#enough of people being mad about the kiss. enjoy the complex emotions with me

[short-king-enthusiast]

God I LOVE how COMPLEX and ANGSTY their first time was. Stede was OVERWHELMED. With sadness? Guilt? WHO KNOWS but he just needed to FEEL SOMETHING POSITIVE. and because Ed has been thirsting for him for half a year he HAPPILY OBLIGED

But what's this now? They broke their rule that was there was a good reason. THEY'RE WHIM PRONE. They moved too fast. A step in their relationship that they wanted to be slow and special was taken by a SURGE OF STRONG EMOTIONS and now they're CONFLICTED. It's more real now and more real means more to lose.

Ed saying "last night shouldn't have happened" he didn't mean it but a part of him did !!

He didn't want it to happen the way it did! While Stede was reeling after he killed a man. The thing Ed didn't want him to do because this is the life he wants to escape. Escape it WITH STEDE. But it's too late for that and now they have to move forward together but THEY CANT BECAUSE ED THINKS STEDE WONT CHOOSE HIM OVER PIRACY IM FLAPPING MY ARMS WITH JOY THE ANGST IS INCREDIBLE THE FINALE IS GONNA BE SO GOOD

[alfredsolos]

Look, I love the concept of Damian and Jon being in a relationship. I think they would be pretty cute together. But I don't think this ship can work in DC canon. Let me explain.

If you think about it, the ship looks like it can work. Y'know; the classic grumpy x sunshine, opposites attract and stuff. But Damian and Jon are more complex than that.

Yes, Jon is a sunshine boy. But not like you think. He isn't a pacifist, he doesn't try to find a middle space to avoid conflict. He isn't scared of making his decisions known. He has strong morals and even a stronger sense of duty. He has priorities that he isn't willing to make an exception from.

Jon, in canon, is stubborn and isn't willing to bow down to anyone. Especially Damian. He gets mad at him, call him a jerk, an asshole. Which doesn't mean he hates Damian. On the contrary, it means he cares for him enough to teach him the 'right way'. Now let's take a look at Damian.

Damian is stubborn, arrogant, prideful, and overall has a dominant personality. He is also caring, emotional, insecure, loyal and sad. He has been continuesly traumatised by both of his parents, forced to prove himself and hated (killed) when he couldn't live up to their expectations. He is too tired to interact with other people, and too unwilling to make an effort about it.

When him and Jon first went out as Superboys, Damian didn't think of him as a friend. Maybe more of a sidekick. So he ordered him around, because he was more experienced in the field and leadership duties.

To Jon, Superboys were for hanging out and having fun. Yes he still wanted to save people, but he also learned to enjoy it. That's why they fight and argued all the time.

Now, let's say Jon and Damian was the same age and still went to school together. Think of the scenario that they started a romantic relationship. Both of them are inexperienced, but Jon is more aware of this kind of stuff due to movies and books. Damian on the other hand probably wouldn't know what to do and act as if nothing between them changed.

Jon would try going out on dates, but Damian would refuse and try to go on missions whenever both are together. We all know Damian isn't good with physical contact, so the intimacy would put him off a little or just straight up overwhelm him. Since Damian's attitude towards Jon wouldn't change, they'd still fight and argue. But unlike the times where they were best friends, they wouldn't make up quickly and feel awkward around each other.

Nothing that'd happen would be Damian or Jon's fault. Because Jon is, relatively, more normal compared to Damian about this kind of stuff. Jon's parents love each other and almost never argue. While Damian's mom ocassionally tries to kill him or hurt his father. His parents, as I've mentioned, are also abusive towards him. He doesn't know how to properly love. His innocence was taken away from him when he was barely a child.

So Jon and Damian would be better off in relationships, which their partners are more similar to them.

For Jon, his partner would probably be a normal person from school that he likes the personality and looks of. That person would be kind to other people, and they would be excited for their date and obsess over their first kiss. Romantic gestures would make them blush and smile like an idiot. They'd be more emotionally available.

For Damian, his partner would be from a similar background like his. Maybe an assassin or runaway. Just like Damian, they'd be cold and defensive at first. They wouldn't want to interact with people of fear from being caught or killed. They'd be scarred or maybe even a bit crazy. Killing would be a daily occurence to them. And neither of their life would put the other off. They'd accept each other with their worst of flaws.

That's why I think Jay Nakamura and Flatline were good matches for them. Because 'opposites attract' doesn't really work in DC fiction. The characters have way more depth than that.

Maybe in an alternate universe, where there were no such things as super heroes or villains, they'd work together. But not this universe.

[thunderheadfred]

💥Bakugou HC's💥

Aged-up pro hero Katsuki for all of these. Some NSFW beneath the cut. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

He’s scary good at everything he tries. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. It’s infuriating. Has zero patience when other people can’t immediately master a skill. Never let him teach you anything. Not that he’d offer, nerd.

He WILL offer, though. A lot. He can’t believe you still can’t Do That Thing. Tsh. Like THIS. You're gonna hurt yourself, Dummy.

But hold on. Of course you have unique skills of your own. You work hard to improve yourself. Trust me, he's the first person to notice. He doesn't praise anyone lightly, so when he raises his eyebrows and whispers he's impressed, your heart will go thermonuclear.

Perfect spelling and fully punctuated texts. Never uses abbreviations. Employs a grand total of four emojis, all of them angry faces. Constantly leaves you on read. He's busy, dammit.

Doesn’t smile or laugh in public (except sarcastically). His real smile is a crooked, fragile thing. Never make him feel self-conscious about it, or you might not see it again for weeks.

He does not talk about his private life to the press. Ever. Will K.O. rookie reporters who can't keep their big mouths shut.

HOweVER: he's intensely kind to his fans. There is a whole photographic sub-genre of little girls in cosplay hugging Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight like he's a Disney Princess.

Too smart for his own good. Emotionally hyper-vigilant. Overthinks every interaction to hell and back. Will act like he's not listening but actually hears every single word in a ten-block radius.

INSECURE AF. 110% convinced he will never be good enough. Terrified of his loved ones leaving him behind. Does he do anything to assuage his fears? Like... talk to anyone about it? Hell no. That would require admitting he has fears to begin with.

Seeing people upset makes him upset, especially if he doesn't know how to fix it.

The epitome of being mean because he cares. He genuinely does not seem to comprehend that monosyllabic grunts and lopsided shrugs are not actually that comforting.

Because he was such a brat growing up, he wants to make up for it now. Sort of. In his own way. Look, he's trying, okay?

He smells - so - good. Obscenely good. He doesn't wear cologne; are you joking? There's the burnt-sugar caramel candy smell of his quirk, for starters. And since he sweats deadly ammunition, he showers and wipes himself down almost constantly. He always smells clean. Like a fucking meadow.

Never got that growth spurt he was hoping for. He’s a short man - not even THAT short - but he has a Napoleon complex anyway. If you’re taller than him, the collars of your shirts will all be stretched out. He’s constantly dragging you down to his level. He will assert himself all the fucking time; the pissing contest is never-ending. Don’t wear tall shoes unless you want him to drag you around on a leash. If you’re shorter than him, that’s good. That’s very good. He likes that.

He’s an incredible cook, but everything he makes is a nuclear fire challenge. Adapt or starve.

- - - - -

Dating

Makes artisanal, nutritionally flawless bento lunches for both of you. When people assume his S.O. makes them, he gets fucking pissed. Damn right your co-workers are jealous of my cooking.

Your pet name is Dummy. Don’t like it? Fine. You can be dumbass.

There will be zero PDA in this relationship. His hands are shoved so deep in his pockets you can’t even try.

Intensely private with the press. But with his friends, he will brag about you nonstop. Bakugou Katsuki has the most talented and attractive and intelligent S.O., and anyone who doesn't recognize that is blind. Were you assholes even listening?

A mutual buddy definitely recorded one of these drunken brag-rants and sent it to you for safekeeping. Do not let Katsuki find out about it, unless you enjoy having an ash pile for a phone.

Gets jealous about everything, at least at the start. He calms down eventually. Kinda. He stops saying shit to you about it, anyway, because he learns to trust you. But anyone who so much as looks at you in a too-friendly manner will get the death stare of a lifetime.

He’ll throw all kinds of temper tantrums and the two of you will argue about every tiny fucking thing. He’ll scream out car windows, he’ll ball up his shirt and gnash on it. But he will never raise his voice at you. He’d rather die than make you feel unsafe.

Honestly, the constant bickering is really just... uhh... passionate communication. Eventually you both hash out the important things. You'll learn how to step around his landmines and actually make your points, and he'll learn to open up. A little.

Once you meet his mom, Katsuki starts to make a lot more sense. His family just... emotes like that. Eventually, you and his dad form a spousal support group consisting of exactly two lifetime members. He teaches you the Bakugou family semaphore you need to survive a long-term relationship.

Katsuki can dish it out but absolutely cannot take it. The only person who can level with him about serious issues without explosive fallout is his dad. Or, on a lucky day, Kirishima.

If you give him a legitimate criticism (even gently!) he will take it about as gracefully as a knife to the gut, because it confirms everything he hates about himself.

To your never-ending shock, you’ve made him cry. Yes, CRY! You monster! More than once! His lip gets all *trembly* and his eyes get all *watery* and all you want to do is hug him, but. No. He’ll storm out and wander around for a few hours before coming back with the problem perfectly solved.

He always takes your advice to heart. No, he will NOT talk about it, stop asking.

Gets mad if you don’t snuggle him on the regular. Will drag you into his lap with a pissy little grunt. There might be two seats on this couch but you will not be needing both of them.

Takes pictures of you while you sleep.

Takes even more pictures of you when you're awake but think he's out of the room.

He looks at all these pictures when he's away on high-stakes jobs. He gets all bleary eyed and sleeps in a salty puddle without you. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

You don’t have to meet him at the door or anything, but when he says “I’m home,” you’d better answer fast. If he doesn’t know your precise location in 0.05 seconds, he will assume you’ve been kidnapped. He never checks the fridge for notes. Never assumes you've gone down to the konbini for a snack. No, it’s kidnapping every time.

A terrrrrrible bed partner. He goes to bed at senior citizen hours and will never fuck you after sundown. He snores SO loud. Runs hot and sweats through the sheets. Slaps and elbows you in his sleep and aggressively spoons you with his loud, sweaty body. You WILL want to suffocate him. Separate bedrooms aren’t such a horrible idea......

BUT HANG ON, because in the morning he transforms into an honest-to-god angel. He's half awake, his guard is non-existent. Morning Katsuki is a doting kissy-faced marshmallow man.

If you can wake up before the ass-crack of dawn, he will pamper the fuck out of you. You are royalty for one (1) hour only, and he is your bleary-eyed slave. You want a cuddlefuck? You got it. Hugs? Kisses? Take as many as you need. You want a perfect, fluffy, NON-SPICY omelette with a heart drawn in ketchup? Here it is, gorgeous.

Then he gets in the shower and the spell is broken.

- - - - -

💥bang BANG💥

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this here is an ASS. MAN. He'll spank you with his quirk; doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Wants to see you wince when you sit down later.

Likes pounding you face down with a vice grip on your waist.

Unfortunately, even with all that said... he doesn't exactly have the feral beast sex drive you were expecting. He’s married to his work and has the fuddy-duddy habits of a once and future valedictorian. Only fucks you when he has the time and energy to fully dedicate himself to it.

But ohhhh. Shit. When it's time? It's TIME. The man will rush for nothing. Stamina for days. Making you cum as many times as possible is a point of pride. Yeah, you passed out once.

You’re gonna need those days off when he’s done with you.

That dick THICC.

Sends unsolicited dick pics. Only after you’ve been dating a good long while - he doesn't show that shit to just anyone. But yeah, don’t check your phone at work. He won't cum without you; those pictures and videos are time bombs. You better get home. Now.

Physically dominant as FUCK, but won’t verbally degrade you unless you ask. Well, let’s be honest. Unless you beg.

Praise him and reap the rewards. A long hard ego stroking will get him off more than touching his cock ever will.

Will grab your hair and fuck your throat. Will also stop immediately if you need him to.

The two of you have safe words and gestures. Even for vanilla stuff. He’s paranoid about scaring or hurting you. He insisted you both sign a color-coded ‘love contract’ that he meticulously formatted in a word processor. When you gave him guff about it, his blush was the darkest crimson you’d ever seen.

Coin-flip: he will sometimes be unbelievably gentle in bed. Doting and affectionate, taking perfect care of you. Like, it’s baffling. There’s no warning, the switch just flips. When you want him to be extra-rough and mean, he’ll sweetly worship you instead. For hours.

Bonus: he likes being penetrated. But of course he’s got a complex about that too. Super intense power bottom. You will never fuck him hard enough. He’d like to see you try. Hit his prostate just right and he might literally explode.

You'll live happily ever after but he will say he loves you out loud exactly once. Maybe. If you're lucky. And you're both about to die.

[savoies]

Things Changed - Pierre Luc Dubois.

Summary: Neighbors to lovers.

Word count: hopefully 1.6k

Warnings: hints of angst, a few bad words, mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol

A/N: Since I have a cute new neighbor I thought why not use the neighbors to lovers trope to live out all my fantasies. I had a lot of fun writing this with the help of a few close people so enjoy! (not proofread)

taglist: @hartsyhart​ ​ @nhlpetey​ @mitch-slap​ @frostythegoalman​ @ryanssuzuki​  @aria253264​ ​  @josty​ ​ @kaitieskidmore1​ ​ @kiedhara​ ​ @laurenairay​ ​ @teenagekook​ ​ ​ @alxvlasic​ ​ ​ @hockeyallthetime​ ​ ​ @barzy-baby​ ​ ​ @officialgritty​ ​ @bowenbyram​ ​ @mems06​ ​ ​ @joshsandersons​ ​  @connormcdavo​ @maattamatthews​ ​ @pierreslucdubois​ ​ ​ @selenophileangel​ @boqvistsbabe​ @ana-maa​ @stars-canucks​

tagging some friends: @npatrickz @beauvibaby @heybarzy @tkachuk-yeah @cozycozzy @2manytabsopen​

(*credit to gif owner*)

Y/N had recently moved to Canada seven months ago and honestly it was going just fine. Nothing major had happened other than wanting a change of pace and well she had gotten it. Well at least the most change her dog and her could get.

Today was a nice day so she decided why not head to the dog park that was connected to the apartment complex and just spend all day there. What she did not suspect was running into a cute stranger who happened to be her neighbor from a few doors down. 

Pierre had come to the dog park well to see the dogs. After the trade from Ohio to Winnipeg he decided that it was best to leave his dogs with his mom until he got settled in. He probably thought that most people would find a broading 6′ 3″ man sitting on a bench creepy but honestly he couldn't care less because the smile the dogs provided him as they ran by was worth the stares.

"Brody! Brody come back here." Y/N yelled as her dog ran across the yard in and around anything he could get through. As her dog ran up to a cute stranger sitting on a bench she couldn't mutter enough curse words to process why this was happening now and today. 

"I am so sorry about him, it's just we don't get out much." She replied and mentally shook her head, not understanding why she had to explain herself to a complete stranger.

"Oh it's totally okay, I love dogs. I actually have two but they are back at home. This might seem kind of straight forward but if you ever need a dog sitter I can offer my services." Pierre smiled at the dog and stranger in front of him.

Y/N knew that she shouldnt take up the offer but with work and life and a cute stranger who seemed actually genuine she threw away mostly all her morals and said why the fuck not.

"Really, that would be really helpful. I'm not sure if I should tell you my apartment number now or after I find out you're a murderer." She looked up at him. After assuring her that he was indeed not a murderer and just a normal guy who loved dogs they traded numbers and apartment info. I guess after all the dog park was worth it.

The First Time.

The first time Pierre earned his title of dog sitter was when you went away for a work conference. It had been three days. Honestly you were quite nervous since you had never really left your dog with anyone other than your family but after hanging out with him so often you felt like it was okay.

"Brody say bye to your mom, we are gonna have so much fun without her huh." He said as he led Brody into the living room and waited for you to give any special instructions.

"Pierre thank you so much for doing this. I want him the same way as when I left him." You hugged him as you said your goodbyes and gathered your things to head off to the airport for your departure. 

"Have some faith in me Y/N." He said as he closed the door and watched netflix with the dog cuddling into his side. 

The Second Time.

A family emergency had presented itself and as much as you wanted to take Brody with you you just knew it wasn't the best choice. Pierre had come over a few times to "spend time with Brody." Even though most of the time was spent joking around and talking about each other's week.

You had got the call when Pierre was over. Both of you sprawled out on the cold tiled floor. "Hello?" You answered as someone quickly informed you on what was going on. "Wait what, uhm yeah I'll go back home right now." You said as you hung up and quickly sprang up to your feet to pack.

"Pierre I know you're busy and you can say no but can you watch Brody, a family emergency has come up." You spoke hastily.

"Yeah of course, everything ok?" He asked worried.

"No but hopefully soon." You gave him a soft smile as you said your goodbyes and rushed out your apartment door.

The Third Time.

The third time was different. Not necessarily an emergency but mostly a way to make sure that your dog was okay for a few hours. Or at least not alone and spending it with one of his favorite people aside from you. You had gone out to a club with some coworkers and had dropped off Brody at Pierres earlier in the day. Of course you asked if he was busy and he said he had to catch up on some work so that's the only reason you really asked him to. You knew he had a life aside from your dog sitting escapades. 

Later on in the night as you arrived home with a guest you had asked him to wait by the door as you went to go pick up Brody from a few doors down. It was late and maybe you should have just done it in the morning.  But your mind being hazy with the few drinks from earlier didn't think about Pld being asleep and you knocked before you could stop yourself.

Pierre was slowly drifting off to sleep with thoughts of you in his head. How he had to adapt to this new city which he barely knew anything about but since you had come into his life everything seemed somewhat easier. 

There was a soft knock on his door and as he rubbed the tiredness from his eyes he walked up to the door with Brody close by to his feet and he saw you. "Y/N hey what are you doing here?" He asked confused on why you were here at one in the morning.

"Just here to pick up Brody." You smiled at him as he looked towards your apartment and his smile dropped as he saw the random dude standing in front of your door awkwardly. 

 He knew he shouldn't be making a big deal out of it. You guys weren't anything in the first place. But Pierre couldn't help what he felt towards you.

"You okay?" He asked before letting you head back.

"Yeah, I'll see you soon." You said as you walked away. 

After that things weren't the same. You could sense it. After getting the stranger out your bed you cleaned up and headed over to Pierres for your weekly brunch hang out but he didn't answer. That wasn't what made you realize that it wasn't the same. I mean you knew he had a busy life. Maybe it was the way that every time there was a knock on your door you were hoping it was Pierre hoping to "hang out with Brody" but it never was.

Or maybe it was that he was ignoring you. It had been a week since you had last seen him and as you walked to the elevator you tried to rack your mind with what you could've done to upset him.

As you reached the elevator there stood the boy that you so much wanted to see. Pierre rolled his eyes as you arrived, having deliberately been avoiding you for a full week and bumping into you in the only place he couldn't escape.

Y/N looked up at him hoping that he would talk. Hoping that somehow he would reveal why he was mad or at least why he was ignoring her.

"So it seems like you were just using me as a dog sitter huh.” Pierre broke the silence. He was feeling so many emotions seeing the person that made him feel good about himself. 

"What, Dubois what are you talking about?" Y/N looked up at him confused on why he would even think that. Cause honestly it did start like that but after that it grew into a friendship that she was so thankful for.

 Pierre just scoffed thinking of what he would say next. "The dude you brought back to your apartment."

"What about him?" Y/N asked.

"Look when i offered to be your dog sitter i didn't think it was for bringing guys around." 

"Look Pierre i don't mean this to sound rude at all but when you offered you said it was for whenever i needed a dog sitter and i brought Brody over because I thought you liked spending time with him. And honestly the guy is a one time thing.” Y/N spoke up suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable recalling the events from last night to her not so stranger anymore cute neighbor.

 "I do love dogs, honestly spending time with him was nice but why do you think I always came over to hang out with Brody?" He asked putting air quotes around hanging out. Then it clicked in Y/Ns mind. Him coming over more than two times a week, him ignoring her after her unfortunate night with a stranger, them now spilling their guts to each other in an elevator. He liked her. At least she hoped that she was right and was not about to make a dumb mistake.

"Oh." escaped from her mouth. As the door opened and Pierre smiled at Y/N waiting for somewhat of a reaction other than oh. 

"Pierre I've always been bad at reading signs so I'm really hoping that I'm reading the correct sign right now. Uhm would you like to maybe come over later, you know to hang out with Brody?" You asked as you put air quotes around hanging out with Brody like he had down earlier.

"I thought you'd never ask." He replied before placing a kiss on your cheek leaving you with a small smile on your face.

[purplepenntapus]

Rating Versions of Harry Osborn: Updated

Wanted to redo this post with a more comprehensive and inclusive list of Harrys

616 Comics: 

Just such a good and complex character. The OG Harry. His relationship with Peter just adds so much depth to every Green Goblin arc because of the inherent conflict of Peter knowing he needs to take down Norman Osborn, but not wanting to hurt or lose his best friend. (If you’ve read Kindred no you haven’t.) He’s still... ugly... I’m sorry 616 Harry... I love you so much but they did you dirty... Some artists do their best with what they have but... I’m not a big fan of western comic style in general so that doesn’t help. Has three failed marriages by the time he’s 30 because he’s gay and deeply closeted.  8/10

Spider-Man the Animated Series (1994):

The Harry plotline in this show reeeeally doesn’t feel earned, because the first time we see Harry having an active role in the show, he asks Peter to move in with him because Norman wants him to have a responsible studious roommate  (a detail from the comics I was EXTREMELY excited to see play out), and Peter comments that they barely know each other. Ultimately they live together for all of one day before Peter decides to move back in with Aunt May. The next time we see Harry, MJ calls him Peter’s best friend, despite the fact that we haven’t seen Peter hanging out with—or even MENTIONING—Harry since the last episode when they were basically strangers. Really it feels like he’s just there to cause romantic drama as the guy MJ graciously settles for when she gives up on Peter. I found the whole goblin plotline kind of boring and lacking in depth.  3/10

Raimi Trilogy:

I was never interested in Raimi Harry until after I started liking and exploring other versions of Harry, because I just thought he was kinda a shit friend. He’s a pretty strong character overall, but his motivations aren’t as obvious. He’s torn between his love of Peter as his best friend, and his bitterness towards Peter for being the man his father wished he was. I don’t think Raimi Harry really wanted MJ, he just wanted to get back at Peter in a way by taking someone that HE loved. However I feel like his characterization kind of sways back and forth between sympathetic and not depending on how he’s written in the scene, and it disappoints me that the thing that gets him to stop tormenting Peter is the butler telling him out of nowhere that Norman died from his own blade, rather than any real character development on his part. 6/10

Spectacular Spider-Man:

I still haven’t watched all of this show because I... can’t STAND this version of Peter... but I’ve watched many clips with this boy and he’s just... so sweet... He only wants to be loved and keeps getting his heart broken. Deserves better. On everything. He deserves a better father, a better best friend, better love interests, everything. I do really enjoy the way they incorporated 616 Harry’s drug abuse into this show with the Globulin Green, it was a very clever way to incorporate that aspect of his character, but tone it down for younger viewers. I’ve watched the scene of him getting “unmasked” as the Green Goblin about a million times it’s very good. 8/10 

Ultimate Spider-Man:

I love him. Most people fear drifting apart from those close to us, so watching Harry struggle with the new and increasing distance between him and Peter as Peter seemingly makes new, “better” friends is downright heartbreaking. Especially when he overhears Sam implying that Peter only hangs out with him for his money which is something he’s clearly experienced a lot. (Seriously Sam what the fuck.) I also love his struggle with Venom throughout the series as a metaphor for his anger and bitterness, it’s never truly gone even when they work hard to remove it. It’s always there to bubble back up under extreme amounts of stress, especially when Norman is involved. (Also this isn’t a Norman review, but USM Norman is the only version of Norman Osborn that has rights and he works hard to be the father Harry deserves.) Had an honest to God meet-cute with Peter like come on???? Its unfortunate how much they cut back Harry’s role in the third and fourth season, I really would have loved to see more of him. Threw a party specifically so he could ignore Peter to his face because he was jealous and I respect that level of pettiness. 9/10

Spider-Man: The New Animated Series

I didn’t think it was possible to create an uglier Harry than 90s Harry but this blonde, fuck-boy lookin creepass came and proved me wrong. Who the FUCK is this?? Doesn’t have any recognizable characteristics of Harry Osborn besides being rich and hating Spider-Man. Also just... look at him. I wouldn’t trust this man anywhere NEAR my drink at a party. #NotMySon -3/10

The Amazing Spider-Man:

He’s okay. I think he has some very emotional scenes and good chemistry with Peter, but it’s dampened by the fact that he wasn’t present in the first film and had to share the second with like two other main plot lines. Ultimately ends up being the least sympathetic version of Harry Osborn because he became the original Green Goblin and killed Gwen, rather than following in his father’s footsteps. That’s not to say he’s a completely unsympathetic character. He has a strong motivator in his fear of death, and I do think the choice they made for his character were interesting and could have developed really well, but they didn’t get the chance since the franchise was dropped. 5/10

PS4 Spider-Man:

ABSOLUTELY ADORE HIM. WISH WE GOT MORE OF HIM. HAVING YOUR EXPECTATIONS OF HARRY OSBORN BROKEN AS YOU SNEAK AROUND NORMAN’S PENTHOUSE AND LEARN THAT HE’S BEEN SECRETLY STRUGGLING WITH A GENETIC DISEASE HE’S BEEN HIDING FROM HIS BEST FRIENDS FOR YEARS WAS -chef’s kiss- GENIUS. PLEASE GIVE US A SECOND GAME WITH VENOM HARRY. 10/10

Marvel’s Spider-Man (2017):

Still easily my favorite version of Harry Osborn. When I first began watching the show I was startled by their decision to make Harry a science genius like Peter because it was so different from their usual dynamic, and many people who aren’t fans of the show point to this as something they dislike. But I actually ended up really loving the decision. It gives a different flavor to Harry in how he reacts to the events of the show and how we interpret his character traits, while still being very inherently Harry Osborn. Harry is jealous of Peter, he loves him dearly, but there’s always this ember of bitter envy ready to burst into anger whenever the plot creates friction between them. This is one of the defining traits of their relationship and in most versions it’s not hard to understand why. Peter has what Harry wants. He’s intelligent, he has potential, and most importantly he’s loved. Peter is the son Harry knows Norman wishes he had, and that creates a wedge between them. Marvel’s Spider-Man changes this dynamic. Harry can easily stand toe-to-toe with Peter in terms of intelligence, and in fact they often work together to create things or solutions Peter couldn’t have come up with on his own. That initial wedge between them isn’t there, creating a very endearing and loving friendship that we know is doomed to sour because it isn’t enough. MSM Harry could be the person Norman wants him to be, and that places the full weight of his father’s impossibly high expectations on his shoulders, always within reach but never quite achievable. So it makes a lot more sense why Peter initially has a low guard towards Norman (as opposed to some other series where Peter seems oddly dismissive of Harry’s justified complaints) and Harry’s own steadfast loyalty to his father. On the surface Norman seems like a perfectly loving parent, he encourages his son, he created an entire school for him when he was wrongfully accused of sabotage, it’s only when you start to dig deeper into their relationship that you see the subtle manipulations and the issues Harry has from constantly chasing his father’s approval. This creates a Harry who is desperate for validation and extremely sensitive to rejection, which colors his relationship with Peter throughout the show. I’m still mad he got nerfed in the second and third seasons because Disney is homophobic. TLDR: I may be biased ... Infinity/10

MCU:

Where is he? Who knows? Man missing in action.  ?????/10

[raineeskiesabove]

What about angsty Venlumi like Venti taking an arrow for Lumine?

Hi anon, I made this into a oneshot if that’s okay. I’m not sure what I wrote, since I did it while I’m feeling ill so uh;;; enjoy? eheh...

The Stars Will Not Take You | Venti x Lumine Oneshot

It was supposed to be a simple commission. Take out the hilichurl camp, remove any leftover structures, collect and go home. Venti had been there. He was supposed to protect her. So why, instead of singing and laughing with her that evening, he was holding onto her lifeless hand, with the fleeting hope that she would awaken?

As the walked along the road bordering the outskirts of Monstadt, Venti hummed playfully, practicing a new song as they walked. Despite being on their way to a potentially dangerous commission, Venti was as happy as ever. Lumine chuckled to herself, stealing glances at his cheerful smile. She increased her grip around his fingers slightly, relishing in the warmth of his skin against hers. It was moments like this that made her feel at ease. He made her feel like everything would be alright, which is something she desperately needed to stave off the flood of doubts and fears that plagued her mind.

“Venti,” she placed her index finger against her lips, emphasizing for him to quiet himself. They had reached the hilichurl camp.

