#no but fr heavy on the uniform pounding

[star2fishmeg]

Do you take requests ? If yes, can i request smth Yuken x reader ? Just something to warm up my heart kckdkf thank you <33

ᴘᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏᴍ

Pairing: Odajima Yuken x afab!reader

Summary: y/n visits Housen with a compelling offer for her bf, Yuken, and to him, an open bedroom window is an invitation to accept that offer

Warnings: 18+ smut, ooc Yuken probs, Yuken’s glasses are prescription (personal hc), reader implied to be shorter, making out, cunnilingus, pet names (princess, doll, dollface, cumslut), reader is a cumslut, tit sucking and fucking, swearing, reading is on birth control, lemme know if I missed any!

Authors note: this is so self-indulgent fr bc I love Yuken sm. This is my first time writing Yuken so be nice pretty pls xx ignore the fact this has been in my inbox for over a year, I’m so sorry and thank you for the patience <3

Request: above!

She leant against the doorframe, watching Yuken and Monji spar like they did most days for some reason. These high school gangs rocked up to battle all rough and tough, but behind the scenes they were just a group of idiots with empty heads most the time. Upon noticing her figure, Yuken freed Monji, stood up and made his way over, lips tugged into a smirk with sweat glistening on his skin.

“If you wanted to wrestle naked,” she muttered, voice vibrating through his ears in a sweet but arousing sensation. Her finger poked the valley between his pecs, doe eyes boring up into his. His chest heaved, heart pounding from the exercise but also from the proximity of his body and hers. She gently trailed her fingertip down his abs with feathery touches, his skin feeling as if it were being lit like a fire, and hooked it in the waistband of his trousers, harshly tugging him closer into her, chests millimetres away. His eyes flicked from hers to her lips as they ghosted each other, he wasn’t sure if the heat in his cheeks was from the beguiling look in her eyes and the sultry tone of her voice or from his long-forgotten activity before she arrived, “You could’ve asked me first.” Y/n gave a teasing smile before letting his waistband go, spinning on her heal and walking back through the hallway, swaying her hips as she left.

__

Slamming the bedroom door shut, not intentionally but after a long day of school and the stuffy train from Housen, not a care could be given. Her parents weren’t home anyway, who would be bothered by the noise? Y/n threw her bag onto floor, at the bottom of her desk as usual, in its spot that had been given since elementary. It’s funny how you claim a spot as a kid and stick with it until adulthood, even now at eighteen, she still followed the same routine of dumping her bag, followed by flopping onto her sheets to be pleasantly engulfed by the cool temperature and then groan all the frustrations of the day out. Obviously then followed by the dose of social media, who doesn’t do that? And anyone who doesn’t do that after 6 hours of mind-numbing education is a liar. Usually.

A heavy exhale followed by sluggishly heaving herself from the bed, she drew the curtains and stripped down from the stiff fabrics of her uniform. How could anyone keep it on longer than they had to, too hot, too cold, it was never just right. She rummaged through her drawers for anything comfier, even if her underwear was unconventionally comfy at least a t-shirt would be safer.

“You shouldn’t leave your window open when you change, doll.” Y/n dropped her head, giggling at his voice, words spilling from his lips like honey, just as she liked it.

Making her way over slowly, she pulled the curtain aside ever so slightly to see Yuken grinning at her, leaning against the windowsill, standing comfortably on the utility room roof. Unlike before, his hair was kept loose with his sunglasses tucked between the top button of his shirt, lenses cracked. It was the perfect way to enter her bedroom window and sneak out, not that either of them was aware that y/n’s parents knew when Yuken was over; the change in bin placement gave it away. All he had to do was hope the back gate was unlocked, climb the bins, and hoist himself onto the overhang and bob’s-your-uncle, he could climb through, the roof was flat anyway.

“Why? So, pervs like you can’t watch me?” she grinned back, “How much did you see? Not that you can see much without those glasses.” She flicked the accessory around his neck in amusement.

Adjusting himself and stepping into the room, swinging one leg over at a time, he stood over her frame, tucking her hair behind her ears, “The moment the bottoms hit the floor and I got the perfect view of your cute arse.” His palms slid down the curve of her waist over her backside, sliding under the panties to cup the globes of flesh.

He closed in for a tender kiss to her lips. A saccharine kiss, slow and steady, smaller hands reaching to his face and settling on his nape, keeping him as if were to dissolve while his roamed her hips and waist. “Mm,” she moaned, pulling back for a breath, “My personal Peeping Tom. I don’t mind if it's you.” She dove back into his lips, faster and deeper, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip to greet hers in a dance of their own. Fingers slid to the collar of his blazer, gliding it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor before starting to remove the glasses and unbutton his shirt, pulling the buttons one by one with a lingering touch against his skin. Yuken pressed his forehead against her head, watching her toy with his shirt, his skin tingling and becoming impatient and fidgety. But he kept his breathing heavy, lips creeping into a smirk as she reached the final button, and her hands once again found comfort on his chest, tracing the outlines of his abs.

“Yanno, I actually came to take up that request,” he murmured, her eyes peering up at him with a devilish teasing. God, she looked good from above, his cock twitched just at the thought of cumming on her tits, “Wrestling with you sounds so much better. Want those legs wrapped around me so bad. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it.” With his shirt falling to the floor with the blazer, she looped her fingers around his belt loops and shoved her pelvis against his, his warm palms grabbing the back of her neck with a dizzying desperation as teeth chattered in a sloppy kiss. Not that either of them cared though, when did kissing in a clean way matter when it came to lust?

Stumbling, the back of Yuken’s legs knocked against the bed, sending them tumbling into the sheets and tongues skating and sucking each other with saliva drooling from lips. He gripped her hips, pulling at panties and gliding his hands up the curve of her back and waist.

He pulled away, y/n panting and tucking strands of hair behind her ears, “How much time we got, dollface?” His voice low and vibrated through his chest. She brought her knees up to straddle his lap, palms roaming his naked torso as his eyes raked her figure, smirking as he visualised sliding his dick through her cleavage.

