

He unbuttoned it and checked the lining - there was a ticket pocket already there. It was certainly a man’s jacket, just...very small. And they didn’t want it taken in or shrunk?

Hmm.

He took the seam-ripper and tore through the thin stitches holding the pocket closed, wondering if there was something inside.

Nothing.

“You’re being paranoid, John. Dr. Leland warned you about looking too far into things,” he muttered to himself, “Even if it isreally weird… There could be a decent explanation! But… Ugh, what would Bruce do?” his arms and staring at the annoying tag.

Bruce would question it, look at it from every angle… And research it.

John snapped a photo of the tag where The-Mysterious-Person-S had scribbled their signature and sent it to Bruce.

Hey buddy, does this handwriting look familiar?

I can’t check right now. In a meeting.

Fair enough. Looking at it from other angles it was.

John pat the sleeves, the collar, turned the inner-pocket inside out, thinking about the tiny packets of drugs he’d seen exchange hands at Arkham when he found something in the outside pocket.

An ordinary USA Express. No signature on the back, and the black stripe was very worn, but the card wouldn’t expire until next month; the unlucky name on the front was Michael Hodgson.

Huh. Well…no, it wasn’t finder’s-keepers, and John had already been told off for petty theft during his trial, but…it could be useful. Door locks could be picked with a card. As long as he didn’t buy anything with it, it was fine, right?

Right.

John stuck it in his back pocket.

Just as soon as he did, the door to the front opened, and John sat and moved the shirt like he was doing ordinary work as usual, pulling out the boring fabric that someone wanted to turn into a very boring pillow.

The manager came through, hauling a grocery bag of more fabric.

“Oh, John – can you…take a walk for a bit?” The smaller man asked, his mild Thai accent slightly more prevalent than normal. It only seemed to happen when he was nervous. “I have a special order I need to do back here. It will take up the bench.”

“Uh, sure, if you want. How long will you take?”

“A while. Just make sure you’re back in half an hour; the social worker’s dropping by then,” he said with a wave of his hand, moving in John’s way to force him back up.

Mr. Prinya definitely wasn’t supposed to tell him that. Those were meant to be surprise visits, to see how John was coping. “This isn’t some kind of test, is it?” John asked with a nervous little laugh, “Like you’re seeing if I’ll take the opportunity to skip out and report me?”

“You ask a lot for a man who wants this job.” Mr. Prinya put the bag by the stack of orders. “You leave, be back in thirty, both of us live to work another day.”

Ah. He was moving something. His accent came in a little thicker with the light threat, and his little show of bravado made John think it was probably against his will. Probably. But John knew the score – he had more than his share of experience keeping secrets in Arkham. And time away was beneficial for both of them.

“Hey, no worries,” John answered with his best understanding smile and a raise of his hands, “I get ya. I’ll just leave this one on the outgoing rack, ‘k?” He emphasized, picking up Townsend’s jacket.

Mr. Prinya gave a stiff nod, taking a seat in John’s chair and fiddling with his phone as John put the jacket on the wire hanger and threw it on the ‘outgoing’ rack by the door. He clearly didn’t want John to know what was in the bags. Probably for the best.

John left through the backdoor and stepped back into the alley.

He wasn’t far from the harbor. He could easily go have a look at the crime scene from last night by warehouse twenty-two… It was best not to get too close to it, though, so strolling by the actual docks wasn’t the best choice. He could go the roof of one of the buildings close to it instead. John had managed to get a close-zoom lens for his phone’s camera a little while back; it was a tiny thing attached to the back of his phone’s case, plugged into the audio jack for safe-keeping - all he had to do was clip it in place and he’d be able to have almost-binocular vision.

He took a quick look at the back of the laundromat. There was a camera by the door, but if he went juuust wide enough, he wouldn’t be seen by it’s all-seeing-eye.

The wire fence was a little difficult to climb in his shoes (he missed those ankle boots Bruce had bought him last year, the slight heel dug into crevices nicely) and he was never a fan of the feel of metal digging into his hands, but he managed to climb over the fence with a swing over the top and a hop to the ground without any injury.