Huddled in a nearby bush, Lumine’s eyes widened upon seeing the horde occupying the camp. The commission paper stated that the group would be small, not an entire tribe. Maybe more.

“Lumi I don’t know about this. There are too many for simply making a pretty penny. And there are only two of us,” he whispered, the singsong tone in his voice now gone.

Lumine shook her head, “No, we need this money. I’m running low from buying supplies and we must move forward soon. We can’t waste time, Venti,” she explained, face and voice steady as stone.

Venti sighed, his grip now tightening around her slightly smaller hand.

He shook his head, “I cannot allow this. What if something goes amiss?” His words rang in his ears, the realization that he trespassed on his own principles made him bite his tongue.

“We’ll be alright, I can take them. As long as you support me from the rear, that money is as good as ours.”

The bard looked away, his eyebrows knit in a slight scowl. Who was he to stop her? Lumine was free to make her own choices, even if it meant putting herself at risk.

“Fine. I shall support you. Please be careful,” he pleaded.

She brushed a hand against his cheek, kissing his forehead softly in reassurance. Offering him a small smile, she whispered that she would be careful, before standing to lead their small siege.

Initially, the attack went well. Venti used his winds to knock the hilichurls off their feet, giving Lumine more time to clear the way. She fought gracefully, her sword slicing through her enemies effortlessly, her footwork more akin to a dancer than a fighter. Venti consciously told himself to focus, for fear of growing lost in her performance, and yet, the windward god still failed.

“Venti, look out!”

He heard her, but it was much too late to react, the next moment bringing him back to a harsh reality. A sharp pain erupted at his shoulder, an arrow imbued with pyro had struck him. The bard let out a yelp in pain, the arrow burning him from the inside out. The chants of the hilichurls grew louder, now closing in on his vulnerable form. He used his other hand to channel Anemo to hold them off, but it proved difficult to cast with only one arm.

“Venti!” Lumine shouted through a crowd of hilichurls, the monsters falling at her hand as she drew closer to him.

“Lumi, don’t! There are too many! Retreat before- ” his sentence was cut off by another arrow, this time one imbued with electro, sunken deeply into his thigh. His leg twitched at the sensation, the jolts of electricity making his leg grow limp and numb.

“Venti, no!”

For the first time, Venti saw fear flash through Lumine’s golden eyes, her complexion growing pale from seeing her beloved being slowly chipped away. It was impossible for her to reach him, the hilichurls creating an impassable barrier between them. He offered a small smile, mouthing for her to go, praying that she would follow his orders. As he did so, yet another arrow struck his small frame, this time cryo against his side. The impact made him cough, blood spilling from the corners of his lips. She couldn’t stand it anymore. With a strangled cry, she used all of her power to summon a tornado, the sheer force causing many of the monsters to grow caught up in the storm. The larger mitachurls, however, remained unfazed, only growing irritated by the gusts of wind. In her worry, Lumine failed to notice this, ignoring them in favor of making a mad dash towards the staggered Venti.

As a seasoned archer, it was common knowledge that arrows should not be pulled out, for fear of excessive bleeding. But gods, did the added elemental damage hurt. Admittedly, he grew more hopeful as Lumine grew closer, happy that she had fought so hard to protect him.

His happiness quickly dissipated, however, upon seeing a mitachurl charging straight for her. Lost in her emotions, Lumine’s reaction was slowed, her sword only enough to reduce the severity of the major slice the monster inflicted across her midsection.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

Immediately, Venti pulled all three arrows from his body, blood already soaking through his clothing as he drew his bow to fire. His shoulder burned as he released Wind’s Grand Ode, the force of the bowstring making him hiss in pain. With the mitachurl out of the way, Venti rushed to Lumine, her form now twisted and lifeless against the bloodstained grass.

“Lumi!”

Her entire chest and abdomen had been sliced open, blood pooling around her unconscious form. He placed his hands against the wound to curb the bleeding, but at this rate she didn’t have long to live.

“No, no. Celestia, no! Lumine, you can’t die on me!”

Already, his hands were dyed red with her blood, her breathing growing extremely shallow and faint. He felt tears begin to stream down his face as he wailed hopelessly. They were miles from the nearest statue or Monstadt, and he himself could barely walk, let alone carry her.

“It is unlike you to be bested so easily in battle, Lord Barbatos,” a voice thundered.

Venti looked up, finding himself face to face with Dvalin, a previous member of the Four Winds. A dear friend of his.

Venti sniffed, trying to wipe away the snot running down his face. “D-dvalin. My friend, I plead for your aid in this hour of need. Not for myself, but for her. Please, help me to protect what I hold most dear,” he sobbed.

Dvalin blinked. Never had he seen the archon so vulnerable. So devastated. The warm smile and bouts of laughter that typically sounded from him were nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by a look that made his heart grow heavy.

“A statue, or Monstadt, my lord?”

“Monstadt. This wound is too complex for the statue’s effects.”

He never left her side. Regrettably, he snapped at the clerics when they asked him to leave and return in the morning, to which he refused to do so. Now, alone with her sleeping form, Venti sighed, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper at them. They were only trying to help. Just like how you were back there. That’s something I love about you. But at the same time... it frightens me. Deeply. What would I do if you were to suddenly disappear?” he whispered to her, his voice trembling with fear from his own words.

As he held back another set of tears, he heard a faint whisper, “...not going anywhere,” she said. She moved her hand to hold his weakly, her eyes opened a crack to see his crying face.

“Lumi? Oh, I’m so sorry. I- I failed to protect you, and I should’ve pulled the arrows out sooner and gone to help and-“

She cut him off with a bandaged finger to his lips. “Venti, love, don’t blame yourself,” she assured, offering a small smile before attempting to sit up.

She winced from the movement, Venti feeling powerless in only holding onto her hand and the small of her back. He leaned in closer to take her in a gentle embrace, his tears now staining her white infirmary shirt. His free hand moved from her back to her hair, gripping it protectively.

“Lumine, promise me something,” he choked, ignoring her previous remark.

She combed her own hand through his hair, saying nothing.

“Promise me, please don’t disappear,” he whispered.

She didn’t say anything for a long time, and Venti began to wonder if she had fallen back asleep.

“Venti, look at me,” she said, pulling away. “Do you see me?”

He nodded, “Every beautiful bit.”

She smiled sheepishly, trying not to get sidetracked. “Yes, and thus, my promise is already fulfilled, my love,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Even if I am gone, you will always remember me. I will not be forgotten, and that’s enough for me.”

“But it isn’t for me! You need to live, Lumine!”

“Of course I will, I wouldn’t want to live a day apart from you. But someday, we will be forced apart. It will happen, Venti. But I promise, that somewhere among the stars, we will meet again,”

“Lumine...”

“People are separated, but never for forever, my dear,” she placed her forehead against his, looking into his eyes earnestly. “Do not worry, my archon,” she half joked, letting out a small chuckle.

He sighed, smiling from the influence of her laughter. “Your words indeed ring true, my disciple,” he replied, nuzzling against her soft cheek. “But I will protect you from harm’s way, so that the stars may claim you another day.”

[lilsuzn]

MLQC Gavin - Fluff abc headcanons

So by the popular demand - I am back.

Just kidding. No one was asking.

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen's Choice

Warnings: None (the reader is gender neutral)

Dedication: @marytheredqueen

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

You need to trust me when I tell you that Gavin had indeed tried to find at least one thing he could dislike about you. Many times.

Yet your body seems to have no flaws. He checked quite a few times at this point.

Your heart is pure. Loving. Patient. Loyal.

Whenever you’re at his side… The world is at peace. No pain exists, nor does suffering.

You are his purpose. You are his equilibrium. Nothing matters as long as he can be by your side.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Your beautiful eyes.

There will never be anything more beautiful than the way they shine before your lips meet in a loving kiss.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Him on his back.

You in his arms. Laying on top of him.

Your head rests on his chest, no matter if it’s your front, side or back that presses against his muscular torso - it’s perfect.

He also likes the smell of your shampoo… it’s just intoxicating for him.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

He likes doing things outside with you.

Attending festivals, engaging in new, interesting sports, indulging in some street food or picnics.

He’s a sucker for long, romantic walks too, soooooo

He takes you out to the festival. Buys all kinds of yummy food for both of you to share. Wins you an enormous plushie and then carries it around for you. While holding your hand. Tightly.

Then takes you for a night stroll, to then kiss you under the sky full of stars before you turn back.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

He only feels like he can really express himself around you - so it will get intense. In all the best ways.

Gavin doesn’t shy away with showing you his affection, even if he tends to have a slight problem with voicing it sometimes.

His expression softness, his fingers brush delicate circles on your skin.

He doesn’t need to say anything. You know.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Oh he really, really wants a family.

Two kids… or maybe more.

A dog for them, maybe.

House with a big garden and a treehouse.

He wants to play and fool around with his kids. Put them to bed. Support them. Be proud of them… Everything his father never did.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

When you want something, no matter how silly it might be - it’s yours.

Don’t even make me start on what you need.

Because there are very little things (and all of them are about you) that could make him happier than seeing you happy because of what he gave you.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

It's not optional.

There will be hands holding whenever it's possible.

It’s as much for your safety as it is for his comfort. 

All these guys with eyes better don’t use them to stare at you. 

See this hand? This beautiful gem of a person is with ME.

Likes to hold your hand while snuggling on a couch. Or in bed while falling asleep.

Holding hands is like a physical projection of the bond that’s between the two of you - and he loves it.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

He would blame himself. No matter what. It might be ridiculous, but he would always feel guilty for not preventing it from happening.

Wouldn’t leave your side. Would help you with anything and everything.

If there’s a concrete person or a group of people that caused your harm... Insert a very, very angry and strong bird cop with a gun.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

You would have a light-hearted relationship in which he would tease you from time to time and he wouldn’t be mad if you did the same to him.

However he’s not one to prank you. He would find no enjoyment in it.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Gavin loves to be kissed and he loves to kiss. All over your face. All over your body.

Any kisses are game. Slow and passionate ones. Heated ones. Sweet, delicate, loving, appreciating - he loves them all as long as he can share them with you.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Acts of service - He looooves to spoil his lovely sweetheart (you) this way. Wants to bring you food, tidy up your apartment for you, brush your hair, paint your nails… Just ask him and he will do it. Whatever it is. And then he will do things on his own initiative, because he likes to surprise you. You smile so beautifully when he does…...

Gifts - He likes gift giving as I already mentioned in G, but it’s no indication of love to him. He just enjoys your reactions. Prefers to show his love differently.

Physical touch - His number one and you can not convince me it is not. He’s a snuggly bear who loves kisses. You are just so soft and warm and he loves you sosososososo much. Would never want to hold this way any other. His physical affection is something reserved only for you. 

Quality time - see Q.

Words of affirmation - Gavin is not very good with words. Not that he can’t be when he wants to, but he kinda doesn’t want to most of the time. It’s uncomfortable. He’s feeling unconfident doing so. He prefers other ways, but when he does speak up… It’s the most adorable and loving thing you will ever hear in your life.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

It was your first 'real' date, but even though you both confessed love to each other, you weren't a ‘official’ couple yet.

At least there was no proper act of becoming a one.

You walk through the park on an evening of a chilly fall. Not many people in sight.

You just finished a lovely dinner date. Gavin even bought you a dessert to share.

And it just felt right. Everything.

The way your fingers were laced. How you both couldn't spot peeping at each other.

"Will you be my girlfriend Y/N? Please?"

He sure was pretty sure you wouldn't deny him, but he didn't expect you to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him the way you did.

"Nothing could ever make me happier than that, Gavin."

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

He’s scared of losing you.

Either by you walking away from him after discovering that you “deserve so much better”

Or by not being alert enough to protect you…

Surely, he would prefer the first option, but he can’t deny that both would hit him harder than anything else ever could.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

Gavin is a little bit of an odd duck in general, but I think he has one major weirdness about him.

I would call it… A Keanu Reeves complex.

He doesn’t like compliments. Always feels like they’re far from true, because he always feels like he’s not enough and maybe even never will be.

Which is so far from true.

Like, Vivi, come on! You’re so freakin perfect!

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

He usually calls you simply by your name, but the boy has his moments.

Moments when he can help but call you all sorts of the cutest names.

Little angel, starry eyes, little munchkin along with the classics like honey, babe, sweetheart, treasure and my precious.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

How?

Often.

Intensely.

Calmly.

Comfortably.

Restlessly.

He just wants to be by your side. Any. Chance. He. Gets.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

Moonlight by Ariana Grande

Because Gavin’s sweet like candy, but he’s such a man...

Or A Drop In The Ocean by Ron Pope 

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

Not at all. At least at first.

He gets better with time, but you still need to ask for it. He would never just come to you to lean on your shoulder and tell you what troubles him.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

Well. A lot.

Because of what I say in X below.

He just assumes that you don’t reciprocate his feelings, because he doesn’t deserve it.

He eventually tells you about his feelings under your insistent questions regarding the subject.

And then? After he finally tells you?

That’s when it escalates quickly.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

At first he tries to keep it inside. Not let you see… But it’s pretty obvious since he doesn’t talk to you. Barely throws any acknowledgment your way.

It would take quite some convincing for him to tell you what’s wrong.

Unless it’s jealousy that is a reason behind his anger. Then he will show you just how upset he is…

Not necessary in a bad way, tho...

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He’s very proud of you. Always.

Even when you think you’re a failure, he still recognizes how hard you work and how smart you are.

And he also prides himself for earning love of a woman as wonderful as you.

But he’s not a show off. He doesn’t like to be in a center of attention. He doesn’t care for compliments or recognition.

He knows how wonderful you are and that’s all that matters to him.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Well, it goes without saying.

Yes. Obviously.

This is Gavin. He does it actively throughout the whole story like it’s the only thing he knows.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

He’s not an expert in emotions.

He gave MC a blood stained letter and was surprised she was troubled by that.

Okay, let’s not sugar coat it - he’s not good at it at all. I said it.

I’m sorry. I wish it was different for you Vivi.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

I think in Gavin’s case it would be no kneeling with a ring type of thing, because he personally sees no value of that.

Of course, he would if you told him that that’s what you want, but if you don’t…

It would be a beautiful, summer evening. The both of you watching a beautiful sunset from the rooftop of a high building.

Last months you spent together were absolutely wonderful. Life with you by his side was much happier than Gavin could ever dream of… And the way the golden sunlight graces your skin is so, so beautiful.

It wasn’t the first time the thought crossed the bird cop’s mind. He caught himself thinking about it more and more often as your relationship progressed… And before he knew it, the words left his lips.

At first you were sure you must have misheard, so you asked him to repeat. And he did.

His beautiful eyes glimmered with so much love… just as much as you felt for him. 

How could you say no to that gorgeous man that adores you so much?

And after that, expect to someday come back home to find the most beautiful and meaningful ring in the world waiting for you to wear it.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

Gavin is a man who enjoys simple things in life.

He likes to cozy up with you on a couch on his birthday. 

Watch a sunrise and drink cocoa with you on Christmas.

He obviously enjoys various sports, especially if he can enjoy them with you.

But what really, really makes him perfectly calm? Driving Sparky with your hands around his ways and your chest pressed against his back.

The feeling of freedom mixed the warmth of your closeness… how could anyone ask for more?

[itsclydebitches]

I adore talking about this with you, it's so cool to be able to agree, everything I've read is just excusing yen lmao.

And with "geralt would rather do and say things Yen wants to avoid pissing her off" LIKE YEAHH I guess I annoyed yen with my answers and she teleported Geralt out of the tower thing, and then threatened to do it again like??? Like he pissed her off so she has fuck all care about him, was over water thank god but like girl??? omg and her refusing to tell the wticher bros what she was planning on doing to Uma, like I get that they would be hesistent but I mean it's cause it's cruel and painful and they have that trauma around that. She just expects everyone to do what she asks when she asks no questions. (Lambert's "I'm not geralt" when he and Yen are kinda arguring, bb red flags)

I just assumed she didn't believe him cause if she did whats her excuse for behaving how she is lmao??? Like you believe he has amnesia and you still blame HIM over the person who maniplated him KAY.

And goodddd that fucking scene when Triss and Yen see Ciri in Kaer Morhen is genuinely the worst, Triss and Yen see their sis/daughter (not gonna get into how weird I find it that Triss considers Ciri her sister and Geralt is Ciris father and she still wants to fuck him, uncomfy) for the first time in forever, she's alive and well and while Triss is hugging Ciri, Yen kisses Geralt and Triss throws a glare at her. I hated that scene so damn much, it's stupid and shouldn't have been there. (aso I get emotions and all but Yen kissing Geralt is so bitchy, idk even full of gratitude and emotion I wouldn't kiss the man who just dumped me lol, especially not in front of a situation like Triss)

I'm still mad about the women, I really wanted to like them fuck meeee

YOU GOT TO THE PART. Oh thank god, anon, I've wanted to talk about this since we started these conversations lol

Okay, let's set the scene, shall we? You arrive to find that, with our playthroughs anyway, your ex has barged into your home. I say "barged in" because although we (Geralt) know that Yen's help is necessary and she'll be tagging along, the other witchers living there are given no prior warning and, according to Vesemir, Yen teleported in without so much as a "Hello." She then immediately starts ordering everyone around like her servants, failing to explain the situation beyond there being a curse that they have to help with. No, this isn't negotiable. She (still being an ex) takes your old room for herself, which just happens to be the biggest in the keep, and proceeds to toss a bed out the window. It's only later that Vesemir recalls that Triss used to use it, so prior to that everyone apparently just accepted that Yen was destroying their stuff for no understandable reason. Classic Yen. You go upstairs to find her cursing a blue streak at her failed experiment and when you try to lighten the mood, she snaps at you. If you're of the opinion that Yen's every order must be obeyed, this is when you're supposed to drop the conversation entirely, because she said to. Except, funnily enough, you'd like to know why she's up here being The Worst Guest Ever and destroying your property. She tries to justify this by saying that destroying a bed is better than how she could be dealing with her anger over Triss. Be grateful and all that. Except, it's not really about Triss, is it? The line is "You shagged my friend. For upwards of a year. I don't know what your witcher's code says on the matter, but ordinary folk would consider it obscene, base, vile." The blame is not on the woman who knowingly manipulated Geralt into having sex with her while he was vulnerable, it's on Geralt himself! He is the "obscene, base, vile" person for... daring to have amnesia? And when you point that out - "Yen... told you already. I lost my memory" - she yells that she's "lost [her] patience" and teleports you into a lake! This is, apparently, how she really wants to deal with her anger. Not by destroying beds, but by attacking you for things outside of your control. And I do consider it an attack. Yen is meant to be insanely powerful, she is leveraging her magic as a weapon here, particularly when Geralt has spent the whole game commenting on how much he hates portals. Yen knows this. Not just because he says so in her presence, but because she frequently reads his mind, something else he's expressed discomfort with. She's not just demonstrating her power (controlling) and sending him away when he makes a point she doesn't want to acknowledge (immature), she chooses the one thing she knows makes Geralt uncomfortable, perhaps even scared. Then when you've swum your way back to shore and returned to, despite all this, begin her list of chores, she makes a dry comment about how next time she just might drop you high enough for the fall to be fatal. With the next time implied to be, you know, the next time you disagree with her. The next time you dare to do anything other than agree with her every belief and jump at her every command.

The fandom interpretation of all this: "Lol Geralt getting yeeted is so funny. And their banter is just 😍"

Me:

You mentioned red flags and yeah like that ENTIRE SCENE is a crimson banner for me. I mean, by all means, love the fictional ships that are super messed up (I often do), but it astounds me how many fans honestly think this is just a cute interaction with absolutely no problems attached. Nothing to question here, folks. I've mentioned before, but last I discussed this in depth the asker wanted to know if I'd been an asshole to Yen and... that's it. That's the perspective. Any disagreement with her, any pushback, anything that's not complete, blind obedience is something she will not permit AND something most fans take as a given. If you're not doing what Yen tells you to, you're automatically the asshole, and if you're the asshole, you automatically deserve any punishment she chooses to dish out.

Comic spoilers coming up if you want to skip, but this is made abundantly clear in "Curse of Crows." Yen and Geralt are at their best in the moment below, enjoying one another's company on a nice day. Yen asks if Geralt wants to swim and he says nah, he'd rather watch her. She appears to like that idea and, indeed, swims naked while Geralt admires from the shore.

Actually cute right? I really liked this moment! They're cuddled up together and exchanging smiles. It's a rare moment of peace where I can believe that they truly care for one another, outside of passionate sex and not wanting the other dead. Finally, something beyond that incredibly low bar.

...except Yen starts flirting with a young man who shows up, invites him to travel with them, all while refusing to explain why she's interested in his company. The sudden third wheel is clearly bothering Geralt, but Yen continues to ignore his questioning. The answer she finally gives later that night?

She did it purely to mess with Geralt! It's his "just desserts" for "refusing to swim with [her]." She is "not one to be refused - I thought you needed reminding" by giving him "a flick on the nose." When I say that Yen treats Geralt like a dog I mean she literally treats him like a dog. He's a servant who must jump at her every command and if he doesn't, he'll punished for disobedience. He might not even know why he's being punished for a long stretch because Yen enjoys making him think she's a normal person capable of accepting that he doesn't feel like swimming right now - insert the Kaer Morhen scene where she wants to go have sex upstairs, but Geralt wants to catch up with the brothers he hasn't seen in an age here - only to reveal that actually she's made their formerly nice outing uncomfortable because he needs to be put in his place. All of which is followed by, "So... willing to join me now?" The message is very clear! Geralt had better get his ass in that tub unless he wants to be punished some more. Whether he wants a bath right now or not is inconsequential.

This is also the run where she scares the women Geralt was with, despite them being separated right now. Why? "I could."

Claims that Geralt is allowed to return to his companions (who he actually waves away) only for him to realize she's cast a spell to burn him with the water. Yen loves pretending she's okay with things only to punish Geralt for them later - sometimes with physical punishments. And what would have happened if the women had actually joined him again? Do witchers weather hot water better than the average courtesan? Who knows, but Yen clearly doesn't care who might get hurt.

Just like her time in Skellige and at Kaer Morhen, she refuses to explain what's going on. She just expects people to obey her, so-called loved ones included. Geralt was to get her cider, and arrive before her bath went cold, not question what they're doing on this dangerous hunt. He's a servant.

And my favorite, petty moment: transforming her awful inn food into a lavish meal without offering to do the same for either Geralt or Ciri.

"But, Clyde, that's just the comics. They're not really canon." Nah, questions of canon aside, this is 100% Yen's characterization. She's prideful. Immature. Beyond controlling. And punishes anyone who dares to tell her "No." Fans are always pointing out that she's meant to be horrible, she could have been a villain in another life, like any of that explains why I'm supposed to root for this relationship or enjoy her existence outside of being a complex character. Yen is interesting, but she's interesting in a "I can't wait to see her get her own just desserts" way. Not "Wooo now I get to watch this story ignore her behavior again to push a True Love narrative."

She punished Geralt frequently during their first meeting, she punishes him whenever they get together, and, I think, she punished him during the reunion with Ciri. Given our playthroughs, do we really think that after breaking up with her and all this fury over Triss - an anger so deep she destroyed the bed and attacked Geralt - she's just overcome with such joy that she forgets they're not together anymore and forgets the anger she's been nurturing for years? Yen doesn't forget. She's staring at Ciri during that moment, right where Triss is currently running towards them, and then after a considering look at Geralt pulls him in for that kiss. That was calculated. She did that to make a claim she no longer had. To punish them both: make Triss uncomfortable by playing at the "perfect" family reunion; make Geralt uncomfortable by kissing him when she knows he doesn't feel the same way. But of course, the popular reading is that she just loves him so much she couldn't help herself. Riiight.

It's just all SO BAD. (Including, as you say, the ickiness of having Triss lusting after Geralt and referring to Ciri as "little sis.") I love a lot of the women in Witcher - Cerys is a fave, Ciri, Saskia, Philippa, Keira, etc. - but the two I'm supposedly meant to fall in love with are just the worst lol.

Basically:

Half the fandom: TEAM TRISS 🤬

The other half: TEAM YEN🤬

Me: TEAM REGIS 😭

[elvencantation]

yin yang master liveblog

feat. @thursdayplaid​

what

blue

omg the magic is so pretty

also why is it always Chinese dramas will have someone, if they need blood, bite their finger?

also the gold spirit is very cute i like

i love a young countenance but an older soul

i also want them to take off their hats 😂

wait he ain’t dead he’s just sitting there?

or he’s dying i guess

Thursday

This movie is pretty throughout, aesthetic on point 

Sharp teeth?

We simp gold spirit

Too true, amazing combo XD 

He's dying

Please don't let me disturb your liveblogging. It brings be much joy

blue

oh hot demon boy!

love that he’s fighting with a fan

Thursday

Who will win? Uptight fighting bro vs gentle fan uncle

blue

gentle fan uncle is an amazing title

Thursday

@^_^@

blue

i love how he’s just like ‘bet u wouldnt stab a precious instrument’

Thursday

XD I love how playful he is during the whole fight too

blue

it’s adorable

dude rly loves his transportation talismans

WAIT I THOUGHT DEMON BOY HAD TATTOOS NOT CUTS

Thursday

He does. If it ain't broke, don't fix it I guess. And it's a good way to redirect violence without doing harm

Demon boy has had a Rough Time

blue

i wanna give him a hug

i don’t think he’d appreciate that but still 😂

Thursday

He's just sad and misses his girl friend

blue

why his reincarnated shufu look evil tho

Thursday

Who can say~~~

I love how Boya was just repeatedly defeated by Qingming and is like: you won't fight me because you're scared.

blue

what’s a himbo but not nice 😂

hey! they put my boys hat on crooked. rude.

Thursday

Give that boy a straight hat.

He's just such an Angy Boy

blue

he rly is 😂

ah i love the lady master she’s so pretty

Thursday

She's amazing and I love her.

blue

awww boya defended him

Thursday

He's so angry, but this fan man flirts with him

blue

ofc they all spying on each other 😂

Thursday

Saved by your opponent's gay discovery

blue

omg yes

Thursday

Spying required

blue

aw he looks nice with his hair down!

drink tea with him angy boy!

Thursday

He just wants you to chill out before you deviate. Sit and look at his amazing long hair. It'll be good for you

blue

HAHAHA

honey bug!!!! i love her!!!!!!!

Thursday

Also the ability for the fan man's actor to go from calm to worried to angry to calm again

Honey bug is good and important and I love her

blue

thank u for the recommendation yes

i love them

Thursday

The intrinsic eroticism of a man who's having his racist beliefs totally shaken by a hot guy who's hotter and smarter than him while holding a sword to his throat and looking like he wants to cry while saying cool lines.

They are such a great pair

blue

angy boy is angy like how dare fan man make him have feelings

Thursday

How very dare he make a good point about morals and ethics!

Also with that hair drinking tea in the morning

Angy boy with clenched teeth: I'm Not Yearning. I'm Just Like This When I See A Fan.

Angy boy with clenched fists: Complex Feelings? Disgusting.

blue

HAHAH OMG HES JUST HANGING OUT WITH A BUNCH OF LADIES LIKE HELLO YES ANGY BOY COME HAVE TEA WITH US ITS NOT WHAT U THINK

OMG THIS TIME ITS BOYS

ITS LIKE UR TRYING TO GIVE ANGY BOY AN ANEURISM

Thursday

Clenched fist intensifies

blue

I CANNOT

maybe he just wants to hang out with cute people

i get that

Thursday

He's just a friendly guy

blue

if i could summon pretty spirit friends to hang with me i so would

ok so maybe he’s not evil. but i’m still suspicious

NOW ANGY BOY IS HAIR DOWN WITHOUT HAT OMG YES

Thursday

I do get the vibe off him he's not the sort of guy who would put his spirit friends in sexual situations. But also I get the vibe he's a very lonely guy at his core and he enjoys the feeling of physical and emotional closeness.

blue

mood ™

Thursday

Let's be honest, the hat is a bit cute, but that hair though. Respect for the makeup department

blue

HAHAHAH

Thursday

Angy boy, you're just walking to being teased now. At this point its a hand written invitation with gold leaf.

blue

oh i love this moment with the water

it’s so intense

JUST DO IT ANGY BOY

U KNOW U CARE ABOUT HIM

“you’re too obedient” 😂

Thursday

The priest is in the range of gentle or teasing and hovers there. Seeing an actual intense situation is great

blue

ikr????

ah that is exactly what i love

that situation

Thursday

Me too! It's great when characters hover in a range and then swing over sharply

I really makes both extremes more dynamic

blue

HAVE SOME WINE WITH HIM DO IT

U KNOW U WANNA

Thursday

Go For It Angy Boy! He'll be gentle!

blue

😏

Thursday

XD I mean he will continue to ruffle his feathers, but for fun, not for mean

Also, I really love the depiction of a fox demon that isn't sexed up.

