#he’s beauty he’s grace he’s punching joker in the face

[starry-bi-sky]

Cfau Danny Phantom I am FINALLY getting a hang of your blasted design

[taldigi]

After seeing your art with Philemon it got me thinking, how do you think Joker feels about the Velvet Room after all is said and done? Like, his experience there SUCKED but it also wasn't really Igor's fault. But Igor also happens to look exactly like the evil god that manipulated and tortured Joker, and I don't know if he'd be able to differentiate the two so easily. Plus, even if it wasn't completely their fault, it's not like the Velvet Room does much to make it up to him. Just a: We are sorry you did not get the Velvet Room experience that you were supposed to. Please take a Morgana as compensation. So I can't help but wonder what his end views are regarding Igor and Lavenza, as well as how he'd view Philemon. What do you think?

Ohh- now I think it's a really interesting thought experiment

I think Joker is, so far, the only one that Philemon never appeared to in some form or another (main series). IIRC he appears to Makoto Yuki and KIND OF Yu Narukami.. but the butterflies in p5 are explicitly Lavenza.

Perhaps the altercation between the Velvet Room and Yaldabaoth is considered petty in comparison to some of the other fates presented in other games- perhaps Philemon felt it unnecessary to intervene in the same measures he has before- especially at risk of agitating Nyarlathotep into like action.

Maybe cause the stakes were never a world-ending one (world altering, yes- but Ending? No.)? Maybe because the beef was with Igor and not him? In the end, he trusted the VR to get themselves out of their own mess (Which they ultimately did- so he was right on that front.) I mean.. Yaldabaoth is essentially a toddler compared to shit like Nyx, and he barely interacted with that mess- both times.

Joker isn't a hate kinda guy, and I think he's able to come to terms with the fact that the VR were kind of always on his side- even if they don't go out of their way/are unable to assist more than they are allowed to. There is an element of affection when it comes to Lavenza after all, and Igor wasn't responsible as he was locked away- and Igor's demeanor is so radically different, even having the same face shouldn't affect too much. Unnerving, sure- but when isn't he unnerving? Canonly?

That being said, Joker's whole MO is "People with authority who don't use that authority to help others are assholes." and he exists as a kind of Lucifer allegory in that sense (is he not, after all, the ultimate rebel who chose to defy god? Joker is beauty, he is grace, he shot god in the face.) And.. should he have been aware of Philemon, I think he's on team "punch him in the face".

That being said, I have a feeling that Philemon would find that absolutely charming. How very Joker for an action so unlike Joker.

From what I understand of Philemon, is that his role is that of the guide. Even though his guidance-only approach seems underwhelming and roundabout, it's been the best solution that is able to empower humanity to save themselves from themselves. Rather than having to rely on a god to fix their problems.. which is a very very very p5 sort of narrative, it's an approach that emphasizes that the flaws and failures of humanity are important building blocks. Philemon snapping away someone to save them robs the rest of the world of their growth. Joker and Philemon are very very much on the same wavelength, if Semester 3 is anything to go by.

Would Joker be angry? Yes. Disdainful and Dissapointed due to being the designated nanny for an infant god? Absolutely yes! And he'll even take every opportunity to make sassy little remarks in retaliation. But... Hateful? Never.

[dc-and-arfrona]

Betrayed By You

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Nightwing x GN!Reader

Summary: You wre working for the Joker this whole time...

Type: Angst

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5k+

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Nightwing and the [Y\N] stood on a rooftop, their bodies close together as they watched over the city. The night sky stretched above them, speckled with stars that mirrored the sparkle in their eyes. They shared a bond forged through countless nights like this, their love for each other strengthening with every moment.

"I'm glad we have this," Nightwing said, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed at the [Y\N]. "Just you and me, protecting this city."

The [Y\N] leaned into him, a soft smile gracing their lips. "Me too, Dick. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than by your side."

Their hands intertwined, fingers lacing together in a gesture that spoke of love and devotion. In that moment, the world around them faded away, and it was just the two of them against the darkness.

Days later, they found themselves in a cozy apartment, laughter filling the air. Nightwing had surprised the [Y\N] with a home-cooked meal, their favorite dishes carefully prepared with love. The dining table was adorned with flickering candles, casting a warm glow over the room.

"This is amazing," the [Y\N] said, taking a bite of the delicious food. "You spoil me too much, Dick."

Nightwing grinned, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You deserve it, love. You bring so much light into my life, and I just want to make you happy."

They shared stories and dreams, their voices mingling in a symphony of love and companionship. The walls of the apartment echoed with their laughter, creating a haven of joy in a world filled with chaos.

One afternoon, as they walked hand in hand through a bustling market, Nightwing stopped in front of a flower stall. His eyes landed on a bouquet of vibrant red roses, their petals velvety soft and captivating.

"These reminded me of you," he said, his voice filled with adoration. "Beautiful, strong, and always blooming despite the challenges."

The [Y\N] blushed, their heart fluttering at the sweet gesture. "You always know how to make me feel special, Dick."

Nightwing leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to their forehead. "It's easy when you're the most incredible person in my life."

