#ch: a. quinn.

[survivedsarchived]

@doomdays sent: bandage: patch them up when they get hurt. (adrian + akilah)

“you were always better at this than me,” adrian says. his voice shatters the silence that has enveloped them as @doomdays works: her fingers gentle and practiced as she coaxes the worn strip of fabric (his mind briefly occupied with considering who had originally owned the shirt it had been ripped from — but it's impossible to tell, now) into a perfect knot. instinctively, he flexes his hand, assessing the range of motion of his fingers, bound beneath the cloth: bright bursts of pain explode like fireworks along the jagged edge of the wound, but there's little difficulty in forming a fist beyond some slight pulling at the stitching.

he glances upward towards akilah, mouth fixed in a grimace, but adrian's eyes are warm, grateful. his uninjured hand squeezes her elbow gently. “thanks. not just for stitching me up, but... for not making me feel stupid.” though a not insignificant part of him does regardless — because it was stupid, to carelessly sift through refuse. he's lucky it was only glass. “—but it was kinda stupid,” he says, voicing his thoughts aloud, punctuated with a laugh. “could've been a lot worse though, right?”

[dcbicki]

MARGOT ROBBIE as Harley Quinn & Barbie

[dcmultiverse]

Birds of Prey dir. Cathy Yan | 2020

[survivedsarchived]

he can't help but feel pathetic as he sits here, sniffling and sniveling and trembling. never once in his life has adrian felt guilt for his emotions— but he feels a rush of it now, only deepening as the same thought continues to replay: i wish henry would touch me. a soft brush of a hand, a finger wiping away his tears, an arm across his shoulders — adrian feels every inch of him screaming for something, and it makes him feel horrible. he knows it's obvious, in the stiff way he holds himself, the way he can't help but shift his gaze towards henry, from his eyes to his mouth to his hands, remembering all the moments they've shared: holding hands in the dark, giggling because of nothing, sleepy kisses as the sun began its slow crawl across the dawning morning sky. how do those memories seem to be from another life? they feel more like words on a page, scenes from one of the films projected with the ancient equipment cobbled together by the community, to preserve art, some of the old timers would say wistfully. as adrian reflects on those years with henry, they come filtered through static like the movies, worn and aged like crumbling photographs.

is it the same for him? or does he remember adrian with more clarity? do the thoughts make his mouth and fingers ache with desire? maybe he should ask; maybe he could. henry invited him in, after all, to sit on the couch where so many memories were made — does he see the ghost of them together, too?

tangled limbs and eyes half-lidded, battling off sleep so that they could simply look at each other a moment more.

it all seems to come into sharper focus once adrian's confession lingers in the air. a glimpse around the room, and he sees an imprint of them everywhere: huddled together reading books and comics, trading off to read chapters aloud; laughing in triumph as the CD player adrian scavenged did work, despite being water-logged; dancing together, uncertain feet out of sync, but did it matter, when it meant they could be so close?

adrian doesn't seem to notice that his breathing slowly becomes more controlled, softer, as he loses himself in these thoughts.

but his eyes are still red and raw as he looks at henry. with a twitching mouth, a heaving chest, he forces out a hard exhale, shaking his head, the disagreement automatic. “no, i can't.” the words come a little hollow, unsure, but then he breathes in, long and deep, and exhales with a growing strength. “i couldn't just — come talk to you. because i was hurt, and then pissed, but even with all of that, i...” he laughs bitterly, teeth flashing, but the smile has no warmth. “i'd just want to kiss you. i wouldn't, i won't, you know that, at least, i hope you do — but that doesn't change that i'd want to. and it doesn't feel fair. maybe that makes me selfish. but — you can stop blaming yourself. because it was all me.”

he doesn't know if that's true. maybe they should both shoulder the responsibility equally — but henry already has so much to carry. looking around, seeing sam, the look on henry's face — most of adrian's anger dissipates. because — of course he'd choose his brother over adrian. he should. how can he fault him for that?

but it doesn't fully ease the hurt, the soul-deep pain that throbs in his chest.

there's still the urge to flee — but it's comforting to be near henry, even if they're still so far apart. he can't give this up yet, even if it hurts, every word like a needle piercing his skin — and some, more like a knife. i fucking miss you. adrian feels his mouth suddenly dry, a feeling like static in his head — but he's grateful for it, in some sick fucking way.