Qingming is a trickster, a tease, a bit of a flirt, and enjoys the pleasures of life, but he isn't the stereotypical half naked sexpot fox demon that seem to pop up everywhere

blue

OH NO HE HAD TO KILL HIS SHUFU???

Thursday

The only person he had in the world but he didn't want him to suffer and be corrupted

blue

also I hate that my two associations with someone being turned into ash is firstly the avengers and secondly that stupid fucking scene in the last harry potter movie

god this movie is so beautiful and lovely

Thursday

That set is outstandingly gorgeous

Everything is so beautiful. I want to live in this world!

Sometimes I just see a kind and lonely character trying to live their best life and just vibe with them. Also the wigs on this movie 😭 So beautiful!

blue

DONT HURT MY GIRL

Thursday

Run girl! Move!

She's so smart and brave!

blue

oh the DRAMA

Thursday

The Drama is right, I love this movie!

blue

HE WILL SAVE U BOYA

Thursday

HE'S COMING FOR YOU FRIEND

blue

omg the drama of his hand slackening

Thursday

That slackening hand though...

blue

why it didn’t work until then tho???

Thursday

For the drama mostly XD

blue

HUGGGG

is she giving birth to the serpent? 🤢

Thursday

She is giving birth to the serpent

blue

hey it’s better to be possessed by the literal incarnation of evil in snake form than be dead am I right?

Thursday

I mean is we're making a choice...

blue

OMG IS IT FINALLY SPIRIT TIME?

thursday

It is ~spirit time~!

blue

HOT DEMON BOY IS BACK UPGRADED

SO PROUD

Thursday

He is back and he is Fancy!

They're looking good they're doing poses

blue

omg the painters face painting is so pretty

Thursday

I love the painter ;-; so noble

blue

the music when he summons spirits just makes me think of like pro wrestling intro music for some reason 😂

Thursday 

And now from the WWE, some hot chinese spirits

blue

oh no ice boy!

Thursday

Poor ice boy, he's just getting beat up

blue

don’t u dare touch my other demon boy

Thursday

He just signed up for this adventure and now a snake is beating him up

blue

OMG HE NOW HAS SOMEONE HE WOULD PROTECT WITH HIS LIFE DOESNT HE

Thursday

He Do!

blue

WAIT WHAT NO BOYA

Thursday

Boya is just having a rough time right now, he's a good good boy

blue

and now the painter???

Thursday

I almost cried about the painter and he was only there for like five minutes

blue

PLS DONT HURT MY DEMON BOY

Thursday

Demon Boy goes yeet

blue

oh my god the drama of the dripping blood i can’t

Thursday

This movie has so much drama It did

blue

not my demon boy 😭

FINALLY IT WORKED

wait shit spirit boya is super hot

THE BLACK WINGS?!????

the tattoos??? the hair?!?!!! the messy goth skirt??!

Thursday

Spirit Boya is Choice, I'm looking respectfully 👀

Goth spirit aesthetic is on point

blue

where the other guardians tho?

yes this is a very touching little last reunion but where my boya at

omg yes give him a glowing sword

the avenging angel look is 💯 on him

Thursday

The sword on fire look is Really Working For Him

blue

tell me boya’s spirit form has no influence on his actual body. no he said he trusted qingming to protect his body it’s ok

OMG YES I KNEW THE PROTECTION SPELL MOMENT WOULD BE BACK

Thursday

It's back and it's shiny!

blue

ok but u still have a hole in ur torso my dude

oh ok apparently that’s not a thing anymore but i can’t be mad cause boya’s outfit 😍

Thursday

I guess he used his cultivation or his demon powers or something IDK, It would have been nice to have two extra minutes of Boya being worried about him

Boya wears some excellent clothes

blue

love a good romantic flute moment 😭🥰

Thursday

I have to say Boya's like let me play you this song about promising to fall in love in the next life for fun and me time

blue

omg i thought he was gonna kiss the arrow

Thursday

I mean emotionally did he not kiss the arrow?

blue

omg i cant

Thursday

I know right? How many censors did they have to pay off

blue

WAIT IS MY GIRL OK????

Thursday

I Chose To Believe She's fine and is now living happily on a farm or something

yeah i do love being worried for each other

but i guess they didnt have enouhg time and they already had that moment at the beginning of the movie 😂

Thursday

Two people? Respecting, worrying, and caring about each other? 👍 There's never enough caring for each other!

blue 

exactly

Thursday

Also, this is one of the best examples of be careful how you word your spells that I've ever seen.

The old master was like care and protect her forever and his spirit guardian was just like: 👍👌💯

blue

heheh

yeahhh

AND U MADE ME EMOTIONAL AGAIN

[war--lords]

“I have a confession to make.”

(Since there’s no sign that anybody has checked out the surprise yet, well, surprise...?)

(For the sake of story, I’ve placed a piano inside Mozart’s room instead of having it be in a separate room lol also I know that Ikevamp is set in the 19th century, but is there mention of any year specifically? Please let me know!)

Upon hearing your words, your lover, who already looks downright icy to people who aren’t well-acquainted with him, locks eyes with you in such a way that inexplicably lowers the temperature of his bedroom just enough for your slightly clammy hands to notice. What you don’t know, however, is the jump in his regular vampiric heartbeat—something he doesn’t know his body is capable of doing anymore, at least until his life was so instantaneously intruded by your time-travelling presence. Your words, however, have sown the seeds of distress in the soil of insecurities he knows all too well. 

Insecurities that you also possess, and that you make apparent, because now you stumble with your words as he watches silently.

“I—I have considered the possibility of not sharing this... information with you for quite some time, and the idea doesn’t sit right with me, because I know you always prefer honesty above all things, and, good lord, now that I’m actually going to say it, I’m starting to doubt if I actually should even though I want to—”

Mozart’s hand reaches to cup your face, the other delicately lacing his fingers with yours. He draws you closer next to him on the side of the bed until your thighs touch. There’s authority in his voice, per usual, but you know enough to hear that gentle coax when he tells you:

“You can tell me anything.”

Even if it hurts me, you hear him continue, though unspoken. And although you’ve never doubted it, you’ve come to know and experience that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is a man of his word. The relationship you have with him didn’t come together as easy as the meet-cute in movies make it, and even now when you’re officially together, it’s still going to be hard, which is why your trust for each other has been tested through trial and tribulation. You can tell him anything.

And seeing him so serious like this, sitting next to you in his bedroom late at night with your nightclothes on, you feel your ‘confession’ is not that big of a deal anymore, but it’s too late to back out. You don’t want to be one of those people who makes a big fuss only to say “nothing, forget it”.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I hope you’re not gonna be... mad at me or anything.”

At this point he’s absolutely panicking, the fingers laced with yours gripping you slightly tighter than before. Why do you sound so grave? Did he do something wrong? Was it at breakfast this morning, was he much too curt? He’s never been good at displaying his emotions for you in public. Has he been neglecting you far too long? Yes, his work of passion looks like a never-ending stream, but surely you understand it’s because you’ve inspired him so? 

“Never, liebling. You know I love you.”

You give him a kiss—an easy feat, given your proximity to each other—but let go before he can bring you any closer. He hears you blurt out a string of words so fast he’s not sure he understands the language you’re speaking anymore.

“Before I came to this mansion, you weren’t my favorite composer.”

Ah.

Just like that, it’s as if the metaphorical knots in his shoulders loosen and fall apart, letting him breath comfortably as he did before this conversation started. Simultaneously, however, a new, much smaller knot appears at the back of his mind. He knew of your musical endeavors in your life while you were in your original timeline, and although he tries to be mature about it, he can’t help but feel slightly jealous. Who could it be? he wonders. If he finds out that it’s Paganini—that wretched womanizing devil—he honestly won’t know what to say. Or is it Lizst? Mozart inwardly scoffs—the devil’s friend can’t be better than the devil himself. But he knows you’re not a creature of superficiality, and both men are in fact extraordinarily reputable musicians, he admits, so it’d be no surprise...

You watch his lilac gaze like it allowed you to peek into his mind. If he’s mad, he’s doing a good job showing zero signs of it, but it’s obvious that he wants to know.

“He’s not... around yet, I think.”

“I see.”

“But he’s going to be around here! In Paris!” Mozart’s lips purse into a small smile at your display of enthusiasm, despite it being over another person. “His style is quite jarringly different compared to yours—and to many of his peers, too, actually. It’s beautiful, though.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“His name is Claude Debussy.”

“You know now you have no other choice but to play for me, right?”

You let out a chuckle as your lover wraps his arm around your waist, gently bringing you up with him as he stands to move towards the piano nearby, pulling out the bench for you to sit on. He takes a seat next to you, peering into your face from beside you as you acquaint yourself with the ebony-ivory keys, humming to yourself with indecision.

“Ah, here’s one of my favorites.”

You play the opening four bars to ‘The Girl with the Flaxen Hair’—a song that, for the complex key signature it’s in, bears a simple thematic melody. You watch as his eyes sparkle after your phrase. 

“La fille aux cheveux de lin,” you supply the title in French. “He puts his titles at the end of his songs to avoid pre-judgment from whoever is playing.”

“Very unorthodox of him.”

“One of his greatest works still resonates in my current time,” you continue whilst nodding at your boyfriend, “I can play the whole of that one for you, if you’d like...?”

At your sheepish expression, he smiles openly, leaning down to press a comforting kiss. First on your cheek, lingering on your skin oh-so-lightly before moving to the crook of your neck—a place he’s become all too familiar with, at which he press his lips with hidden passion. The amount of vulnerability you’re willing to expose yourself to—a student offering to play for the acclaimed prodigy—is something he appreciates almost as much as your presence in his life, for it’s rare and precious. Speaking of precious, the blush dusting your cheeks makes you look rather lovely, and he can’t help but lean his head so that yours is tucked under his chin, but lightly, lest he wishes to disturb your performance.

You take a deep breath, and begin playing.

Mozart finds himself being taken on a journey that sounds a lot like walking along the Seine in the quiet of the night. A night much like this night, an hour like this hour, at a part of the city with families in their houses asleep, hearing nothing, not even the river. Only the pavement against your heels. Only the crisp air of approaching autumn. And it might be slightly cloudy, but they travel swiftly across the cobalt sky, so you can look at the stars twinkling above. 

Streetlights. Cobblestone. Water. The moon.

The song ends on a soft, high note, reminding him of the gentle gradient of the skies as dawn comes closer, while the mistress of the night and her children begin to fade away, content with their inevitable return.

He looks at you, and you’ve never been more beautiful. You smile at him.

“Clair de Lune.”

Moonlight. The title of the song always comes last.

Mozart has a hand at the back of your head as he leans down for a kiss, deeper than the one you gave him before, and though he intend to persuade you to come closer, the encouragement isn’t needed. You’re already melting into him like you truly belong, fingers slowly combing through his silver-white locks, and he feels you smile against his lips. He grows more passionate by the moment, the frosty exterior long forgotten only when in your presence as he presses your bodies together with the hand around your waist. You part with a reluctant sigh and a dire need of air to replace that which has been knocked out of your lungs by his kiss. He presses his forehead against you, letting the two of you share each other’s breath.

“You should play for me more often, liebling. I love it when you do.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I appreciate your work a lot more, though!”

“I see.”

“Your pieces are diverse! You wrote a super grave Requiem, but on the other hand many of your other pieces are so playful—”

“Thank you.”

“—and I don’t care what they say about K545, I enjoy playing it!”

“...”

“...”

“(Name)?”

“...Yeah?”

“What do they say about K545?”

“Um—”

“Not that I care, of course, that would be moronic—”

“Y-Yeah, exactly what I said!”

“—but what do they say about K545?” 

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 9

Whoooooooooo boy, are you ready for a long, long chapter??? So long it took me over 150 days to write it??? I hope so!!!

If you are sensitive to talk about mental illness (specifically disassociation and mental breakdowns/crying), mentions of medications, and mentions of past deaths [within this story], please read the spoiler tags carefully.

Please enjoy this chapter at your own pace, and know that I love you. ♡

IMPORTANT SPOILER TAGS: sexually suggestive situations; discussion of mental illness[es]; paranoia; discussion of dissociation/depersonalization; hero-complex mention; mental breakdown/crying; car crash mention; thisisfine.jpg meme mention; p*lice mention; emt mention; past-death mention; r*talin mention; r*hypn*l mention; injury/bruise mention; gun/gun violence mention; food mention

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Read on Ao3 or continue below:

[Chapter 9 - Strength in Numbers]

John could feel a warm weight on his collarbone as everything in him seemed to echo with his pulse. 

Things ached where they normally didn’t. Tenderness sat in one of his kidneys and just over his heart, radiating with each breath. A slightly familiar soreness sat in his hips.

He was practically melted into the mattress under his back, feeling like a pile of warm jelly stuck to a plate by the summer heat, yet he could still tell he had bones and flesh intact.

I’m definitely not in Arkham anymore.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to see Bruce lying next to him, his arm draped around John’s collar and his face buried into the pillow, but it certainly was a sight to behold. Especially when he stirred and moved to kiss John’s cheek like he’d been waiting for the opportunity.

“Good morning,” Bruce said in his ear, not sounding as awake as he seemed. Black hair mussed, eyes darkened like the ocean depths, a real smile floating on his lips - there was nothing about the whole look that didn’t make John’s heart give that funny little shake that only seemed to come with certain experiences with Bruce.

“I’ll say.” He snatched a kiss for himself, taking the opportunity to trail his fingertips up and over the arm over his chest. The curves of hard muscle were practically begging to be pet. “That dance… You really know how to show a guy a good time. Kinda makes the emotional turmoil worth it.”

Bruce turned on his side, his cute sleepily-contented expression moving to something more contemplative as the sheets moved with him, exposing the little black chest hairs and very lickable pectorals of his torso. He was bruised in places, and John eyed the marks his boot heel had made.

“Reeeally worth it,” he purred, rolling to face him and run his fingers over the marks. Bruce grunted when he pressed in, sending a lovely pang of heat to John’s groin. “Did that hurt?”

“You know it did,” Bruce frowned slightly. No, wait, it looked more like a pout... How cute! So cute it made him want to tease him.

“Want me to kiss it better?” He traced over the bruise gently, playing over the little hairs brushing his fingertips. Everything felt so real. Everything was real. Bruce was aaallll his - his to touch, his to love, as real as John himself. “I can soothe all your aches and pains, if you’d like. You just have to tell me where it hurts.”

“What about you?” Bruce asked, making John’s heart shiver as he stroked his thumb over John’s arm. “We got kind of rough last night.”

Why would Bruce want to take that away? John needed this. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I was very into that,” John answered, “You don’t know how amazing these aftereffects are. I feel like I’m floating and sinking into this bed - everything is so...solid.”

Bruce didn’t seem to really like that. He seemed like he was rolling the words around in his head, not touching in a way that was deliberately comforting anymore. He was clearly choosing his next words, because John had inevitably said the wrong thing, again, and now he ruined their morning just as it was starting; Bruce was going to corner him into something unpleasant, and John could feel something in him shrink and bristle.

“John,” Bruce started in that I’m-just-concerned-about-you tone John had long grown accustomed to from everyone else, “why didn’t you tell me you were still struggling with your perception?”

John didn’t have any other option but to answer. “Ha, I can see you just fine,” he dodged, hoping Bruce would drop it and forget he ever asked, “You’re a solid ten-outta-ten in my twenty-twenty, Brucie.” 

Bruce’s brow furrowed. John knew that look in his eye - he wasn’t in the mood for messing around. “You know that’s not what I meant. You told me you were having vivid nightmares. Last night, you said you were having problems making sure things were real; that you’d wake up thinking of Ace Chemicals-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” John said a little too loudly as he rolled over, turning away from the image of barely-covered Bruce trying to push John’s demons front-and-center for him to see.

“You already talked about it,” Bruce admonished in a huff.

“Then I don’t need to say it again!” John shot back.

Silence. 

Silence and the vision of an unpowered digital clock on a bare nightstand and a boringly-painted wall with stripes of sun that said it was probably past noon. John could hear breathing, but barely, hearing his own pulse and the quiet guilt piling in his chest more than anything.

Movement next to him, the shuffle of sheets, something thick in John’s chest threatening to choke him inside-out - he took hold of his neck, feeling all the words he’d been holding in there, half-wishing the hallucination of everything would break, and felt the ache of reality as they began to spill out in a strangled voice:  “I-I just -” the hand on his shoulder was very real, so heavy and hot – “don’t LOOK at me!” John curled a little more into himself. Warmth lingered as weight left, all real real real. Bruce’s weight settled behind him in a swish of fabric and shift in balance.

“There,” Bruce said, sounding like he was talking to the opposing wall, “I can’t see you.” 

He couldn’t bear to look at him directly. Eyes were the windows into the soul, after all. The wall was boring, but it was like talking to some of the Arkham therapists. Less like he was spilling the darkest parts of his guts to the one person who always saw him.

“I…keep thinking I’m still in Arkham,” he said, curling his fingers in the sheets by the pillow, “That I’m... I’m just waiting to wake up there like nothing’s changed, that…all of this has been some whacked-up ha-hallucination. Ha ha ha - that I’ve just been imagining these things! I mean, it’s so unreal, how you and I are working it out, having friends, having this...weird pseudo-family thing. Being…being happy.” His eyes hurt. He wanted to close them, but he’d lose focus, or worse, lose the grip on his shaky feelings. “I admired you for so long, just being with you is like a dream. I could only ever imagine I’d get this far, or that you’d stick with me, or…anything. I can feel everything, remember everything, but it’s like it’s not enough - and the worst part is that I can’t tell anyone this, or… I’ll just get tossed back!”

“You wouldn’t get put back in Arkham, John,” Bruce said softly.

“Ye-ha-ah I would! You think any of the white coats won’t use any excuse to lock me away? Any at all?” John spat, hugging himself a little too hard, aware of how much pressure he was putting on his sides but not caring. “They’d slam me in the hole if I so much as hinted at a relapse!”

“They’re your doctors.” So what? “St. Dymphna’s New Life Home isn’t Arkham -” Same stupid uncaring people, anybody can be bought - “it’s rehabilitation, John, not imprisonment. They know you’re still recovering.” That’s what they all say, at first. “Do you really think I’d let the court send you there without researching them first?”

John’s train of thought broke. He turned to look at Bruce, at the smushed black hairs on the back of his head that had been finger-combed into an angled mess, and wanted to see his face instead.

“I did extensive background checks on the facility, its patient care, its staff – I wasn’t about to let someone send you to another Dr. Quinnzel or Dr. Crane.”

John felt his heart squeeze. He never thought about that. Bruce had reassured him the days leading up to his move, but he’d just taken it as a loving-boyfriend-thing. “Why… Why aren’t you mad at me? I’ve – I’ve been holding out on therapy – practically cheating!” Bruce still just laid there, all quiet and calm. “Come on, just say it! You’re disappointed in me, right?!”

“No,” he answered, “I just wish you told me earlier. You shouldn’t have to hold all that in. Not with me.” He paused, stiffening like he was stopping himself from something. “Can I look at you?”

John took a deep breath, smelling stale sweat and cum and faded laundry-safe bleach. He clenched the cotton sheets under his hands, feeling the fabric and the bittersweet ache in his chest. He was real, Bruce was real, the feelings laid bare last night were real - could he live with Bruce seeing him like this, heart out in the open and primed for stabbing? 

Hadn’t he seen the worst of him? John spattered with blood and begging him to believe him like no one else ever had? John at his worst, uncaring and hostile and full of rage and vengeance, covered in blood he’d spilt before Bruce’s very eyes? 

He’d sat across from him then, battered and bruised, and told him they were friends, despite just shoving a Batarang into his hand to stop him from doing any more harm. He’d seen John in Arkham, his no-name existence shoved into a single cell on display with his sickness, and he came back. He’d rushed to rescue him from Dr. Crane’s experiments and the temptation to step backwards and take revenge. He kept coming back, over and over and over, chasing after John to save him from himself.

John stared at his back, at the scars on his shoulders he wanted to kiss better, and knew. “Yeah.”

Bruce turned back around, the covers slipping with him, and faced him with all his wounds on display. “I know I kept things from you that I shouldn’t have,” he said as unthreatening and unmalicious as John had no right to expect, “and that I keep doing it. I should’ve told you about me and the Agency, about Tiffany working for me, about keeping us a secret - every time I didn’t, it was because I thought it was for the better.” 

John didn’t want him to look at him like that. He didn’t stop holding the sheets, knowing if he let go that slapping his hand over Bruce’s eyes to cover the honesty that was too much like that night wouldn’t go over well.

“You keep proving me wrong,” he said, looking hurt - by himself or John, it was difficult to tell. “I keep hurting you, and I keep making things worse. I know there are things you haven’t told me, and things that you feel you have to keep from me. And I know I don’t deserve to hear any honest answers with the way I’ve treated you, but… I’m not going to run away from you.”

Bruce held out his hand, laying it in the space between their pillows. 

He wasn’t running, or judging, or looking confused. He wasn’t angry or disappointed in John for failing in the one thing he was supposed to be doing right. He was just there, with him.

“I just… I want to be near you,” John admitted, barely feeling the words leave his throat as he wound his thin fingers between Bruce’s, feeling imperfect rough parts where nicks and cuts left lasting marks, “so badly… Not just to be with you. You know how I’ve always admired you.” He still did, and Bruce had to have known that. “You’re always...respected -  even if they don’t like you, they listen to you,” he explained, seeing the slight confusion on Bruce’s face at the word respect, “You’re someone people want to be,” he continued slowly, “People talk about you, talk to you, look at you... People don’t...forget you.”

Bruce seemed to understand the unspoken words that used to eat at John’s brain, because he squeezed John’s hand back.

“It’s like… I’m drifting in the ocean, and I keep trying to swim towards the lighthouse - and just when I get close enough, the current pulls me away into the rocks. And I just...want to reach you. Hah, isn’t that stupid?”

“No,” Bruce answered, not looking away for a moment, “But...I don’t think you realize how much closer you are to me,” he said with a little tilted smile and a very low hmph, “If I’m not knee-deep in the water already, I’ve definitely run out to help you.”

“Ha ha - that’s so typical, steering my insane metaphor to suit your hero-complex,” John shot back with the smile he felt tugging at his lips at the mental image.

“I don’t have a-”

“Yes you do,” John interrupted, pulling Bruce’s hand up to give him a peck on the knuckles, “And I love you for it.” Bruce’s mouth was still scrunched a little; he seemed to dislike the idea he had a complex at all. “So – since we’re spilling secrets,” he started, settling their hands between the pillow as he thought of the best way to phrase it, “what’s the other reason you didn’t tell anyone about us?”

“There’s isn’t any other,” Bruce stressed, “I just wanted them to see you as you. If I came home with you and reintroduced you as ‘my boyfriend John’, that would be the only thing they’d think of.” He paused for a second, seeming to rethink. “Well, after Joker,” he added with a slight nod to the side.

“You don’t think they’d have given me a second chance right off the bat, huh?” John puzzled, “Even after what happened with Dr. Crane?”

“That...was a bit of a mess,” he said, looking somewhat embarrassed, “It was an emergency. I don’t think they really saw the best of you.” Bruce held his gaze. “I’ve gotten to see the best parts of you every day. I just want them to experience that.”

John was tempted to make a joke out of that, but a nagging question leapt out of his mouth:  “And what if they still rejected me?”

Bruce’s emotions were subtle, but John could tell he’d made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to answer that. He didn’t like the answer.

Well, it was honesty-hour, and John bared his heart for him, so Bruce could do the same. “Would you still run after me?”

“Yes.” 

There was no doubt, no dishonestly, no lingering maybe. He would, as sure as Batman’s armor was black and John’s hair was green and Bruce was a sturdy pillar of reality.

“But what would you do about them?”

Bruce breathed, not really looking at him, hard and stony like he wanted to turn tail with a swish of his bat-cape. John slowly ran this thumb over Bruce’s knuckle, softening him into something John would almost call vulnerable. “I don’t know,” he admitted like it was some shameful secret.

John had never known Bruce to not have a plan. He always had a backup for his backups. It didn’t make sense, it was almost like… “You’re scared of that, aren’t you?” He asked, realizing the answer without ever hearing it, “That’s why you planned everything out.” (It wasn’t excusing it, he reminded himself. Bruce hurt him and he should know it... But he couldn’t watch him suffer forever, and he shouldn’t want to.) “Oh, Bruce. Honey. No one can know everything; not even you. I mean, look at how my life turned out - I don’t think anyone could’ve known how I’d end up. Or even that I’d live this long.” Bruce seemed to be absorbing that, which was good; he wasn’t running away from his own truth. That was progress. A different Bruce in a different time would’ve denied being scared of the unknown at all. “Besides, did you really think they wouldn’t figure it out eventually, with my shameless wolf-whistling?”

There it was:  the tiny spark of humor that pushed away the clouds. He didn’t have to smile for John to see it; he could tell. The little change of light, the tiny bits of relaxation in his brow and mouth. “I sort of had the idea we’d make it gradually more obvious.”

“Gradual - me? Do you even know me?” he teased, “I’d take two miles with any inch you’d give me. Especially with those eight you’re packing...”

Good gracious, Bruce was cute when he smiled. Cuter when his little snort developed into a chuckle into his pillow. “Honestly, that was really the most appealing part,” he continued, voice lighter than before but still a little guilty, “I like how you talk. The tension would’ve made it easier to explain why I pulled you away to make out with you somewhere.”

John tittered at the image of a flustered, frustrated Bruce giving in and showing him what-for in some undisturbed part of the manor. “Oh, buddy, I can only imagine what that kind of tension could do for us. I had some good fantasies about us sneaking in those little hideyholes at Arkham, and if they’re anything to go by... Ooh, do you have any secret passages in the manor we could use? Arkham had a few; not counting the air vents and sewers, of course, I mean the real hidden passage kind.”

John watched as Bruce’s eyes widened with the look of just remembering something important as he practically leaped out of bed to search his pants on the floor, clad in nothing but boxer-briefs, his demi-godlike body on display for John to stare at as blood tried to rush inconveniently to his groin. (Oof, he’d put his weight behind him last night, all those heavy moves and hits controlled until the very end, and just thinking about the power locked away under the same strict moral code that Bruce unleashed on the unsuspecting dirt in Gotham made John feel like he was going to melt. Batman was truly a wonder, even out of the suit… And boy, he fucked like it.)

“Bruce,” John managed, sitting up and trying not to drool too obviously, “I never thought I’d say this, but please put on a shirt on.”

Bruce tossed an almost-pocket-sized hardback at John’s lap. “Check the map page.”

And he was being bossy. “You could’ve said please,” John grumbled for Bruce to hear, not disliking how the commanding voice still did things for him. “What are you looking for?”

“I want to know if there are any Owl markings near downtown Gotham,” Bruce answered, dutifully throwing his shirt back on as he checked his phone, “Specifically nests. Please.”

The map page was fairly simple. The illustrator had gone out of their way to make a nice key to detail the “important” areas of worship or decision-making “parliaments” or leader’s houses, versus the hideaways that were “nests” and burial sites of nameless victims. John spied the owl-face stamp on Arkham Island and forced himself to ignore it. He knew - roughly - where most sections of the city were cut.

“Well there’s nothing specific in Downtown - you have to go up and over to see the nearest nest. Which according to our author was one of the last added before the birds went completely coo-coo.”

Bruce did a tame belly-flop next to John - still sans pants - and pulled up his own map of Gotham, looking like it was pulled straight from the Batcave’s supercomputer. John could see the little red pins Bruce had marked on what looked like deaths. “Here’s The Lot, and if the nearest nest is here… Look,” he tilted the phone towards John, showing off the yellow flag he’d made to mark the nest and the newly-added blue lines highlighting pipes, “it’s a bit far, but I was thinking last night about how the woman disappeared from The Lot so fast, and I thought about how the old sewers still connect with the newer parts of the city as it expanded-”

“Wait, last night? When did you have the time?”

“It was after you fell asleep,” Bruce answered simply, “But I realized the sewers still connected everywhere, so they probably used that for a quick escape. It’s not too difficult to get from one section of the city to another underneath it, if you know where you’re going - I had to do it myself a few years ago, back when I was looking to make some smaller hideouts. I didn’t think about it until you mentioned the Court of Owls. I figured they might have had a car waiting on another street, but it could be that they took only a few streets away to get into a getaway vehicle. I checked the saved camera footage last night, and I think it’s a good possibility, considering a couple of promising possible cars parked in the street for short periods of time, but since this nest is just outside of the Downtown area, it wouldn’t be an overreach to say someone took the sewer the whole way.”

John blinked. “Just how long were you up?”

“About fifteen, twenty minutes. I was originally going to tell you when you woke up.”