Their love was a tapestry woven with care and tenderness, each moment building upon the last. They faced battles side by side, but their real strength lay in the love they shared. Their relationship was their sanctuary, a place where they found solace and support in the midst of chaos.

And then, the truth unraveled before them. Nightwing discovered the [Y\N]'s secret allegiance to the Joker, and the foundation of their love was shaken to its core. The scenes of love and happiness now contrasted sharply with the reality that had been revealed.

The loving moments they had shared were now tainted with doubt and betrayal. The future hung in uncertainty, and the strength of their bond would be tested like never before. Love had brought them together, but the truth threatened to tear them apart.

Nightwing stood in the dimly lit room, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked at the evidence before him. The truth that he had just discovered rocked him to his core. The person he loved, the [Y\N], was not who he thought they were.

His mind raced, trying to process the implications of what he had uncovered. The [Y\N], his partner, was actually a spy working for none other than the Joker, his arch-nemesis. It felt like a punch to the gut, and he struggled to make sense of it all.

He remembered the moments they had shared, the laughter, the love. How could it all be a lie? Was anything real between them? Questions flooded his mind, each one stabbing at his already wounded heart.

Nightwing turned his gaze to the [Y\N], their eyes meeting in a charged silence. The [Y\N] could see the mix of confusion, anger, and hurt in his eyes. They knew the truth had been exposed, and they braced themselves for his reaction.

"You're working for him," Nightwing finally spoke, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and betrayal.

The [Y\N] swallowed hard, their voice trembling as they tried to explain. "Nightwing, I... I never wanted you to find out like this. I never wanted to put you in danger."

"You've been lying to me all this time," Nightwing's voice cracked, the weight of the revelation weighing heavily upon him. "How could you do this? How could you betray everything I stand for?"

Tears welled up in the [Y\N]'s eyes as they took a step closer, reaching out to him. "Please, Dick, let me explain. I didn't choose this life. I was forced into it, and I've been trying to protect you from the inside."

Nightwing recoiled, as if their touch burned him. "Protect me? By working for the Joker? How could you think that was the right thing to do?"

"I know it's hard to understand, but I had no choice," the [Y\N] pleaded, their voice filled with desperation. "He has my family, my loved ones. I had to do whatever it took to keep them safe."

Nightwing's anger flared, his frustration boiling over. "And what about me? What about us? Did you ever consider the consequences of your actions on our relationship?"

"I did, and I'm sorry," the [Y\N] sobbed, their voice cracking. "But I thought I could keep you out of it, keep you safe. I never wanted you to get hurt because of me."

Nightwing's shoulders slumped, the weight of the situation becoming almost unbearable. The conflicting emotions tore at his soul. Part of him wanted to turn away, to shut the [Y\N] out of his life forever. But another part, the part that still loved them, wanted to believe that there was a way to salvage what they had.

"I need time to process this," Nightwing finally said, his voice filled with a mixture of pain and determination. "But know this, if you truly love me, you'll find a way to make things right."

The [Y\N] nodded, tears streaming down their face. "I'll do whatever it takes, Dick. I love you, and I'll do whatever it takes to prove it."

With heavy hearts and shattered trust, Nightwing and the [Y\N] parted ways that night, unsure of what the future held for them. The path ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, but deep down, they both knew that their love would be put to the ultimate test. Only time would tell if it was strong enough to overcome the secrets and lies that had been laid bare.

Nightwing and the [Y\N] stood face to face, their eyes filled with a mix of pain and determination. The truth had been laid bare, and their once-loving relationship now hung in the balance.

"I can't believe you're working for him," Nightwing's voice trembled with a mix of anger and sadness. "All this time, I thought I knew you."

The [Y\N]'s gaze faltered for a moment, a flicker of regret crossing their face. "I never wanted to hurt you, Dick. I got caught up in something I thought I could handle."

Nightwing's fists clenched, his emotions warring within him. "You chose his side. You chose the Joker over everything we had."

In the midst of their heated exchange, a group of armed thugs appeared, drawn to the confrontation. They raised their weapons, ready to attack.

Without hesitation, Nightwing sprang into action, engaging the assailants with his acrobatic skills and swift strikes. The [Y\N], torn between their loyalty and their love for Nightwing, hesitated for a moment.

But as the bullets began to fly, an instinctual need to protect the one they loved overrode everything else. With a surge of bravery, the [Y\N] stepped in front of Nightwing, taking a bullet meant for him.

Time seemed to slow down as the [Y\N]'s body crumpled to the ground, pain radiating through their being. Nightwing's heart skipped a beat, shock and anguish washing over him in a tidal wave of emotions.

"No!" Nightwing's voice cracked with despair as he dropped to his knees beside the [Y\N]. "What have I done?"

Tears welled up in the [Y\N]'s eyes as they reached out to touch Nightwing's face, their voice filled with determination. "I... I did this because I love you, Dick. Despite everything, my love for you is real."

Nightwing's hands trembled as he held the [Y\N], his heart breaking at the sight of their fading strength. "I love you too, more than words can express. Please, stay with me."