“jesus christ,” he breathes. adrian blinks, presses a closed fist to his heart, and before he can register it, he barks out a laugh. "you miss me.” he repeats it, savors it, and this time, the smile that sparks to life is genuine. “you're an asshole.”

the last word catches in his throat; even playfully, he can't commit to it. he can only look at henry, gaze soft, his hand absentmindedly resting in the void between them — hoping, subconsciously, that henry will take it.

the smile doesn't last, however, twitching into a thin line as henry continues. adrian drops his eyes, sinks his teeth into his lip, then replies, quietly, “that wasn't your decision to make for me. you should've talked to me, henry. i mean, i knew, i — i knew.” he repeats it desperately, as if he thinks henry won't hear him or understand. “i would've done this with you. and it fucking hurts that you, what? think i wouldn't have? that i'd have — left?” his voice rises slightly, and adrian cringes, mouth twisted to a grimace. “i loved you. i — i love you. and i would have helped. i'm sorry for whatever i did that made you think otherwise.” @doomdays

it's too achingly familiar,   the way adrian tears form and his body cradles itself.   henry feels guilty,   not just for the way he keeps saying the wrong thing,   but for inviting him in in the first place.    would it have been better,   if he just politely thanked him for the books,   and they went on their separate ways?   henry can't shake the feeling that that might have only made it all worse.   they'd both be left to wonder,   both feeling rejected,   both feeling more alone than they had before the door was answered to begin with.  

he doesn't want to turn adrian away.   but he also knows there's no way for them to have a simple conversation,  either.    they can't just learn to be friends now,   not when their break up was never about lack of love,   because how do you define a friendship like that,   anyway?    henry hardly remembers ever just being his friend.    he just remembers the way he felt around him,   how deep in his feelings he was before they ever decided to do something about it.

he's quick to shake his head,   even though he's not exactly sure what more to say.   he feels like he's stumbling over himself every time he opens his mouth,   because there's just no easy way to talk to someone you never fell out of love with but can't be with    (   a declaration he made on his own;    adrian doesn't want this life,   adrian shouldn't be burdened with this life;   love isn't enough to fix that.   )    his hand shakes with the desire to reach out, grab his, hold it gently like he's done so many times before; he used to be the person who could calm adrian down,    and he wants to try,   but won't that just make it worse?   he clears his throat,   his hand rubbing over his eyes as he takes a deep breath.   instead of saying anything,   he gives adrian the space to process whatever he's feeling;   henry needs it,   too,  because for two people who were once so comfortable wrapped in the arms of each other,   sitting here like this,   not touching at all,   acting as if they're almost starngers ---   it feels like they're miles apart.   adrian feels farther right here in front of him than he did when they didn't run into each other at all.

henry has only ever wanted adrian closer,   even when he told him to leave.

the confession makes his stomach turn,  and he holds his breath as he stares back at adrian.   it's what he just called him out for,  and yet hearing that confirmation makes him feel so overwhelmed.    he remains frozen in place until he goes on,   his jaw clenching as he does,  and as soon as he hears his own name from adrian's lips,   tears starts to well in his own eyes,   his fingers clenching into a fist at his side,   silently cursing himself.    had he really made himself so unapproachable that adrian had to go clear out of the zone just for a chnace to talk to henry?   

❝  i would never think you're an asshole,  ❞    he says quietly,   closing his eyes for a moment as he tries to compose himself,   but the moment he opens them again,   a tear falls down his cheek,   and he tries to deflect with a shake of his head.   ❝  especially not for that,   but,  fuck,   adrian,   you can---   you can just fucking talk to me.   you can talk to me,   okay?   we don't have to be strangers.   ❞     he feels the rebuttal before he finishes his sentence,  and he quickly shakes his head.     ❝   fuck,  okay,  i know i haven't made that clear,   i know that's on me.   i made you feel like you couldn't talk to me.   okay,  yeah,  i know that.    but you don't need an excuse to show up on my doorstep.   you know how badly i wish you would?   ❞    he waves a hand in front of himself yet again.    ❝   yeah,   i know that's on me,   too.   i don't blame you for not trying.    i never really made you feel like you should,   yeah,   'cause---   ❞    because he doesn't know how to be that person anymore.   