From zero to all the ideas in fifteen minutes while in a haze of afterglow… He really was amazing. And breathtaking. And completely ludicrous. “Hah ha! So if fist-fighting and hard sex after a long day aren’t enough to stop you - geez, what even are you?”

“I’m Batman,” Bruce answered with a smirk, “I think it’s worth looking at the building itself - that area’s been closed for construction for a while, the city’s put a halt on tearing the structure down due to historical value.”

“Pfft, historical value, sure…” John peeked at the picture Bruce had pulled up:  a rather small, plain-bricked theater with a very yellowing sign.

“It was one of the first theaters in Gotham,” Bruce explained, “A historical preservation group is trying to save it. Someone on it could be an Owl. I don’t like to think it’s a coincidence.” He frowned a little at the device as he put it aside, seeming to decide something, and when he looked back at John it was with the same determination as before. “When Jackie brought you here, did you two discuss anything?”

“Only the very basics of what happened with you. She’s been on sessions with me before, she’s used to seeing me angry.” He’d only be asking after the topic of owls for one reason. “You think she’s one of them, huh?”

“She knew I cared about you enough to use me against Dr. Crane, she could’ve figured I would have kept you in the house and used the Gala as an excuse.” 

He...supposed. She did crash it, and she wasn’t alone, and it was true how she had a list of dead friends as long as her arm and how some of them had been the result of murder and manslaughter, but... “She didn’t really look like she wanted to be there, though,” John said thoughtfully, “She’d said helping her boyfriend research at the gala was better than -” Research? - “ohh, I see what you mean! Could be, could be…”

“How was she last night?”

“Well, uh, I was kiiinda paying more attention to me, Bruce. Specifically the dark swirling thoughts of how I’ll never be truly accepted and how much of an idiot I was to think I would be. And how much I hated feeling everything around me. But that’s a hole we can spelunk into another time - how about we just go pay her a visit?”

As if on queue, like they were in some ridiculous play themselves, Bruce’s phone began to buzz by his hand, and Tiffany’s face took over half the screen, looking happier than John had ever seen her.

Bruce took a breath, nothing in his expression but the cool, collective sense of duty, and answered, bringing it to his ear so John couldn’t listen in. “Yes?”

John could hear something that sounded like ‘why didn’t you tell me you were okay’, but he could barely hear it over the tinny electronic whistling tune emitting from his own phone, telling him the person on the other end was a mystery.

Unknown contact, but a Gotham area code.

“Clown Funeral Services, where your last ride fits twenty,” John answered cheerfully, “Who’s the lucky bozo?”

“…John, do you answer all your calls like that?”          

“Mickey! I didn’t know you had a contraband phone, you rascal! You should’ve told me, I would’ve thought of a better greeting for you.”

“I’m using the hotel’s landline,” the gruff voice of Mickey Williamson answered with a tone of mild bewilderment, “I’m calling because… You know how you were asking about that Ian guy the other day? The one who left after a month?”

“Yeeeah?”

“I saw him leave just a few minutes ago.”           

“Ian just left The Lucky Hotel?” Ian Coggs, who Tiffany had been trying to track, who was the only known lead to finding Roman Sionis’ hideaway, was staying here? Was this some kind of whacked-up dream of a coincidence, or was it fate itself following them from the shadows? Either way, Bruce was paying attention, now. “Mickey, if I weren’t in a committed relationship with the love of my life, I’d come out there and kiss you right now.”

Bruce glanced over at him with a jealous squint and raised brow. John just nudged him with his foot in return.

“Um…thanks,” he answered, not sounding like he was really that appreciative of the idea.

John had several questions - What room did he come out of? What was he wearing? Did you see his car? – but figured he’d boil it down to the most obvious one:  “Please tell me you overheard detailed plans of where he was going.”

“No, but, uh, I got the license plate of the car he hopped in. Does that help?”

John felt a laugh bubble in his throat, and he didn’t bother to stop it. “Does it-?! Yes, you big galloot! Ha ha ha! Oh, man, hang on a sec’,” he paused and snatched the hotel pen from the floor, where it had rolled with the broken lamp, and put him on speaker so Bruce could hear. “Okay, lay it on me, Mick’!”

“C-P-5-K-1-N-G.”

Bruce was suddenly paying attention, phone partway away from his ear, blinking at the phone in John’s hand as John scribbled the letters and numbers in ink on his palm. John couldn’t hear what Tiffany was saying on the other end, but it was quieter than before.

“Mick’, you’re truly my number two guy,” John praised, “Remind me to buy you lunch one of these days.”

“Thanks. I’ll…remember that.”

The call ended without a goodbye, but John beamed proudly at Bruce, who was ‘uh-huh’-ing seriously into his phone. “Right. Twenty minutes.” A pause, during which John could hear Tiffany’s tone all soft despite the muffled words, and Bruce gave a sigh through his nostrils. “I’ll check.” He put the phone down, muting it and staring ahead with a somewhat tired expression, and then looked back to John. “Tiffany wants to talk to you.”

John definitely did not want to talk to her. Not when he was in such a good mood; not when he’d finally ironed out a bit more of the grievances between him and Bruce. He wasn’t ready to take on more emotional pain. Not now, not later today…he’d prefer not to for the rest of his life.

“Don’t make that face,” Bruce admonished lightly, “she wants to apologize.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” John snapped lightly, “I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. Especially not someone who was rude to me.” (He knew how that sounded. Like the old John. But it was how he felt, and wasn’t he still John? Weren’t his hands still that John’s? Wasn’t the scar on his hand a sign of the past and present and future blended together?) “Just…not right now,” he added, staring at the faded white line as it covered Bruce’s hand still lying on the sheets. Bruce’s skin always seemed warmer than his own. “Please.”

Depths of blue and black had never looked so non-judgmental as they did today. It must’ve been love. (No, it was. It always was. He’d always known it was, the fascination, the curiosity, the concern, the sympathy and understanding and passion of all kinds no matter how subtle – all Bruce’s love, on full display with a glance.) “You’ll have to talk to him later. Yeah. Bye.” The phone was black when he put it back down. “Tiffany’s informant here said the same thing:  Ian Coggs left here five minutes ago, riding in a black sedan with the same plate. Tiffany’s following it – it’s heading west.”

“You’re following after them, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

No you don’t, John wanted to say, but it wasn’t the truth. Bruce always had to follow through. Had to make that catch. “I know.”

“I’m heading right there, so Iman’s coming to pick you up,” he said, typing away a message in rapid swipes, “I want you two to check out the Nest on the Aylin Street theater. I’m telling her to bring some of my gear for you to use; I think the Nest is just used as an intermittent safe house, but take precautions.”

John was going on an investigation. He was getting responsibility – trust – directly from Batman, while his body ached and tingled with constant reminders of what happened between them last night. He couldn’t have felt more wonderful than if Bruce was jacking him off and letting John film the whole thing. “I won’t let you down!” (Did that come out too enthusiastic? Aw, hell, what did he care?!) “I’ll tell you what – I’ll interrogate Jackie while I’m waiting, too! She shouldn’t be too tough an egg to crack – not when we’ve split it open once already.”

He looked like he was going to protest about the idea, but he softened with a slight sigh and one look over at John. “You’d do it even if I told you not to, wouldn’t you?”

“Just as sure as you would,” John needled with a grin.

“Just…be careful,” Bruce seemed to land on as he slid away and started to put on pants, keeping eye contact for most of it, “I don’t want to catch Roman and then find out you’d been kidnapped because Jackie has a Talon on speed-dial.”

“Ha, that’s cute, you think kids still use speed-dial.”

“John, she’s almost three years older than Tiffany, she’s not a kid.” (“It was only a joke,” John muttered to himself as he made a mental note of Tiffany being twenty-three.) “Besides, my point still stands. Keep your eyes and ears open, and call me or Iman if you think something’s wrong.”

Bruce was edging on babying him again. A twitch of anger came, but John breathed slowly, staring at Bruce’s hard shoulders as he let it pass. There was more than one way to make him understand that he didn’t need that. “The same goes for you, Bruce,” John purred, throwing covers and any minute sense of so-called decency he had away to stroll up to Bruce, feeling proud at how Bruce’s face turned a nice shade of red as he seemed to struggle not to look everywhere he clearly wanted. It was funnier to see it burning in his eyes as John gently straightened his shirt by its ends. He could practically feel the rope on Bruce’s self-restraint. “Dancing wouldn’t be the same without my partner,” he teased slowly, trailing his fingers to the curve of Bruce’s rear, “You know I’ve always got your back,” he emphasized with a gentle squeeze. “You call, and I’ll come after you.”

Poor Bruce was trying so hard to keep himself together. It was so cute. John had to pretend not to see his Adam’s apple bob in his peripheral vision. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will, Batman,” John hummed, pecking him and feeling the brief warmth burst new life in his grin as he slipped out of Bruce’s arms and turned to clean himself up properly, “because I will be, too.”

                                                      † † † † †

The time it took for John to redress and down a very sugary cup of the terrible brown liquid that the hotel passed for coffee was small and unmemorable and annoying. The time it took for Bruce to snatch his arm in the hallway, kiss him deep, and wish him luck in a whispered voice coupled with adoration and determination in his eyes was only a handful of a seconds, and yet John felt like he was holding onto them and stretching them into something of an hour as he licked his lips, watching Bruce’s back disappear around the elevator doors with his own call of good luck still echoing in his mouth.

Jackie’s room was right across the hall from his. One heck of a coincidence, in John’s mind, after he ruled out the ridiculous idea of Mickey somehow being in on the whole thing. It was mere luck, and something even Jackie was surprised at when she walked him there last night.

He knocked, deciding on a fun pattern of ‘da, dada-da-da, da-da’, and heard shuffling. Then a pause, and he had the feeling he was being watched.

“Are you alone out there?”

“Aren’t we all?” John joked, rocking on his heels.

Jackie appeared in an instant, familiar dark circles under her brown eyes and her little spackle of freckles in full view. Her eyebrows were lighter than yesterday, her eyelashes weren’t as long, and she didn’t seem to care that she was only wearing men’s boxers and an oversized shirt with an oozing orange skull front-and-center. She looked at his neck, and then his arms, where Bruce’s hands had pressed sweet reality into John the night before. “Where did you get those?”

“It’s not important,” he waved off, not wanting to spill any details of last night, “You’ve got makeup, right? Think I could borrow some of your clown-whitest? I, uh, don’t want to be seen like this.” It was a complete lie, and she might know it – John wanted nothing more than to show off the yellow-purple mark left from Bruce’s hand. “Not by my therapists, anyway,” he added.

Jackie stepped aside. “I should have something. Come on in.”

Jackie’s room was identical to the one he slept in, sans the broken lamp and teeming with the contents of her luggage. She clearly didn’t care about her shoes, as they were thrown in the corner, but her dress was hanging in the open closet next to a neatly-kept tuxedo in a thin plastic sheet. He recognized the stuffed black cat lying sideways on the sheets, being the same one that had sat on her desk in her old apartment. Both pillows were dented and the bed was unmade.

“Sooo,” John stretched, noticing the desk-vanity had a variety of dirty makeup brushes left on it, “Your boyfriend around?”

“He had work this morning; some indie film, he’s been doing it most of the week. Take a seat – do you want coffee?”

John wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had enough hotel garbage water, thanks.”

“I brought my own grounds,” Jackie added, swinging a half-empty bag of hazelnut roast she’d picked up from the corner of the dresser. “And I’ve got good creamer.”

“Is it pumpkin spice flavored?”

“Caramel,” she answered, already heading to the bathroom. John leaned just enough to see and make sure she was doing what she said she was. Coffee was being put in the strainer and sure enough, there were little cartons of caramel creamer on the countertop, along with various sugar packets and jams he was sure she swiped from restaurant tables. “I’ve also got mini-muffins.”

Actual sugar? Owls, schmowls, he wasn’t going to pass up free breakfast along the way. “In that case, Jackie, have I told you you’re an absolute angel?”

“No, but please, feel free to tell me I’m a multi-eyed messenger of God whose physical form is incomprehensible to men,” she answered with a definite note of humor, “It sounds much better than ‘sweetie-pie’ or ‘doll-face’. Though… It is nice just hearing my own name again.”

John wondered how that felt. He’d been called ‘John Doe’ for so long he couldn’t imagine responding to any he might have had before. But he shook the thought away, a new question forming in his head as he scooted towards the makeshift makeup table. The little box on the corner looked like it was chock-full of goodies. “Your boyfriend doesn’t call you Jackie?” He asked, checking the labels - almost all of them had Janus stamped on them in elegant print. Powders and liquids and creams, oh my. It was probably worth taking a quick snap of anything that might help, so he pulled out his phone to whip open the camera app - snap!

“He doesn’t know me as Jackie,” she answered, something too flat about her tone of voice to be what John knew as dismissal, “I’m only Jaqueline to him. And the rest of the world.”

That must’ve been a weird adjustment… What did people say to things like this? He couldn’t just blurt out wow just how little do you trust the guy you like. He supposed joking about all the world being a stage would help, maybe with a French accent, but… Something didn’t feel right. If it were Bruce… “Um… I’m sorry to hear that,” he tried, “Even if you did sort of do it to yourself.”

“...do you think Batman would say that, too?” She sounded slightly...what, mournful? Maybe?

Well, why lie? Why not say what he thought and knew in his heart of hearts? “Probably. If he thought you were bad enough, anyway,” he chose, taking a peek into the trashcan nearby - a hand-sized piece of rubber or thin beige plastic was ripped and thrown in there along with some makeup wipes. Hmm. Picture-worthy, for sure. “You did try to kill a guy - and even if he does deserve to rot, pinning the blame on someone else falls a little high on the bad scale. But he did let you go, so it’s not like he’d think you’re complete scum or something.”

It was quiet, and John, despite knowing he could easily take Jackie down by herself, wondered if he’d said too much. The bathroom alcove was still.

“I’m glad you can say stuff like that,” Jackie answered solemnly, making John slowly move for the butterfly knife in his pocket and waiting for the ‘because it’s the last thing you’ll ever say’. “No one else is that honest.”

John hovered his hand over the knife handle. 

“It’s weird how you’re one of the few people who’ve seen the real me,” she continued, not sounding like she was going to come out with a gun in her hand, “Everyone else treats me like some tragic heroine - I just tell people I used to live here and they pretend to be sympathetic.”

She seemed to be spilling out grievances rather than vengeance. John took the opportunity to peek into the dresser drawer. It was like three different men crammed their best outfits in one drawer, minus the shoes. Not exactly the artsy or fashionably-trendy wardrobe he expected from a handsome actor.

He should probably say something to continue the conversation as he poked around, though, to avert any suspicion. Time to see if she could crack. “What, do they think Gotham’s some crime-infested city where bat-people roam the streets and not having mace is practically illegal?”

There came the distinct noise of a choked laugh, and John knew he’d won a point or two in his favor. He pushed some of the material aside, but nothing was hidden in-between them but a few crumpled receipts that had definitely been shoved aside for later. (Bad Italian place, 13th Street gondola, All Stitched Up, good Italian place... Wow, The Two Gilded Cups was pricey - 223 bucks for two people?! And that was discounted, yeesh! Snap, snap, snap - he captured the whole drawer.)

“You know a lot of people thought it was really weird that I carried brass knuckles around?” Jackie asked bemusedly.

“So do I, a knife is way easier to hide on yourself, Jackie.” The second drawer had some of her trademark blend of dark and fall colors - even in underwear - as well as a lumpy plastic bag of used things he was not going to touch. It didn’t feel the same as when he poked through Bruce’s closet. It didn’t have that rush of being somewhere he shouldn’t… Maybe because he was nervous. Bruce wasn’t liable to whip out a Taser or whatever else Jackie might have on hand because he was snooping through delicate places; Bruce would just bottle it up a bit and pout.

“Heh… No, it was more that I was carrying around anything. I think only some of the girls I worked with carried mace. And I was always like, ‘what, you only carry mace? I’ve got three things on me at all times!’”

He could hear actual humor in her tone. See, she’s not going to run out with something in her hand. She’s fine. Just keep it up. “Ooh, what’s number three?” he teased, pushing aside some t-shirts. (She seemed to have dumped her professional-psychologist wardrobe in favor of comfier clothing. At least for her stay here…)

“A derringer.”

John stared at the tiny gun in its tiny Kevlar holster, hidden between a pumpkin-orange shirt and a thin yellow-plaid hoodie. How did these things keep lining up in perfect time for him?

“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t have it on me right now,” she waved off, “It’s tucked away. I won’t… I mean, you’re not - I don’t have any reason to use it.”

“I hope not,” he muttered to himself, carefully placing the fabric back around it closing the drawer quietly. There was a little buzz from the coffee maker, and John hurried to make himself look like he’d been sitting at the desk the whole time. He was glad she wasn’t there to see him wince and wiggle on the seat as aches from last night’s spanking-session sent a wonderful flare to his brain; that would’ve been very awkward to explain away. He distracted himself by poking around a bit more.

The makeup case was interesting. A lot of neutrals were used recently. And often, apparently, if their large portions of missing product were any indication. There were also little hard scraps of paper and a damp washcloth thrown on it. He took one last picture and shoved his phone in his pocket.

The foundation, brow, crease, and blush brushes had been used. John could see the clumps of powder and wet paste. He couldn’t resist the urge to touch the foundation one - smooth goop smeared on his fingers. Decent quality. “Must be a cheap set if your boyfriend has to apply his own makeup before he leaves, huh?”

“That’s the indie-film life,” Jackie shrugged, setting the foam cups and a plastic case of miniature blueberry muffins on the table, “Guy’s got to supply the costume, too. But he wears makeup everyday anyway, so I don’t think it’s that big a deal. Let me get my case, I should have Cadaver Paint  to blend with some pale skin tones.”

Everyday really explained the missing chunks of neutral colors in the tubes. But something bugged him. A lot. “What kind of film is it?” he asked, popping a muffin in his mouth and peeking at a sealed Janus-brand tub of something called Moddy; it looked like a face mask clay. 

“Some action thing. He always says he’s too good to play a small part, but he tends to take them if it’s something he hasn’t done before.”

The Moddy tub was almost empty. John spied another underneath its spot in the case. He pinched a bit of the stuff between his fingers from the open tub - it was almost like Play-Doh, only it made a funny tingling sensation on his skin, like he was dipping his finger in something warm and heavily carbonated. “What is this stuff?” he asked, wiping it off on the wet washcloth.

Jackie brought over a little plastic cutting board that had been stained with almost a rainbow of colors in one hand and tubes of cream makeup and a tiny spatula in the other. “Modification putty. It’s like sculpting clay for your face - you can use it to fill in gaps, add pieces to faces to make them bigger; pretty much anything. It’s good for temporary stuff if you don’t have the money to buy prosthetics. Or hate spirit gum,” she explained, squeezing white face paint onto the board and putting in tiny dabs of pink to blend. He could see Cadaver Paint in old-timey cursive on the white tube – definitely not a Janus brand. “I’m gonna test some spots on you first. You’re gonna be a fun challenge,” she added with a tiny smile. “Hold out your hand.”

John let her test colors, his mind churning like an ice-cream machine. Janus makeup wasn’t cheap. Matt-the-actor did his own makeup. Three different men practically sat in the dresser drawer. The thing in the trash had to have been a bald cap. Moddy could easily be used to cover and expand areas. It wasn’t a stretch to think Matt Chaney was the mysterious man-of-two-criminal-faces. In fact, it was a completely logical conclusion to come to, given everything in the room…

“Matt seems to go through a tub of that stuff every month,” Jackie commented, sponging a second test on his hand as he half-listened. “He has some serious facial scarring from a bad car accident in college. But you didn’t hear it from me,” she said with a sly smile at him. “I only found out because I caught him reapplying it in the dressing room when I was playing Antigone on a shoestring budget.”

John could practically feel his thoughts halt in their tracks as a pun bubbled in front of them. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh, you must’ve been a shoe-in for that role!”

Her mood had improved drastically, pride and joy lighting up her face. “Well, I did pop some of a prospects’ tires just in case, but yeah, I was. It wasn’t a good production, though. We did a fun 1930’s version of Romeo and Juliet that was way better; that one lasted a full month. You would’ve liked it, actually, it had gangsters versus cops instead of royal families.”

“So they didn’t take the two houses alike in dignity line seriously, then?” he grinned, seeing the punchline land successfully with her open laugh. “Romeo, Romeo - come out wit’ your hands up, Romeo,” he mocked, earning a sturdier giggle. 

“What’s funnier is that was actually a line!”

Compliments, the way to anyone’s confidence, he told himself. “I bet you killed it,” he chose and regretted the second they left his mouth. But there was no fear, no pause, no shift of any kind to indicate she was thinking about her near-brush with being a murderer. Just a normal, non-malicious smile. The nice, honest sort he’d seen on Bruce, like it was a reflex they couldn’t help.

“I did. I even got reviews to prove it – my performance ‘turned a predictable script into a rollercoaster of dark comedy’.  Didn’t have to pop anyone’s tires to get the lead, either.” She tilted his hand in the light, inspecting her work. “I think this matches, don’t you?”

It was hard to believe she was involved. He didn’t want to force her into a corner when she could be a bystander; it was better to build her up. “It’s like you skinned me and put me in a tube,” he praised, watching her nose scrunch in mock-disgust even as her smile stayed put. 

“So… Did Bruce end up calling you or something?” she asked, sponging some of the foundation on his neck. John could see the bruises begin to disappear in the mirror as he popped another muffin in his mouth. “You seem a lot better than how I left you.”

He was so tempted to be honest. Mostly. He’d kept all the relationship stuff secret for so long. But it would be dumb to say anything when she could, potentially, pass information along. “Something like that,” he answered vaguely.

“Booooo. Come on, John, it’s just me; what am I gonna do, post it on Friendbook? Vlog about it? Run to the Moonrise? I’m practically the only person you can tell.”

Cheerful bonding followed by an I’m-the-only-one-you-can-trust speech? He wasn’t going to fall for that Harley-league talk. No siree, Bob - not this time. Two could play that game of manipulation. “Hmm, I suppose we do look like virtual strangers to each other,” he started smoothly, “Jaqueline Latern doesn’t know anybody real in Gotham… And Jackie Lant doesn’t have any friends left to tell...” That clearly struck a soft spot. “The only ones who know who and where we are are each other… Well, and I guess Matt has half an idea.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here,” she answered, dabbing slower with the less-pleased look of honesty, “He stayed behind to schmooze with some director. I didn’t think he’d take me driving another guy back here very well.”

“Ha! Don’t tell me he’d be jealous of someone like me.”

“Why not?” she put the paint aside and started to mix flakes of white foundation-powder with a pale neutral on a clean section of the plastic. “I lied to him about how I knew a good-looking guy - he’s already fragile with me knowing what he actually looks like. Not that he should be; I like him, you know?” She returned to powdering over the makeshift-foundation with a fluffy brush.

“Just ‘like’, huh?” he teased.

“It’s…more than ‘like’, I think. But I’m not sure how to put it.” Her brown eyes turned soft and contemplative. “It’s inspiring to see him on stage. He has this...presence, and it’s so immersive, it’s real. Some days I’m not sure if I want to just watch him and…I dunno, absorb it all, or if I want to be with him.”

That wasn’t good: John could feel a connecting sort of something in him. Like before, in her apartment, watching her pour her feelings out on camera. He was dangerously close to feeling sympathy for someone who might not be deserving of it. And this time it wasn’t as ironically funny.

“I mean, he’s also full of himself,” she added with a little tilt to her lip, “but he’s still thoughtful. Doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t seem to judge… Well, much.”

He didn’t know what he wanted to do. She hadn’t been a good would-be-doctor, but she might be trying to butter him up by pretending to feel the exact same way he did about Bruce. She might have heard him in those rare moments he talked about him, she might’ve remembered things, she might be throwing him off by making him sympathize with her and thus throw the whole idea of her being involved with Owls away. She might’ve planned this whole damn thing, there was no such thing as coincidence anymore and look where he was, right on the x on the antagonist's set with their guilty evidence in plain view like he couldn’t connect dots together and see the gun in her hand...

But the deepest part of him - the one that said Bruce loved him, that said he should take his meds, that told him he was here when sensory input was in focus - said she was being honest. He almost hated that.

She was putting the makeshift foundation on his wrist, seeming to think about who-knew-what. He snatched her hand, not caring if he got messy, the urge to squeeze hard sitting in his fingertips.

The proverbial cogs turned behind her darting eyes as fight or flight lit up her brain; John’s window to ask the questions that had been on the table since he walked in was shrinking.

“Sorry,” he said, half-meaning it as he let go, “It’s just…” People appreciated kindness, and honesty was usually a part of it - he had to lead with something he was sure she already knew and make it seem like a big deal, and let her talk. “Uncanny - how we feel about our prospective muses. They feel like they’re something otherworldly, but just seeing them makes you feel so real, doesn’t it?” 

Jackie’s primitive urges died as understanding kinship seemed to take over.

“Of course, you’ve probably spent more time here alone with yours than I ever have,” he trailed with a shrug and a pout. “Though if I add every hour I’ve spent with Bruce up…” He pretended to count on his fingers. “Do you guys get a full eight hours’ sleep together, or…?”

“John,” she snorted into a smile, “even if he didn’t have a film to shoot, he still scouts jobs and visits his agent. I’m not around for all that. Trust me, you and Bruce have way more time together under your belt than the…” Jackie whipped out her phone and tapped around. “One-hundred and forty-four we’d potentially spend.”

One-hundred and forty-four divided by twenty-four… “You’ve been here six days already?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jackie sipped her coffee. “Matt started shooting on Monday night. I was pretty pissed about that - thank God for those corner gondolas.”

He left her here? That sounded like something Harley would’ve done. “Doesn’t he know how much you hate Gotham?”

Jackie scowled slightly into her cup and took another sip. “He knows I have issues here.” She picked up the powder brush and dabbed it over John’s arm, covering the last of the foundation. It was like John had never been bruised at all. It made the small pink cuts on his arm from where he’s torn the bandage off last night stand out a lot, but he didn’t mind walking around with those. “I mean, what am I supposed to do, tell him how I’m permanently mourning a lifetime of dead friends and my own name? Or how I almost killed a guy just to get out of the debt I sank myself in for a career I didn’t want? People already get weird around me when I get all moody,” she grunted, “He shouldn’t have to deal with all that.”

Aha ha ha hee hee! Now their kinship was ironically funny! “J-Jackie, you - you really do make a terrible psychologist,” he managed, his ribs aching with the rapid movement, “Mine have all been telling me to be open about these things with people, and until recently, I just ignored them! I mean, what do they know? Rejection for us in our cases means spiraling into another nasty bout of bad symptoms.”

He could tell she understood. He could see the dark sense of understanding there. They might have very different illnesses, but they were both a product of Gotham, with him born on the wrong side of its blanket and her forcibly rolled over to it. It was something she and Bruce shared - he couldn’t help but see it, and he felt the urge to both poke it and push it away to see what she’d do.

“But you know, it turns out they’re kind of right,” he continued, deciding to soften her up a little more with the truth, “I’d been hiding my symptoms from Bruce because I didn’t trust him not to be disappointed in me, and it only hurt us. Turns out telling him just opened both of us right up,” he emphasized with a spread of his hands. “I get not telling Matt about the whole attempted-murder thing, but to me, it feels like you don’t trust Matt enough with your feelings, and you excuse it by putting his before yours.”

She definitely seemed softened, if surprise counted as such. “I hate it when you do this,” she said, frowning into her cup and taking a not-very-angry sip. “Though I guess it’s easier to work through others’ problems than your own, huh?” she jabbed, taking a seat on the edge of the large bed.

“Now you’re just deflecting,” he teased, crossing his legs and taking a long sip from his own cup.

“Maybe,” she grunted, “It’s just… Matt and I have known each other a few months, but I’ve spent six days back in this shithole city, and it’s like I hardly see him. Monday was ‘surprise, honey, I have a shoot tonight’; Tuesday was ‘oh I have to shoot until after dark, my bad’! Just constant ins and outs and ‘my agent’s calling me,’ or ‘they need me back on set’ bullshit. I don’t even have the opportunity to open up to him.” She took a long sip as John nodded along. 

“Matt’s the reason you’re in town, though, right? Since I saw you Saturday, there must’ve been some good days,” he said as innocently as he could, mentally ticking off the box for Muddy Nye’s and Ian Coggs’ doppelgangers.

“Saturday was supposed to be good,” she grumbled, “That went fucking bust. The best day was...probably Wednesday. We spent most of the day together… I got to see him eat a Peralta’s cruller first-hand,” she answered with a wistful little smile. “He makes a cute mmm-face... And he had this great idea - dress up as the producers he’d met on set, go to a fancy-ass restaurant, and reap in their frequenter-discount while they were stuck shooting a night scene. That was worth it.”

The Two Gilded Cups. Hmm, hmm, hmm. “Well, now I’m curious! How’d you look?”

“You tell me,” she smirked, handing him her phone.