As the [Y\N]'s life ebbed away, their lips curved into a weak smile. "Remember me, Dick. Remember the love we shared, the moments that made us whole."

Nightwing pressed his forehead against theirs, whispering brokenly, "I will never forget you, my love. I promise."

And in that tragic moment, Nightwing held the [Y\N]'s lifeless body, grief consuming him. Their sacrifice had brought them back to a place of love, but at a devastating cost. Their love story had come to an end, but the impact of their connection would forever shape Nightwing's life, reminding him of the power of love, even in the face of heartbreak.

[ohallthecrushes]

Wherever you go I’ll find you // Joker x Reader // Part 1

A/N: Thank you, @call-me-harley-quinn for this idea, it turns out it’s gonna have at least 3 chapters, because there’s so much to discover in Arthur’s transformation and how it affects his life and mind, and I really like the idea of Joker realizing how much he loves his S/O and goes after her to win her back. <3 I had two ideas how this is gonna be and I chose this one, I hope this is what you wanted. <3

Summary: Arthur is so ingrained in his Joker persona, he forgets that his S/O has only seen Arthur. Not knowing him anymore, she runs. When Joker realizes this, he is devastated and does everything he can to find her. After days of searching, he finds her and takes her back. She is scared out of her mind, but it ends up being a beautiful reconciliation.

Cointains: mention of murder, rough sex, dark jokes

Word count: 4378

It was a crazy week. Crazy in every sense, good and bad. So many things had happened that had changed everything. So many accidents, coincidences, opportunities... Every single thing in his goddamn miserable life had changed. It was all unexpected and Arthur didn’t want this much complication in his life, but he couldn’t changed what he’d done and therefor he wasn’t surprised that his action had serious consequences. He couldn’t change it or erase it, so he went with the flow.

After killing Murray, he expected to be caught and escorted to jail. He laughed at this. What possibly could they do to him to humiliate and hurt him again? Nothing new. Nothing that he wasn’t already used to.

He didn’t fight when two men jumped on him. He laughed. And he didn’t fight when they were a little rough on him, giving him a few unnecessary punches to his face and kicking him when he was lying on the floor. He didn’t fight, no, he laughed.

It was happening all very fast. Handcuffs, police car, a short ride through burning Gotham, the accident, blank page, and the crowd chanting his name, encourage him to dance. Somehow he suddenly became noticed.

Oh, what a wonderful feeling it was to be finally noticed and wanted.

He heard the crowd screaming his name, he heard police sirens coming his way. He saw happy faces all over the place, he put on one too. Even though he felt tears filling up his eyes, he didn’t let himself to be bothered with them right now. He swirled around one more time with a grace that had always been in him. All that mattered to him in that moment was the eyes that was watching him. Mesmerized. He was mesmerized.

He wanted to pause this moment forever, only if he could. So he paused it in his mind and kept it as a good memory - one of very few that didn’t have you in it.

Joker wasn’t sure anymore how and when did he end up back in his old apartment, he somehow got away from police and his tired legs just led him back here. Back home. But it didn’t feel like home anymore. Even though everything was exactly how he’d left it (well, beside the splash of blood on the wall and floor, a new modern decoration that gave a quite nice and fresh touch to this place), it wasn’t the same place anymore. He wondered if this was because of the blood, or something else.

He smirked as he walked over to the couch. He sat down with his hands rested on the back of the couch. Suddenly he felt extremely tired. Completely jiggered. He let his eyelids droop closed and let his mind wander freely.

Images started appearing before his eyes, one after another - images of people dancing in fire, red and blue colors, police sirens, fire and blood, chanting crowds, bullets flying through the air, Murray spread across his chair. Oh how tired Murray looked, even more tired than Joker was. One could say that Murray must had been dead on his feet...

Joker laughed and changed his position a bit. His hands rested on his thighs as he laid his head on the back of the couch.

Imagines were still flowing in to his mind. He was watching them as if he was watching a movie. Dancing feet on a police car, people laughing at his jokes, guns appearing in a thin smoke, you smiling...

You?

Oh, the only thing that had been missing in the crowd of people watching him.

You were supposed to be there. If you only hadn’t gone out of town for a business trip.

He focused on your image, on your smiling face, on your beautiful eyes looking at him. He missed you, he missed you so much it hurt. But you were expected to come back soon. He had been counting days... no, hours even until you came back to him. But things had started to happen and he’d lost his count. He wasn’t sure what day it was today and how soon it was to see you again. All he was was sure however is that he was going to hug you and kiss you and make love to you until he felt like you two made up for the time you hadn’t been together. And after that he was going to keep you in his arms and never gonna let you leave him for so long ever again.

                                                        ***

You were walking fast, passing by people in a zigzag course, almost running on your tiptoe, and tripping every once in a while. You were back in Gotham and you were heading to Arthur’s apartment to finally have a talk with him.

He hadn’t talk to you for over three days and you couldn’t reach him by phone until yesterday when he’d called you, just like that, asking when you were going to be back home. He’d asked his question so casual, like he hadn’t goneout of radar for three days! You wondered what had happened to him and if you did something wrong that could cause him to act so strange, making you go crazy with assumptions and worries, but the only thing that you could think of was having to travel to another city due to your job’s obligations. He hadn’t taken that information very good...