❝  ---  'cause i wasn't any good to you.    not in the end.   that's what i know,  too.   ❞     it's not entirely true;    he was polite as he could be when they ended things,    a wreck of tears and stuttered speech,    full of love despite his withdraw.    but he never allowed them to have a real conversation about it,    didn't want to hear adrian fight for it because he was inevitably just going to feel guilty over it.   

he feels relieved as adrian settles back into the sofa.   he asks a fair question,   because henry doesn't know,   either.    as much as he wanted him to knock on that door eventually,   he never really knew what was left to say to each other.   his words make him want to hide away again,   but it's time to face this.   henry can't hide behind sam forever.

he leans forward,   arms against his knees,   eyes looking directly back at adrian.    ❝   don't.   you shouldn't,  ❞     he says quietly,   quickly realizing he should clarify.    ❝  don't feel guilty.   'cause i fucking miss you,   too.   guess i'm a hypocrite,   'cause that makes me feel guilty,   too.    but it's the truth.    i miss you,    and,   fuck,   i'm so sorry i hurt you.    sorry about all of this.   i ----   i didn't think i'd be  .  .    .   ❞      he looks over in the direction of henry,   his jaw clenching again as he thinks of the word he's been so hesitant to use himself:   a father.   that's what he is,   isn't it?   not just a big brother.   a father.   

but if henry is insisting adrian stay,   he needs to give him a real reason to.   the full truth,   full vulnerability.    he looks back at him again,    his head nodding slowly.    ❝    a dad.   didn't think i'd be a dad.   ❞      he thinks of all the times he told adrian about how excited he was to welcome in a new baby sibling,   how he had been hoping for one all his life.   he finally got that,   and he doesn't resent the new title it came with,   but he also can't deny how much harder it's made his life.    ❝  when we ---   when we ---   ❞    a pause.   ❝  when we broke up,   it wasn't 'cause--   my feelings changed.   it wasn't.    i want you to know that.   you did nothing wrong.  ❞     he swallows a lump in his throat,   words her should've said so long ago.   he implied them,   he thinks,   but he owed adrian so much more.    ❝   but,   i became a dad.   with no warning,   and my life,   it just changed.    i had to be the best parent for him i could be.   still do,   'cause he's got no one else,   and i ----  ❞      he frowns,   feeling the pain throughout his entire body.    ❝  i didn't want to put that on you,   adrian.  ❞

[levithestripper]

now why did no one tell me how hot commodus is in the first gladiator movie?????? y'all can keep ginger joseph quinn for yourselves i want HIM

[dailydcvillains]

Selina Kyle & Harley Quinn in Gotham City Sirens #4

[hanasnx]

❝ not alone anymore. ❞

── billy quinn x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 2k SUMMARY: you meet a handsome stranger at a party, and go out for coffee after. NOTES: i wrote this a year ago and am getting it out of my drafts. WARNINGS: gn!reader | implied: attraction | mentioned: innuendo | smoking | cursing | no y/n.

You raked a hand through your hair, the cold night air fogging your breath as you stepped out the sliding glass door. Escaping the full swing of the party inside, you took refuge out on the balcony, and with trembling hands you struggled to take out a cigarette and a lighter. It was freezing out here compared to the stuffy inside, where the hot bodies dancing acted as a space heater. The dampness of your lips caught the cig, allowing you to check your watch for the time, wondering when you should be heading out. Staring at it for longer than a second told you that it had stopped at one AM. “Shit,” you muttered through your lips dangling the cigarette. How long had it been then? Tapping it out of anger didn’t work either, the face of the clock staring blankly at you. Instead, you tried to light your cig, cupping your hand around it. The lighter sparked, but didn’t catch, no matter how many times you rolled it. “C’mon, really?” A couple more times offered no solution, and you were about to toss and stamp the tobacco in your frustration.

“Need a light?” A voice coming from the side startled you, jumping in surprise, and turning to the source. It was dark out, but you could see. The source was tall, and you watched him rifle his pockets. 

“Please,” you replied, inviting him over. Gingerly, he stepped to you, and cupped his hand to protect the fire from the wind, offering it to you. You brushed your hair back and leaned in, letting him light the end for you. Gently, you breathed in, and pinched the cig between your fingers so you could blow the smoke away from him. He pocketed the lighter. 

“Sorry to scare you, thought you saw me.” he told you, but by this point you’d already forgotten. 