Sonja Townsend, in an ironed pant-suit that Jackie definitely did not and would not have in her wardrobe, beamed at him from the selfie-style picture. Vindication burst in his head like a bottle of champagne - his prime suspect for The Wednesday Nighters’ murders was at dinner that night (according to Tiffany), and if Jackie was the one at the dinner, then it only reasoned the real Sonja was at The Lot.

“Pretty good, huh? I worked off a picture he took; no one suspected a thing,” she chirped, “We had to drop the costumes off at his costar’s place afterwards, but it was fun. We got prime seats, a special discount - even got a free bottle of wine out of it.”

But she had no idea. She had no inkling of what had happened this week. His joy at finally being completely right at something was quickly souring. Jackie was an innocent pawn. Disgust was twisting in his throat and palatable on his tongue. He couldn’t find it in himself to walk away and leave her there while he tracked her lying pig of a boyfriend down and gave him some scars he wouldn’t be able to hide… After all, it was much more cathartic for her to get some hits in.

“Uh, are you okay?”

Of course he wasn’t. He felt angry, and guilty, and really annoyed at how he couldn’t be happy about being right. “You really don’t know who this is, do you?” (He never could understand how Bruce kept so much anger out of his voice. How did he not feel it bubbling under his skin and radiating from his tongue?)

“A Mrs. Sonja Townsend - she and her husband are small-time producers.” She stared him down, searching and annoyingly stony. “Why?”

“She works for Wayne Enterprises.” John forwarded the picture to his phone and tossed hers next to her lap, scrolling through his own gallery. Eenie, meenie, miney, moe -  the very-much-alive picture of Muddy Nye pulled from the BatComputer was the lucky first choice in the presentation he was about to throw her. “Have you seen this guy before?”

She glanced at it, recognition flashing in her eyes. “Where did you get that?”

“So that’s a definite yes. I’m guessing you don’t know who he really is, either? This,” he emphasized with a grand gesture of his hand at the picture, “is Muddy Nye, a once-budding member of the False Face Society turned-traitor and presumably-lone-survivor of the East Dock murders on Monday night. He was found chucked in a dumpster on Wednesday.”

He didn’t mind how she pulled the phone towards her to look. She was staring down at it, seeming to take in every detail, with a look John could practically feel. It was almost as if he was seeing her in his place, standing on the railings above vats of steaming chemical soups.

Treat people the way you want to be treated, he remembered. But you didn’t get a co-conspirator - innocent or not - to talk by being gentle, and he needed her to see the same reality that he could feel in the chair, in his pulse, and in the aches of his breath. “You said yourself that Matt’s shoot started-”

“This is a coincidence,” she said, staring back at him with clear denial as she tossed the phone back, “Matt always uses real-life references. What does this have to do with that woman I played?”

He fought back the urge to snap at her to just listen by squeezing his hands and remembering that her excuses were natural in the given circumstances. It was a very Bruce thing to say, really. “You haven’t read the news lately, have you?”

She sucked her teeth with a light sneer. “I stopped reading Gotham news a month after I left.”

Of course she had. Matt probably knew that. Or maybe he didn’t, and he didn’t care. “Well, that woman you played killed seven people in a casino on Wednesday night. Her only alibi is that she was at dinner with her husband.”

The surprise on her face shifted, and if looks could wound, he was sure he’d have a hole in his arm right now. “And you think we had something to do with it?” 

No, I think your boyfriend did, he thought. Any hostility would result in a bad time. He had to be careful. “If I did, Jackie, I wouldn’t be talking to you - you’d have a knife lodged in your shoulder to match ol’ Scarecrow’s scar.” She sank a little. Funny how that seemed to be an okay thing with her. “I just need to be sure. When Matt left today, what did he look like?”

“Why?”

“Because someone visited All Stitched Up Alterations, threatened my very nice boss into filling a vest with plastic explosives, and handed it off to Black Mask to try and kill the only good Wayne at his own party - and I’m positive that someone isn’t who they say they are.”

Jackie was still for a moment, staring him down like she used to do at her notepad in the sessions she was ghosting on. Back then, she seemed to be a mile away or more, likely trying to plot her escape to try and distract herself from the way Arkham’s walls practically bled with the compounded toxicity of Gotham. The Jackie right now didn’t seem so different, only that she was doing it in her makeshift pajamas.

She stood, handing him her foam cup with a “hold this” in an oddly steady voice, and John watched as she dug around in what must’ve been Matt’s luggage, sorting through boring men’s shoes, short black umbrellas, and a curling iron to retrieve a rather expensive-looking digital camera. He heard a lot of beeps as she cycled through the pictures. “He doesn’t upload everything,” Jackie managed to say, only slightly shaky on the last word, “but he’s always proud of his work.” 

In other words, he was narcissistic enough to leave some evidence behind. John hoped he didn’t like to throw away perfectly reusable costumes, too.

Jackie just stood there, gripping the camera too hard, looking caught between the budding reality that the person she admired the most was as rotten as the residents of Gotham Cemetery and the mind’s emergency exit.

“How about we trade?” he offered, wiggling his phone at her. “So we know for sure what the other saw.”

She blinked. “Alright.” There were a few beeps from the camera, and in turn he pulled up the picture of Ian Coggs. “Just don’t cycle back too far.”

“Ha! Ditto. On three,” he said, holding his phone sideways as she extended the bulky end of the camera at arm’s length, “One…” She didn’t look ready, but then again, who would be? “Two...” There was no time to think about what he would do if she went off the deep end. “Three!”

His phone was snatched out of his hand as he yanked the camera from hers.

Sure enough, there was Ian ‘Nito’ Coggs, tilting his head and trying to scowl in much better lighting than the hotel room actually had, in the same jacket and jeans that John had seen on Wednesday, piercings and tattoos in full view. He’d taken multiple shots, showing off the makeshift tattoos on his hands and neck (the sock and buskin masks still peeking out over the top of his shirt), doing multiple expressions and close-ups, and going back further were similar pictures of Muddy Nye in what looked like a studio apartment.

He’d hit the jackpot, but the same ugly disturbance sat in his mouth even as sparklers lit up in his brain.

He looked up at Jackie, half mad at her for ruining what should’ve been a good moment of catharsis by making him feel sympathy, and wondered if that was how he looked back at Ace Chemicals when the gray-hued truth had smashed the black and white lines his mind had drawn in the shape of a bat. 

At last, it was like he could see the yolk for a second time, but it was in danger of bursting and slipping out of the shell and into the bubbling vats. She looked like she might somehow break the phone in her hand like a peanut.

So John did what he thought was best - he gently put the camera down, stood in front of her, and carefully put his hands on her shoulders to bring her back to Earth and away from the chemical fumes.

Jackie looked up at him, a step away from the big red exit sign with its tempting whisper of antagonistic nihilism, and pulled him into a crushing hug.

He didn’t know what to do. He was standing on the floor of the mediocre hotel room, letting her fingers dig painfully into his ribs as she squeezed him, hearing her scream into his shirt. And then choke into a sob and wail-scream like Cannibal Carl when he was desperate for his sense of taste to return at one in the morning.

Despite how this was really real and definitely happening what with all the different sensations he was experiencing, he had even less of an idea of what he should be doing. Still, life was short and fairly pointless and not knowing something hadn’t stopped him from experimenting before, so he reached around to return the impromptu hug and gave a pat for good measure. “It’s okay,” he tried, remembering how comfortable and reassuring Bruce’s hugs were, “Iiit’s okay.” He kept still, feeling a little less awkward as her grip loosened a little amongst another scream. “Cry it out, pumpkin-head, Joker’s right here.” There was a lower wail in response. “Do you want me to scream with you, so you don’t feel left out?”

Her sob choked into a laugh, shoulders shaking like there was no difference at all, and her grip on him loosened substantially. The laugh still came in little bursts as she pulled away, tears still streaking down her reddened face. “No - no, you don’t have to.”

“But I could if I wanted? Because it is really fun, especially when everyone’s asleep...”

She gave another few ha’s and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “It’s past noon.”

“So? We both know place doesn’t have a lot of early-risers.”

She sank back onto the bed with another amused ha-hmm. “When did you take that picture?” she sniffed as John picked the fallen phone off the bleached carpet.

“Wednesday morning, at the alterations place up the road.”

She was getting that bent-over-her-notepad look. “He walked me over there on Monday to drop off my dress.”

Scouting the premises, most likely.

“He chose this place, too,” she commented, wiping her face with downcast sort of sneer, “Said it was convenient.”

“It kinda is,” John noted aloud, taking his seat back in the desk-chair and scooting it closer to her, “Muddy Nye was found in the alley behind All Stitched Up’s fence. Closer to the docks.” He waited a beat as he let it sink in. He knew she didn’t like too much sympathy – it was best to get her mind jogging. “What did Matt do with his outfit on Monday night?”

“I never saw that one,” she shrugged, “only the test shots he’d taken. He said was getting changed on set that day.”

John pulled up his map application and zoomed in on 13th Street until he found the Lucky Hotel. “Do you remember where you went on Wednesday night, to drop the ‘costumes’ off?” he asked, doing his best to think like Bruce.

“Yeah,” she muttered, scrolling right and down and left, and swiping with an occasional pause – he noticed she had scrolled all the way to the Two Gilded Cups, and now was taking turns down streets like she was trying to remember the driving route. Apparently, they took some detours. “Here,” she said, pointing to the corner with the fishmonger and Muddy’s makeshift coffin of rotting fish, “We changed clothes in the car. His costar offered to let him drop them off.” Her face twisted into a teary scowl. “I’m so fucking stupid. I should’ve known something was off when I didn’t see any lights on upstairs. But nooo, I trusted him…”

John remembered the empty rooms above the fish place. That had been Tuesday, but what if… “What’d you guys put the clothes in?”

“A duffle bag. I thought it was something he’d borrowed from the set.”

“Ooh, that’s devious,” he chuckled to himself, “These guys have got balls, I’ll give ‘em that.” She looked confused. “See, Muddy was found here,” he accentuated with a point at the alleyway, “There’s spaces above the fish place. I bet they had that bag waiting in one of those rooms. Wednesday, Matt goes to pick it up, brings it here, you guys play dress up - and once it’s over, he throws it back right where he found it, and someone probably came to pick it up the next day. Probably Sonja herself; she or some P.A. she’s got on a leash came around before I got to work on Tuesday – looong story there - and as far as I know came back after Wednesday.”

“Uh…what?”

“Look, I said it’s a long story. The short, short version is someone close to Sonja dropped off an item at work and it was still there when I left Wednesday.” He sat back on his hands, tapping his feet to help him think. It might be safe for her to check out that place. She wouldn’t be as obvious, and she could probably think up a good excuse to go in the first place. Hmm…

“Well… At least everything else suddenly makes stupid sense,” Jackie muttered, “Earlier, I kept thinking ‘He wouldn’t have brought me with him if he knew Black Mask would crash, right?’ But why else didn’t he want me seeing him on set? Why didn’t he want me meeting anyone he worked with? Why was it sheer luck that he pulled me out of the party to go bone in the bathroom minutes before it all went to hell?”

“So that’s where you went!” John exclaimed, “I thought I didn’t see you during the raid! I thought you just hid under a table or something…”

Jackie seemed surprised at that. “Wait, you went back – did you and Batman team up?” she asked, leaning in with an almost awed sort of look, “Everyone was saying he crashed! How? Did he follow those masked guys there? Did he follow you there?”

It had certainly changed her mood, but he wasn’t about to suggest that… Well, actually, maybe. Hah - why not?! “He came there to see me,” he boasted, “Bruce took me out of my home-away-from-home after the little attempted-murder-by-sniper incident the other day, and Bats was hounding me for clues.”

“You were shot at?!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s another story. Stuff just keeps piling up, really,” John added, tapping his feet together, “Though that does bring up something - you remember the Court of Owls, right?”

“Uh… Yeah, Dr. Crane was interested in them.” She squinted at him, seeming to put the pieces together. “You’re not saying they’re behind the attack on you?”

“Bingo. The mass murders of Black Mask’s crew on the boat and the docks, Muddy Nye and Hubbard Jr.’s murders, the casino slaughter of The Wednesday Nighters – all of it was orchestrated by them, using Black Mask’s inside info. Which is where Matt came in. Oh, and me and Catwoman got targeted, too, but…here I am!”

She seemed… Well, the best thing he could think of was the sort of bewilderment that might come with finding out aliens were real, but also ate planets whole. “O-kay… That’s a lot.”

“Ha ha! Yeah, it’s been one hell of a ride!” he chuckled to himself.

Jackie breathed deep. The tears had long stopped trying to flow, but the tracks could still be seen on her flushed face. “Okay… Ignoring my constant internal screams and urges to bite anything in range, you and Batman are working together on this, right?” She looked at him with a sort of wild, determined hope that made him think she was going to start muttering to herself that everything would be okay.

“Um, yeah?”

“Thank fuck. I know this is all evidence, but you have no idea – that is the only thing stopping me from destroying everything in here right now.”

“Ha ha ha hee he! I have plenty of ideas, actually - you’re feeling like everything you knew is breaking apart, right? It’s like -” he made a fist and slammed it into his open palm - “BAM! There goes your hopes and dreams!” He kicked the air in front of him. “SMASH! Your trust in anything is gone! WHAM!” - he flung himself backward in the chair, exaggerating falling - “Nothing matters anymore! Aha ha ha ha ha haa! It hurts reeeeal bad!” he added, sitting back upright and giving her a light smack on the shoulder, “Trust me, Jackie, I’m literally the only person in Gotham who knows exactly what this feels like.” Did that sound like too much? He wanted her help, but getting it was going to take more than repeating things… Though it was also the truth. “It’s gonna hurt like hell for a while, but I know you’ll pull through!”

She looked at his thumbs up and offered a little chuff noise and tiny smile in return. “I don’t know how you’re so optimistic about it. Then again, I don’t have a Batman here to beat some sense into me,” she joked. It faded after a moment. “Thank you for telling me all this, John. And...being here. I don’t think I’d be able to restrain myself if I discovered any of this on my own.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” John nudged, the Speaking of which on the tip of his tongue dying as she scrunched her brow in the confused manner that couldn’t be good…

“We’re friends?”

At least it wasn’t derisive sounding. Or sarcastic. Or anything that made it a clear rejection, actually, but it was best to cover himself... “Well, yeah, we both went through the whole Scarecrow fiasco together – sorta – and you helped me out last night without asking for anything in return. And now that you know what it feels like to have your muse break your perception of reality, I’d say we have a proper enemies-to-friends buildup here,” he finished with a general wave to the empathy-fueled-vibes between them.

“I’d say ‘knowing my track record, this won’t end well’… But you are weirdly lucky. And annoyingly right about some things.” She pursed her lips and blew air up at a stray lock of her very curly hair, slapped her knees, and stood as tall as her legs would let her. “Okay. Let me help you guys. I know Matt, I can find any evidence you might need and tell you anything you need to know – passwords, phone numbers, whatever. He’s too proud to just throw his tools away; I’d bet anything he stashed his costume someplace, probably with his other one for the dead guy. I can find them and either put them here or in my car, whichever’s safer.”

Yahtzee!  “And you promise you won’t run off with any of it?”

“Because as much as I’d love to burn everything he ever had to the ground right now,” she scowled, poison practically dripping from her mouth, “I’ve been through enough breakups and psych classes to know that won’t fix anything. The only way I’ll get any kind of catharsis is to see him break – and I guarantee he’ll do that before a judge.” She picked her phone up and tapped around. “Besides, we’re friends, I’ve got nothing to lose, and if I can help out some of the only people worth a shit in this hellhole, I’ll do it. Here, add your number.”

John dolefully typed in his personal number, adding the little joker-card emoticon on either side of his name, and sent himself a text. “Think you can copy what’s on that camera for me?”

“Sure.” She took her phone back. “I’ll send you his MuSec and InstaPic logins, too,” she added as John’s phone gave another short buzz. “Might be worth a look.”

The text was from Iman:  I’m out front.

“Looks like I’ve got the red light, kiddo.” John dusted himself off a bit, failing to brush off the empathy that seemed to stick there. He guessed he had to learn to live with this, too, like he didn’t have enough guilt and woe and bouts of sympathy to deal with. “I’ll give Matt a little stab in the kidney for you if I see him,” he joked, taking the edge off himself.

“Your prince is waiting to take you away in his chariot, huh?” Jackie picked up her coffee cup, drained the last of it, and crushed it in her fist, not seeming to care about the drops on the carpet or her hand. “That’s okay. I’ll text you if I feel like I’m going to high-dive off a building or something.”

John snorted into a laugh. “Aw, Jackie, we both -” John emphasized with a light boop to her nose - “know you’re more a danger to others right now. You should really just call me if you feel like you’re going to go off the deep end, anyway, a real voice helps more. And that includes if you get gun-happy.”

Jackie had gotten a little pink in the face, but she looked better, even mumbling a sincere ‘okay’ as she followed him to the door.

“Text me anything you find and I’ll make sure you get a few brownie points from Bats, too.”

“If these come in the form of an autographed photo, I’ll take ‘em,” Jackie seemed to joke, “Oh, and you can do me a favor, since I keep helping you out - tell Bruce to stop and say ‘hi’ before he leaves next time.” He must’ve had the ‘but how did you know?!’ written on his back, or else he froze in the doorway a second too long, because she snorted before he even turned to look over his shoulder. “You make it too obvious. Besides, I know a hickey when I see one, Joke-man,” she elaborated with a smirk. “Stay safe out there.”

With a little wave his way, John was again alone in the hotel hall at a loss for meaningful words, feeling like he was in some weird space where time didn’t mean anything. “Uh, thanks,” he said to the door, unsure if it was the right thing to say.

He breathed in, focusing on the plot of his feet on the out-of-date carpet and the smell of diluted off-brand cleaning solution that seemed to stick everywhere. It might have felt like a strange place, but this was a strange week and he was able to cross multiple goals off his list barely an hour after waking up. He was so damn right about so many things! And he had evidence to prove it! He could take this all back to the rest of them and shove it under their noses and go HA! 

“That went well!” he affirmed to himself as he strut into the same elevator Bruce had taken down, “Bruce’ll be so proud!”

                                                      † † † † †

True to her word, Iman had been parked and waiting right outside the hotel in a very sleek silver sedan, the tinted window rolled down so John could see her face. Upon closer inspection, the car had no identifying hood ornament. Or really, anything extraneous at all.

People had always joked about how you could always tell an Agent by their shoes, but surely an unmarked car was another dead giveaway.

“Gooood morning, Iman,” John greeted, sliding into the passenger seat, “You ready to do a B-’n’-E?”

“I like to think of it as more of a surprise covert inspection.”

That would explain the dark jumpsuit and the messy bun she’d put her hair in. “What’s the ‘G’ for?” he asked, pointing to the patch over the breast pocket.

“Gotham Construction. Bruce thankfully has a closet full of things like this. Though I don’t know why the ‘G’ on some of them are shaped like this

gear… But it was the only one that fit me. Yours is behind the seat. I also picked you up-”

John was already popping open the grease-spotted paper bag next to the matching jumpsuit, the unmistakable smell of grease and fried meat hitting him like a slap in the face. “A pancake burger?!”

“Egg-sausage-muffin. I’m guessing a pancake burger is exactly what it sounds like?”

“Yup! I’m about ninety-percent sure I didn’t dream that food-truck,” John said, biting into the woefully-unsyruped sandwich. At least it had cheese. “T’ey’re ‘mazin’.” Realizing he was being rude, he swallowed to speak. “But this is good, too!”

“I’ll have to find that truck for next time,” Iman smiled as she merged into traffic. “I’m guessing things went well last night?”

“Mm-hmm!” John flashed a thumb’s up her way while he swallowed another bite. “I’m glad you’re not weirded out about it. I take it this is your way of apology for not telling the others? I mean, you did figure it out before last night, right?”

Iman shot him a look he couldn’t decipher. “I’m not apologizing for anything; I just figured you’d be hungry by now. And just because I figured it out on my own months ago doesn’t mean it’s my responsibility to act as Bruce’s psychiatrist and tell him what to do, let alone tell his secrets for him.”

He didn’t want to tell her she should’ve said it anyways for his sake. “I bet you still hint at him,” he said instead, hoping that was true, “You’re good at subtlety.”

“Only when I think he’s going to do something...” she trailed off, seeming to search for the word she wanted.

“Stupid?” John offered, “Asinine? It’s okay, you can say it - for all his smarts, he has his dumb moments.”

“I was going to say ‘detrimental to the cause’,” Iman finished, not looking at him. “I joined the Agency because I wanted to help save lives. But I’ve always admired Batman’s commitment to pursuing justice outside of the legal limits that don’t always work in our favor - it’s why I came to Gotham on the Riddler case.”

He felt like he was back at the visiting table in Arkham, examining her little movements and steady gaze with as much scrutiny as he could allow. She was holding herself up, all pride and seriousness, reminding him very much of Bruce some days. “I…kinda knew that.”

“Batman’s whole purpose is to clean up the parts of the city where regular law enforcement don’t. I’m proud to be a part of that, even if I’m not in the field,” she noted with a twinge of regret, “But Bruce is Batman, and he’s human - consequently more people know about Batman. If I thought someone, or something Bruce has done was going to interfere with Batman’s work in some way, I’d tell him.”

They stopped at a light - she looked back at him, serious but not reprimanding or upset. It did not calm him at all. He could feel stress blooming in his brain at the implication she was making. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, let alone think – he might as well not be in the car or the city at all, but on Dr. Leland’s bench.

“I know you won’t betray Bruce, John,” she said with all the honesty of the top brass of St. Dymphna, “and I know that he trusts you, but I need to know you can work with us on the same level.”

Relief unraveled the knot in his stomach with one simple tug and let the air out of his lungs in a joyous burst. “Ha ha ha ha ha! That’s all? Whelp, good news – I’m way ahead of you!” John whipped out his phone to pull up the gallery, finding a text from Jackie with app links attached:

MuSec has play scenes with lofi and some sos of Bludhaven. :/ So good luck with that. InstaPic has got a million selfies of his usual looks + stage work at least, maybe prototypes.

“I’ve got all the dirt on our two-timing man on the inside.”

Sos??? he typed back.

Shot on shitteos. Grainy vhs filter + dark filter + indie = ~tortured artist~ lol

Login w MasterOfClayFace / #IdW3arThat

“Such as?” Iman asked, clearly waiting for more. John supposed it wasn’t a great start to their team-up to get distracted.

“Name, real face, evidence a-plenty! Guy by the name of Matt Chaney – a real master of makeup with image issues. He crashed the Gala last night with our little pumpkin-headed former-antagonist.” He pulled up InstaPic and logged in, finding rows of Matt’s face in various outfits, makeup tweaked just enough to make him look like whatever character he was playing while maintaining his Hollywood-handsome face. Jackie was next to him here and there, along with other co-stars. “Not that she’s been part of it. Knowingly, anyway.”

“You’ve…lost me.”

“Oh, you never met Jackie, did you… Bruce has her pumpkin mask in the case by Scarecrow’s.”

“Jackie Lant.” Iman scrunched her face thoughtfully. “You don’t think she’s had a hand in with either the Owls or the False Face Society?”

“Nope! Because I was right - Sonja Townsend is our Lot killer. Matt coerced Jackie into dressing up as Sonja, and they made sure Mr.-and-Mrs. Townsend were seen on Wednesday night.”

“And you have proof of that?”

Something about her tone rubbed him the wrong way. The way that started to brew that old familiar feeling in his head that normally lead to…outbursts. “Sonja actually being there is…complicated,” he shrugged, trying and failing not to sneer, “You guys never said you found anything at the scene, so I only have her signature on that alterations receipt. And the relation to the card-carrier. But I know I’m right!” He knew it wasn’t what a lawyer might call concrete, especially since you weren’t supposed to show yourself riled up in court, but that was what brass-knuckle confessions were for. “Here’s Jackie as Wednesday-Sonja,” he emphasized, pushing the picture he’d gotten into her field of view. “And I have the receipt from their little excursion – the time on it puts her squarely there! And I’ve got a gallery of proof that Matt’s Ian Coggs!”

Iman glanced over, seeming to take it in, and returned to driving as usual. “I meant of Matt coercing Jackie. I can stretch my sense of disbelief to include Sonja Townsend masquerading as a younger woman and using her son-in-law’s card to register the room. But it’s hard to believe a young woman who had once planned a murder and eventual cover-up by pretending to be someone just swept up in a psych-experiment-gone-wrong could be coerced into anything. I watched the tape of her shooting Dr. Crane,” she added with an air of one of the Arkham doctors walking him through the concept of ‘consequences for his actions’, “It was cold and calculated; she’s the type to plan far in advance. Neither you nor Bruce had suspected her of tampering with your visiting rights at the time. And if ‘Matt Chaney’ is the one who’s disguising himself as Muddy Nye and Ian Coggs, then there’s no one to say Jackie Lant isn’t doing something similar.”

“I can say it,” John grumbled. Iman didn’t see her try to desperately cover for Matt before scream-crying on him.

“But I only have your word.” The car stopped again. “I want to trust you on this, John, but I can’t trust your interpretation without any proof.”

“You’d trust Bruce’s,” he scoffed quietly, spitefully taking a larger bite.

“You know Bruce would say the same thing,” Iman added gently. “Send what you have to the BatComputer and we’ll look over it together.”

John could easily imagine Bruce asking for evidence, but that didn’t stop irritation from growing and sitting in his jaw. He didn’t know how else to prove that Jackie was exactly as innocent as she seemed without any physical proof, and she was currently trying to gather further proof that Matt had been Muddy Nye.

Hey, send me your InstaPic too, he typed, hoping she had something that concretely put her far and away from any of Matt’s fishy business.

What you can’t see my face on Matt’s page? 9_9

xXPumpkinPrincessXx

Sure enough, Matt’s InstaPic account had Jackie’s face near the top of his friends-list. John decided to check that last.

Matt had a lot of stuff in his direct messages from people trying to impress him with reactions, flirty messages, and boasts about buying tickets to various projects he must have had a role in. John couldn’t really see the appeal of him, outside of his mildly-handsome face and lightweight build – sure, the costumes were nice when he wore them, but Matt had far too many public-facing selfies, the majority of which was just Matt doing normal things. A simple picture of him drinking a smoothie in a tank top got him fifteen-thousand likes, and the ones that featured Jackie or other people he guessed worked in Bludhaven’s theater troupes (an awful lot of women, John noticed) got maybe six-thousand at most. There were some flagged-for-review selfies that definitely edged the line between appropriate and softcore porn that had gotten a few thousand before they were pulled from the public. Ones of him in costumes seemed to get ten-thousand on the regular, with the most-liked in the bunch being a silent time-lapse video of Matt transforming into a near mirror-image of Vincent Price two months ago – even John had to admit that the head-explosion emoticons people had commented with were appropriate…

John blinked, looking at the grid of pictures, and realized that something was missing from the looping .gif of Matt in the makeup chair. Something obvious. Something he’d seen in plain daylight for himself.

“Now that’s interesting…”

“What is?” Iman asked from the driver’s seat. John didn’t look up to see where they were, but they were still moving.

“Matt Chaney didn’t have his tattoo two months ago. The one with the theater masks.” John scrolled down – there were some entries that had been removed for violating the site’s policy, but the last shirtless picture Matt had taken was three months ago. John circled back to the top, looking at the picture of Matt sucking just a little suggestively on the smoothie straw four weeks ago in his plain white tank, and noticed the inked mask of comedy sitting above the fabric line. “But he had it last month.”

“Quite a few of the False Faces had mask tattoos,” Iman commented thoughtfully, “Including the theater one.”

“Oh yeeeah,” John mumbled, “Roman split the gang up into sections, didn’t he? What was that Melpomene-Thalia group assigned to?”

Iman’s mouth curled into a disgusted frown; that was a first for her. Her eyes crinkled and narrowed, like the car in front of her had a racist bumper-sticker. “I don’t believe those are as cut and dry as some of the others.” Her clean polished fingers clenched the steering wheel a little. “One of the masks we captured last night was on the Agency’s watch-list for threatening public officials, suspected blackmail, and grand arson. Another had a previous charge for assault, vandalism, and stalking. What does that say to you?”

Ooh, test time! Threats, destruction, stalking abilities… Put together right it could be a little terrorist group. But unlike Harvey Dent and his little militia, Roman didn’t seem to have an interest in taking a government position or two and using it for personal vendettas; he liked keeping things underground. “Sounds like the right-hand messengers – dish out destruction as your last warning before the boss order’s your death.”

“Exactly. They’re some of the top brass, so to speak. So why leave ‘Ian’ out of the Gala… Just because he was newer?” She tapped the wheel as they came to a stop. “Matt might have done the initiation and gotten the tattoo in Ian’s place, assuming Ian was dead before that. But how long had he pretended to be him? How did Ian get pulled into the gang in the first place…?”