The first few days with you being out of town had been really hard for him, making you got seriously worried about his mental state. He’d sounded depressed and exhausted, like he’d never been before. You’d asked him if there’d been something else that had been happening, but he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t lied to you, he’d just started talk less and less... Until he’d stopped answering your calls all of the sudden.

And then you’d picked up the phone and it’d been him at the other side of the line sounding all joyful and excited. He’d said that he’d been fine and everything had been taken care of. You’d tried to put your worries aside and believe him, but you knew that something had been going on and at least one thing hadn’t been alright despite of what he had told you.

Your feet led you to the stairs once you got inside the building, since you couldn’t afford more time to waste on waiting for an elevator, and you soon found yourself standing before apartment 8J, panting heavily. You hadn’t felt so worried, rushed and excited at once for a long time. It was a bittersweet feeling being back here. Being excited to see him again and worried as hell. Butterflies were flying inside your entire body, reaching through your throat to your head, making you dizzy and weak at the knees.

You lifted up your shaking fist and knock on the door two times.

Waiting for the door to open was almost unbearable. It was only seconds, but they were stretched out in your mind, feeling like the longest seconds in your life. You tried to keep your brave face on and acted normal, but you shifted the weight from your right leg to left, impatient and full of worries.

You heard as Arthur opened all the locks, your eyes were tracing his hands, even though you couldn’t see them, and the door finally opened wide. You saw him standing in front of you wearing a red suit that you hadn’t seen before. His hair was dyed green and his face was painted in Carnival make up, though it was more sloppy and messy. He looked at you and smiled widely, his whole face   lit up with happiness, and he took you into his arms and hugged you firmly, pulling you into the apartment, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and his face buried into your neck.

- Oh, Artie... - you couldn’t help but feel tears forming in your eyes.

- Hey, sweetheart, welcome home - his voice came out as soft and sweet as always.

You breathed in his scent and cologne as you hugged him back. You could feel his body shaking a bit.

- You’re alright? - you asked against his chest.

- I’ve m-missed you - his voice shaky too, filled with strong emotions.

It was such a wonderful feeling to be back in his arms, he felt like home and you were so overwhelmed by love, that you almost forgot that you were upset a moment ago.You were home and you had to feel him first.

You sank your fingers into his hair and played with his green curls. Your other hand caressed his back in soothe motions. You could feel his body relaxed under your touch. You could tell that he felt it too, this lovely feeling of being home.

Having you in his arms was the only thing that he had been thinking about for the last days. Now that his imagination reached the reality, he finally could rest his mind and body, and have a moment of piece. You on the other hand could worries less about him as he was clearly alive and seemed to be alright.

He smiled against your neck and slightly leaned you back. His chest pressed against you and he made you both swaying right and left, left and right.

- Ooh, my pretty Doll is finally here, I’ve missed you so, so much, my love - he tilted his head and started peppering your neck and face with kisses - so, so, so, so much...

You couldn’t help but giggle despite you being upset at him and you tried to capture his lips with yours, but he didn’t let you, moving to the other side of your face, putting kisses wherever he could.

- I... missed you... too - you said between the giggles.

When his mouth ended pressed on yours you closed your eyes and kissed him back, parting your lips and putting out your tongue. He welcomed it by deepening the kiss. His tongue found yours, beginning dance a slow tango.

You were locked in lovers’ embrace for a long while, kissing hungrily as if it was the end of the world and you had the last chance to kiss each other.

A need for a break to catch your breath came to you eventually, and you stood with your foreheads abutted, panting and smiling. You looked at his face and down at his red suit. This was new, you didn’t remember him wearing those clothes, except for a yellow vest.

- Is that your new Carnival outfit?

- No, honey, it’s my new self, new me, I’m reborn.

You slightly knitted your eyebrows and looked up at his green hair. The color looked good on him, you had to admit. And the new outfit gave him a sexy, kinda intimidating look. It wasn’t exactly a clown outfit, it was too elegant, but his choice of colors was crazy and made him look very noticeable, which was probably his point you guessed.

- That’s a very nice looking, sexy suit - you said as you ran your hands over his red jacket.

- I know - he agreed, the smile on his face was a mix of self-proud and enjoyment - I’m glad you like it.

- Have you performed already with your new self, darling? - you asked as your eyes were admiring his clothes and his new little messy make up. You wondered if he’d gotten a new gig he hadn’t told you about yet. Since Hoyt fired him, which wasn’t fair in your opinion, cause Arthur was harmless even with a gun, you felt sorry for Arthur for being fired like that. Maybe he’d found a new job and telling you about it was a surprise he had for you? Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t talked to you, cause he hadn’t had time?

- Yes, I did - he swayed his body, a little tiptoe dance - At Murray’s show.

Your eyes widened and you looked at him with incredulity.

- What? Murray’s show? - you asked surprised - you’re kidding?

He shook his head and smiled.