“Hm? Oh,” You wrapped an arm under your chest to protect your middle from the air and to prop up your elbow, sipping your cig leisurely. The smoke warmed your lungs. “no sweat. Don’t sweat it,” you mumbled, kicking the ground underneath you to hear your shoe scrape against the concrete. You sniffed, and glanced at him. “Thanks for the light.” He noticed your small smile, and leaned back against the wall. 

“No problem. It seemed like you were having a hard time,” Apparently he’d seen you curse at your watch and your lighter. 

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “I think I’m just ready to go home.”

“What’s keeping you?”

“Nothing, I guess,” You shrugged, rubbing your temple with the hand that held your cig. “Feel like if I go home, I’ll wonder why I didn’t stay. I’ve got that fear of missing out, you know?” You glanced at him after you asked the question, and you caught him looking at you already. You idled, having calmed down from the nicotine rush, you registered who you were speaking with. It hit you how cute this guy was. Dark hair, styled up in disheveled locks. Handsome face, with soft lips and crystal blue eyes. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth. 

“I get that,” he said softly, and you inhaled sharply at the sound of his lowered voice. 

You adjusted, mimicking him to rest against the wall, and flicking off the ash from your cig. “What about you? Why are you hiding out here?”

“Not really my scene. I’m just a wingman.” He peered over his shoulder to spy his friend cozying up with the woman he’d been talking to. “Looks like I’m a retired wingman.” He returned his gaze to you, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“‘A wingman’?” you parroted in disbelief, and you looked him up and down. “You?” His lips curled at the question, recognizing it for what it was. A subtle flirt. He gave you a sly look, and to change the subject you offered him the butt end of the cig, “Care for a draw?” He accepted it, your cold hands brushing past one another, and you watched the sharp angle of his jawline as he took a drag. 

“Yeah, believe it or not,” he spoke through the smoke, some curling out from his nose. “I’ll be heading out soon.” You were still occupied by the butterflies that erupted in your stomach from the brief contact. 

“Shame,” you muttered without realizing, and while he took his second puff he eyed you curiously with a tilt of his head. 

“‘Shame’?”

You rolled with it, since it was too late to back track. “Shame,” You shook your head, listening to the bump of the bass inside shake the apartment. “I was just about to ask you if you wanted to come back in with me for a dance.” 

“Dance, huh?” he said with interest, handing off the roach. The temperature of your skin giving him an idea. “I’m not a big dancer.”

“I bet you’re great, c’mon,” You found yourself wanting him to stay. “Just one, I’ll be really nice even if you make a fool of yourself,” you assured, coaxing him. 

He merely shook his head, “Maybe next time,” It was an empty promise. “Nah, I wanna grab a cup of coffee. You should come with.”

“I’m just saying, I find it hard to believe that out of every animal on the planet you’d wanna be a… porcupine.” 

He eyed you over the rim of his mug, brows furrowed. He hissed when he placed it down. “And I’m just saying, that in a world full of predators, I’m gonna be the guy with the impaling armor.” 

You shimmied in your seat, sizing him up. “You wouldn’t wanna be a predator?” you teased. “Most guys I ask usually go for one of the big cats, gator, rhino, or gorilla—“

“—Those are the most popular options—?” 

“— From the guys I’ve asked, yes!” A smile tugged at his lips from the conversation, and you continued. “It’s science, really.”

“Science?”

“Science. I’m telling you. There’s a psychology to it.” 

“Explain,” He took another sip of his coffee. The diner you two occupied was cool toned, greens and silvers and blues. Empty, except for a gray bearded man in the corner, and the two of you sitting on the bar stools, facing each other. 

“The guys who say they’d be gator, those are the rednecks,” You began, and with fake interest, your companion perked up in his seat, flashing you a wide eyed expression. 

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” you told him playfully, reaching over to nudge his shoulder. He rested his cheek on his fist, and gestured for you to go on. “So those are gonna be the guys with the camo, they’re from Florida primarily, probably carry without a license.” You listed on your fingers, crossing your legs. “Gorilla guys are the big, buff for no reason— like The Rock-level buff— maybe less. From my research,” He raised his brows at you in feigned intrigue, knowing this was based on nothing but your own observations. “they’re more of the hit-first-ask-questions-later type. Rhinos too, however I think Rhinos are the more husky of the two. Other than that, those have been pretty interchangeable. Now, the cats, that’s where it gets interesting.” He checked his watch and glanced up at you, and you rolled your eyes at his bad joke. “I’m almost done. Lions are the vain type, usually long hair, real pretty boys, probably have a tattoo of one or want a tattoo of one.” Your eyes searched the ceiling, feeling hot under his gaze for talking this long. “Tigers are the serene type, zen, yoga, I’ve-trained-with-a-bo-staff and studied-abroad. Jaguars, usually black jaguars, are the goths. The piercings, the tats, the rockstar hair, skinny jeans, and tight v-necks.” You met his eyes. 