John straightened his shirt, feeling a little accomplished, and set off for the sets of buildings closest to the docks, passing by graffiti in the twisting litter-coated alleyway - there was a poor imitation of the bat signal that someone had scribbled over and written ‘fuck batman’ next to, standard gang tags, non-standard gang tags, an anarchy symbol, a giant cartoonish bat chasing people…

Actually, that was one for the album! He had to stop and take a picture; one of the people looked like the Mayor. He didn’t even care it had a few of the tags in it - it was part of the charm, really.

He passed by one of the partially-repainted dumpsters, wrinkling his nose and walking faster when he smelled rotting fish parts, and spotted the ladder for the fire escape next to it dangling down partway into the alley. John was tall enough to tug at the ladder, but it wouldn’t budge.

The windows were mostly blacked out by something or other. If anyone lived there, he doubted they were home. It would be a damn good view, and close enough that the journey back wouldn’t make him late.

“Hm, to use the smelly abyss as leverage, or risk a minor injury?” He muttered aloud.

The dumpster was ancient and rusting. Not worth it.

John bent and jumped up, grabbing hold of the bars on the ladder and swinging his legs out to keep balanced as he climbed the first few bars. He checked the window by the landing and wiped his hands on his pants for good measure. The room there wasn’t as empty as he thought - the window had been darkened by thin film, like the kind they used for quick-fix window tinting, and the inside had some bare battered furniture. He could see a duffel bag half-hidden by a table leg.

Probably another runner. It was no use pondering about what they were running from. In Gotham, there were far too many choices.

The next two windows had curtains (or in one case, sheets that had been clumsily tacked on the panes that let John see someone watching bad on-demand porn) and the last one showed nothing but an empty room with an open doorway. “Man, how hard is it to get a little bit of human interaction around here?” He grumbled to himself. He’d at least like to see someone else properly for more than a minute. Or get an idea of them at least.

He looked out into the street below - three passers-by in matching grey-and-black hoodies, seeming to laugh it up as they passed. A street gang, maybe... They weren’t very observant, if they were; there was a perfectly good motorcycle just sitting at the end of the alleyway there. It couldn’t be too difficult to hot-wire. At least compared to a car.

There was one more ladder going to the rooftop - and upon poking his head over the top, John was unsure on how to feel.

Tiffany Fox stood near the edge of the roof, doing exactly what he was planning on doing - only she had a pair of real binoculars. And that tablet she used for her drones.

She looked different from the last time he saw her, too; she was dressed fairly professionally, making her look a little more mature despite the dark blue streaks littering the thick curls on the one side of her head.

He wished he had her number so he could just text her he was there. Sneaking up probably wasn’t the best thing to do, despite the little urge to spook her; she was being trained by Batman, after all.

Weird situations like this surely called for some playful banter. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asked with his best film-noir-detective voice.

It certainly got her attention. She whirled around looking like a frightened cat, reaching for her hip like there was something useful there. A taser, judging by the shape in the pocket. (John always wondered why women’s slacks had those terrible form-fitting pockets.)

The wary look on her face didn’t quite diminish when she noticed it was just him. Despite the better terms they ended on in the ambulance back in October, he didn’t completely blame her for distrusting him - they had matching scars, after all.

“John,” she said simply, “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Ha, now you’re sounding like Bats, at least!” He chuckled, moving towards her to close some of the gap. He knew better than to get too close, though. He’d be the same way, if things were reversed; you never really knew what someone had hidden on them. “I would’ve thought you’d have developed that sixth-sense of his by now, after all you’re training, Tiff’.” (He made sure to keep of the ‘y’ he wanted to add. He remembered she’d said not to call her that; ‘Tiffy’ was reserved for brain-talk only.)

Tiffany’s expression shifted. She wasn’t just wary anymore, she had that little frown on her face that meant he’d crossed some unseen line. It couldn’t have been her name - was her training not going as well as Bruce had said? Or was it just one of those secretly-sensitive subjects?

“So… What’cha doin’?” He asked casually, stopping at the edge several feet away from her to look down into the street. “People watching, or crime scene watching?”

“Crime scene watching. Aren’t you supposed to be in that halfway house?”