“Two hours.” She panted, chest rising and falling. She cocked a smirk at his wandering gaze, unhooking the clasp and throwing her bra somewhere across the room, “You have two hours.” And with that he flipped her over, letting his knees hit the carpet and placing her legs over his shoulder, nipping, and kissing her inner thighs as her face inflamed. Yuken slipped his fingers around the hem of her panties, sliding them down her legs and discarding them with the other garments. He took the opportunity to knead the flesh on her thighs, nose brushing against her clit as he kitten licked the arousal, y/n’s mouth dropping and let a whine slip past her lips at her pulsing cunt. She carded her nails through his hair, giving the roots a tug before his licks became relentless and languid, every contact of his muscle jolted her nerves.

He looked so pretty from her view, blond locks buried between her thighs, squeezing when he swirled and nipped her clit. “Fuck! More!”. The simple instructions had his palm pressed flat on her stomach, tongue lapping deeper into her folds and a finger entering and pumping with every moan that left her lips.

“Doin’ so well, Princess.” He mumbled against her clit. Y/n threw her head back into the sheets as he dove back in, thumb rubbing her nub and a second finger entering and thrusting. His tongue lapped again, devouring like a starved man, and humming as if he were pleased with his meal.

Guttural moans filled the room, his rhythmic curling and pumping of his fingers clouding her head with a burst of overwhelming pleasure knowing he was far from done. He pried her legs open more with his free hand, taking a short moment admire the melodies filling his ears, hot breath fanning over the vulnerable folds in which still had his digits abusing them.

Through the unintelligible noises, blank mind, and tight knot in her stomach devastatingly constricting, she managed to cry out, sweat beads glistening across her temples, “Let me cum, please!”

“Let me taste you, doll.” And with that being enough permission needed, her thighs locked around his head, Yuken’s hands securing them. His favourite place to suffocate, he got a pillow and a meal in one, how could he ever be so ungrateful when he had that in his fingertips. Unsure if she could hold out any longer, her back arched up and propped herself up on her elbows and jesus fucking christ did she regret that: watching his head bob with every long drag of his tongue just about withered her limbs back against the mattress as she released for him to slurp and devour every drop, pulling his fingers out and letting the cum paint her skin as he pulled her legs apart to clean the plate completely. Y/n’s body went limp, chest heaving and sweat dripping down her skin. With the clink of a belt buckle fumbling, she let out a weak giggle, slightly propping herself onto her elbows.

"God, you're so beautiful," the rest of his clothes pooling at his ankles and being kicked across the room. Y/n positioned herself against the pillows, Yuken straddling her waist, "Don't be shy now, I know you have a good pair of lungs in you." He smirked. Gently placing a palm on her jaw, and drew his face towards hers, noses ghosting,

“Yu’, don’t be too rough, there can’t be any marks.” He connected their lips again, groans and hums seeping from throats while tongues stirred a concoction of saliva and a different found source of edging pleasure every time his dick brushed against her slit. Yuken’s other hand groped her breast, rolling the pebbled nipple between his thumb and pointer finger while whines filled the void of the room. They pulled away for a breath, saliva still holding on by a string until he took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue giving it a swipe to have her grip his hair. Every swipe and nip were intentional, just to bring out her mewls that differed in pitch and length before moving to the other, just to suck and grope to send just as many pulses through her nerves. The way his throaty groans alone were enough to send her over the edge was something she only ever thought could happen in her class daydreams, but the more he toyed and kissed her chest, the more she felt herself become wet all over again. He released her tit with a breathy chuckle, giving the flesh a final peck before leaving a trail of butterfly kisses up the column of her neck to her temple.

With a long, warm kiss to her neck, Yuken lined himself up to be swallowed by her walls, y/n’s jaw dropping to release a sigh of relief, head sinking back into the pillows as he bottomed out. His fingers took home on her hips, almost leaving bruises with encouragement of how she squeezed his cock so blissfully.

“Yuken, please fuck me already!” She wrapped her arms around his neck while he began to roll his hips into her, legs locking around his hips. That gesture, locking around him had some sort of carnal affect that made his thoughts wild; she wanted him, just him to be that close in owning every inch of her pussy. He didn’t think he could become any harder than he initially was until he laid eyes upon her expression, how her head was thrown back and her mouth so lax that every moan and whine that that matched his thrusts was impossible to muffle, even with his tongue down her throat. The way her tits bounced as his pace quickened, he couldn’t feel an ounce of remorse when her nails tore into his back the way they were.

“Sh-shit-feels so good!” she hissed, smashing her lips to his into a sloppy but brief kiss, “Faster,” Yuken pulled one of her legs from his hip over his shoulder, hitting a new spot with a whole other ascending feeling that sent her to heaven and back, “Right there!”

Sitting back onto his knees, he watched her arms drop from his shoulders and grab the sheets, twisting them in various ways, his hands still gripping her hips ravenously as he watched himself slip from inside her before grinning and slamming his cock back into her cunt like his mind was in nothing but carnal heat. He kept pushing y/n’s leg towards her, knee mere inches away from her face and he kept his rhythm and threw his head back groaning at the slapping of his skin against hers. If anyone were to return home, if the bins hadn’t given it away, the song their bodies sang surely would’ve.

“Yuken!” She wailed, back arching off the bed, feeling his cock split her into two.

“That’s it doll, who’s fucking you?” Each penetrating sending her closer to heaven, words became incoherent and a struggle to get out as her body slacked. The pit in her stomach warmed again, knotting and painfully desperate for release.

“Let me cum, I..I’m gonna cum!” Yuken, who was a little further from release, just groaned,

“Cum on my cock, doll. Do it.” She mewled, her body shuddering with her orgasm and a multitude of feelings surging straight to her head. Her boyfriend’s pounding didn’t stop, his hips continued to snap into her pelvis, balls slapping as his eyes watched her cum lube up his cock.

“Yuken?” Y/n panted, eyes half-lidded and her hands pushing her pretty tits together, “Fuck my tits. I know you want to.”

“My favourite cumslut,” He chortled, pulling himself out of her seeping hole and slipping his cock between her tits, “That’s it, doin’ s’well.” His hands placed themselves over hers, his thrusting losing its rhythm and becoming vigorous as he finally felt himself close. His body elated, his week would be made complete just by seeing her painted by him and she’d thrive off it. He could sleep well knowing he’d be leaving his mark on his girl, his love.

“I’m close, baby.” He panted.

“Cum on me, claim me, please!” Y/n sighed, giving a tired smile. No more than a few ruts later, thick, white ropes spilled over her tits. Both their hands releasing her chest, letting Yuken’s dick paint her.