“Done?”

“Mm-hmm,” You sipped your coffee, and added some cream before tasting it again. 

“So what about porcupine guys? What do you think of them?” he asked, downing the last of his drink. You saw how his downturned lips attempted to hide his smile, betraying his eagerness to hear your opinion of him. 

“Pretty cool, I guess.” You pushed out your lips, letting your gaze travel generously this time. “Tall, lanky—“ You noted the shift in his expression, and you revised, “—toned,” You narrowed your eyes, gauging his reaction. When it was satisfactory, you moved on, “Nice hair, pretty eyes. Very cool leather jacket.”

“What about personality?” he interjected, leaning back in his chair, and you were unable to ignore how he spread his knees. 

“Calm,” Was your first thought, and he quieted. “charming, endearing.” Your gazes met, locking eyes as you finished. “Hopelessly alluring.” 

As if to taunt you ever further, your companion inclined into your direction— and marginally you leaned in— but his purpose was to shed his leather jacket, sliding it off of his shoulders. Only encouraging his suspicions of your helpless attraction, you stare unapologetically, mesmerized by his elegant movement, and how close the two of you were. His dirty trick had done its dirty deed, and he folded the jacket within itself, tossing it onto the bar behind him so he could face you in his black turtleneck. One that highlighted his figure that had you wondering if he modeled clothing wear by the way he sported it like it was made for him. You moistened your lips and he glanced down at them, drawn to you like a moth to flame. 

His voice was soft, feather-light and carressed your ears like a saint’s prayer. “So what animal did you choose?” 

Having been lost in such a small and seemingly insignificant disrobing, you were stupefied. You shook your head as if to clear your brain fog, responding dreamily, “What?” 

Since you required reengaging, he crossed his arms and fixed his elbow at the edge of the bar so he could insert himself further into the conversation. Demanding your attention, and begging you to check out how thick his arms looked in his sleeves. “You ask all these guys their philosophical animals so what did you say when they asked you?” 

You flashed a confuddled furrow of your brow. Downturning your lips as you searched the corners of your mind for an answer even when it was doomed to chart a naughty course. “Um…” a single nervous chuckle emitted, “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked, actually.” All of a sudden, you were painfully aware of the kind of men you’ve been wasting your time with. 

Perhaps the self-proclaimed “predators” had a bad streak of being conceited. 

Somehow, he understood your entire thought process, watching your expressions shift. This was noted, but not commented on. “So?” he awaited your answer. 

It took you a second to decide. He had spat his so easy, ready with an explanation as soon as you’d thought up the question. Did he choose a creature based on his preference toward it, or was it just the intelligent answer? 

Did it really matter? It shouldn’t, yet here you were, worrying yourself over what this stranger would think of you. Pick you apart like you so carelessly did to the others in front of him. “I’ve always liked white foxes.” Insecure in your decision and how it shone through in your voice, implied an invitation for him to scrutinize you. You expected it. 

A very slight shift in his expression, how he tilted his head, and his oceanic blue eyes traveling you from head to toe— was unhelpful in easing your nerves. “A white fox,” he hummed, interested, playful. “The storybook archetype of a clever and intelligent creature.” You swallowed. “The symbol of trickery, or luck, depending on your culture.” He bowed his head forward to catch your eye, looking at you through his brows, “Cunning, silver-tongued, and beautiful. However,” The start of his new sentence implied something promising, adjusting in his seat to tap his finger onto the bar. “a white fox suggests you hide something.” 

It refreshed you to hear his thoughts about you. Eloquently stated, without sparing too many details. You hadn’t connected any dots without his assistance, but you were more alike to a white fox than you anticipated. Your famed animal inquiry allowed you a small and idiotic window into how people thought of themselves. Not only had he played your game, but he turned it around on you. 