He couldn’t decide whether the tone was accusatory or curious. It kinda sounded like both… Well, best to be nice about it. She had Bruce’s number on speed-dial, after all. “I am; I’m technically on a break from the mandated work. What about you, Tiff’?”

She raised a brow, and her tone was instantly recognizable; the same rebellious sort that came when someone nosy asked Harley what she was doing. “What about me?”

John fiddled with his phone, clipping on the magnifier lens to cover the camera. “Are you skipping work entirely, or just going in late?”

“Late. I would never skip.”

Really? Never-ever? He doubted that. “Eight hours a day, five days a week - and that’s not even counting your night gig. Doesn’t it wear on you?”

Tiffany didn’t quite seem focused on that tablet screen. “Sometimes. But last time I took time off, Bruce scolded me.”

“Do you mean he actually got angry, or he was he just like ‘Don’t be irresponsible, Tiffany. Just because my double-life allows me to up and leave work for as long as I can’t walk doesn’t mean you can take a break,’” John said in his best imitation of Bruce’s smoother-but-stern voice.

Tiffany gave a noise that might have been covering a laugh. He could see the smile on the edge of her mouth. “That does kinda sound like him.” She made a swiping gesture on the screen and looked over at him. “But it was more like he’s worried I’ll get too into the night job and go work on stuff without him.”

That wasn’t quite right. Bruce cared about people - more than likely, he just didn’t want Tiffany to get hurt or be in danger when Bruce couldn’t be around. John had caught sight of Batman staying outside of Arkham some nights when Bruce hadn’t stopped by in a couple of days, as if he was just checking up on things.

That was the type of person Bruce was - clearly it extended further where Tiffany was concerned, and she was clearly tired of hitting that ceiling.

“So, like you’re doing now?” John grinned, focusing the camera on his phone to try and zoom in as far as he could on the remains of the van in the distance. They were just high up enough to see most of the scene.

Tiffany was finally smiling. It was small and smug, but it was a definite change from the last time he saw her. It reached her dark eyes, lighting them up like a little candle in the dark. “Yup.”

John squinted at the image of the wreckage on his screen. “Yeesh, that was some firework they planted. Looks like the whole thing went up in smoke.” He zoomed in as much as he could. “Wow, the back doors are either open or gone on that thing.” The strangeness of it seemed to click the second he said it. “Or the explosion came from the inside.”

“That’s what the C.S.I. think, too,” Tiffany answered. “The glass all shattered outward; I think someone planted it there. That, or the dumbasses left the keys in the van.”

John giggled at that. “Mobsters leaving their keys behind? In Gotham? No way.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the more lunkheaded ones was in charge of driving.”

“No, no, you want the people with quick reflexes to drive, not the muscle. It’s why I was the designated chauffeur for the Pact,” he said somewhat proudly, “That, and Harley liked being driven around. Said it made her feel all fancy.” He scowled to himself as he felt his gut twist at the old memory. “Though Dr. Leland thought that was just another example of her using me for her own gain...”

“You don’t still miss her, do you?” Tiffany asked, the accusatory tone lacing in between caution.

John thought. He kind of did. Not the same way he missed Bruce - not by a longshot - or the same way he missed Dr. Leland.

He shot a look at Tiffany. Were they at the point of bringing up ‘personal’ stuff yet? They’d worked together before, and they were on the same team now… He supposed that there wasn’t a better time to find out than now.

“It’s...more like I miss the fact that I could talk to her. Being in her company was easy, you know? That sort of ‘natural connection’ thing. In hindsight, there were some red flags about our whole relationship...but I can’t just pretend everything that happened between us just never happened.” He breathed out through his nostrils, already angry even though there wasn’t even a Harley there for him to be angry at. “Even if she did try to hurt Bruce.”

“And left you behind several times, tried to kill me alongside Bruce, and took advantage of you at every chance,” Tiffany said pointedly, a sardonic sort of smile perking up. “You shouldn’t just value Bruce’s life that much - you’ve got your own, you know.”