“Probably knew a guy who knew a guy,” John shrugged, thinking of the cronies that had been brought into the Pact. “Word gets around in all kinds of circles. I bet Matt was doing ‘research’ and overheard some of Black Mask’s goons looking to hire. I’d be surprised if he didn’t stalk Ian for a while beforehand.” He drummed his fingers on his phone. “Besides, Ian’s real-life-rap-sheet wasn’t up to their level, so I bet he got put on retainer in case the Bat hit the fan. That, or they drew straws.”

She blinked, arching a brow at him. “Straws? Really?”

“Sure, the guys did it all the time in the Pact! Only hand-picked ones got to have the special jobs, y’know. The light’s green,” he added with a point.

Iman didn’t say anything, but the ‘why didn’t I think of that’ look said enough as she took off again. “I’m guessing Matt wasn’t in the ballroom when Roman showed up,” she said stiffly.

“Nope. Took Jackie to bone in the bathroom. Her words,” he explained at the look thrown his way, “Guy really plays both sides of the field – he could’ve high-tailed it before the masks arrived, but he went and stayed behind to see who survived.”

“He wasn’t there to see the end results, John – he was there to spy on Bruce.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to John before, but it seemed like made sense. “You think?”

“Bruce is a billionaire with some serious social connections and an infamy for throwing money around various charitable causes. I’d be surprised if the Court of Owls wasn’t trying to circle his heels – on paper, he’s a potentially ideal pigeon.”

John’s grin practically split his face in two as he cackled, slapping the door’s armrest before remembering he shouldn’t break things that belonged to friends. “Ahee ha ha HA – a-a STOOLIE thinks Bruce is a PIGEON !”

John could’ve sworn he’d heard something that sounded like a chuckle not coming from him, but Iman definitively cleared her throat as his last laugh petered out.

“Ha ha, sorry – I couldn’t resist. You really think they’re after him for his money?”

“If not, it’s probably to get close enough to kill him,” she continued as if she wasn’t also feeling like icy water had slipped down to her stomach, “He might have had a hand in dismantling the Pact, but even if they don’t put his own criminal behavior during that period or his family name against him, everyone knows he’s close to you – they might want to kill him on principal.”

That was an interesting thought. The kind that jabbed him in the ribs but sent that helpless spark of intrigue into his brain. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am,” he ribbed lightly, “Guess I should’ve taken that book’s quote about the slightest hand being guided by the Devil a little more seriously…”

“Well, I didn’t think about it until this morning, either.”

There was a pause, and John drummed his fingers against his thigh, unsure of what to say. If Iman was right – and there was a pretty darn high chance she was – that meant Bruce wasn’t safe in or out of the Batsuit. And he was already halfway into the suit, following an Owl wearing a literal False Face right into Black Mask’s hiding spot. That…might not end well, if Matt was able to get a message out to the Owls before Bruce or Tiffany body-slammed him.

It was probably a good idea to tell Bruce that. Just in case something over-the-top levels of weird happened. Be careful buddy!!, he started, Jackie’s boytoy from the party is our mysterious double-agent – aka that guy Matt Chaney ur chasing rn. And yeeees I’m uploading everything so just concentrate on plucking his feathers and punching Skullface so I still have a Bat to smooch later. ;p

Iman seemed to be thinking. That, or she was concentrating on the road – they had come to a weirder part of town, where street names were confusingly labeled with similar (if not exact) names one after another. They passed a Rodney St only to see Rodey St right after it.

John decided to scroll through Matt’s MuSec page, which automatically sorted by most popular and didn’t change when the filter was set to sort by date. A lot of it looked like duplicate videos from InstaPic, but the ones of Bludhaven stood out like the Batsignal against a cloudy night sky, most of them looking just as Jackie had described. He ignored the bulk of them, eying date stamps instead, thinking back to the original Ian Coggs’ last day in Bludhaven’s mental care facility.

Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. He guessed it was too much to hope for something obviously linking him to Ian ‘Nito’. The only thing he could discern was that Matt never seemed to take videos with other people unless he was on stage with them. No hangouts with friends, no secret recordings of strangers – just Matt, his career, and his home. Just him, him, him.

It didn’t feel familiar to John at all. He pulled up InstaPic again, scrolling through the group-shots - it was just the same kind of smile on Matt’s face plastered on each one, barely varying between fans and costars, the angle always being a tilted selfie from Matt’s hand. It was almost like the attempt at Bruce’s charming photo-ready smile John had seen back at the Gala. But of course anyone who knew Bruce beyond the surface knew that those smiles were -

…ah.

As fake as Bruce’s past “romances” – maybe some had substance, somewhere, but ultimately they meant nothing.

The MuSec page might have held no criminal evidence, but it sure helped prove that Matt Chaney was a selfish prick.

Now Jackie Lant, on the other hand… One glance told him her MuSec was the opposite of Matt’s. The thumbnails showed clear collaborations and only a couple of standalone videos of her on stage or in her makeup chair. Her InstaPic showed a lot of the same things, but with a UBox link at the top and Matt’s face on every row of images with some different and seemingly-genuine expressions. She had less

followers – 3055 - to Matt’s ridiculous 8055  – but she had likes and reblogs a-plenty on both pages, and where Matt had three uploads all week, Jackie had three or more every day. Particularly of various takeaway outings, the last of which showed a Citizens Against Bats  flyer in the window – the bat symbol crossed out in red, of course, and a group meeting advertised for next week with a burner number – and the caption “signs that your restaurant is a front for something shady #OnlyInGotham  #atleasttheirpizzasmellsgood”.

The upload times were erratic, but Wednesday highlighted her story of being out with Matt there – any opportunity for a picture of or with him was there for everyone to see. Nothing concrete from a hah-they-weren’t-doing-crimes-together perspective, but from a character one…there was only one conclusion he could draw.

“What’s so funny?” Iman asked from the driver’s seat.

He’d didn’t think his giggling was that obvious. That, or her peripheral vision was really good, even when driving. “I was in a really dark place last night. The itching to hurt myself and anything around me kind of place. And when I saw a car pull around at an opportune time, I didn’t care who was in it – and for someone who couldn’t sympathize enough with the horrible thoughts us patients spilled on the couch, Jackie had no problem putting up with me. Even today! She just welcomed me in helped me out like we were pals. And I didn’t really think about it before, but picture after picture here proves what I could guess - she did it because she was lonely! Ha ha ha - imagine being so desperate for company you’d let me, the mental patient your boss wouldn’t let you talk to without supervision, in your car! Aha ha ha ha ha haa!” The laugh made his lungs ache with pressure, but he didn’t care. “What’s funnier is… I get it! It’s like getting a visitor after being in the Hole:  you don’t care who it is; anything’s better than being by yourself.”

“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Iman said coolly, “She didn’t have many friends living in Gotham by the time she left. I imagine she’s had a hard time really bonding with other people due to losing so many in traumatic fashions – and after a traumatic event like last night’s hostage situation, it’s reasonable that she wanted to help you, especially since she knows you already. It would be both grounding and give her a sense of accomplishment and heroism that she couldn’t have fulfilled at the manor.”

Man, Iman sure had a way with words. “Yeah, but you missed the point – it’s me. That’s what makes it funny. If it were almost anyone else…ehh,” he added with a shrug. “I mean, if we only mildly knew one another – like we parted ways after my whole stunt trying to kill Waller – and you saw me stop your car and just hop in it, gnashing my teeth and barely holding myself together, would you just go along with it?”

“Yes, I would,” Iman answered, not a dishonest syllable to be heard, “Though I’d make sure we’d talk to your doctor right away and get you to a safer place than that hotel.”

John hadn’t really expected that answer. He knew Bruce would say yes, but he didn’t like leaving hurt people alone to begin with, and Bruce was less likely to call a doctor and far more likely take care of things himself. John had expected Iman to think carefully before answering with a noncommittal variation of ‘yes’. What a caring gal. “Man, you were wasted on the Agency,” he answered warmly, “You’re way too good for them.”

Iman gave a soft smile in return, which John took as a wordless ‘thanks’. “Is everything sent to the BatComputer?”

He’d forgotten to start the transfer. “Iiit’s still working on it,” John fumbled as he pulled up the share function of his phone’s gallery. Sure enough, the crummy tower signal he was getting told him it would take a while to upload anyway. Sharing the texts was much faster, at least. “Still no response from Bruce, though…”

“Just because he can text on his gauntlet doesn’t mean he should,” Iman teased, “He’ll be fine. He and Tiffany are looking after one another.”

John hummed, wanting to believe that despite the sting at the mention of Tiffany. Bruce usually texted back fast, even as Batman…

The Herold Rite’s Theatre appeared around the corner, tearing John away from his thoughts. Its old playbill sign was yellowed and empty, but the lights surrounding it weren’t broken and the theater’s name was still perfectly legible. It just looked…dreary. Sunburnt paper covered the inside of the ticket booth’s glass behind the thin metal storm shutters. Laminated notices on each of the doors’ shutters showcased the place as under construction, do not enter, yadda yadda yadda, but the fractured plastic and faded ink reminded passerby’s it had been out-of-commission for some time.

“I’m guessing we’re not taking the front door,” John joked.

“There’s a staff exit we can break into around the back.” Iman pulled the car into the shady alleyway nearby. “I’ve already checked for city footage, this place is almost invisible. City inspections haven’t been officially done in a month, and it’s been closed for a couple of years now.”

“So we should expect lots of graffiti and garbage inside, huh?”

“Most likely. I’d be surprised if someone hadn’t tried living in it before now. If anything, we at least have to watch out for rats.”

“I thought owls ate those,” John nudged, getting a chuckle in response.

“I don’t think they’ve gone that native.” She parked just in front of the dumpster. “Get changed, I’ll wait where you can see me.”

The jumpsuit was loose enough to cover John’s clothes; he didn’t like the idea of taking anything off in Iman’s car (even if the windows were tinted and she was waiting with her back to him by the driver-side door) so he simply zipped it over everything else, tossing his St. Dymphna phone in the center armrest for safekeeping. The coveralls were annoyingly baggy to the point where he found himself pulling at the bunches of fabric around his waist and trying to figure out if he could tuck them in as he trailed behind Iman’s flat thuds of proper work-boots.

The sun was clearly already in early-summer mode, beating down on his shoulders the second he’d stepped out of the car – it didn’t matter that the sun wasn’t actually shining in their dark little corner, of course. It was omnipresent and tearing through layers of brick to hit him, specifically, like a punishment for looking where he shouldn’t. At least it felt like it.

John rubbed the back of his neck, the heat of his palm not helping. He didn’t know why he felt...paranoid. He was here, right now, growing steadily sweaty with stupid layers and summer heat, and he had a right to poke into business if it was his. Which this definitely was. He looked over his shoulder, not seeing so much as a camera, and looked around the roof edges for any sign of life.

Of course there was nothing there, because for all the strides he’d taken, his brain still liked to trick him.

Iman bent before the door with a very used-looking toolkit. John wondered at what to say.

He pushed the ideas of ‘Should we really be here’ and ‘Do you think they roost on rooftops’ away. “Didn’t you normally just kick the door down?” he joked lightly.

“I thought it would be best to be stealthy about this.” The lock clicked. “Besides, it’d be a waste if I didn’t get to actually use this after all the practicing I’ve done,” she boasted, tucking the kit away in one of her very deep pockets.

“You’re not gonna start wearing leather and cat ears on the job, are you?”

Iman pulled a face somewhere between amused and disturbed. “No. At least I hope not.”

The theater was even drearier inside. It reminded John of the Old Five Points, minus the working lights and water, and plus the smell of buttered popcorn practically soaked into what was left of the carpet. It felt as damp and dark as it looked, mold and mildew creeping in his nose to mingle with popcorn only a few steps in.

Iman passed him a small clip-on flashlight, having her own clinging to the pocket with the gear-shaped ‘G’. John clipped it to his jumpsuit’s collar, remembering how Bruce had a similar one on his cape when they had explored the mausoleum last year. Only now they were dependent on only the flashlights and not on loud EDM and glow-stick-filled pumpkins to guide them.

“There don’t appear to be any heat signatures in any of these…” Iman turned her head slowly, seeming to scan the hallway of supply rooms like a robot.

“Ooh, did you steal Bruce’s special contacts?”

“I borrowed them – with permission. Same goes for these,” Iman emphasized with a smile, handing John a few Bat-decorated goodies. A small can of tear gas, two Batarangs, and a palm-sized remote taser . John ran this thumb just over the edge of the thin blade, excitement prickling at his temples. “Hopefully, we won’t have to use them. These are strictly loaner pieces.”

John tucked them all away, no longer hating the roomy coveralls. “Oh, no worries, I get ’cha.”

“You can’t keep them,” she added pointedly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it! And I’m sure you wouldn’t keep them in your car for a rainy day and write the loss off as a misadventure,” he needled, “Not that I’d say anything if you did.”

Iman looked like she was definitely noting that to herself. “Let’s start checking rooms. I’ll take the right side.”

“You got it.”

Graffiti of all kinds was plastered on the walls, mostly tags covering parts of worn-out posters or stickers. Which would’ve been fine, if it hadn’t been clear that someone had gone to the trouble of drawing thick black lines over the middle of them all, regardless of size. It reminded John of censor marks over people’s eyes in photos. Some were darker than others, showing the paint can was running out but still usable, and it brought to mind the tics made on the asylum walls, counting days like they mattered.

A couple of Bat-symbols not unlike the one shown from the G.C.P.D. roof were scattered around, all but one in bright yellow crossed out. The paint had dripped from the wing and tail end before it dried. John took a picture of it, feeling like he’d seen the beacon itself, and then opened the supply room it was next to, finding replacement seats stained with something dark he didn’t want to think about and two very broken popcorn makers shoved inside.

A prop room was next, so cluttered he didn’t think he could walk three feet into without getting impaled on a plastic spear. He spied a copy of his clown smiley-face tucked away by a familiar red-pyramid-and-floating-eyeball that had been crossed out with a large ‘x’, but decided against taking a picture of it. He wasn’t sure if he liked his logo there, sitting among the scrawled-out bats…

“Nothing here.” Iman had seemingly found a cleaning closet with a crudely-drawn pentagram and ‘hail satin’ still legible by the door.

“Ha, talk about your false idols,” John cracked as Iman followed his line of sight, “Now, velvet - there’s a fabric I could worship!”

“Personally I don’t think there’s anything better than a cashmere sweater, but I don’t think I’d hail it,” Iman shot back with a chuckle.

John peeked in a blank dressing room, seeing nothing but a costume rack with two moth-eaten dresses, a dressing table with half its bulbs missing or broken on the floor, and a lot of molding cardboard boxes, most of which had been upturned and whatever contents inside torn apart or left on the floor. John spied a broken beer bottle and a suspiciously familiar sort of stain on the wall. “Nooothing here.”

“John, come look at this.”          

John went over to her side, passing two doors that clearly didn’t open, and peeked over her shoulder at what looked like a dressing room. This one had more dust-covered boxes and a foggy vinyl sheet hanging over a long rack of costumes shoved in the back, with just enough room to walk. It looked like just another haven for moths and dust. “It sure is a room of gross moldy boxes,” he commented.

“No, look – that costume rack is half-full.”

“So?”

“So there’s a pathway back there and the people who trashed this place didn’t think to take a look?”

“Ah-haa.”

Iman went straight for the rack, carefully stepping around boxes as John examined the ones that seemed open, finding old promotional trading cards for an old sci-fi film with big-brained aliens  sitting on some boring looking documents in one. Another had costume pieces, which he almost didn’t bother with until he saw a flash of purple, and then the instinct to rifle through things fell in his hands. He tossed things out and shoved everything aside in a flurry of colored fabric and plastic and pulled out what he could only think of as the best hat he’d ever seen.

A violet-colored and practically pristine wide-brimmed fedora. John couldn’t help but let out an ooh and turn it over in his hands. It was almost, if not exactly the color of his long coat back at the cave. It was like it was made for him. Even the dark fabric band on it was more deep green than black.

“John - don’t. You don’t know where that’s been.”

“Aw, come on, it’s clean! And look, it has a real label inside!” He flipped it to show her the faded gold print, hoping to turn her concerned frown upside-down. It did not, and he could practically hear what she was going to say next. “Fiiine, I’ll keep looking for evidence,” he groaned, putting the perfect hat gently back in the box. “I’ll come back for you later,” he muttered to himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket – another text from Jackie:

Camera pics uploaded to my share drive:  https://bit.gt.gd/S3272019F?=RO

Sorry it took so long. Kinda forcing myself to feel like this rn lol

She tacked on a picture of a dog calmly sitting at a table surrounding by a raging fire, staring at their coffee mug like nothing was wrong. John snickered to himself.

Ha ha ha ha!!! You’ve done it!! You’ve boiled this whole week down into a single classic meme!!! He texted back, Thanks pumpkinhead, I’ll pass these on to Bats!! ;D

“Was that Bruce?” Iman asked as John forwarded the link to the BatComputer’s catch-all.

“Nope. The other photographic evidence finally came in,” he answered, resuming his search.

The last visible open box held a lot of plastic badge holders – the kind that he’d seen the Arkham and St. Dymphna staff use to display their ID’s. But behind the boxes, not covered in a speck of dust… “Now what do you suppose a perfectly good printer is doing in a place like this?” John asked rhetorically.

“Probably making ID’s to match these.”

John peered over at the costume rack –polo shirts, dress pants, and bullet-proof vests hung there with an array of logos.

“Gotham Construction, Janus Industries, G.C.P.D., Gotham E.M.T. – Wayne Enterprises…” Iman grumbled, her thoughts seeming to swirl behind her brow. “Is there a laptop or tower connected to that printer?”

“Nope. There’s only…that thing near it.”

She peered over his shoulder. “That’s a signal repeater. It’s an older model.” She looked at her phone for a moment, poking around. “We can probably trace the router signal; the network its broadcasting isn’t from the surrounding buildings.”

John snapped a picture of the setup. “What, you think they have an Owl-themed computer set up somewhere?”

“That’s possible, but I was thinking more like a tablet or laptop that’s making the IDs. They’re portable, easily hidden or disposed of, and can easily support the software. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were trying to take down security systems or using social media to recruit, too – but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He snapped a picture of the rack of clothing, too. “You really think they’ll leave that laying around in here?”

“I’m more hoping they have. But I bet we’ll find the nest if we find the router this signal is coming from.”

The room next to it was wide open and all but beckoning them inside, a spray-painted black bat flying above the door. It was another dressing room, but it looked cleaned out – the makeup table was dust-free and had all its bulbs, and there was a minimal amount of boxes in there.

Iman walked in, heading straight to the lone garbage can and squatting to take a better look. “At least we know someone used this one for more than making fake IDs.”

John took a look at the table. A smear of a peach-toned neutral was left on the surface otherwise wiped off with what smelled like cheap makeup remover. “And they left a mess.”

“That’s good news for us,” Iman chuffed, “Looks like they tossed their contact in the wrong place. It doesn’t look tinted – probably corrective.”

John watched as Iman pulled tweezers out of her pocket and prepared to tuck the evidence away into a small plastic bag. “Someone came prepared,” he muttered enviously, looking around for anything that could be considered useful.

The streak was likely residue from Sonja’s makeup, since Bruce thought it was connected to The Lot. She might have changed in there, too, both heading in and out… If Bruce were here, he could likely use his amped-up forensic skills and handy-dandy gear to analyze the chair, but unless Iman had a pocket-sized version hidden on her, that was a moot option. What he did have was an imagination and a penchant for peeking in places he normally shouldn’t.

The only working drawer had a mish-mash of makeup in a rainbow of powders, pencils, and various flesh-toned pastes sitting next to a tub of Moddy and an empty bottle of Janus Clear-Away Makeup Remover. The tiny brushes and sponges besides them were all, unfortunately, clean as bristly whistles.

John eyed the streak on the tabletop, picturing someone sitting there and wiping foundation away…

Actually, the smear on the surface went all the way around to the edge, like someone had spilled or squirted too much from the bottle. And there was one broken bulb at the corner of the lined mirror, like something had knocked into it…

“Hey, Iman – the Lot shooter, were they left handed or right handed?”

“Left handed.” Iman stood next to him, examining the table. “She carried her purse on her right shoulder and opened the room door with her left hand.”

“And Jackie’s right handed, further proving my side,” he rubbed in, “So if I dropped it here,” he tried, miming dropping a bag on the table and sliding his hand on the left to crash the bottle of foundation into the bulb, “it might’ve fallen over.”

“There’s scuff marks by the chair,” Iman pointed out, “She was wearing heels, I wouldn’t be surprised if she slipped after wearing them for so long. Especially if she’s not used to them.”

“So, like-” John popped into position, miming a fall while keeping his balance on one leg – “whoooops!” He spread both hands, as if knocking things over while trying to catch himself on the table. “Crash!”

Iman kneeled to the right of his leg. “There’s a tube of foundation under here. And it looks like...” She reappeared a moment later with a poker chip held in her tweezers. “Good thinking, John.”

John straightened, pride inflating with a self-esteem boost.

“Looks like a promotional chip – they leave them in the rooms for guests.” She turned it over, exposing the logo – it looked a series of sticks in a fist. “It’s definitely from The Lot.”

John took a picture of it. “Five bucks? Cheapskates.”

Iman tucked the new piece of evidence back where she had picked it up from. “I’ll just make a note of this one.”

That was…unusual, to say the least. “Uh, why?”

“Because the Lot killer wore gloves; this just proves that they stopped here. If the G.C.P.D. does a raid later, they can point to it as evidence. Even though it’ll be labeled as circumstantial, it’s something noteworthy.”

“Buuut you’re taking the contact lens…?”

“So I can run a DNA match, if there’s anything on it. I’ll just put it back later.”

“Iman, that’s cheating,” John said with a titter, “I knew I liked you.”

There didn’t seem to be anything left in the room for them to search, so they moved on, turning the corner and finding locked or obstructed doors or rooms stuffed full of garbage from squatters one after another the closer they got to the stage entrance; the graffiti continued with them, countless symbols of anarchy censored out, the bat symbols disappearing altogether as the wireless signal Iman was tracing got stronger.

Iman pushed open the stage door, a dreadful squeal ripping through the air. John expected a pigeon or two to fly from the holes in the curtains up to the burnt, partially-dilapidated ceiling barely illuminated by a few leftover construction lights running on power-saving mode. The projector screen that had clearly been added after the initial build was still hanging stubbornly from the shoddy catwalk. The whole place smelled strange, must and mold mingling with a smell like cigarette burns on sheets.

“There should be a trapdoor under the stage for performers,” Iman commented as she led the way, “I’ll bet that’s where our nest is.”

John followed her, glancing out over the open stage and feeling something hitch in his stomach at the sight of the rows and rows of empty seats. They stood sturdy against the test of time despite the occasional moth-eaten holes, all silent and dark, not a flutter of movement among a single seat all the way up to the rafters. He could see the black, shadowy area in the back where the fire had seemed to start and trail away up to the ceiling. “Why is this place so creepy?”

“Because you’re expecting an audience when you go on a stage, and there isn’t one,” Iman said, prying at a section of the floor with a small crowbar she had pulled out from her jumpsuit. She grunted, prying hard at the section of floor that was suspiciously less dusty than the rest. “Can you give me a hand?”

He couldn’t resist. The joke was right there. “Sure!” He clapped his hands together. “Good hustle, kid! I like your realism!”

“Very funny,” she grumbled, prying again.

“Ha ha, sorry – but you walked right into it!” John moved to the opposite side of the trapdoor, stomping hard on the end he was sure was meant to go down. One foot wasn’t enough, but he felt a shift, so he stomped harder as Iman pried. “Ugh, come on, move!” He jumped on the end with both feet, realizing too late it was a bad idea as the floor gave away.

He landed with a hard thud on the balls of his feet, automatically bending at his knees and finding himself still stumbling to his side and knocking over something tall with a fwump and clatter of wood. “I’m okay!” he called up, rubbing his newly-bruised elbow, “But I definitely didn’t stick the landing!”

Iman landed next to him with a soft plat of boots, hands already steadying him as he rose back up. “Are you sure? Can you rotate your ankles?”

“Ha, it’ll take more than a poorly-placed coatrack to take me down.” He squinted at the little green light in the corner of the room over her shoulder. “At least we found your mystery-router.”

The wireless router was plugged into an outlet that looked like it had hastily been rewired, sitting by an open door that was obviously made to blend into the wall. There didn’t seem to be any lights strung up anywhere for easier viewing.

“Hopefully we’ll find what they were connecting to it, too.”

Their clip-on lights illuminated some of the room, showing another costume rack with several empty hangers and not a piece of clothing in sight. An old map of Gotham could be seen among a throng of paper tacked on the walls. A few plastic grocery bags holding emptied, bug-attracting food containers and the squashed couch shoved in the corner with a cheap blanket made it feel like it was a squatter’s den; the difference was the large picture of an owl that had been carved on the wall over a century ago, it’s clawed feet bared viciously at them.

“Seems like more of a burrow than a nest,” John commented, spying a cockroach scurrying to hide beneath one of the makeshift garbage bags, “‘No amenities; makes Arkham feel welcoming. Zero stars.’”

At least that made Iman laugh a little, which toned down the creepy vibe and widened the smile on John’s face.

Iman seemed to gravitate towards the wall of paper, so John followed suite. Mug-shots and stolen police forms were front-and-center, faces crossed out with a black ‘x’.

“Ugh, and someone’s crossing people off their little list,” John grunted in disgust, looking over the crossed-out faces. “Hey, that’s the guy who got stabbed in the eye on the Chandis!”

“That’s not surprising, Randolf Barron is over here. And Jack Whendleham, Kirby Noltz… It looks like everyone found on board the ship is here.”

“Plus a few gals from Poison Ivy’s gang… I know that guy’s in with the 8-Bits… Little Nel from the Rossi family? I thought he left Gotham seven years ago.”

“He did,” Iman grunted, “He was released from prison on good behavior; the Rossi’s blew up his car when he decided to leave the mob. He changed his name and moved to somewhere on the East coast. I think we can officially cross off any personal grudges,” she continued, shining her light elsewhere, “since Selina Kyle’s picture is also over here.”

Hers was the only one unmarked, and one of three on the whole wall that weren’t official police photos. John (thankfully) did not see his own face up there.

Iman turned to face the old wooden office desk behind them, so John followed along.

A knife was sitting on a pedestal there, clearly some kind of ceremonial dagger with the image of an owl bearing its claws and spreading its wings up the handle. The filing drawer was ajar and the surface was partially littered with highlighted and circled article pieces about Batman, even the Gotham Moonrise picture of Batman, Joker, and a somewhat-concealed Jim Gordon standing at the back of an ambulance.

Only where Joker was supposed to be, there was nothing but crooked edges– John had been cut out of the picture entirely. “Looks like our Owl’s a jealous rival Bat-fan, too.”

Iman flipped through the other half of the papers. “Looks like they stalked Selina for a while,” she mumbled, “They found her rental contract for her gallery and got a copy of the blueprint.”

John peered over at it – exits were marked and security shifts were scribbled on the printed map. Pictures were called for; he made sure to get the whole wall of photos.

Iman pulled open the top drawer slowly, revealing several charging cables in varying degrees of broken and two bottles of medication with the labels torn off. She shook the bottle to take a closer look at them without opening it. “White powder, pullapart capsule type… NVR R20. And I don’t have a signal down here. I wish I knew a pharmacist.”

John perked up. “Ooh, wait! I know that one…” he trailed, mentally sorting through the list of all the drugs he’d ever used, traded, or stolen, “Ritalin!”

She hummed thoughtfully, putting the bottle back and taking out the other, with little dull-green capsules rattling around. “And what I’m fairly sure is R-2 - Rohypnol.”

“I don’t remember seeing anyone up there being drugged before they died. That we know of, anyway…”

“They could be using it as a counteractive to the Ritalin, if they take a high enough dose. Some cocaine users take Rohypnol to come down easier. Anything in your side of the desk?”

John pulled open the first drawer. A few more paper copies of police reports and photos, with Harvey Dent’s picture on the top of the pile. His police report and a messy copy of his Arkham admittance sat underneath. “Looks like our next set of fresh victims include some more notorious Gothamites; ‘Big Bad Harvey’ is in here.” He flipped more, spying ‘Cannibal’ Carl Whistley and Victor Zsasz. “And some of the guys from my floor…”

“I’m not surprised, at this point,” Iman commented, wedging open the stuck filing drawer.

John flipped further, and felt his heart jolt horribly. “And Bruce.” He was sure he wasn’t imagining the photo in his hands of Bruce Wayne at the podium during his publicity stunt almost two years ago, where he announced devoting his money to fixing Arkham before he was almost run over. Everything felt too real. “I can’t believe they’re using this photo.”