- I’m not kidding, Murray invited me on his show and I was at a sta-

- W-why... - you interrupted him still surprised and a little disappointed - why you didn’t tell me? I could have watched you and-

This time he interrupted you, shaking his head.

- No, no, sweet thing. It wasn’t something you’d like to watch.

- Why? Did it go that bad? - you could feel your heart beating faster again with worries. This was important, this was a big topic for Arthur. You’d been talking about it several times in the past, how it would have been like if he was invited on the show. This had been his big dream for years. He’d shared that with you, so why he hadn’t told you that he’d been invited?

- It was just... something unexpected - he started to explain - something that changed my life, but it wouldn’t do any good if you watched it, believe me.

- What? I don’t understand, Arthur, please explain that to me.

He sighed and reached his hand behind you to close the door. He locked it and turned around to you with a smirk. He leaned down, putting one hand under your knees and the other around your waist. He lifted you with an ease and took you to the couch, before putting you gently on the floor. He sat down and as you were about to do the same, he took you by your wrist and led you onto his lap. You got comfortable there right away, it was your favorite place to sit after all. He wrapped his hands around your waist and kissed your neck, nibbling gently on your skin.

- You smell so good, Kitten, I want to take you now on that couch.

You gasped at his directness as you stretched your neck for him. You hadn’t given a thought to that before, but he was less shy than usual, more energetic and the confidence that beamed from him was as strange as appealing. You didn’t quite understand where it came from, but you thought that maybe it was the time apart and homesick that temporarily changed his behavior. Maybe something good had finally happened to him?

- Arthur, a-are you gonna expl-ain... - you tried to get back to the subject that needed to be discussed, but it was hard to form words now that his lips were kissing your collarbone with his hand slipping under your shirt to caress your skin. You’d been feeling too untouched and underloved that past week so now your senses just got crazy with a simple touch and wet kisses. You decided to let go for now, you could go back to it later after all, after you reunited with him. You missed your boyfriend and it had been too long since you hadn’t seen and touched each other.

You caught his lips with yours and shifted, putting your legs on both sides of his hips. While your mouth was busy tasting his lips, his hands slid down to your lower back and pulled you closer to him. You were pressed against his hard cock and he definitely could feel your panties getting soaked, thanks to your decision to wear a skirt today. You rubbed against his crotch eliciting a moan from his mouth. You pulled away and started to kiss the line of his jaw heading to his neck. You tasted greasepaint and you could swear it tasted real good, though not as good as his bare skin that you nibbled on.

His grip on your hips tightened as he made you rub against him again. He was hard as stone and you couldn’t wait any longer, you wanted to feel him in your hand. You reached to the waistband of his red trousers as you unzipped his pants and freed his cock. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, your thumb rubbed circles around the moist head. He was hot and unbelievable hard. Pre-cum already leaking from him as he pressed you against his crotch, his teeth dug into the crook of your neck a little bit too hard, but you didn’t mind, you were too aroused to feel anything but pleasure.

You moved your hand a few times up and down, feeling every veins on his member, making him groan against your skin. As were you about to attack his neck with kisses, he pulled you away from his lap and laid you on the coach.

- You have no idea how painfully hard it was to wait for you - he said as he slid his hands under your skirt, grabbed your panties and took them off of you - How much I needed you to come back.

He crawled on top of you, his green curls hanging loosely as he pinned you down, his stare full of desire and hidden pain. Dominance and arrogance. A mix of happiness and sadness that you could see in his eyes, but you couldn’t figure out where it all came from. And there was something more also, something more complex, a bunch of emotions from the previous week and whatever had happened back then that you didn’t know about. His intense gaze intimidated you.

- You’re still mine, right? - he asked, lowering his voice.

- Yes, of course, pumpkin - you placed an open palm onto his cheek, trying to stay cool - I’ll always be yours.

He searched your face for a second, maybe looking for any sign of a lie, before he smiled when he of course didn’t find any and pressed a sloppy kiss on your mouth. His disbelief always sent a little pain into your heart, but you knew it was the result of his insecurities and it wasn’t something easily to control. You knew he didn’t doubt your love to him, he always doubted his mind.

He placed himself between your legs, moving his hips, his shaft started rubbing against your clit, giving you friction you needed. You could feel goosebumps all over your body and all the butterflies already gathered in your lower stomach, flicking their wings in anticipation.

- Come inside, I need to feel you - you whispered as you wrapped your legs around him.

He didn’t need an invitation, nor an encourage anymore, but it was always arousing to hear your pleading voice begging for him and anything that he could do to you.

And oh, the things he could do to you now as Joker. All those positions and scenarios that he could see in his mind. He thought about them often when he was alone in his bedroom, tormented with his insomnia. The things that would make Arthur so embarrassed, the things that would never cross Arthur’s mind due to his shy and timid nature. All of those things that Joker wanted to do and gonna get from you eventually. He felt like he could finally be a lover that you deserved. Not clumsy or too shy to ask for things, but confident and dominant, ready to explore new things with you. Now that his mind was finally unchained, he could wandered to corners of his imagination that was always too dark and too perverted for Arthur to look at.