John snorted. She sounded a lot like Leland, in her own way; neither of them really quite got his relationship with Bruce. “Not much of one.” Though… “I guess it is getting a little better.”

She had that sort of pitying expression on her face. He wasn’t really a fan of those. Sympathy was fine, empathy was better - but pity? He didn’t need that. He really, really wanted to just change the subject rather than deal with any conversation pertaining to that.

“Speaking of lives, though - any idea what happened with the ship? I can still kinda see it in the harbor.”

“...how did you know about it?”

“How else? Bruce dropped by this morning.” He saw the mild bewilderment there, and decided he might as well drive the point home and make her jealous at the same time. “He always shares his case details with me. Among other things,” he added slyly. “But I had to go to work, so the conversation got cut before I could hear the juicy details. You were on patrol with him, right?”

“I wasn’t there in person,” Tiffany grumbled, going back to tapping her tablet. (What was she doing on it, anyway?) “I was using my drone from the cave, before some trigger-happy asshole took it out.”

John remembered her father had made those; no wonder she was upset. He should offer comfort. Better comfort that the last time they’d spoken about her father. He’d learned what to say since then. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he echoed with all the sincerity he could.

She looked more puzzled at that than anything, but she didn’t look more upset, so that was probably a good sign. “Uh, thanks… Anyway, Bruce saw everything - I only got the data feed from his drones.” She tapped something, and seemed to think. “You sure you wanna see this?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“They’re pretty bad.”

He didn’t care. It wasn’t the blood or wounds that got to his head the last time he’d seen carnage second-hand; it was the ferocity, the terror on the people’s faces, the familiarity of it all that brought back the memory of the manic episode that had spiralled him to his worst point, and it made him feel very...displaced. But it wasn’t video, and John’s curiosity and his drive to help Bruce overrode everything else.

He wanted to squeeze something. He settled for putting his hands in his pockets and feeling the back of his phone case. “I can handle it.”

Tiffany turned the screen towards him. “There were eight victims. Most of them were stabbed.”

There were two men sunken in plastic chairs in the ships kitchenette, each with one of their eyes gouged out.

It was the kind of thing to put a sharp thrill in his gut and made the neurons in his brain fire away; enough to make him smile. No weapons in the wounds, and from such fun angles! “You know, I’ve always wanted to see a knife-thrower in person. I wanna find out how they do that.”

When he looked back up, Tiffany’s nose was wrinkled in the kind of stern disgust that Bruce displayed at the sight of dead bodies - only she lacked the spark of intrigue he always had. (Guess she wasn’t as far along in the training as he thought…) “Knife-throwing, huh…”

“Yeah, with reeeally long blades - I mean, I think some butter knives are big enough to hit the brain, too, but they’re probably harder to aim just right.”

Her frown deepened. “I don’t want to know how you know that…”

“It’s kind of obvious,” he answered anyway, unsure of how else he would know, “I mean, look-” He spread his thumb and forefinger to measure and held it up against his head, “it’s at least three inches to the temporal lobe; butter knives aren’t that long! Unless it’s for the world’s largest stick of butter.”

He was clearly close… Just a scoach more, and she’d surely crack. Her frown turned upside down for a little bit, there. The wall was dropping, further and further - he had to time these things just right…

Tiffany swiped on the screen, her expression souring at the sight of whatever-it-was, and his tiny hope died like a butterfly caught in a snowstorm. That was too serious a look to run with.

So he dared to scoot a little closer and peer over her shoulder, catching sight of the overhead image of the ship’s storeroom.

Four unfortunate men were laying on their backs, positioned so their arms crossed their chests like they were newly-buried pharaohs. Their heads all touched, three nestled snug together at forty-five-degree angles while the last one touched them all in the middle; a three-to-one ratio.

John itched to just grab it out of her hands to have a better look. He clenched his hands once and released halfway, forcing the impulse to pass. He didn’t want to be rude, even if they weren’t on the best of terms; and she was clearly in a rebellious streak, so acting demanding was right out. “Can I see that?” He asked instead, as politely as possible.

“Please?” He continued, seeing the morbidly-curious look in her weirded out face, “Just to check something?”

She was more guarded than ever, looking straight at the tablet in her hands...