Almost rolling off her body, Yuken flopped next to her, pulling y/n into his sweaty chest, and placing a short peck to her head, “We should wrestle more.”

2023 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy any of my works. If you notice that any of these have been done to my work, please let me know.

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[myinternettrash]

Cáncun [Chapter 1, Years 1-3]

summary: He was finally going to do it. Avenge his parent’s death. Joe Chill would die just like his parents did, shot and left to bleed out. An eye for an eye seemed almost too fair for Bruce.

Joe Chill should suffer.

*

An AU in which Bruce Wayne kills Joe Chill and is sent to Arkham Asylum, only to meet the one and only Joker.

an: hey y'all! welcome to cáncun! i wrote this first chapter during this week and last week in my classes when i had free time. it’s basically been a stress reliever during the weeks leading up to my exams! this fic is important to me for so many reasons but my AU is also something i haven't really seen on any batjokes fics. i hope to write more fics like this to fill that void!

i hope you enjoy this fic and the first chapter!

so many thanks to my beta (@kingofspadesdelusion ) for supporting this fic and proofreading!

xx

YEAR ZERO —

Bruce switched the car into sixth gear, the needle on the 72’ El Camino’s speedometer steadily rising. The car’s motor growled as Bruce tore through the streets of Gotham. His revolver lay heavy and cold in the inside pocket of his coat.

He was finally going to do it. Avenge his parent’s death. Joe Chill would die just like his parents did, shot and left to bleed out. An eye for an eye seemed almost too fair for Bruce.

Joe Chill should suffer.

He parked his car haphazardly in front of the steps of the courthouse, Gotham’s large and imposing architecture only heightening Bruce’s emotions.

The courtroom’s atmosphere was thick and cold, the sting of Bruce’s ice-blue eyes never leaving the slumped-over form of his parent’s murderer.

He shifted in his seat, a slight move of his hand into the inside of his coat pocket, and then his hand was on the gun.

Time seemed to slow down as Bruce pulled out the gun, fingers grasping the trigger with fervor. The metal was both freezing and scalding to the touch.

He shot three times, in non-lethal areas, an ambulance would not be able to reach the courtroom in time to save him. Everyone would watch him suffer.

Joe Chill’s blood would stain this courtroom and all of Gotham.

Time sped up as screams rang out, cops rushing out to detain Bruce. He was pushed to the court’s marble floor, left cheek pressed painfully to the stone. A hand held Bruce’s head down, ruffling deep-brown locks. The metal of the handcuffs stung and cut into Bruce’s wrists, the click of the lock mechanism boomed loudly in his ears.

Emotions that had been bottled up for twelve years came out like a flood. It wasn't long before Bruce heard his own guttural screams through the cacophony of panicked and horrified noises.

*

Jim Gordon’s eyes lanced through Bruce’s foggy mind, cutting their rage into his brain.

“Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce’s jaw tensed, he shifted his head to look at Gordon more closely.

“I never thought I would see you in the station,” Jim walked towards him, his footsteps pounded loudly in Bruce’s ears, “not like this.”

Bruce bit his tongue as Jim continued, “What would your father think?”

A growl reverberated from his throat quickly, broken and animalistic. The chains on the handcuffs snapping apart as Bruce desperately reached for the officer’s shoulder. His nails tore at Gordon’s uniform, “Don't talk about my fucking father, Gordon.”

*

His court date came faster than time should allow, other, less serious cases were pushed back to allow the speediest of trials for Bruce. People were still in shock that, Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham could have murdered a man. The news channels and papers covered Bruce’s trial and sentencing closely for weeks, it wasn't every day that a billionaire was tried and convicted of first-degree murder. Mike Engel’s voice kept playing on a loop in his brain.

Bruce was in the same courtroom that Joe Chill was, except sitting shackled on the other side of the stand. Hundreds of eyes looking at Bruce, judging him for what he had done.

They had no room to judge. Their parents weren't mugged and murdered in front of their eyes, just for him to be left there alive and alone. They didn't know the rage that clawed at his organs and musculature. They didn't know the dark beast that told him to let his rage consume him.

The judge’s voice cut through the haze,

“Bruce Wayne, you are hereby sentenced to 20 years in Elizabeth’s Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, the first two years of that sentence being served at Blackgate Penitentiary.”

The gavel hit like a period on a sentence, the decision was final.

*

YEAR ONE-TWO —

The two years at Blackgate went quickly.

Bruce, unsurprisingly, was targeted by the other prisoners.

To the surprise of the other inmates, Bruce could fight. He was glad now that he had begged Alfred to let him take countless different martial arts classes when he was younger.

Alfred, though angry, still called Bruce whenever he could. He caught him up with the business at Wayne Enterprises and the manor, always mentioning the state of Bruce’s vast car collection. Rachel called once, voice stricken with anger and grief. She had never called again.

He was so thankful for Alfred.

Bruce had just turned 24 when he was due for his transfer to Arkham. The psychs re-evaluated his mental state every quarter and diagnosed him with a violent form of schizophrenia, chronic depression, and a multitude of unnamed emotional and anger disorders.

He honestly wasn't surprised.

*

YEAR THREE —

His psychologist at Arkham was a man named Jonathan Crane. He was beautiful in every definition of the word. Delicate features, full lips, high cheekbones, sophisticatedly styled black hair, and artic eyes that hid behind nerdy wire-framed glasses.

His eyes were the most interesting part of his facial features, they were so blue they almost looked white. They acted as bright, clean windows into his deep, dark soul.

His mind, however, was what Bruce loved most about him.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was obsessed with fear and how it could control people.

Bruce knew that is why they became fast friends.

*

“Good morning, Bruce!” The doctor was cheerful this morning, with a smile on his face, and two cups of coffee in his hands.

“You’re happy this morning, Jon.” Bruce looked at the shorter man, his own blue eyes trying to analyze what was causing the other man’s gleeful demeanor.

“I was just thinking about you,” Jonathan set the cups of coffee on his desk before Bruce interrupted him.

“Think about me a lot do you, Jon?” Bruce smiled at the psychologist, he reached for his cup of coffee, Jonathan always seemed to make it just right.

“Only sometimes, Bruce.” Jonathan smiled back, bringing his own cup of coffee to his lips, he liked his with two sugar cubes, no creamer. “I was thinking,” he paused briefly, “that today I will have a breakthrough.”