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, unable to tear your eyes away from each other. 

“I like a good mystery.” 

[survivedsarchived]

he considers himself careful — but adrian knows his standards are different. to someone like alden, unaccustomed to the rubble-forged pathways, it must all seem... not quite dangerous, but reckless. and, really, that's why adrian finds it so thrilling: despite his intimate knowledge of the city, the the shortcuts and trails he's constructed, anyone can come through, human or bleeder, and disrupt it. a careless foot can knock loose a board; a swarm can shift, inhabit a building and render it hostile; a storm can wash away the markings he's chalked onto brick walls as insurance — backup, should he find himself without his maps.

(most are memorized, but there's comfort in knowing his symbols and codes there regardless.)

so he doesn't argue alden's point: he does enjoy his risks. but the route he's chosen to guide alden through is one considerably less treacherous.

“i do trust you,” adrian says, all soft and quiet; none of the fire's left his eyes, though, still wide and gleaming with elation. “and i'm glad you trust me. it means a lot. really. i'm glad i get to share all of this with you.”

he's escorted people on dozens of trips, from the university to nearby settlements — but he's never done this before. the discussion of art is another first; with anyone else, adrian thinks he'd be dismissive — but there's something about the way alden talks. the encouragement, he thinks, must be instinctual, but adrian's affected by it regardless, stilled in contemplation as he glances alden over, considering him.

“y'know, you're making a lot of sense. especially the part about me being good at anything.” teasing as it is, adrian's genuinely grateful; he rarely doubts himself, but that doesn't mean he doesn't crave the occasional assurance.

adrian drops his eyes to alden's mouth, lingering for a beat before he shrugs. “so, more than a night,” he agrees. “i can do that.” he rocks on his heels, unable to keep himself from laughing. “yeah, yeah, it's my biggest flaw — my only one, actually.” his hand lifts from the railing to rest against alden's arm, leaning closer into him. “you don't mind it, though, right?”

adrian is met with a playful grin from alden -- though despite the teasing,  he means it,  and he knows adrian does,  too.  ❝  oh,  you think i'd follow ya out here where i know ya like takin' your risks if i didn't trust you with my life?  ❞   he counters,  letting out a soft chuckle as he nods his head back at him.  ❝  no,  no,  i wouldn't do this with just anyone.  i got good reason to trust ya.  ❞   his smile lingers for a moment,  brows raising.  ❝  'cause ya know you can trust me,  too.  well,  at least i hope you know. ❞

he's amused by his reaction,  laughing again -- almost as if they're in their own world out here,  free to be happy,  to enjoy their time despite the tasks at hand.   ❝  doesn't mean ya can't be any good at it.  even if you're not, y'know, sometimes it just helps get things outta your system.  i s'pose i learned that pretty quickly on out here.  but,  what do i know?  ❞   he jokes, shrugging his shoulders.  ❝  personally, i think you could be good at anything. ❞  a pause, teeth lightly tugging at his lip before he goes on.  ❝  but again,  what do i know? ❞  he charms with a grin.

with adrian standing before him now,  back on the same level,  alden finds it difficult not to reach out his hands to bring him even closer.  but he stops himself from being too greedy this time around,  simply smiling back at him instead.  ❝  oh, for a helluva lot more than a night,  ❞   he insists,  features contorting into something more stern  --- a look that often falters on him, especially now as he teases. his nose scrunches up and he shakes his head back at him, endeared despite it. ❝  you're kinda stubborn, aren't ya? ❞ he asks, his grin only growing.  

[swampcreaturefound]

[sunshineddie]

Save me thick Joe Quinn, save me.

[sapphicomics]

harleen quinzel on covers for harley quinn (2021) #46

[survivedsarchived]

his grin is easy and wide, a dead giveaway that the query is merely in jest — but adrian's eyes are sharp and unwavering. he sees the slight tension, the irritation clenching her jaw, so he acquiesces: makes a quiet promise with a slight incline of his head. no more jokes. because this really is fascinating: her setup, her gear. the tone is clear that she's no stranger to this: she didn't pick up that camera post-apocalypse. it fits her hand like a glove.

and... she is right. there's still pasta sauce staining his hand a vivid red, fresh(ish, at least) batteries slotted into his flashlight; it's the least he can do, really, to uphold his end of this exchange.