At her right hand, just briefly, thinking back to the knife he’d plunged into it that day months and months ago, debating on whether or not she could trust him with even holding one of her tools when he’d trusted her completely back at the skyrail station -

“Alright,” she said finally, holding it out to him and letting him take it without another word of protest. He could see the faded scar on her palm, not quite identical to his. Like fraternal twins. Just how deep does that parallel go, he thought. “What are you checking?”

“The shape,” he answered, pulling open the editing menu.

He started doodling over it, first in pink - red was too close to home, in this case. A large inverted triangle...

No…a trapezoid on top of a pole, perhaps?

He switched to neon yellow. A miniature upside-down triangle, with a point down. That looked better.

He switched to green, tracing a line over each body. A trident, maybe? Maybe.

It was… Something. He’d seen it before. Somewhere, sometime…

“Have you ever seen this before?” He asked, keeping the tablet flat in between them so they could both look.

“I dunno, gang symbols? There’s a lot of weird ones around,” Tiffany said. “I know someone in the Cauldron uses some weird triangle as their tag…” She looked at him, no more wariness or caution or anything negative in her expression. Just simple curiosity. “Does it look familiar?”

A phrase he’d heard a hundred times before. Always a no. Always followed with ‘are you sure’ and more no’s and follow-ups of ‘well what can you remember?’ in that same insulting tone that tried so hard to appear inquisitive...

John drummed his fingers against the tablet, feeling the material of the reinforced case under his short fingernails. He was talking to Tiffany Fox, on top of a roof, both of them taking time out from work to look into a crime scene.

He laughed at the ludicrousness of it - she could push him off the roof or tase him or escape with a grappling hook, and she was just here talking to him, like things were actually changing.

(They were, though. He could smell the smog and the harbor. It was real.)

John let the short laugh die out with a little cough as he saw the look at Tiffany’s face.

“Sorry,” he said, being used to apologizing for causing any level of ‘disturbed concern’, “But, no, it’s, uh, more like a nagging feeling.” She didn’t seem to understand that; her brow was raised, almost skeptical instead of curious, and still unsure of him as a whole. “Déjà vu with no direction.”

Tiffany actually looked like she was thinking about it, pulling apart the words in her head… “That’s...a different way of putting it. So, you might have seen it, but you don’t know where or when?”

He rolled his eyes slightly at her. He wasn’t going to dignify that was a proper response.

“I guess I’ll look into gang symbols,” Tiffany said, carefully taking the tablet back. “I’ll go back a few years, see if someone revived an old gang or something…”

“Or they could’ve just stolen the logo,” John pointed out.

“True.” She stared down at the tablet, concentration furrowing her brow. “You know, you might be right… It is kind of that nagging feeling.”

“Speaking of nagging, you haven’t found out anything new about those Black Mask guys, have you?”

“Only that one is still missing. There weren’t any tire tracks or bullets casings left behind, so whoever killed them made a clean getaway…” She cast a look over at the crime scene in the distance. “At least until I get the footage back from the broken drone. It might have picked up something.”

John hummed. A rival gang on the hunt - they would likely send whatever pieces were left to Black Mask. “Were they found the same way?”

“No. The members we found were all shot.”

Interesting! “Head or torso?”

“Does that really matter?”

“Depends on how sloppy our killer was!”

“...I don’t know how you’re so enthusiastic about this,” Tiffany grumbled, eyeing him scrupulously.

“Oh, come on, Tiff’, crime’s my specialty! We’re investigating a potential gang war, here - if it’s mostly headshots, it’s professional executions, which means a rival mafia sending a message; if it’s torsos it’s more likely to be newbies.” he thought for a moment. “Unless it’s the Corazón troupe, of course. But I’m pretty sure they’re all dead. Or really old.”

It was clear to see she hadn’t thought of that. “I’d say it looked like upper-body shots from the pictures I saw last night. I don’t have those handy, though. I’ll bring it up with Bruce.”