“Listen, you know that little monster that lives inside your head?” Jon’s blue eyes peered up at Bruce, he smirked before continuing, “I think it’s a bat.”

“Because bats are my greatest fear?” Bruce’s hand shifted to hold his chin, his elbow resting on the deep mahogany of his doctor’s desk.

“No, Bruce, that bat,” Jon’s smile slipped, his face morphing into something more serious and befitting for a psych, “is your greatest weapon.”

*

Being friends with Jon had immense benefits. The head psychologist could pull a lot of strings, and he often did, just for Bruce.

Even if that was just to get a hot shower or a piece of veggie pizza.

“Wayne, Dr. Crane needs you!” one of the guards on duty shouted to Bruce from across the cafeteria. He looked up, it was Mick DeLange, one of the better (and more malleable) guards. Bruce stood from his seat, grabbing his tray, “Bye, Victor, if I don't see you at dinner tonight I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he said smoothly.

He gracefully cleaned off his tray and put it into the return cart, he waved briefly to Mick in thanks and walked toward the swinging double doors of the cafeteria.

“Bruce,” Jonathan spoke tersely. He always did when guards and other patients were around.

“Dr. Crane, you needed me for something?” Bruce spoke like always had, planned, effortlessly smooth, with the holier-than-thou edge of a billionaire playboy.

Jonathan turned on his black oxfords, expecting Bruce to follow after him.

Once they reached his office, Jonathan leaned against his desk and rubbed his hand over his face.

He looked tired today, exhausted really. He had heavy eye bags and circles under his cornflower blue eyes. His glasses were pushed back into his hair, his jet-black strands disheveled and misplaced. His hands trembled every few seconds.

Bruce scrutinized the other man’s behavior, Jonathan never acted like this. He was always confident and sure of himself, if Bruce was a psychologist, he’d question him on his huge ego.

“I’ve been working on something,” Jonathan finally looked into Bruce’s eyes, “I think you'd like to hear about it.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched, he moved from his place by the door to stand in front of his friend.

“Ok.” Bruce nodded slightly, his beast itched at his guts, Jonathan did something insane, he, and the beast, could sense it.

The black-haired man sighed unsteadily, dragging his shaking hand under his right eye to the bottom of his face.

“I’ve been working on my fear toxin.” He licked his full bottom lip, “I used it for the first time last night on some meth junkie, he was going through withdrawal.”

Bruce stared amazed at Jonathan, he nodded again, keeping his movements subtle so he would not startle his friend in this state.

“He was terrified, Bruce, he was so scared.” Jon’s demeanor shifted, a smirk gracing his features.

“I felt so powerful, I had his entire mind under my control!” He reached for Bruce’s broad shoulders, shaking them slightly with excitement.

His smile stretched wider and became genuine happiness, “See! Bruce, fear is what powers everything!” Jon’s hands shifted to hold Bruce’s jaw gently, “I will be unstoppable, and this is just the beginning.”

Bruce couldn't help but smile back.

“What will they call you?”

“The Scarecrow,” he whispered.

Jon’s hands gingerly fell away from Bruce’s face as Bruce thought about Jon’s apparent experiments and plans to control people’s fear.

He was fascinated really, as much as Jonathan picked at his brain, like a crow to seed, Bruce stuck his talons in and split open Jon’s.

His brain should be the one being studied.

The other man’s voice faded back into focus, “Would you like to see my mask?”

He smiled, pearly-white, perfect teeth gleamed under the murky, yellow light of the room. “Of course, Jon.”

Jonathan smiled, he strode behind his desk, slender fingers grasping a patchwork piece of burlap.

He held it up for Bruce to see, “Isn't it amazing?”

“Their fear will consume them, but they will also be consumed by the symbol of my mask,” the shorter man clutched Bruce’s wide palm, brushing it against the material of the mask. “I will be fear.”

“You're incredible, Jon,” Bruce grinned, “but I think I might have to report you to HR…” Jon let go of his hand, chuckling, he put his mask back in his desk drawer.

“Funny. Don't you have art therapy right now? Nurse Ratchet won't be happy you're late.”

Bruce blanched, “…Thanks, Crane.” Bruce turned for the door, the orange Arkham uniform crinkling as he moved. He twitched his fingers at the doctor, his wrist not moving enough for it to be considered a wave.

He left his friend's office quickly, the dim, white lights of the Arkham halls stretching out Bruce’s shadow. Ratchet will be sure force his anti-psychotics down his throat tonight.

*

None of them should have been surprised. The countdown had been ticking down ever since they first met.

She had pushed too hard, Bruce’s calm and collected facade snapping as soon as she uttered the words,

“You should have been the one that died, you freak.”

Bruce went for her throat first, the blunt edges of his nails clawing at her trachea. “You ugly, fucking bitch!” He let his beast talk for him, his body being possessed by his dark terror. His long, slender fingers wrapped in her short rust-colored hair, tearing strands out at the root.

“Don't fucking talk about them,” his voice dropped an octave, deep, harsh, growling, commanding.

Her screams rang in his ears, the rush was too consuming. His head came down, the CRACK of her nose providing an auditory cue for more adrenaline and rage to pump through his veins.

His arms reached for where her limp hands were resting, the pill bottle that was in her hands had rolled three-feet away when he had first reached for her. He took her fingers into his broad palm and flexed them up, the skin on her knuckles were stark white, if he just pushed a little more.

His monster flew around his body restlessly, “Break them!” It screeched in garbled tongues.

Bruce listened.

The snap of the bones sounded like gunshots in Bruce’s ears, resonating in his mind, the sound was perfect.

Her screams became more blood-curdling, guards rushing through the door.

Bruce’s wrists were clutched behind his back; the cool metal of handcuffs brought him down from his rage-induced high.

The reality of his actions crashed down on him, his own sobs causing his body to tremor and seize.

“Get up, Wayne!” the barrel of a gun resting on his temple, its threatening presence warning Bruce what would happen if he didn't obey.

He got up, legs trembling as he took a look at the nurse’s body, her hair and face was bloody, and her mangled fingers laid limply on the floor.

He shouldn't have felt as good as he did as the guards drug him off to solitary.

*

“Bruce.”

“Jonathan.”