shoulders slump in lighthearted defeat. adrian raises a hand, flashes an apologetic smile. “and i'm very grateful for the spaghettios. so, okay; i lied. i do know the highway. it's thirty-seven. not my normal route when i'm coming this far south, but—” now, it's his turn to stiffen, a hardness settling into the lines of his mouth. “there were some... mauraders, i guess you'd call them, on my usual path. so i diverted a bit. took the roads — more dead, but at least you know what you're getting with them.” no smile, no quip; there's only a restrained tone, left thumb rubbing repetitive circles into the skin of his wrist. “given all the trouble i went through to avoid death, or... worse, i'd really like it if you didn't kill me, either.”

all at once, it seems, he loosens; softly, he shifts forward, leaning into her camera. “i hope you understand that i'm — hesitant, to be more specific than that. i have people i gotta protect.”

oh. discomfort filled every inch of her quickly. she didn't like questions aimed at her. didn't like answering anything in-depth. especially because she had always followed the very important rule that a journalist should never reveal too much about themselves. especially in the middle of an interview. this wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped. her eyes lifted slowly from the tiny camera screen in front of her to flash him a slight look. not rude, not angry, just . . . back off.

" yeah, that's how i'm starting this off. it's a simple question. " though in a world as broken as this one, she supposed it wasn't as simple as she was making it out to be. maybe before people started eating each other's faces. but not now and she knew that. but that wasn't about to stop her and her constant need for information. stories. a heavy sigh slipped free of her lips; camera half lowering for a moment. he was bullshitting her through and through. fuck. " you know . . . i gave you supplies. you said you'd sit down and talk to me. you're just bullshitting me. what's stopping me from simply killing you at this point ? "

[dcbicki]

HARLEY QUINN | BARBIE Suicide Squad (2016) ♦ Birds of Prey (2020) ♥ Barbie (2023)

[dcmultiverse]

The Suicide Squad dir. James Gunn | 2021

[survivedsarchived]

a good man is all he hopes to be. a good son, a good friend — a good leader, maybe, someday. but adrian's felt as if he's failing on certain fronts, unsure if a good son would stray so far from home for so long; wouldn't a better man keep close to his family? he thinks sometimes of all the terrible things that could happen while he's away — an errant flame causing a fire; wayward strangers armed and hungry; a horde of infected, deviated from their usual haunts for any number of unpredictable reasons — and it always makes him want to flee home, stay there... but what then? they shut themselves in? keep quiet and silent, sequestered from the world? what would that accomplish?

people like maria, communities like jackson, they make it worth it. they remind him of the good in the world, that the world isn't over yet — not while they're still standing. he does good out here, for his family, and hopefully for maria, too — his meticulous documentation of the world as he's seen it must be a benefit to someone in her position.

but he doesn't want them to just be useful to one another: he wants to be family. which is why this is precisely so important — maria and tommy finally meeting his mothers: so that there's more than just adrian linking them together.

“like i've said: you're welcome any time. tomorrow, next week, a couple months — we'll be waiting.” and he'll really try to be there — though adrian feels confident in his estimation of how it'll go, it's not an introduction he wants to miss. he even wonders, briefly, if maybe they should try to set a more concrete timeline, with adrian accompanying them — but he doesn't give voice to the thought. his pace is erratic; he wouldn't want to subject maria and tommy to that.

already some of the road-weariness has begun to leave him, like a snake shedding its skin. even such a simple conversation with maria does that — eases him back from the wild place he finds his mind, out there in the badlands. but a bath really is necessary, and adrian can't hide his relief at the offer — accustomed as he is to roughing it, a night in luxury (and even something as-yet unrenovated counts as such to a man like him) is appealing. he inclines his head in gratitude, mouth stretched in a wide grin. “well, i just might take you up on that — maybe not an entire week, but...” he shrugs considerably. “i mean, i'll definitely need a few days to do my interviews.” because it's best to go slow, coax the information out, verify its authenticity before committing it to his journals — all of which rest, sealed together in plastic, amid the clothing of his bag. “but, florida — man. a long way. i don't think i've talked to anyone from florida.” there's unverified rumors from the georgia-florida border, scratched into the margin of one of his books — not quite entered properly into his archives, because of how uncertain the source had been.