Hm. Hm, hm, hm. The van exploding, the crew ending up dead with only one missing as a hostage or informant - it sounded too much like a professional job. Someone planned it carefully. So why did one group get stabbed, and another shot? And why were the knife marks so precise when the shots were… Well, they could be precise. He’d have to see the pictures. Or at least hear of it.

“Speaking of him, I gotta go. I don’t want to be too late,” Tiffany said, tucking her tablet away.

“Ooh, before you do-” John quickly opened a new contact page and pushed the phone at her - “here, I don’t want to have to surprise you every time I see you.” There was the small chance she’d take it and throw it over the building, or slap it out of his hand, or just give him that weirded-out look she got sometimes or -

Tiffany defied the anxious conspiracies his brain was spinning; she took the phone and dutifully punched the number in, handing it back without any kind of strange look. “I better not find myself added to any weird listings,” she said jokingly, offering a small smile. A peace offering.

“Not even cute cat videos?” He teased, adding the fox and computer emoticons to the end of her name.

“I’ve already got a playlist on UBox for that,” Tiffany shrugged, heading back towards the fire escape. “’Bye, John.”

“’Bye, Tiff’,” he echoed, thinking for a second, “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

She blinked, turning for a moment, her hands already on the ladder railing. “You think you can find something from the inside of the halfway house?”

She was underestimating him. It was an advantage sometimes, but mostly it just annoyed him. He wasn’t anywhere close to Bruce – a man of the world in every sense – but he did have some physical power and brains and could put things together when they interested him enough. “You think that could stop me?” He answered, thinking back to every little secret he ever learned within the padded walls of his former home. “I’ve got my ways, Tiff’ – I have access to stuff you and Bruce could only dream about.”

He saw the wariness return on her face. She was unsure of what he knew and how he knew it, and just what he did to get people to talk, or what he did to take.

But like hell he’d tell her. She wouldn’t get it. Not now, at least. Maybe someday. “Be careful out there,” he added, letting the seriousness sink in before turning back into something more optimistic for both their sakes, “and have a good day at work!”

Tiffany left his view, and John cast one more look out at the crime scene in the distance.

At least he had some new things to think about at all hours of the day. Two groups of filthy criminals pitted against each other over their petty toys, unaware that Batman would be hell-bent on stopping it, using his loyal assistants who were waiting and watching from the shadows for help…

But the questions were what their precious toys were, and when and how Black Mask would get revenge – and figuring all that out would be easy once John could pinpoint who the rival group was.

How fun!

Notes: Yes, Bruce might be the main character, but relationships work both ways - John is his own person regardless of what their relationship is like, so we get to see his life, too! (Yes, that means even if he’s a villain - though he’d probably start at a hideout rather than the halfway house, considering TT wouldn’t be likely to let him have any kind of redemption arc. But we have nothing to hold us back anymore! No bars, no chains, no gods, no masters!!! So villain!John can have a redemption arc too if you want, probably starting back in season 3 and continuing on here, because he’s an ill man who needs a support system and you can make it however you want!! Fight me, TT!!!! Oh wait, you can’t! Ahahahahahahaha!!!!!!)

(You’ll still be missed by us all. Thanks for the fun and new beginnings, TellTale… I hope you know my teasing comes from [mostly] love.)

Anyway, I thought it would be fun to have some new mechanics, so “drawing” and “photography” are now things “the player” can do practically free-style! And of course a big new addition is also “character perspective swap”, to focus on John for some of the time so “the player” can experience different sides of this story. And of course John’s choices affect the story, too! And depending on what you do with him…wait, that’s spoiler territory…I can’t tell you yet... You’ll have to wait along with me. But I pinky-swear it’ll be worth it. (｡•̀ᴗ-)b✧

I try to provide updates on tumblr/my Ao3 profile but nothing is guaranteed, so subscribing/bookmarking would be ideal for you to keep current! I hope to see you April 17 for our next look into this case! (･ω´-ゞ)^☆

#ttoj #season 4 #bttts s4 #batman the telltale series #telltale batjokes #john doe #batjokes #blood tw #corpse tw #mental illness #today was stressful omfg #i feel bad that this is late #at least i managed to perfect it before i left work #reblogs are love #so are likes!!!#💜💜💜#the tolls of justice

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