Bruce stared blankly at his psychologist, he knew that this conversation would eventually come. The week in solitary allowed him to mull over his response. He didn't want to disappoint Jonathan or else some of his privileges would be revoked. He had already said goodbye to his hot showers for at least a week.

“Why did you attack that nurse?” Jonathan was leaning over his desk, his delicate features now hard lines forming a harsh, serious face.

“She told me that I should have died instead of my parents,” he rasped. His eyes stared into Jonathan’s gauging his reaction. Surely, he could sympathize with Bruce. That sentence would have initiated anger in anyone.

“Oh, Bruce…” Jonathan’s face softened, his hand shifted from its place on the desk to the top of Bruce’s hand, it was warm in contrast to the ever-constant AC blast the Arkham staff insisted on having.

“If only I would have known,” his thumb was subconsciously rubbing hearts into Bruce’s skin. “I’m sorry, Bruce, that's horrible, I’ll report her as soon as I can.”

Bruce nodded, “Thanks, Jon, that means so much to me,” he moved his hand on top of Jonathan’s patting it delicately. He smiled softly, “You don't even know how much you mean to me.”

The other man flushed lightly, the faintest blush coating the apples of his cheeks. He cleared his throat before slowly moving his back to its place on the desk, as if hesitant to pull away from Bruce’s touch.

After a minute of silence, the clink of Jonathan’s fountain pen and the rustling of his composition book’s pages rushed through Bruce’s senses. The doctor’s slender fingers were wrapped around the black metal of his pen, the ink forming beautiful, elegant shapes. From his place on the opposite side of the mahogany desk, Bruce could tell that it was a report of some kind, most likely noting the nurse’s threat against Bruce.

“Jon,” the man startled, ink from his pen swiped haphazardly across the page of paper, “thank you for listening to me today, but I promised Waylon I would help him set up group.”

“Y-y-yes, of course,” Jonathan’s stutter poked through his sentence. Bruce suspected it was an old habit from childhood. “I’ll see you later, I have to meet Falcone tonight anyway.”

“Alright,” Bruce steadied the other man’s hand, —ink was dripping off the nib of his fountain pen— he rubbed a half circle on the skin with his thumb before heading for the door. His muted orange Arkham jumpsuit flashed against the neutral tones of the room “Bye, Jon.”

He had already left the room when the other man let out a stuttered gasp, “…fuck.”

*

A few days later, Carmine Falcone was admitted into Arkham. Jonathan had taken time off, apparently, he had important things to take care of with his class. At least, that’s what Mick told him.

He had caught him in his cell reading Dante’s Inferno, the sound of the guard’s footsteps already letting him know it was Mick. Before the guard was finished shuffling through the cell door, Bruce called out, “Hey, Mick, how’s the wife and daughter?” The officer was surprised but answered that everything was good and his daughter was currently learning how to crawl. Hey moved closer to Bruce, “Hey, Wayne, I just wanted to let you know that Crane’s out for the next two weeks, professing thing, something about his class.” The guard’s black glove moved to a foot infeont of Bruce’s face, a white card held loosely in it.

“He wanted me to give you this, told me it was important for you to read,” Bruce reached out crasp the card between his fingers, the stationary was expensive and familiar, a reminder to call or write to Alfred when he was next able.

“Thanks, Mick,” the guard was turning to leave, “hey, it was nice to see you, tell Izzy I said hi,” Bruce smiled politely, his canines glinting in the light of his cell. Mick smiled back, knocking on the cell door twice before leaving.

Bruce directed his attention to the letter in his hand. He gently placed a bookmark in his book, closing it softly. His name was elegantly drawn on the front of the card, something so chareristacilly Jonathan. Bruce pulled the letter out of the envelope, the same graceful loops and lines covering the page.

Dear Bruce,

As you already know Carmine Falcone was recently admitted into Arkham, of course I’m sure you have already figured out that his insanity is fabricated. My fear toxin is becoming stronger, more impactful. Scarecrow has a lot of work to do on the streets regarding deals and getting things under my control. I’ll be back to see you soon, I promise. I’m getting whole news segments about my alleged plans! Engel and Vale don't know anything though. My plans go far deeper than what they are reporting. They don't know, but you do, Bruce. I know you understand.

Regards,

Jonathan Crane

And that was that.

*

Bruce’s thoughts flared. Intense thoughts of violence would overtake him doing the most mundane things. Visions so realistic he would have to pinch himself to come back to reality. He wanted to strangle the guard that stood at the end of the lunch line, wanted to see his face turn blue with lack of oxygen, wanted to watch the consciousness slip from his behind his eyes.

His mind reenacted the attack on the nurse when he was feeling especially empty. That, of course, would only lead to him sobbing, rocking himself back and forth on the cot in his cell, Dante’s Inferno forgotten on the floor.

God, he wanted to get the fuck out of here. Out of Bruce Wayne, out of that shell, his beast clawed and tore at his organs more often than not now.

He swore he could feel the bleeding.

Of course, Jonathan came back. Just like he promised. Dr. Crane wouldn't want to disappoint his patients, or Bruce.

He had told him that things were getting serious with Scarecrow, mass production of his fear toxin, creating toxin junkies, and getting involved with gangs. He was shaking when he told Bruce this. Bruce analyzed the other man as he was talking, he was scared, incredibly so. Not of getting caught or the gangs, but of something else.

A few months later the cops caught him. He was admitted to Arkham. A cell placed right next to Bruce’s. None of it surprised him. He knew that his friend would weasel himself back into power at some point.

Bruce thought as he read, that Jonathan most likely got caught on purpose, to protect himself. Bruce grinned, bright white teeth shining under the flickering LED in his cell. He knocked three times on his cell wall.

“Happy New Year, Jon! This year’s gonna be great!”

He heard a woeful sigh beyond his wall, “Bruce, you have no idea.”

END YEAR 3

[ohlovxr]

mel i remembered rugbier!james exists so now i’m thinking of being a cheerleader for his team 🫠

aksjdksj tina omfg shut up

on a cute note, he flirts with you literally all the time during games. winks, “wish me luck, baby”’s, little butt pats as he passes by you cheering when he’s running out onto the field. if we’re talking him being a famous rugby player, there’s def edits made by people online bc of how cute the two of you are 😭

on a dirty note, he gets you in bed for the first time under the little claim that “it’ll help the both of us improve our performances on the field!!”, meaning your flexibility and his strength bc he spends hours folding you in half and pounding into you <33 and and and he’s definitely bent you over in your pretty little uniform and fucked you silly on many occasions bc you just look so fucking good in it

and don’t forget the celebratory gangbangs bc that’s canon for any rugby player james scenario we’re talking about <3

[watermelonselfship]

Okay hereee you go it's not, super sappy and it also has implied fr/eeh/oun as well as fre/eman/ce but that's because I'm a multishipper with polyamory brain 24/7.