He slipped into your warm and wet walls and moaned into your ear. That was the best feeling in the entire world, to be inside you. To be as one. He wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

He started moving in a steady pace, supporting himself with one hand, while the other were gripping your thigh. His tongue lick up a trace on your neck, stopping right under your ear. He took your earlobe between his lips and sucked on it. Your hand caressed the back of his head and he pushed deeper into you a few times, forcing you to grip his hair into a fist. He smirked and fastened his pace, tilted his head to look at your pretty face.

- Do you like it? - he asked with a little raspy voice as he caught your eyes with his - Do you like my cock stretching your walls, filling you up to the brink?

You parted your lips in slightly surprise, knowing that he hadn’t been the one, initiating a dirty talk before and not with that much confidence in him.

- Y-yea, I- Love it, i-it feels so good - you answered looking into his deep, dark eyes. You wondered if he was alright. The look he was giving you was different, his eyes were different. You’d seen that gaze before, but only when he was very angry. Was he angry right now? He seemed quite relaxed.

- Mmmm - he hummed as he pushed against you, his cock reached your cervix and you rolled your head back, moaning his name.

- Arthur...

No, no Arthur, dollface, it’s Joker that’s fucking you.

His eyes glanced at your hand resting on a pillow, your palm formed into a fist, your wrist so delicate and thin, waiting to be grabbed... With a boosted confidence that arose a new side of him, he quickly wrapped your wrist, pinning it against the pillow. He didn’t know why but if felt like a good idea to show you his dominance you’d never seen before. He hoped you’d like it... no, he knew you’d like it, he remembered all the times when you’d asked him to be a little bit more rough and he just couldn’t do it for you.

Artie couldn’t do it.

Joker dived his face into the crook of your neck and bit your skin, sucked on it, leaving a very visible mark. You made a sweet sound at that, that turned him on and encouraged him to keep going with his teeth, leaving a few more marks on your skin. Your hand that was pinned by him tensed, he could feel you trying to release yourself from his grip, but he didn’t let go. He focused on your moaning and his own pleasure, as he was pounding into you faster and deeper, hitting your cervix every time. He loved how responsive you were to him, how your perfectly shaped body wriggled underneath him, and how he was the cause of it.

You left out a sound that was something between a loud moan and a suppressed scream and he captured your lips, sliding his tongue inside your mouth, finding yours to dance with. He loved how you pulled his hair while he lowered his body to weight you down.

You were lacking of air that Arthur took from you with his passionate and demanding sex, taking you like he owned you and forcing you to be submissive.

To say that you were in shocked, was an understatement. You and Arthur always made love to each other. It wasn’t a vanilla boring sex, no, there was a lot of passion and playfulness in it, but he never went rough on you, he’d never fucked you. He could fasten his pace or go harder when you asked him, but he wouldn’t do things that could make you any harm and he definitely wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.

And he always asked when he wanted to try to do something.

Always.

Except this time.

You didn’t mind him being a little rough, sometimes you’d even imagined Arthur taking you like that, being a bit more demanding and dominant. Being pinned down by him right now was like one of your dreams came true and at first it turned you on very much - being under his body, not able to move your hand, him pounding into you like a hungry animal... His confidence made you squirm and pleading for more. But eventually your wrist started to hurt and your cervix apparently didn’t like being hit so often with so much force, so you had to ask him to slow down.

But it wasn’t easy to say something with his tongue inside your mouth.

You were silenced, so you tried to free your hand on your own, but he was holding you down very firmly and every attempt to free your hand would only hurt your wrist. So you tried with your other hand as you pulled his hair up, in hope that he pulled away from you for a moment.

It worked after a few more thrusts.

He slowed down and looked at you, his eyebrows slightly knitted in surprise.

- What is it, doll?

- Can you... It’s... A little bit too... much - you answered feeling a little bit guilty all of a sudden, you didn’t want him to stop, but the uncomfortable pain started destroying your pleasure.

- Oh... - he stopped moving completely and the grip on your wrist loosened. He looked surprised and more guilty than you.

- I’m so sorry, Kitten, I didn’t... I didn’t mean to... - he brought your hand to his mouth and started kissing your wrist, quickly to ease any pain he’d caused you - I’m sorry. Feels better now?

- It’s alright, don’t worry, love, I’m fine - you smiled at him slightly, observing his face, it was hard to see Arthur underneath his greasepaint - Can we just... talk for a while?

He furrowed his brows concerned, but nodded and slowly pulled out of you, giving you a hand to help you sit up.

You both fixed yourself up and sat in front of each other. As you looked at his face you started to realize you were facing someone that wasn’t quite your boyfriend and it disturbed you and made you wanna scream.

But you suppressed your emotions somehow and decided to ask for explanation. Demand it if you had to.

And just as you were about to ask him about his strange behavior, you saw something in the corner of your eye. Something on the wall that attracted your attention. Something you hadn’t seen before. Something red.