“a couple months ago, i was up north, because i'd heard rumors of another settlement — and there was one, but it was wiped out. i found a survivor from it, though. he said he lived in alaska, before.” he'd gradually been making his way into warmer weather — why? adrian had wondered, given how sparse the infected seem to be in the cold, but when the question had been posed, it was only received with a shrug. because i want to. a good enough reason, adrian had responded, and then they'd parted ways.

he thinks about the guy, and how this idea that's been his mind could've helped him, too; he'd expressed little interest in adrian's vague invitation to come to his community, but a night in guaranteed safety would've been well-received, maybe. but opening up the doors to strangers (if there's ever doors to open) would be unlikely, adrian knows — it doesn't stop him from considering, though.

he takes what's offered, following maria dutifully, brows raised as he settles in. he rests his bag on the bench against him, an arm still looped around the straps — a habit he'll never break. the journals and maps inside are too invaluable; leaving them unattended even at his feet seems too much of a risk.

and they come in handy now: to answer maria's question, adrian digs into his bag, shakes loose from the clothing and plastic a notebook bound with blue leather, opens to a page near the middle, slides it across the table. it's just words, not hard proof, he understands — but he hopes even something he scribbles on a page will be considered reliable. “i've spent the night there a couple times over the years. it's why i know so much about the interior. there's not really any other buildings in the area — some old shacks, i think for hunting, but — no houses. so it's unlikely there's any people hiding out.” he points to a passage, taps his finger against the page. “this is my log of every time i've stayed there. how many infected i've seen, how many people — it's zero for people. doesn't mean no one ever takes that way, i know, but... still. it's something, i think.”

maria sees how genuine he’s being, how the same sentiment is true for his mothers,  and it makes her feel guilty that no trip had been successful before.  but she puts it at the top of her mental list of priorities,  alongside having that talk with tommy,  and she nods her head.  ❝  soon,  adrian.  soon.  i’m thrilled to meet your mothers as well.  i’ve got to tell them what a good man their son is,  ❞   she winks,  reaching her hand out to lightly pat his arm.  ❝  tommy and i will talk,  we’ll gather some supplies,  and we’ll head your way in the next few months.  how’s that sound?   no more waiting.  i’d feel much more comfortable being able to see what you’ve got going on there, anyway.  this partnership we have is something i’m grateful for, i’d like to keep it going.  ❞   and though there have been others from jackson who have made the journey to check it out,  she doesn’t want to take someone else’s word for it — so it’s a promise.

she laughs, instantly waving a hand before her.  ❝ oh, no river baths, i promise.  we’ve got a few houses open that have running water.  you can stay in one of those — for the night, a week, however long you wish.  ❞   an offer that’s granted to him because she trusts him, her community trusts him — and she wants him to understand that he’s welcome  (  not just because it helps their own alliance, but because she cares about him, too.  )  

she takes a moment to think over his question.  she doesn’t want to bombard anyone just yet, but she also knows what he’s doing, and she knows that it might be best for the overall picture.  ❝ we’ve got a few who are still adjusting, but a few that would like to talk, too, i’m sure.  last family we got in was all the way from florida.  i imagine they’ve got quite the stories to tell.  i’ll set you up with them first thing, ❞  she assures.  ❝  any other progress on your end? ❞  she's always curious about his maps — if he’s learned any more than maria and her people had, if he’s got more context for the parts of the world they just hadn’t heard from yet. 

as he starts to tell her about his idea,  her arms cross over her chest,  eyes staring back at him with her usual sternness — not a defense against him, but rather, her shift to jackson councilperson,  taking in his suggestions.  as he finishes, she doesn’t say anything immediately, only nodding her head towards a nearby picnic table, inviting him to sit with her  (  the first clue that she welcomes the idea.  )   as she settles in, she rests her arms on the table hands clasped together before her.   ❝ okay. i’m hearing you, ❞  she finally says, raising a brow.  ❝  first things first— have you spent any time there?  checked the surrounding areas?  i know we’ve done our best to patrol the area between our communities, but i’d like to hear from you, too. ❞   it’s not a bad idea.  she just wants to cover the bases first.   

[seenoversundown]

A visual of the cozy little area all of the stories take place in 🥰 Old Port is a dreamy little part of the city, littered with brick buildings and cobblestone streets. The perfect quaint place for all of our favorite people to live and hang out.

Fun Fact; Caravel Tavern and the twins apartment are loosely based off of that sweet little restaurant, Old Port Tavern 😉