Tw for reference to canon typical violence mentioned briefly.

Barney startled awake, sitting up on his elbows on bed. The night was hot, even the thin sheets feeling sticky with sweat, made worse by the pounding of his heart in his ears. The last thing his mind remembered was the stinging feeling of the barrel of a recently used gun to his temple, the iron grip of other uniformed hands on his shoulders, holding him still in place. The cold panic of his cover being blown contrasted against the night heat as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

He took bodily inventory- his arms didn't ache, his skull was in one piece, he was alive. And in this split second of waking and assessment, Barney was broken from his panic by the sound of gentle snoring beside him.

Raymond.

The tension left Barney's body in an instant and he laid back down on his back, staring at the ceiling. Just a nightmare. Not the worst one he'd had in a while, but it left his stomach doing flips. He choked back a gag, and tears pricked at his eyes. He turned over where he laid and wrapped his arms around Raymond's sleeping form for comfort. Dead tired, the man didn't stir, instead made a small noise of sleeping contentment and laid still.

Safe. They were both safe.

As Barney's eyes adjusted to the deep nights light, he scanned the room for more context to let his panic-clouded mind find solace so he could sleep again. Across from his and his lovers bed, no more than 5 feet away, slept Gordon and Alyx, peacefully in a mirrored embrace. The end table between them, Gordon and Raymond's glasses rested side by side, which would have seemed old-world normal had it not been for the crowbar and baseball bat still sitting within the respective man's reach. The weaponry's presence was welcomed and reassuring, despite either welder being in a deep sleep.

If anyone deserved a deep and restful sleep, it was Gordon, Barney thought to himself, and the thought brought with it another wave of nausea, tears spilling over and running down his cheeks. He heaved a heavy sigh and put his head down, taking in the sound of Raymond's breathing. Steady, a quiet snore on some intakes, filling the room with a comforting white noise. He was okay. They were all going to be okay, because it was finally over. Before he could get lost in the reeling realization that oh god it was finally over and all that came with it, he heard a quiet cough.

Barney froze still as stone as he looked up in the direction of the sound. Gordon sat up slightly on his own bed, bleary eyed and blinking to adjust to his newly adorned glasses. That tension Barney held in his body disapated, though the adrenaline continued to thrum vaguely in his veins despite the safety.

"You okay?" Gordon signed, slow and sleepy. Despite the tiredness, he looked concerned. Always looking out for others above himself.

Barney nodded, replying with signing in turn with unpracticed motion, not wanting to wake Raymond or Alyx by whispering. "All good, just a bad dream."

Gordon nodded with understanding, and fought a yawn. "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked, the offer genuine despite his exhaustion.

Barney yawned sympathetically despite Gordon's best efforts to suppress his own, and more tears ran down his face. He took the time to wipe them away before responding. "Nah, you get some more sleep, I'll tell you in the morning."

Gordon paused for a moment before nodding in return. "Okay, if you're sure. If you change your mind, you know where I'll be." The scientist removed his glasses once more after a moments hesitation, and set them back on the table mirroring Raymond's. He settled back down and turned his back to Barney carefully, not wanting to wake Alyx but not wanting to stare Barney down while he got back to sleep, even if he couldn't see past his crowbar in any detail.

Barney finally settled back down himself, feeling post panic exhaustion hitting him like a bus. Things were going to be okay, and he was too tired to start figuring out the arc of how things were about to change. He nestled down next to Raymond, holding him close, and the man let out a sleepy, contented sound again, a little smile gracing his sleeping face. Barney mirrored the smile, and let his eyes close.

When Barney woke the next morning, it was to the smell of Gordon trying to force life back into long expired coffee, and the sound of hushed debate between Alyx and Raymond about how absolutely awful it was going to taste. Barney smiled, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere for just a minute longer.

There was work to be done, rebuilding and fighting and struggle still left ahead, but in this moment, there was just good people, bad coffee, and love.

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [WATTPAD]

Spring vacation was kind to the pop idol formerly known as Risette. She and her friends spent a lot of time in the park or at Junes, hanging around at each other's houses. It was never the same with Narukami gone but sometimes they could come pretty close, and that was worth doing.

Though she had hoped to see Ebihara in town, maybe check in with her again despite the way they left things, apparently the priss had taken off with her family or something. Oh well. It wasn't exactly that she desperately wanted to interact with her, she just didn't like knowing a friend was hurting and she couldn't help. No matter how new and rocky the friendship was.

She also wound up being busy throughout the end of March because she was trying to restart her career. At first, her agent and the agency she had belonged to were resistant to the idea of letting her back in; it seemed they had some sort of issue with putting a lot of time and effort into an idol who would only abandon them. But her putting on a sugary sweet tone and telling them she missed them so much, while also saying she would be so sad if she had to work for a different agency instead, did the trick. Never underestimate the effectiveness of flattery and a veiled threat when used in tandem.

Logistics and singing lessons had kept her busy for most of the remaining break. Three days remained until the new school year started up. They had all been anxious about going into their final year — well, the older students. Rise and Kanji and Naoto would just be starting their second year.

"Boring Friday in boring Inaba," Yosuke was sighing as they slowly walked into town.

"Yep," Chie groaned.

"Not for one of us," Naoto mentioned. "How did your audition go, Rise?"

The teen idol huffed and folded her arms over her chest. "Can you believe they actually made me re-audition? They know I can do the work! This was just a power play to make me feel bad for taking a break in the first place."

"Sure," Yosuke snorted. "They probably thought you were past your prime. They don't know what we know."

"And… what do 'we' know?"

"That you are still the mega-hot Risette that we all know and love. Like, you haven't even gained any weight or anything!"

While Yukiko and Chie were groaning and Kanji was face-palming, Rise smiled sweetly and bounced closer to Yosuke's side. "Aww, you knew just what I needed to hear! Thanks, sweetie!"