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#140-131)

#140: Lordi -- Hard Rock Hallelujah (Finland 2006)

“You will see the jokers soon'll be the new kings!” I'm semi-convinced that if I heard this song when I was a child, I would've been so scared I would just hide (I also panicked at the cover of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, though that maybe because I didn't want to read such a long book). Watching it for the first time in 2020, I didn't mind it, though the monsters still puts me off. As much as I like to jam to this one, I can’t see myself listening to it over and over again. That said, one can’t take away from the sheer catharsis of this song, from the opening notes to how Lordi gleefully announces their arrival and thunders down Athens with the arockalypse. Whether it’s the first hard rock winner or the last schlager one, Lordi came, saw, and grabbed a first win for Finland after so many attempts, and made rock more popular in Eurovision for a few years. i You can’t resist yourself from headbanging to this one! Personal ranking: 3rd/37 Actual ranking: 1st/24 GF in Athens

#139: Natasha St-Pier -- Je n'ai que mon âme (France 2001)

“Mais je n'ai que mon âme pour te parler de moi, Oh, juste mon âme, mon âme et ma voix,” “But I only have my soul to talk to you about me. Oh, just my soul, my soul and my voice.” By the turn of the millenium, France switched back to contemporary ballads to represent them. While 1999 and 2000's entries didn't do well, their next two would be really strong songs amongst the weakest years ever, and that's why I appreciate France so much in the contest. Initially, I didn’t get it, because it sounded a bit derivative (not unlike what Celine Dion would sing). However, one thing which won me over was with the intro, which provided the base of a really great build. A soft intro leading to a lush instrumental, it shone above the crowd, and it turned from being "derivative" to being "gentle and sincere. Natasha delivers this with equal parts softness and grace, though the English parts did feel a bit out of place in the end. That might have cost it a (deserved) place on the podium, and France would have wait twenty more years for the next medal-placing. Personal ranking: 2nd/23 Actual ranking: 4th/23 in Copenhagen

#138: Lena -- Satellite (Germany 2010)

“I even painted my toenails for you I did it just the other day!"

Whenever you check the comments of any video on this song, you will note a bunch of angry Turkish people who insist MaNga should’ve won 2010. While I really love their song (and will end up later on the list), Satellite was a worthy winner. Along with its commercial success, Satellite is adorable because it is uptempo, sweet, and infectious. Lena acts like she’s having fun on stage and doesn’t even try to pretend. Her accent, which emerged as a result of her English teacher, adds to the charm and her overall innocence. It’s cute, which can turn off some people, but not me--I really embrace it. Also, Arilena Ara made a cover last year for Eurovision Home Concerts, which you should check out! It keeps the poppy vibe, but adds a funky edge to it. Personal ranking: 4th/39 Actual ranking: 1st/25 GF in Oslo

#137: Lazy Bums -- Shir Habatlanim (Israel 1987)

“עושה לי כוס קפה ומדליק לי הסיגריה יוצא אל המרפסת לפצח גרעינים הציפורים יורדות העציצים של המרפסת ומפזמות איתי את שיר הבטלנים” “I make myself a cup of coffee and light a cigarette I go out to the balcony to crack open some seeds The birds come down to the plants of the balcony And sing with me the bums’ song” The Culture Minister threatened to resign when Shir Habatlanim was chosen for the Israeli entry in 1987, but it adds to the charming element to this performance. After a decade in which the Israeli entries pranced around, this was something different, and the two actors really take on the role. The lyrics were a bit silly, but relatable with the bums not seeing the sun because of the buildings and doing random tasks while hanging out with the birds. The Lazy Song before the Lazy Song, I'm starting to think this is the "reality" on playing hooky, whereas "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" is the "expectations" part (and they are really high in the movie). The Blues Brothers-inspired performance ("We're coming to ya--"), combined with Kobi Oshrat's orchestration, makes this otherwise troll song into a comedic masterpiece. It's three minutes of fun and endearment, and I can't help but smile. Personal ranking: 4th/22 Actual ranking: 8th/22 in Brussels

#136: Antique -- (I Would) Die for You (Greece 2001)

"Κάθησα και σκέφτηκα Κι είδα ότι μ’ αγαπάς Μόνο εσύ, μόνο εσύ" "I sat down and thought Realised that you love me Only you, only you" Greece's first top-three placing in Eurovision is thanks to Helena Paparizou and guy whose name we do not know Nikos Panagiotidis, both who were based in Sweden at the time. They were well known for combining Greek instruments and dance beat; Opa Opa (written by Giorgios Alkaios, see #207 for his entry) is a really good example of this! (Thanks again, Nikos Terzis for composing this too) From the opening bouzouki, Die for You establishes a sense of cool; the pop production following it adds a sense of modernity that the 2001 class lacked for the most part. And compared to Je n'ai que mon ame (#139), the switch from Greek to English is absolutely natural. It feels like being in an exclusive club, filled with dim lighting and a very spacy ambience of it all--though the orange in Parken works as well. And despite being nineteen, Helena oozes cool in all the ways. From her sleek hair to her jumpsuit to how she moves, she makes the song her own, for what it's worth. I frequently find myself copying her handography, though sometimes my desk lamp blocks my left hand, making it feel a bit clumsy. Though I don't say this often, either Antique or Natasha should've won in 2001. Personal ranking: 1st/23 Actual ranking: 3rd/23 in Copenhagen Final impressions on 2001: DR tried to go big with 35,000, but everyone went to drink, and it felt like one hundred. The songs at hand tried hard to be cool, though in some places, we were better off in school. On their own, the strings in our hearts remain broke, though when the trophy did, our minds awoke. Despite the ambitions, the contest would make people leave the room. Thankfully, it was better than that of 2002! :) (On another note, of all the years Italy didn't participate in the contest, 1999 and 2001 were the most irritating. Here, Elisa's Luce (tramonti a nord-est) won Sanremo, and it's a surrealistically beautiful indie song with cool lyrics (especially it was originally written in English, and had to be changed to Italian for the contest). Had they competed, I could see a top-five finish for them, and I could see this as an all-time favorite for me.)