John had found the whole segment amusing at the time, mulling over how handsome he seemed, all clean-shaven and acting all daring by getting out of the way just in time like he’d done it before, wondering to himself just how much danger Bruce could actually handle, how much they could both put themselves in on the outside together…

John scoffed at himself. “I really should’ve put Bruce and Batman together when I saw him dodge that van like it was no problem. But I thought ‘nah, Batman’s a completely different person!’ But I also thought Bruce would fit in with Harley’s ideas about stealing a potential cure for our little problems – shows how much I knew.” He flipped the picture over, spying the very shoddy record of Bruce’s time with the Pact laid out in a photocopied police form. “Looks like you were right about Bruce’s Pact past coming back to bite him; his form’s in here.”

“At least we know he’s not a current target,” Iman said, not comforting John very much, “This person seems like they want to finish what they started before moving onto something new. And if they were after Bruce now, they would’ve followed him straight to you a dozen times by now. We know that’s not the case,” Iman soothed with a light hand on his shoulder. She took it away a moment later. “And there is some good news – we have their tablet,” Iman added, holding up a tablet computer that was far too thick to be new. “Which means we can get out of here and reconnect with Batman and Robin.”

“I don’t know about the Robin part right now,” John pouted, walking out alongside her, “but I’m all for leaving the Gallery-o’-Death.”

Iman tucked the tablet into the fabric belt around her waist and dug her foot into the makeshift foothold nailed to the wall who-knew-how-many years ago. John looked away, not wanting to be weird and watch her as she hoisted herself up to the edge of the opening, but didn’t want to turn around entirely in case she slipped or needed a boost.

Just as he folded his arms and tapped his fingers against the healing cuts on his forearm, he heard an odd hiss.

He looked up too late – Iman slipped back down, coughing as she landed on top of him, sending them both to the ground in a bruising heap.

John grunted, trying to sit them both up and ending up sliding backwards instead as Iman struggled to not collapse back on top of him, coughing into her hand and trying to wipe away something from her face. “Hey – are you okay?!”

She didn’t look like she was. She was blinking hard, taking in sucking breaths, and doing a bad job of trying to point upward. John followed her finger towards the only exit.

The light was blocked out and there came a soft thump as a tall dark figure with broad shoulders and the painted wooden face of an owl with short horns protruding from the top of their head faced him, the eyes glowing white in the light.

The Owl-man tilted his head, as if regarding John like a curious animal, and light blue mist puffed out of the thick metal tube wrapped around his outstretched arm before John could move away.

John coughed and sputtered, tasting salt, and saw the world around him tilt on its axis as he tried to move backward, Iman’s weight collapsing onto his legs with a sighing breath.

There was little room to move and Iman was suddenly heavier than normal, but John still fumbled for the Bat-stamped taser in his pocket, hoping he could throw it or shock the Batman-knockoff when he came close enough.

He thought he might throw up from the sudden blurry movement of everything. His fingers wouldn’t move the way he wanted them to. Everything felt like it was teetering nonstop.

He felt the taser in his hand. Heard boots on the floor as he blinked away the awful seesawing layout.

He could feel the button trigger under his thumb, he just had to get his arm to move...

John blinked hard, feeling a familiar tug of his conscious towards the void at the back of his brain as he tried to focus on the closest thing he could, the bare coatrack lying on the floor.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a low, hoarse voice whispered to him in the dark, as it had done a hundred times before...

                                                   † † † † †

Notes:  John's path to a better life outside of Arkham is a rocky one filled with the kind of problems he's very tired of dealing with. But unlike Bruce, who channels his issues into his drive to keep Gotham and his loved ones safe via detective work and kicking criminal butt, John finds it difficult to sort through his problems because he mainly needs emotional support. He and Bruce both have to face harsh things in this story, but John's journey is always the driving force behind it's very creation. It's interesting to really look at the parallel between Bruce and John right now: John has few people who's supportive of him (and would have less if "the player" made bad decisions regarding his new friends) and desperately needs it, and Bruce has a very steady group behind him 24/7 but still struggles with wanting to be alone; John struggles to hold onto reality and needs to remind himself that Bruce is always there for him, and Bruce just wants the escape from the world that John brings but can never seem to have him around long enough; Bruce is almost overly-protective over the people he works with and John is a little over-confident in people's abilities to take care of themselves. (Though both have problems taking care of themselves, ha ha!)

Have some fun facts!: 1) In this storyline, if Iman wasn't around, John would've gotten a Ryde; in the Villain route, John's clown-posse would've picked him up…or maybe he drives his own clown car? 2) If Jackie wasn't around, John bumps into Matt directly at the Gala, steals a car to go to the Hotel/the Theater, and searches the hotel room by himself. Jackie's part of Sonja is instead played by an innocent nobody Matt is dating and John doesn't get as upset. 3) I debated the "destined hat" John finds for, like, an hour. I think BtAS had Joker in a bolero, and I am a sucker for that style and making loving homages. I ended up with a fedora because it leans more with John's budding mockery of a classic detective. 4) You know, I mentioned the villain route…yes, Bruce has the option to fuck Joker (/cheat on Selina, if applicable) last chapter in that route, too, because who am I to stop you? ;) He and John do still have their little heart-to-heart here, but since the story plays out a little differently, it's missing the heart-wrenching confession John gives and the acceptance he gets, and is instead a convo/argument centered around John's and Bruce's possessiveness over one another. 5) If there's no Robin or Iman, Alfred is actually who alerts Bruce to BM's hideout, even if their relationship is rocky and regardless of which John you have. 6) If by some miracle Jackie is here, but your John's a villain, their interaction is a lot more tense and there's no real friendship forged. 7) The camera feature John has wouldn't be allowed all the time - like you couldn't take pictures of Bruce's butt, or the inside of Iman's swanky ride, for example - but I think there would be spots, like the Theater or Hotel Room, where you'd have free range. If I were making this a real game, I'd probably sneak in a bunch more Easter eggs: references to Condiment King, Bat-Cow, fandom members' usernames… What would you guys add?

If I had to pick a favorite thing to write this time around, the first is John's conversation with Bruce because I've been building to it, and the second is Jackie Lant! My Halloween baby, my pumpkin-pie, my darling depressed mess! I was planning her breakdown with John ever since the start of the story, but it was nice to craft her and John's bonding points over time.

Next chapter (which hopefully will be less than 3 months from now) we join back with Batman and Robin. Considering the timing of everything I've planned, it might be the first chapter that has both Bruce and John's "perspectives" in it… That, or I'll have to split it into two chapters. In the meantime, wear your mask, wash your hands, donate to BLM any way you can, and take care of yourself. (⌯˘̤ ॢᵌ ू˘̤)യ♡

[the-writing-dump-bin]

Hello again, I'm happy that you opened the requests so soon! ° u° I would like NSFW Leonard Burns with femReader. She is half the age of Burns and they work together. Regardless they have casual sex. (Daddy complex). At some point Burn finds out that she has a BF - much younger than him. Of course he is not pleased and desides to prove to her that old people are really stubborn sometimes. Thank you in advance for your hard work. Have a great day.

HELLO ANON! Thank you for your request and it’s my first story of 2020!! Hope this was okay, I admit I had writer’s block a few times while working on this!

Captain Leonard Burns x FemReader

NSFW 18+

It wasn't hard for Burns to recognize your playful laughter. It was distinguishable from the other women in Company 1. During this beautiful, sunny afternoon, Burns decided to take a small stroll around the compound and came across something very interesting.

You and the Captain have been having a secret thing on the side for quite some time now. Somehow you had captured his attention enough for him to take interest in you for casual hook-ups whenever he felt like it or whenever you had decided to be a little flirt. But today, after hearing that flirtatious giggle he had grown to enjoy, he wondered why you were making the noise - since he wasn't around you.

Coming around the corner, Burns saw you talking with someone else. Someone that was not a part of the Force and wearing casual street clothes. The stranger was a much younger male than himself and looking at you with a loving expression. The man grabbed your hand and pulled you closer, using the other hand to caress your cheek and then kiss you.

Burns felt a fire burn in his chest - this one figuratively - as he watched you kiss the male back. Why was he feeling such a strong, jealous emotion? The two of you weren't exclusive - just something you two did when the time felt right. But seeing another, younger man come in and touch you mad him twitch with annoyance.

Later that evening, Burns had found you cleaning up in the training room, wiping down the machines and putting weights back where they belonged. "Y/N..." He growled.

"Oh! Captain, you startled me!"

"My office. Now." He didn't say anything more but demanded you meet him right away.

You gulped. He seemed a little more intense than usual - and you got a little good a reading him. With a small knock, you rapted on the door and waited for permission to enter. Hearing a 'come in', you opened the door and walked in. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Lock the door." He grunted and motioned you to take the chair across his desk. Once you did what you were told, you sat down, hands folded in your lap and waited for him to speak. Burns leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a neutral expression while you looked worried. "Do you know why I called you in here?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be feeling nervous." You shrugged with a smirk.

"Don't be smart with me, young lady..." His eyes narrowed. "Who was that boy you were talking to this afternoon - and don't you dare lie to me."

You never did dare to lie to him. You knew what happened when you did. "He's my boyfriend..." You answered.

Burns propped his elbows on the desk, folding his hands in the air as he stared at you. "You...have a boyfriend..." He repeated quietly, the words an awful taste in his mouth. Why did he feel this jealous? You two weren't exclusive and secretive from others yet he felt very possessive of you. "How long have you been with him?"

You took a moment to think back. "Four months?"

Four months... Just a little bit after you and Burns started your little meet ups. There was something about him having you before this boy that made him feel a little better. "So... You weren't as satisfied with me that you had to find someone else?"

"Oh, um..." You stuttered. "Well, in all fairness, sir, I didn't think we were anything more than casual. Just something we did on impulse."

Burns' eye twitched a little. You had a point, but seeing you with another man irritated him. You had picked up on the twitch and smirked a little. "What is it, sir? Does it bother you that another man gets to hold me?"

His eye narrowed; he knew what you were doing. "Do you really think you're in a position to be talking to me like that?"

"No... But I'm sure I could be." You winked and squirmed a little in the chair, thighs squeezing together as a flame ignited in your core.

The captain leaned back in the chair and nodded for you to come to him. You knelt in front of him, hands sliding on his thighs then to his belt where you undid it and his pants to work him up with your hand. When he was half hard, that’s when you wrapped your mouth around him. He moaned, feeling your sunken cheeks sliding over his well experienced member. "You're a bad little girl, you know that?" He ran his fingers through your hair as you looked up at him. "Going around with younger boys when you have your daddy, who takes care of you better than anyone else could, right here?"

A moan rumbled in your throat after hearing him speak to you, head bobbing up and down his length.

Pulling your head off him, Burns took your hand and brought you up, spinning you around with your hands splayed on the desk's surface and leaning forward. He stood up, the chair rolling backwards as he ran a strong hand up and down your side before snaking it around to undo the button of your pants and pulled them down.

"Now, you need to be taught that I am the only one you should be screwing around with." That same strong hand came down on you, slapping your bottom with force to make sure you knew you were being punished. Slap after slap, he hammered down until you were marked with a red hand print.

Each spank made you squeak out in both pain and pleasure, but you were being just a little to loud and Burns had to cover your mouth with his hand. "Shhh..." He said. "You don't want anyone to hear us, do you?" After you shook your head, he moved his hand away and spread your legs just a little wider and moved to shove himself inside. "Oh, my little girl..." He said after discovering how wet you already were and inched in, growling at how tight you felt around him.

You tried your best to stay quiet, the feeling making your eyes roll to the back of your head. "D-Daddy..." You hushed out.

"That's right..." Your captain cooed, grabbing your hips once he was fully inside. "Just me... I can't believe you let anyone else inside you." His waist snapped against you, sharp pain hitting you so deep inside. He started to move at a steady, yet rough, pace, your hands flexing in and out of fists as he hits you just right. He continued, his grip becoming more firm the more he felt the build up inside him.

Your legs start to quiver, trying to hold yourself up until Burns grabbed underneath your thighs and lifted you in the air, pounding into you as you scrambled to hold onto anything. "Does that boyfriend of yours make you feel good as I do?" Burns growled, speed picking up and sending sparks through your body. "Can he meet your needs as someone experienced as me could?"

No, honestly. Burns had shown you things that when you tried with your boyfriend, he could never imitate. "N-No...d-daddy..." You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him, mouth hung open and panting out your pleasure.

Burns smiled, reaching up to tangle his hand in your hair and pulling your head back. "Yes... Of course he can't." Faster and harder he went until the bubble in your core popped and you rode out your massive orgasm out in silence. He kept going, getting ready for his own release when he pulled out of you once you came down from your high and came himself over your back and bottom. His seed dripping down your backside.Grabbing tissues, he cleaned you up and pulled his pants up, slumping back into his chair. You had pulled your own pants up and turned around yo crawl into your daddy's lap.

"Y/N..." He gruffed. "I am sorry, I may have overacted, but I didn't like seeing you with that man this afternoon. You're not mine to possess, but I do enjoy the time we have together." He held your chin in his hand. "I'm not going to tell you you can't have boyfriends, or not to date anymore... I just ask you don't bring them around here where I can see. I don't like seeing you with anyone else."

This situation was complicated. You were enjoying your time with your boyfriend, but you also loved the sessions with your captain. But it was up to you what you wanted to do. Whatever you decided, you would respect the wishes of your daddy and not bring your boyfriend around the station anymore.With a smile, you combed your fingers through his long hair. No matter what you decided, he would always be your silver fox.

[scrunchie-face]

My ranking of TS8 based on absolutely nothing but my personal opinion

From least to most favorite:

peace: this is the only song on the album i really don’t like. her accent/cadence sounds a little affected to me and there aren’t any lyrics or musical moments that really resonate.

invisible string: i feel like i might get some pushback on this since so many people seemed to LOVE this one but hear me out. This one is clearly about Joe and their relationship and for me, there is not a single song about him that she has written that has been as good as “Call It What You Want” and “New Year’s Day.” Every other song she has written since then about being happily in a relationship with Joe has fallen flat for me. Also, I’m not gonna lie, the more cynical and less romantic side of me finds the whole concept of the “invisible string” to be a bit trite and saccharine. “Isn’t it just so pretty?” To me, yes, it is a pretty thought and that’s all it is.

mirrorball: this song is pretty, and reminds me very strongly of the Speak Now era, but with the complexity and maturity that she’s obviously acquired since then. That being said, to me the metaphor feels like it’s trying to go in two different directions at once and neither one quite gets there, leaving a song that feels somewhat unfinished. It’s either a very pretty love song or a darker reflection on identity, but it never feels like it commits to either.

august: this is where we really start to get into “there’s nothing really wrong with it, I just like other tracks better” territory. Lyrically, I think it’s very poignant, with its reflections on love, time, and memory. Unfortunately, I think the whole “Teenage Love Triangle” hint actually does this song a disservice by indicating that the speaker is the “other woman.” Since the bent of the other two songs (”cardigan” and “betty”) seems to indicate that those two singers/speakers are the couple that is “meant to be” it gives the poor unnamed “august” singer a bit of an uphill battle for sympathy in context. That’s not to say I don’t have any sympathy for her; I have by far the least sympathy for James. Unfortunately, James gets a catchier song (more on that when i get to “betty”). Which brings me to the real reason for this low-ish ranking: I just don’t find the song as musically compelling as most of the others on the album.

this is me trying: as I suggested in the previous paragraph, a lot of the way I rank songs personally is by how much the music resonates with me. I can forgive a lot lyrically if the way the music moves gives me goosebumps. With “this is me trying,” there are several lyrics that I love. The repeated “I have a lot of regrets about that”? PERFECTION. Musically, however, the song as a whole doesn’t really impress itself upon me, making all but the couple lyrics I really love forgettable to me.

mad woman: this song, and the two on either side of it, were ranked somewhat arbitrarily. higher than “this is me trying” for having a little more edge and a more engaging tune, lower than “hoax” because I generally prefer sadness and angst to anger. This is by far the most vindictive track on the album, and while I understand it and think it’s executed very well, the tone isn’t totally appealing to me personally.

hoax: this song, to me, has a very strong Hozier vibe that I enjoy very much. As i said in my blurb about “mad woman” I connect more emotionally with the sadness and turmoil here, hence its higher ranking. “stood on the cliffside screaming ‘give me a reason’“?! Gorgeous, and if you’ve ever felt that way, the line resonates in your bones. “the only hoax I believe in” is such a complex line that I could probably write paragraphs about it; it’s got psychological, emotional, and even religious elements to it that I think are part of what makes such a sad and personal song still feel universally relatable. It asks you, what are your hoaxes? Which ones do you believe? Is it because you want to? Because you have to? betty: ranking this song was difficult, because i find the character of James to be incredibly irritating. Unfortunately, the questionable nature of James’ behavior and attitude towards Betty and the unnamed girl is not enough to condemn the song to a lower ranking because the tune is just so catchy and fun. It’s got one of the best hooks on the album: the rhyming of “Inez” and “she says” just delights me every time. The “--most times--” caveat is amusing and very in character for a teenager trying to explain himself. And then “the worst thing that I ever did was what I did to you.” It sounds super trite, yes, but it would’ve probably gotten my forgiveness when I was seventeen. Also I love “will you kiss me on the porch in front of all your stupid friends?” Bold words for someone in James’ position but I love the bravado and the way it pairs with the music. The triumph here may be premature but it’s SUPER contagious. epiphany: so this one is perhaps the most arbitrarily placed because I realized when I got the the end of my list that I had forgotten  it.... BUT that being said, I really like this song. It seems to be one of the more divisive on the album; people either love it or think it’s boring. I like it a lot. When we talk about big events--wars, pandemics--it’s very easy to distance ourselves from them and forget that those more affected than we are are people too. This song gently rehumanizes the people we see in books and newspapers and tv reports, reminding us that they are suffering, they are trying, and reminding them that they are seen and loved. It’s extremely beautiful and moving.

the 1: based on my previous claims that the music is  my most important factor in song ranking, this one may seem unfairly high. Like with “peace” I find the accent/modulation of her voice in this song to be somewhat affected and irritating. The tune, while fun and catchy, doesn’t really have much power behind it. But I enjoy it just enough that, paired with some absolutely spot-on lyrics, this becomes a song I was deeply attached to from the first listen. Anyone who has ever had an important relationship that came to nothing will recognize the brief emotional rollercoaster of “I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though,” and feel absolutely convicted by the bridge. “persist and resist the temptation to ask you/ if one thing had been different/ would everything be different today?” If you’ve lost a friend or a lover, you’ve tormented yourself with that question, I guarantee it. Even off her musical A-game, she absolutely nails the emotions here, and I love it.

my tears ricochet: this song actually started out pretty close to the bottom and slowly made its way up. Honestly, the reason for its low ranking was that I still can’t quite figure out what it means. Taylor occasionally writes songs that are very hard to tease out into any sort of linear narrative or neat metaphor; you feel them more than you understand them. And for that reason it usually takes me a little more time to get to a point where I appreciate them. The relationship here is tangled; it’s not the simple bad guy/good girl that we would’ve seen in the Speak Now era, and I would argue that at times it’s unclear which party is even the speaker. Once my analytical mind got past that hurdle, I remembered that this is one of the most musically powerful songs on the album. The bridge? GOOSE.BUMPS. The way the music builds and pounds at “just not home... in your bones.” Shivers. Even if I don’t totally understand what the song means, i can feel the conviction and emotion in the words and music and that is what makes it such a pleasure to listen to.

cardigan: this song is simply beautiful. just lovely. sad and nostalgic and hopeful and it just hits on some stuff that is absolutely true. “when you are young they assume you know nothing./ But I knew you.” I recently had a conversation with my husband about this very concept. This idea that adults look down on young people simply because they don’t have “perspective.” But the truth is that young people know something very important: what it is like to be young and to experience things AS A YOUNG PERSON. Not as an adult looking back on being young, but as a person to whom these experiences are fresh and real and important. “cardigan” takes that whole concept: the struggle between youthful experience and adult perspective, and absolutely NAILS IT. Add in a touch of the sentiments from “the 1″: “i knew you’d haunt all of my what ifs.... i knew i’d curse you for the longest time,” and combine it with a melody that rises and falls and slows down and speeds up and you just have this gorgeous tribute to youth and life and love.

illicit affairs: i love this song so so much. I’ve never been in an “illicit affair,” but the regret and the confusion and the attachment and the love and the hate and the feeling of being trapped are all so raw and visceral that even if you’ve never felt anything like this before in your life you can feel it now. Underneath the fairly simple melody of “don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby,” you can hear the screaming anger and heartbreak. “look at this idiotic fool that you made me!” Gah. I can’t even. It’s just so real. So there. This is a song that you both understand AND feel and it’s so powerful it’s almost overwhelming. Taylor and her killer bridges absolutely ending me every time.

the last great american dynasty: this song is so fun. The story is funny and sad except the indomitable Rebecca doesn’t for a moment let you feel sorry for her. As soon as you see her pacing the rocks looking out over the ocean--a wistful, often angst-ridden position--the song turns right around and informs you that she stole a neighbor’s dog and dyed it green. And then, “and then it was bought by me.” The story has been so definitively about someone ELSE this time until suddenly SURPRISE! The twist at the end is delightful; every story we tell, every story we love, we tell it and love it because it’s about us too. And like i said, there is a quiet undercurrent of sadness and loneliness that never becomes the focal point of the song but is there giving it depth and something more to think about that facts and funny anecdotes. This song is a unique one in Taylor’s discography, and it stands up very well to that status.

exile: is my love for this song partially colored by the fact that Justin Vernon’s voice makes me swoon? Probably. The duet between him and Taylor is hair-raisingly beautiful and heartachingly melancholy. But that aside, I think the thing that first caught my attention was Taylor’s verse. The “staring honey/understudy/knuckles bloody” rhyme drives me absolutely WILD. It’s SO GOOD. It flows perfectly and poetically and honestly i transcend my body and scream with delight into the ether at those three lines every time. That is not an exaggeration. Also, “I’m not your problem anymore, so who am I offending now?” And of course the juxtaposition between “never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)” is this perfect description of how, to quote another, much older, lyric “miscommunication leads to fallout.” This song reminds me very much of “Story of Us.” In case you couldn’t tell from previous comments, this whole album, for me, recalls Speak Now, very strongly in many ways. I see her revisiting a lot of similar themes and stories with a more mature perspective and a different sound. Red  as well, actually, but I digress.

seven: i knew from very early on that this would be my favorite song on the album. Taylor’s voice goes places I have NEVER heard before, evoking something elemental and primal. “Before I learned civility/ I used to scream ferociously/ any time I wanted.” Her forays into actual childhood in her songwriting are periodic but relatively rare, and this is unquestionably the best of the lot. Here we see children, almost too young to remember exactly what happened, but marked forever by their experiences of nature and relationships. “I can’t recall your face/ I’ve still got love for you.” This song evokes all the things that dance around the edge of your memory: faces from long ago, the feeling of flying, the fear of falling, the irresistible impulse to plant yourself on the ground and fling your existence out into the world with your voice. The need to feel safe. The references to a friend’s troubled home life are oblique: “your dad is always mad... you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet,” and the solutions are childlike: “come live with me...and be pirates,” “move to India forever.” The song is an immersive experience, charged with feelings you can’t quite express, but that you know and remember, although they are perhaps faded a bit around the edges.

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

I love badboy!harry but he’s only soft for y/n like fuuuck

“Fucking son of a bitch,” he growls, his furious, electric green eyes skimming over the disgusting, drunken brute he’s got a hold of by the collar. Lazy apologies frantically slip out of the man’s mouth, a laugh slipping at the end as he raises his arms up in defence.

“Hey, bro, it’s not my fault! She didn’t even tell me she had a boyfriend. And that little dress she’s wearing... You sure she wasn’t enjoying it?”

Crack

The sound of a nose cracking was evident within the bar, the volume and violence associated with the gesture silencing the heaps of college students inside of the club. All eyes were on Harry Styles, the football star and quarterback, usually a mystery to the rest of the student body. The most anyone ever got out of him was a sneer or lazy acknowledgement. The girls always twirled stands of their hair in between their fingers at the sight of his curly, dark locks and the boys couldn’t help but give him an obvious onceover every time he walked into the room.

He was madly popular for his attitude, silent, deadly, and admittedly equally, madly attractive. Harry Styles was always ready with a snappy comeback or a glare given from the simple flash of his intelligent eyes, clad in a leather jacket that fight almost too right, perfectly slicked back, thick thatches of hair, and a smirk. Throwing punches wasn’t anything new for the bad boy and his group of misfits, but this was new.

He was angry in a way they’d never seen Harry angry— it was as if his eyes were dimmed with lava and his silence spoke volumes more than the disdain dripping from his cherry lips, his clenched teeth gritting hard enough to shake the entirety of the campus.

And for what?

A girl, it seemed.

“Fucking bastard,” Harry spat onto the offending man’s grimy face, his long, calloused fingers coming back bloody. He kicked him away afterwards, huffing at the moans and cries the prick howled. Just about to kick his ribs, Harry growled when Niall Horan pulled him back, keeping a strong grip on his struggling arms.

“It’s not worth it. Stop, Styles,” Niall warned.

“Let. Me. Go, Niall,” he spoke between gritted teeth.

“Y/N will wear whatever she wants wherever she wants, whenever she wants, and if you do so much as think about her I will tear off every muscle in your pathetic little body,” Harry hissed at the bloody heap on the floor, his volume gradually increasing into a roar.

Breaking free from the Irish gang member’s grip, Harry formed his fingers into a fist before pounding them into the disgusting bastard’s body again, hearing every crack fizzle into satisfaction. He kicked at each rib and tore at whatever flesh his hands could grope and pinch. Blood flowed down his face once the man beneath him gained enough consciousness to bust Harry’s lips.

He was seeing red, kicking at every inch of the man that had even attempted to hurt his girl. Brief moments where he could hear alarmed screams and shouts of ‘Harry, campus security!’ from Niall and Zayn were unimportant. He was seeing anger and the need to do her right.

A small cry in the midst of everything shattered the red.

“Harry, stop. Stop,” y/n pleaded, her soft, quiet voice breaking with every punch he sent flying.

Fuck, Harry cussed internally. She sounded afraid. She was afraid.

When he looks back at her, she’s shaking, tears threatening to spill from her wide, doe eyes and her lips wobbling in that way they do when she’s upset. Her fingers are fiddling nervously and her eyes are disappointed and sad.

They were supposed to go on a date after this. We’re only supposed to stay at the club for ten minutes to catch up with some friends for a while, then go to that fancy French restaurant y/n’s eyes always glaze over when she’s reading the Yelp reviews on it, but she refuses to let herself splurge on a college student budget.

She’s been stressing herself out, isolating herself with nothing but papers and small dormitories while chanting her Anatomy and Physics notes as if they’re some hazing ritual sent by a cult instead of preparation for finals. Her sleep schedule is off and the only times Harry can see her or force her to consume something other than coffee and energy bars (and maybe get her to take a shower) is when she’s huddled in some corner in the library.

So, he tells her to keep this day available and reserved the best table at the restaurant. It was no problem. Harry came from wealth, and besides, none of that matters with y/n. She saw him in a way no one else ever had or ever would. y/n treated him gently, treated him as if he were everything to her and saw him as someone she could trust with every intelligent, insightful thought and every emotion she had ever felt.

And he’s so careful with her, determined to keep away from that bad boy facade. Although it felt confusing at first to let his guard down in front of this beautiful, sweet girl he’d met in his Philosophy class, slowly it became easier and it freed him, somehow. Even Niall and Zayn to a liking to y/n. It was impossible to reject her.

His eyes nearly burnt into ashes once he saw her in that dress she never wears. She looked so pretty and his heart beat was so wild and erratic he hoped she couldn’t hear it already. Her lips were painted red and her eyes held the sky. It was everything.

But then some bastard had the nerve to touch her and make her feel uncomfortable even after y/n clearly stated she was with someone and even if she weren’t, she didn’t want him in her space. From that point, Harry had lost the control he’d so carefully preserved. He couldn’t stand anyone being treated like that.

She was afraid now. Trying so hard to keep it together when the seams were so close to falling apart and failing. The tears came down her sad, pretty face in streams she shyly tried to hide behind her thick locks of hair. y/n looked utterly terrified, and as he licked at the wounds on his torn lip, Harry couldn’t blame her.

“What are you all looking at,” he barked, his eyes dark and blank once more, the bar suddenly colder as some people grabbed the offensive bastard off of the floor and everyone was forced to return to partying and getting drunk, although their thoughts and interest was somewhere else. He knew she didn’t like that much attention.

She leaves the bar, and he follows. The sky is black and the white streetlights reflect in the light, drizzling rain pouring from the sky. The road is empty, the dark path shining with water.

“y/n...” Harry trails off, unsure of where to begin and not accustomed to feeling this way about anyone. His eyes snap upto her figure once she turns away from him, beginning to walk away.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispers, eyes downturned and shining with tears. “I don’t wanna go to the restaurant anymore. I hafta go.”