His entire face turned red, and his floppy brown hair seemed to twitch back and forth. "S-s-s-sweetie!"

"Don't encourage him," Chie grunted with a firm shake of her head. "You know he's too dumb to figure out you're just messing with him."

"Yeah, I am! Wait- I mean, I'm not- she's not! You…"

"Give it up, man," Kanji sighed heavily, pounding him on the back so hard that he staggered.

"Oh, I'm gonna get a melon soda," Rise piped up before the argument got out of hand. "Anybody else want one?"

"If it's fizzy," Yukiko said with a modest smile. "Chie wants orange with pulp."

"Hey! You don't know that for sure," Chie yelped… with a highly suspicious blush breaking out across her cheeks. Yukiko only giggled.

By now, Rise was walking over to the vending machine in front of Souzai Daigaku. She was starting to get a little suspicious of Yukiko and Chie… but she definitely didn't want to accuse them of anything. Especially considering how uncomfortable Naoto still seemed surrounding the issues of gender and sexuality. Kanji talked a big game about being over all that stuff, at least, but Naoto got very quiet and nervous when the topic came up. The last thing she wanted was to make her friends uncomfortable.

As the heavy steel can bumped into the dispenser below, she bent down to retrieve it… and the glint from something caught her eye. She looked over to see it was a pair of sunglasses — adorning the face of someone she had been hoping to see for two weeks now.

"Ebihara?!"

The other girl started, then grimaced as she gripped the lip of the table outside the restaurant. She looked very put together — on par with something Rise would wear. Long summery white skirt that was partly see-through, strappy pink sandals that matched her pink cardigan. And also matched her choker, which was almost always around her neck like some part of her official uniform. Every nail manicured, not a strand of hair out of place, lips glistening from a fresh coat.

And she was not happy.

"Oh God, it's you."

"Wha- hey! Just what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know. Do you maybe not remember trying to make me feel like an asshole in Aiya?"

"That is not what I was doing. Geez! I was only pointing out that you have to put yourself out there if you want to-"

"Hey, I don't need a lesson in friendship from Risette. Go get preachy on TV for your little fans."

She almost let that scare her off. So very almost. But she decided to give it one last shot before she left Ai to her own devices. "Well then, I… I apologize for sounding preachy. It was not my intention."

That finally made the other girl take her sunglasses off. "Did you rehearse that long? Because you sound like the lady on my voicemail."

But Rise didn't really take those words in right away. She was too distracted by the dark circles under her schoolmate's eyes. Was Ebihara not sleeping very well? Why not? She wanted to ask, but she was at least smart enough not to try it for fear of being snapped at again.

"I… I didn't. You just got really mad at me last time for no reason, and I'm trying to be careful with my words. Or whatever."

"It wasn't for no reason. You made fun of me."

"What? No!"

"Yes, you did, you cunt. You told me I could come hang out with you guys, and then came into the bathroom while I was… indisposed, and told me I was doing it wrong!"

Rolling her eyes was the only way she had to vent her feelings other than throwing the melon soda at this girl's head. And she didn't want to dent her skull — for now.

"I said I was sorry, and that I didn't mean to piss you off, so can you stop yelling at me?"

"THAT'S-" After that single word, Ebihara grabbed her purse and started to stand up… then stopped. Took a deep breath. "No. I promised him I'd be better, I am better."

"U-uhhhh…?"

Expression still fiercely angry, hands on her hips with her purse dangling down past her knee, she stomped over to glare daggers straight down into Rise's eyes and causing the shorter girl to gulp. Wow was she tall — had to be at least ten centimetres taller! No giant, but tall for a girl, especially compared to her and Chie and Naoto; Yukiko was always so tall and poised… but her attention was wandering, and she had missed what Ai was saying.

"Huh?"

"I said," she snapped impatiently, "do you want to join me for tea?"

"WHAT?!"

"I SAID DO YOU-"

"No, no, I got it!" she yelped, hastily covering her ears to stop them from ringing thanks to how loud Ebihara could get. "Sorry, I'm just shocked! You really acted like you hated me!"

Ebi's lips pursed for a long moment as she turned to stare at the rest of the team. By now, they had figured out their friend was not returning right away, and were watching with detached interest. "You and Narukami-kun… you were trying to tell me something. I'm only good at manipulating people or bossing them around. No one has ever wanted to be my friend before, not my entire life. The reasons just changed. So…"

"Soooooo… is this you asking if we can be fr-"

"Don't make it awkward, bitch," she hissed over Rise. "Let's say we'll make this a trial run. You probably won't be able to stand me and I probably won't be able to stand you, but you're the only one giving it a shot."

At least Ebi wasn't trying to say it was all Rise's fault. Plus, it was obvious this was the best she could do in terms of asking politely and being friendly. She knew from her years in the entertainment industry that some people just didn't seem to be born with friendliness in their DNA. But that didn't mean they didn't deserve friendship.

"Of course! We're just heading to Junes if you wanted to tag along."

But Ai instantly looked a lot less thrilled with that idea — and she had already looked less than thrilled. "I have class."

"Huh? I mean, school doesn't start until Monday…"

"It's not that kind of class." As she pushed off from the seat, she yanked the melon soda out of Rise's hands. "Thanks."

"Wha- hey! Oooh, you're paying me back for that!"

"Isn't this a favour? Don't friends do favours?" Then she slid her sunglasses back into place, waved over the edge of what was now her can, and strutted away.

It wasn't until she was half a block away that the idol ground back to life and ran after her, shouting a few metres behind her, "HEY! When are we getting tea?"

Ebi looked almost panicked when she turned back around. But it only lasted a second; then she was thoroughly embarrassed and grimacing as she quickly walked back to the other girl's side.

"Keep it down! Why are you so noisy? Do you have to remind everyone that you're a vocalist every day?"

"And do you have to conveniently forget to set the time and place?"

"That's… shut up." But she still looked embarrassed, even if only because her cheeks were a little rosy. She took out her phone and said, "Numbers?"

"Yeah," Rise sighed wearily as she took out her own. They touched them together to share contact information, then checked their screens to make sure it had worked. "Cool. Ebi."

"Ugh…"

"Oh, you don't like that nickname?"

"I dunno, it's fine. I'll just keep calling you Risette, it's not like I'm going to mix you up with some other Risette."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Guess not. But that's not how my friends talk to me."

"Fine — Rise. Only because I am definitely not a fan." Then she walked away.

Leaving Rise wondering why the hell she bothered. Couldn't Ebihara at least make a half-hearted attempt to be kind?

                                            ~ o ~

Rise almost gave up on her potential new friend. She certainly didn't want to be the first one to text after all that cold-shouldering and denigration, and as kept being pointed out to her, she was famous and had plenty of friends. So why should she bust her ass to be warm and welcoming to a frigid asshole?

All that changed late that night.

EBI: Hey Rise?

She almost ignored it. Almost. In fact she tossed her phone aside in disgust and finished rinsing off so she could get in the bathtub, burgundy-hued hair carefully up in a towel-turban so she wouldn't have to mess with it too much the next day. But once she had settled into the hot water, she thought better of it and reached for her phone.

RISE: Hi

EBI: Okay so ur pissed

EBI: We can call tea off if you want

RISE: I didn't say anything did I?

EBI: You don't have to

EBI: Listen

RISE: Ok…?

But there was no response. She had watched the screen for a minute or so before giving up, laying her phone aside and trying to relax again. Not that she had any success. And eventually, about five minutes later…

EBI: I promised Yu I was going to change. Stop being this horrible bitch to everybody. But I can't stop, I don't know how to stop. Maybe it was stupid but I thought I would just figure it out if I kept trying but every time you talk I start thinking of how I can cut you down… I want to "win" the conversation. Idk. I'm stupid and you deserve better and I don't think I can do better so if you want to call off our tea time I won't even be mad, not really

EBI: I'm sorry I'm like this.

"Whoa," she found herself breathing, heart lurching in her chest. Yes, she had seen glimpses of this version of Ebihara, but had never expected to see more than that. Now she was really, truly opening up to her, and she had no idea how to respond.

But she made herself do it. Maybe mostly because she felt bad about ignoring the first text, but she definitely didn't want to leave this girl hanging the one time she really opened up.

RISE: Atzrbucks?

EBI: What

RISE: For tea. I'm more into coffee but whatever, they have both

EBI: Are you brain-damaged? I'm giving you a chance to get out of this toxic ass friendship

EBI: Free of charge

RISE: You said this was a trial run didn't you? Doesn't that mean if it doesn't work out we can walk away then?

EBI: Well yeah

EBI: But I figured that shit was over. God I even stole your soda

EBI: Are you a masochist?

RISE: Hey I know I look like a spoiled brat because I was a 15 yr old idol but I'm not that weak

RISE: And I'm not 15 anymore UwU

EBI: ...why are you telling me that

EBI: Nevermind

RISE: Lol

EBI: Your funeral I was just trying to be nice and let you off easy

EBI: But I mean you've seen how bad I am at that

RISE: Nobody said you have to get it perfect right away :)

EBI: I guess

EBI: Tomorrow at 10?

RISE: Yeah~! See you then!

EBI: K

Only once she had finished her long soak, smiling slightly the entire time, did Rise get another message. So she paused in her toweling off to check her phone.

EBI: Thanks

RISE: ❤️

                                              ~ o ~

"So you're really going through with it?"

"I guess so. I mean, Ebi seems like she's really hurting but doesn't want to admit how bad it is. She needs somebody and I guess it's me."

"Weird," Yukiko's voice responded from her phone where it lay on the vanity. Rise was just putting the final touches on her makeup before heading out. "But I do think it's very nice of you to try to help her."

"Hey, that's me! Just the nicest girl you could ever know!"

"Right," she giggled. "So… may I ask you a question? It may sound a little strange."

"You may," Rise replied with a snort, making fun of how formal her friend was being.

"Okay. So Chie got me a very nice gift recently. And… um, her birthday is coming up. Eventually."

"Yeah?" She wasn't getting the whole truth. Rise could tell — mostly because she was pretty sure Chie's birthday was in July, which was still quite a ways off. But she decided it would be cruel to call Yukiko out on hedging around the facts; if she didn't want to be completely honest, there was probably a valid reason.

"Y-yeah! And, well, we already gave each other necklaces. But I'm trying to think of a really good gift to get her for this occasion. Something special. I'm just not sure… I mean, I know Chie very well, but I'm nervous. And you seem like someone who is very good at giving gifts."

Rise had to laugh at that one, shaking her head as she started putting most of her makeup away. "Right! I mean, who am I getting them for? My grandma? She just tries to give the gift back or tell me all she wants is to 'see me happy'. Can't even give her soap on a rope or whatever."

"Awwwwww," Yukiko cooed. "What a sweet woman."

"She is." Then she cleared her throat. "Okay, so. You wanna get Chie something spicy, or sweet?"

"O-oh, I don't really know. I just know I gave her jewelry for… Christmas." Another lie. "So I think this gift should be something different, but I'm not sure what."

Rise wanted to flat out ask if they were a little bit more than just friends, as she had begun to suspect. But she didn't want to embarrass either of them just in case she was wrong. "Right. Well, uh, I know she's really into kung fu. Maybe you could get her some DVDs? Or hey — who's her favorite action star? Bruce Lee, Jet Li?"

"Oh, I… think it's Sammy… something? Sonny? Her favourite movie is 'Project A', I remember that much."

"Don't know it. But yeah! Why don't you see if you can track down a poster of that movie? Or I could try to help you, I guess; I wouldn't mind."

"O-oh, you don't have to do that! This isn't your responsibility! I just need to learn how to be a better girlf… fr… a better friend, yes."

Well, that definitely seemed to be confirmation. Rise's eyebrow went up, but she very delicately kept herself from asking a question right away. "Yeah, girlfriend, I get you." There; maybe that would make Yukiko feel less awkward.

"R-right! Yes! Hahahaha… haaaa…" The junior innkeeper cleared her throat before saying, "Alright, I u-um, I should let you go so you won't be late to meet up with Ebihara-san."

"It's not that crucial," she laughed easily. "But I mean, good luck? You got this. And I'm sure whatever you end up doing for her birthday is gonna be magical; you're super nice, and super thoughtful like that. Won't even be an issue."

"Oh, I really hope you're right. Thank you, Rise. And have fun!"

"I'll do my best!"

But as she hung up and stared at herself in the mirror, Rise had to wonder just how much fun she was about to have. What would they even have to talk about?

                                               To Be Continued…