“y/n, wait,” he’s desperate, narrowing his eyes slightly as the rain pours over them, latching his hand onto her wrist lightly after circling it. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She doesn’t expect him to keep her from walking away and the tears come down, little gasps escaping her chest.

“Oh, baby, please don’t cry. Don’t cry, please. Can’t handle it,” he pleads, his own emotions festering inside of his chest in complicated motions. She doesn’t fight it when he pulls her into his chest, warm tears leaking from her pretty, sad irises and through the fabric of his shirt.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t want to do anything bad, swear,” Harry hiccuped, his own hard exterior crumbling as his eyes grew wide and frantic, brimming with moisture. “Didn’t want to make you sad, y/n. I swear I was just trying to make him go away, because he invaded your privacy. I’m not bad. Am I? I’m trying not to and-“

“Harry, stop. I’m not mad,” y/n mumbles. “I just come from a family and circle of friends who didn’t ever bother to care for me. I just didn’t expect you to step in when no one else ever has.”

Something in Harry’s electric green eyes intensifies as he gazes attentively down at y/n, his jaw clenching and his chest throbbing with both sadness and contentment that they would be the only ones to look after each other.

Harry grabs her as she turns to leave, pulling her closer to him despite her widened doe eyes and breathlessness. The intensity in his eyes silences all argument or notion to flee. His eyes lock onto hers, moments before his large, calloused hands lift to cup at her tightened jaw.

He kisses her.

Soft is the first thing Y/N thinks of at her first taste of his mouth, moving in sync with hers. Soft when everything about this, them has been so hard. She swears she’s never met someone like him- someone with such granite for temperament to the outside world, but such a complex when it came to himself. His cherry lips are just right and his mouth covers hers almost tentatively, a test and a challenge. and she shivers, teetering within his hold and almost losing balance from the sheer intensity and silent emotion expressed from his lips on hers. Paying no mind to every difference and every hardship they’d ever crossed and would ever, she throws her arms around his broad shoulders and clutches onto him for dear life, and the guttural moan which escapes from the back of his throat is enough for her to clasp her hand onto the back of his neck, scratching slightly against his scalp through his silky curls. It’s enough for her to lose all sense of control. She thrusts her chest sleek against his, and kisses him hard.

y/n is glued to harry as if he’s everything she needs to survive and he does the same.

The hot, summer rain is thrumming down their backs and the night seems to stop just for them- capturing this moment. The stages are set, the emotions feel right, and this moment is theirs and only theirs, and who can take it away from them?

So, they kiss.

Two people from two different worlds, connected solely by understanding each other in ways the world never could. Their teeth clash against each other and the electricity in his eyes is now coursing throughout her body. His lips transmit liquid fire and the heat is what she yearns for. Her hot palms keep him close and they’ve never felt this way before.

She’s the first one to pull away, gasping as her lungs painfully attempt to inhale the cool, night air. Her wild eyes flicker from his swollen lips to his equally flustered eyes, messy curls, and the faint hint of warmth in his cheeks and she wonders how she must look.

“I don’t care about what they say,” she breathes in desperation, “I don’t care about what they say.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice raspy, but charming all the while. It’s playful and so him. His eyes glitter with an emotion she can’t quite figure out yet, but it’s warm and safe and wonderful, so she snuggles into his warm chest some more, muttering a ‘yeah’ and sighing as the rain pounds down on her back.

She can hear the slight smirk in his deep voice, but also the vulnerability and promise when he rests his warm lips on the somewhat wet surface on the hollow of her throat and mumbles:

“Me neither, princess.”

MASTERLIST

[pocketfulofrogers]

Be Brave

Pairing: Adam Ruzek x Reader Jay Halstead x Sister!Reader

Request: If you’re not busy can you do a Adam Ruzek from Chicago PD request where the reader is Jay’s civilian sister and she has to go undercover with Adam as her date to her high school reunion (which she didn’t plan to attend) because someone is targeting girls in her high school class which causes their feelings to come out after months of flirting?

Summary: Jay is a badass detective and Will is a badass doctor. Why would the youngest Halstead be any different? 

Notes: When I say this one got away from me, I mean it. Just shy of 4.3k words and I have no idea how that happened. Hope you like! Requests open!

The first memory Jay has of you is a fuzzy one. You’re young with pigtails and shoes too big for your little feet. The sun was high, concrete hot, and there’s a small breeze bringing in the smell of charred hot dogs from one of the neighbor’s houses. Your tiny hand is in his, sticky with dried ice cream.

You catch sight of a butterfly and chase after it, but the toe of your shoe catches the curb and you go down. Hard. When he sees the blood running lines down your shin, the tears flooding your waterline, he picks you up, cradles you to him, and carries you home.

He sets you down on the edge of the bathtub and wipes your tears. “Be brave.” He tells you.

Will wanders in with curious eyes and jumps up on the counter. Jay begins to rummage in the cupboard while Will reaches to the shelf above him to lay out a band-aid. Jay wets a wash rag and begins to clean you up as best he can. You hiss when he reaches broken skin.

He looks up at you and his heart tugs at the sight of your face contorted in pain, the silent tears coating your rosy cheeks. He wonders if he should stop, let the softer touch of your mother handle it.

You close your eyes and scrunch your nose. “Be brave.” You whisper to yourself.

Jay finishes quickly, places the bandage, kisses it lightly, and taps your nose to make you giggle. You thank him, he tells you that’s what big brothers do.

He’s spent his whole life looking after you, so when you show up at his apartment trying to convince him that two murders from your childhood neighborhood are connected, he’s clearly not thrilled in the slightest.

“Y/N, homicide is on it.” He tells you again.

“Intelligence should be on it.” You tell him again. “Lizzy had two kids, Jay.” He does his best not to look at you, knows as soon as he does, he’ll cave. “Jay.”

He turns and sees you with your wide eyes, eyebrows drawn upward, arms crossed, hip cocked. That’s his first mistake

“I’ll bring it to Voight, but you have to stay away from this. It could be a coincidence, but if it’s not, you could be a target.”

“Alright, fine.”

His second mistake was believing you.

When Jay reports that Hank agreed to lift the case from homicide, your first stop is none other than Adam Ruzek. A good man who’s skin you enjoyed getting under. He’d always tell you, “you’re Jay’s sister, we can’t blah blah blah”. You respected that, even thought it was slightly honorable. Didn’t mean you’d stop having your fun.

He opens the door in a tank top and jeans, hair still wet from a shower. You watch droplets chase each other down his skin and you find yourself frozen. Did you have the perfect witty remark before you saw him? Sure did. Did you now? Absolutely not.

“How can I help you?” He prompts, looking more confused than anything else.

You recover quickly, stretch your lips into a cheeky grin and look him up and down. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I want.”

He rolls his eyes. “Y/N- “

“Relax Ruz, I want information on your case, not to see your dick.” You say as you walk in and turn back to smirk at him.

Funny enough, the only thing he wanted was to kiss that smirk right off your lips, take you to his bed and rip your clothes off.

“We’ve been instructed not to say anything to you.” He shrugs. You groan and throw your head back in frustration, not so quietly cursing Jay’s ‘big brother’ complex. “However, if I were to leave the room and you were to read the file on the counter next to the microwave, well, I guess there’s nothing I could do about that.” He winks at you before he leaves the room.

“You’re the best.” You sing-song after him.

You pour over the files. Names, bank statements, recent communications. Out of three scenes there was only one eye witness and he was questionable at best. How was that possible? This definitely wasn’t done by a pro, the medical examiner’s report had detailed gruesome, messy deaths. Emotional and frantic.

Adam finds you on his living room floor, papers sprawled before you. You have the end of one of his pens tucked between your lips and he can’t say he’ll be mad at the teeth marks you’re likely leaving.

You’re so completely engrossed, you don’t hear his soft chuckle from behind you or even notice the scent of coffee and vanilla in the air. You only notice him when he clears his throat from above you and hands you a warm mug.

“Oh sorry.” You wince. “I suppose I’ve been here a little too long.”

He waves you off. “What are you writing down?”

“Anything that sticks out to me really. I’m sure it’s not anything you haven’t already come up with, but I just know there’s a connection between them.” You frown at the mess in front of you.

“Well, you did graduate with them, right?” He asks. You nod. “Was there maybe a person or a class they had in common?”

You scrunch your nose and begin to gnaw on your bottom lip. “I don’t know.” You whisper.

It was right there; you swore it was. It sat heavy on the tip of your tongue ready to fall at any moment, but nothing you’d just seen had jogged a memory.

You hover your fingers over the pages. “I thought files like these usually had pictures of the scenes, the… bodies.”

“I didn’t think you needed to see that.” He says softly. “Hey.” He tries to catch your attention. “You’re not going to solve this in one sitting, Nancy Drew.” You roll your eyes and he shrugs. “At least you’ll have something to talk about at your reunion.” You look to him with furrowed brows. “Your… high school reunion?”

You had forgotten. Whether that was on accident or on purpose is unknown. “Oh, yeah, no. Definitely not going to that.” You laugh. He questions you with a head tilt. “It’s just not really my scene, Ruz.” You say simply. “I’m supposed to be meeting Will and Jay for lunch, I should go. Thank you for- uh- you know.”

“Breaking a few laws to please you?” He chuckles.  

You smile softly at him and he walks you to the door, but you pause just over the threshold. “If Jay asks if you’ve seen me you say…?” You prompt.

“There’s a third Halstead?” He places a hand over his chest, feigns a shocked expression. Your laugh echoes through his chest and he marvels at the sound. Crisp and light, the perfect breath of fresh air.

Adam feeds you information over the next few days, but informs you he won’t tell you anything truly important. “Last thing I need is Jay blaming me for you getting yourself in trouble.” He’d say. “No, being detective adjacent does not make you an almost detective.”

**

You’re perched on Adam’s desk, leaned forward to offer him his choice of sugar-coated pastries. He takes one gratefully and sinks his teeth in. Powdered sugar coats the corner of his mouth and you have to stop yourself from reaching out to wipe it, preferably with your tongue.

You shut that thought down quickly.

Jay walks in, catches sight of you and you know he sees red. He’s almost as mad as that time you put bleach in his conditioner. You roll your eyes at Adam and he coughs to hide his laugh. You jump off his desk, plaster the sweetest smile of innocence you can muster, and hold the box of treats out to him.

“I got your- “

“I thought I told you to stay away from this.” He cuts you off.

“Did you? I thought that was more of a suggestion.”

He pulls you into a hallway by your arm, rough enough to catch you off guard. His eyes stare daggers at you and you watch as he balls his fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He’s afraid. You’ve never seen him afraid before.

“This isn’t a game or like one of your crime shows, Y/N. This is serious. We’ve already found two more girls from your class.”

But you already knew that.

“Jesus, Jay, I’m not a child.” You spit. “I know exactly how dangerous this job can be. How many times have I sat by your beside at Med? How many times have you called me and said,” You lower your voice, patronizingly imitating him, ““Ok, don’t freak out but…”?” You’re silent for a moment, waiting for a response. He doesn’t really have one. “Girls are dying. Girls I knew! I had dinner with Chelsea two months ago. If you’ve found two more, that means I probably know who did it. And I know exactly how to catch him.”

His eyes widen. “Absolutely- “

But you’re already gone.

You ask Hank for the floor and he grants it to you. You list out some of your more notable theories, most of which they’ve already looked into. You point out the fact that, if his last four victims were from the same high school, it’s likely his fifth would be too. Assuming he’s not done yet. What better place to grab her than the reunion tomorrow?

“Now you want to go to that?” Adam pipes up.

“Oh yeah, because walking around a gym chatting up people I never really liked who are pretending to have better lives than they do in order to impress people they also never liked is a great time. Of course I don’t want to go, but this is our best option.”

“’Our’?” Hank echoes.

You straighten your back, square your shoulders and nod. “I get a plus one, but you can’t have someone impersonate me and everyone knew Jay. Chances are I know this person. Best case scenario I suss out your bad guy.”

“And worst case?” Jay asks, clearly seething.

You ignore your brother and turn back to Hank instead. “I find you a new suspect to interrogate.”

Jay barks out a laugh. “Or, the killer is there, you’re on his list, he corners you, and you get- “

“Enough.” Hank cuts him off. “We wire her up, send her with a date and monitor the whole thing from across the street. Keep her as safe as possible.”

Jay watches you, your shoulders back, eyes alert, mouth set in a straight line and he can’t help but feel sick. The same determined look you’ve had your whole life and he knows there’s not a single thing he can do about it.

Sometimes he thinks you take ‘be brave’ too far.

Early the next morning, he corners you in the locker room. You complain about not having had any sleep with all the prepping you’ve had to do. He pulls out his phone, clicks Will’s contact number, puts it on speaker, and hands it to you.

It rings twice before he picks up.

You and Jay go back and forth explaining what exactly was going on. Most of it was you and him arguing over details. Will stays quiet, lets you hash it out. He catches the important bits, but for a moment he wonders when he became the voice of reason in this trio.

The idea of you being sent under cover to catch a serial killer or spree killer or whatever term you both had finally settled on did make him nervous. However, he’s been to a kick boxing class with you before and the only idea scarier than an angry you is a Jay with a gun.

“I’m assuming he’s going to keep you safe, so why is he making you call me?”

“I think he’s convinced I’m gonna die.” You shoot Jay a look before he can argue.

“Oh, I see. You though I could talk our stubborn little sister out of something she’s already set on, because, as we all know, if she won’t listen to you, she’ll definitely hear me out.”

“I thought you could reason with her.”

He laughs. “Because I’m known for being the reasonable one.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, but if you do die, can I get your apartment?”

“Will!” Jay chastises.

“It’s such a great view!” He adds. You’re fairly certain he’s only half joking.

“I’ll add to my testament you can only have it if you finally ask out that doctor you’ve been pining over.”

He’s quiet again. “Your death might be the best thing for my love life.”

**

Antonio runs through the school’s blueprints with you and details every exit strategy they’ve put together. Jay goes over codewords with you, Kevin tasks himself with calming your nerves, and Hank takes you through every worst-case scenario until your brain melts. He informs you he’s sending Adam with you, and you’re about to question why when Jay interrupts, asks to have a moment alone with you.

“We’re in too deep now for you to get me to pull away from this.” You say quickly.

Jay takes a moment to look at you, but can’t get the image of that little pigtailed girl leaving snot stains on his shirt out of his head. You had grown so strong and sometimes he forgets that. He’d love nothing more than to convince you to go home where he’ll know you’ll be safe, but, instead, he places his hands on either side of your shoulders and looks you straight in the eye. “Be brave.” He tells you. You take a deep breath and nod.

The next few hours are a blur of curling irons and lip liner. You pull nervously at the lace of your sleeve, begin to twirl burgundy fabric between your fingers and Kim grabs you hand, offers you an assuring smile and promises they have your back.

Adam comes in, a sarcastic remark tittering on the edge of his tongue, but when he sees you, wrapped in red like a rose, it falls off. He’s only able to mumble something along the lines of, “car’s here.”

You fill the strange silence during the car ride with back story details. You met at a Blackhawk’s game, he spilt his beer down your back when he got upset over what he thought was an unfair call, and here you are seven months later. You said ‘I love you’ first, a detail he felt the need to argue, but you agreed to move into his place. You point out that, in real life, you’d never leave your view willingly.  

He opens your door and takes your hand, but you hesitate just before the door.

He moves his hand to the side of your face and grazes your cheek bone. “Hey.” He says softly. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable. You say the word and I will drive you home, no questions.”

You close your eyes, lean into his touch, and for a moment you consider his offer. “No.” you breathe out. You’re met with worried eyes and he’s about to protest when you shake your head. “I can do this.” He nods, eyes still worried, and grips your hand a little tighter.

Over the next hour you have so many small talk conversations that the people begin to blur together. You ask about jobs, kids, new houses. Most know your brother became a cop, so you don’t have to worry about trying to work the case in and Adam is strangely good at getting alibis from people without them knowing he’s also a cop. You flitter around with his hand always on your lower back and you can’t say you mind.

“Tell me, have you always been a badass?” He asks you seriously.

You purse your lips and contemplate for a moment. “No.” You answer truthfully. He was expecting a sarcastic remark, or a jab at Jay, your honesty surprises him. “When Jay enlisted and Will went to med school, I was truly alone for the first time.” He’s listening, watching you intently and suddenly the moment is too real, the air too heavy. You wiggle your brows to break the tension. “I supposed that’s when I became the best Halstead.” You whisper.

That’s when you see him. Slicked back hair and deep-set eyes, there’s something in his nauseating smirk that triggers the memory. A young boy with grabby hands and pushy words sulking around groups of girls. Those four girls did have someone in common, unfortunately so did you. He makes eye contact and stretches thin lips into a toothy smile. You do your best to mirror it.

The next five minutes include a very long string of decisions, the first being not telling Adam. You know there’s no way he’d let you get anywhere near this guy, which would keep you from getting a confession on tape and justice for those girls, so you had to find a way to lose him. You do the first thing that comes to mind. You chug your wine and his untouched drink, say something about crowds making you nervous, and tell him you’ll get the refills.

He finds your behavior odd, but then again you were a civilian undercover helping them look for a killer. Perhaps he’d be more concerned if you were completely calm. Jay told him to not let you out of his sight, but the bar was within his eyeline and he was in the middle of getting some information from a retired teacher. What harm could there be?

You hadn’t even placed your order with the bartender when there’s a tap on your shoulder. “Y/N, hey.” He stands too close to you, the smell of cigarettes and whiskey heavy on his tongue.

You hear Jay’s voice whispering “be brave” in the back of your mind and force a surprised expression before you morph it into a sweet smile. “Richards, right? Michael?”

His smile grows impossibly wide at the knowledge that you remember him. You start with the usual questions and he tells you he’s actually between jobs now, looking to start over after things ended with his fiancé. He paints a picture of a perfect man in a spell of bad luck who seems to believe he’ll get by on just his charm.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” He asks.

You ignore the pit in your stomach and the bile at the back of your throat when you trail your fingers up his arm. “I’d love that. My car is out back, it’ll be easy to slip away.”

He smiles devilishly at you and you take a moment to make sure Adam is distracted before you take his hand and pull him into a hallway. You’re sure to keep the exit strategies Antonio mapped out in the back of your mind, and fall behind to allow a distance to form between you.

He’s in the middle of a comment when you cut him off. “Did you pull a similar stunt with Chelsea?” You ask. He turns on you. “Lizzy was married with kids. I don’t imagine you thought you’d be successful there, so you just killed her. But Chelsea? She was fresh off a bad breakup and back in town.”

“What are you- “

“Did she reject you like she did in high school?” You bite out. You can only imagine the fit Jay is throwing right now, but you just need to hear him say it. “I didn’t know those two other girls well, but I bet they did the same. Did it make you feel small? Like less- “

“Shut up!” He yells as he reaches behind him to pull out a gun. He trains it directly on you.

See, you hadn’t planned for a gun, he had never used one before. You only put the distance between you because it’s harder for someone to hit or stab you when your farther away. But now there’s a pistol pointed directly at your chest and all the training Jay has even given you for this exact moment is useless.

“Drop the gun.” Adam bellows from behind you.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!” Michael counters.

“You don’t want to do that.” He tries to reason.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he does.” You mutter. “I’m right, though aren’t I? Why now?” Your blood chills with a sudden realization. “What really happened with your fiancé?” You press harder.

“Don’t worry, the bitch will get what’s coming right after you. She wanted to break things off because I wasn’t enough. You all think you’re so much- “

“You pathetic piece of- ”

“Yeah, maybe don’t provoke the guy with the gun on you?” Adam quips. You huff, but withhold the rest of your remark.

Adam’s slightly closer now, using the distraction you’re providing to move in. You feel a breeze graze your skin and the team files in to surround him. Jay flanks your other side, asks if you’re alright.

“Give it up, you got nowhere to go.” Antonio announces from behind him.

Michael falters for a second before he pulls his lips into that same devilish grin and you swear it almost splits his face in two. “Maybe. But four out of five isn’t too bad.”

He pulls the trigger and you drop.

You’ve imagined being shot several times and you definitely thought it would hurt more. You haven’t willed yourself to open your eyes yet, but all you can feel is pressure over your torso and something soaking your dress. Jay’s yelling, but one voice cuts clear from the chaos.

“Are you alright?” Adam asks from above you.

When he gets up, the pressure disappears and his hands start searching your body for any signs of injury. He repeats the question again. You look down at yourself and press your fingers into the dark spot on your dress, pull them away, and rub the red between your fingers. It’s blood, but it’s not yours.

You sit up in a panic, almost knocking him over. “Oh my god, Adam you got shot!” You exclaim with frantic hands searching for the wound. He hisses when you find it on his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” He grunts out. “It’s you I’m worried about.” You hear Jay call for an ambulance and are almost certain his heart is still racing.

You pull out Adams pocket square and place it firmly in his wound, try to ignore the body only feet from you. “That was so stupid.” You grit out. “You actually jumped in front of a bullet!”

“Thanks for saving my life Adam.” He mutters out and you ignore him.

“Stupid.” You say again.

**

You're sat in the waiting room of Chicago Med. Will and Jay are both laying into you about how dangerous and reckless your actions had been, but you’re barely listening to them. Your attention is only grabbed when a doctor comes out, tells you the surgery to remove the bullet went well, and he was awake. You follow the Doctor back, Jay on your heels.

When you walk in, Adam gets the dopiest smile you’ve ever seen. You sit gently by his side. “Do you need anything?” You ask.

“Ice chips would be amazing.” Once he’s sure you’re out of ear shot, he turns to Jay. “I’m sorry man. I shouldn’t have let her out of my- “

“I picked you to go with her, and I’d make the same decision.” He interrupts and Adam’s surprised. “Look man, I needed someone to go in with her that would protect her the way I would. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” He’s about to protest to tell him he’d never cross that line, but Jay raises his hand. “You just jumped in front of a bullet for her. You’re one of the few people I know she’s safe with and she actually listens to you which is a miracle on its own.”

You come back in and sense the shift in the air, but Jay excuses himself. You sit back at his bedside and offer him the cup and for the first moment of that night, everything is still. The events of the night, the sound of the shot, the smell of gunpowder thick in the air, it all builds up in your chest.

He hears your breathing pick up. “Woah, hey, I’m okay.” He tries to reassure you.

“You could’ve died.” You choke out.

“But I didn’t.”

“If it went two inches over, you’d be dead!” You’re panicking now.

“But it didn’t.” He says with a little more force and pulls you down to his chest. You let him. You breathe it out, allowing the sure smell of him to calm you.

“Why’d you do it?” Your voice is small. He hums his question. “Jump in front of me.” You clarify.

He’s quiet for a long time. You only know he’s awake because his fingers are trailing lines up and down your back, drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Goosebumps rise on your arms and you bury yourself further into him.

“Because I love you.” He says it as if it’s the simplest thing in this whole world. Maybe it is.

You look up at him for a while and think he’s far to calm for the moment. You lean up and place a tender kiss on the pillow of his lips before laying your head back down.

“I guess that’s a good enough reason.”

[aerialflight]

One Piece Fic Recs

Okay I’ve been obsessing over One Piece lately and I have a need to spread the One Piece love with these fics that I recently found and can’t stop thinking about now. Hope you all enjoy!

-

Sleeping Arrangements by Altiria 

Ship: Law/Luffy

Nightmares plaguing Law keep him awake most nights, an unusual arrangement keeps him blissfully dream free. Some miscommunications form from the result.

(listen, LISTEN, this summary doesn’t do this story justice when it comes to showing the sheer hilarity and chaos that happens in this fic. this is basically a story of Luffy doing his best to try and marry Law and everybody gets dragged into it. and when i say everybody, i mean EVERYBODY. this is the funniest fic i’ve read in ages and i guarantee you won’t be able to breathe at some points when reading this fic.)

True Love's Kiss by Altiria

Ship: Law/Luffy, Marco/Ace

The Whitebeard crew converge upon Marineford to rescue one of their own. As they arrive, they and everyone nearby is cursed by the powers of the fairy-tale fruit. Luffy, the only one with his memories intact, now needs to find a way to break them all out of the story with the aid of almost stranger; who deeply regrets his involvement.

Starring: 'spontaneous singing', 'definitely not a princess,’ 'I'm too old for this,' and a group of pirates who are never ever going to live this down.

(discovering this author was the best thing that happened to me this week, so i had to rec two of her fics in a row. i swear there are some scenes in here that i can’t unsee and it’s burned into my memory now. and i absolutely do not regret it cause just thinking about it has me cackling like a mad man.)

A Test of Endurance by RememberThePetrichor

Ship: Doflamingo/Crocodile

It’s strange the things that tie people back together. A backwards glance. A rash decision. Or in Crocodile and Doflamingo’s case, a severe psychotic episode in a dank alleyway at three in the morning. [Dofladile anthology with a tiny dollop of smut, now also with plot]

(never in a million years did i think i would ever like this ship, yet here we are. the fic explores these two unexpected, jagged people together and it’s amazing how well they fit. and crocodile is so emotionally constipated and i’m laughing at him the entire way. a smitten doflamingo is an image i didn’t know could exist, yet the author somehow managed to bring it into the world. it’s brilliant and i definitely rec this if you like complicated, stretched out timeless romances. will continue to keep an eye on this.)

Prospects by BrambleFuzz

“I might end up having to kill you. That makes me an enemy, don’t you understand?” “But enemies are supposed to hate each other, right?” Straw Hat questioned, drawing his eyes back to Katakuri’s face. “Do you?”

(Luffy is insistent that he and Katakuri are friends, and Katakuri is insistent that they are not. One of them is very much in denial, but perhaps for good reason.)

(no one is safe when it comes to luffy’s unending charisma and stubborn insistence of friendship. it’s beautiful and i love this.)

Heed the Siren's Call by missmungoe

Ship: Shanks/Makino

Rumours on the tide say he's got a girl in every port, but sea-sayings tend to exaggerate. There was only ever one port—and the one girl.

Pre-series. Bookish and wilful, Makino is not even twenty when her legal guardian leaves her on her own, and with a bar to boot. And it figures he'd choose the greatest personal upheaval in her life to make his entrance. After all, he's that kind of guy.

Part 1 of Shanties for the Weary Voyager

(i don’t know what’s up with me reading shipping fics, i usually go to gen when it comes to one piece but i definitely don’t regret it. wow, this fic was honestly a journey and it’s stunning. i honestly can’t unsee the potential of this ship now and god, i wish this is canon. i really, really do. also, this is part of a series and i’m going to be honest, it’s Sea Songs that completely won me over. it’s the sequel to this story and it’s what made me completely fall in love with this series and this ship. But, reading the first of the series definitely adds more depth to their relationship and is the beginning of everything, if i have to be dramatic about it. which i do, cause it deserves it.)

Unwritten by missmungoe

Ship: Mihawk/Hancock

She's used to flattery and pretty words.

What she gets from him is...not that.

(bet your didn’t expect this, cause i sure didn’t. but man, this ship just works and i love it so much. you have no idea how much i digged for more fics on this pairing and it’s disappointingly low to say the least. can’t regret it though. honestly, the author is just so good at shipping two characters i don’t expect to work, yet it does.)

sic itur ad astra by donutsandcoffee

Humans can make out patterns out of nothing. Like discovering shapes in the cloud, or images between the stars. If you listen to static noise long enough they start to form meaningful words, even when there isn’t any.

This is the closest approximation to how Ichiji feels things.

It is almost fascinating, then, for him, to watch Sanji, who seems to feel everything with his entire being, so visceral and open and raw.

(such a fantastic character study on a character that isn’t explored much. ichiji is so complex here and the author gives him more nuance in how he rationalizes emotions and who he is as a person. his relationship with sanji is given more depth and i’m so happy! definitely read this!)

Memoirs of a Suicidal Pirate by alkhale

Getting murdered while trying to kill yourself is bad luck. Getting reincarnated after that is just a bad joke. But Toonami reruns and cheap commissions info have taught her this world has plenty of chances to get yourself killed. It can't be that hard.

"So you're actually trying to die?"

"Yes."

"You know you're his nakama now, right?"

"So?"

"...Good luck with that."

(this is a fic that i’m literally waiting at the edge of my seat for to update. every time it does, my heart soars and my day, no, week improves instantly. i swear, the worldbuilding in this is top notch and if i didn’t know one piece at the back of my hand, i would absolutely believe the OC self-insert character was a real character in One Piece, i am not kidding. the author hits the tone, the WORLDBUILDING, the characters, literally everything that makes One Piece what it is, right on the nail. i laughed, i cried, i felt incessant rage at the very One Piece existing cruelty of the world, i really felt like i was reading canon One Piece, and that’s no easy accomplishment. seriously, please for the love of god read this. @adelmortescryche and i freak over this all the time and i need to spread this fic like a wildfire to other people, god.)