#135: Katerine Duska -- Better Love (Greece 2019)

“Won’t you lean on me You can lean on me Let them look, don’t know, don’t care Go deep with me...” She's not Amy Winehouse, she's Katerine Duska! I had a love/hate relationship with this song during the 2019 season. On the one hand, it’s a really good song, with a lush production and sultry vocals from Katerine Duska. The lyrics, while simple, deals with the theme of love in an interesting way--no matter who you are, you deserve a love that suits you.

On the other hand, considering my grudge towards the 2018 contest, I was worried that this may do well and restart the Greek golden age. That feeling amplified when the rehearsals started, when Katerine and co. had this faerie queene aesthetic. It looked absolutely beautiful, with flowers and fantasy and whimsy. And most important, swords (the MV had sabres whereas the live performance had epees.)!

Of course it qualified, but it collapsed in the final and placed 21st in the end. Some people attributed to how "messy" the staging was, along with Katerine's vocals. In hindsight, I could see it with the former, but the latter remained firm, and she aced that high note.

But it was a good change for Greece, showing that they can do indie music as well as pop and ethno. And Katerine's non-Eurovision songs are fantastic; especially check out Autumn Again and Athenian Skies! Personal ranking: 4th/41 Actual ranking: 21st/26 GF in Tel Aviv

#134: Netta -- Toy (Israel 2018)

“Wonder Woman don’t you ever forget You’re divine and he’s about to regret...”

This has been a total phenomenon ever since its release. However, it’s also quite polarizing, with some people really bopping to this one whether it's on the radio or Tik-tok, and others getting repulsed by the chicken noises or the strong message it provided.

For me, it's Toy's "in-your-face' nature which makes it really special. From the first listen, there's the element of surprise with Netta's looping (the MV intro on Spotify >>> regular studio intro). It then builds until Netta announces herself as a "beautiful creature" and that she wasn't going to be bullied by others. While the songwriters definitely used the "Me Too" movement as a vehicle for the song, it's Netta's influence, along with the Mizrahi instrumentation in the chorus, which packs a punch. Without those chicken noises, Toy would fall flat.

The staging had to be worked on several times, but the final result captured the song's kookiness in every way. From the fake looper to the backing dancer's choreography, the following three minutes is an explosion of fun (though some of the energy died on stage on first viewing).

In short, Netta deserved to win, and those who suggest otherwise is just mean.

Personal ranking: 5th/43 Actual ranking: 1st/26 GF in Lisbon

#133: Mariza Koch -- Panagia Mou, Panagia Mou (Greece 1976)

“Κι αν δείτε ερείπια γκρεμισμένα, όι-όι μάνα μ', Δεν θα 'ναι απ' άλλες, απ' άλλες εποχές, Από ναπάλμ θα 'ναι καμένα, όι-όι μάνα μ'…"

“And if you see shattered ruins, oh oh my Mother, It's not from other, from other eras It is burnt by napalm, oh oh my Mother...”

In their second appearance at the Eurovision Song Contest, Greece sends this politically-charged song to criticize the invasion of Cyprus two years before. The Greek military junta at the time wanted to unite the island with mainland Greece, which led to a coup. As a result, the Turkish government invaded Cyprus, and declared the non-recognized Republic of Northern Cyprus. This status remains to this day, which has hindered Turkey's admission to the European Union.

(Interestingly enough, Turkey broadcast this contest despite not participating, and censored the Greek song to replace it with a patriotic song. Haha)

Dark context aside, it ties into the folk tradition during that time, but adds a Greek touch to it with the bouzouki. Combined with thoughtful yet tragic lyrics, it stands out as a darker yet deeper tone from the 1976 contest. Mariza also conveys this with her clear, yet harsh vocals pinpoint the horrors of what was going on. Also, the orchestration adds to the grandeur of this with its lush strings.

Personal ranking: 3rd/18 Actual ranking: 11th/18 in Den Haag

#132: Chocolate, Menta, Mastik -- Emor Shalom (Israel 1976)

בוא, בוא, בוא עוד היום”, אני עוד כאן אז בוא אמור שלום, אמור שלום

“Come, come, come today, I'm still here so come say hello Say hello..”

From one heavily politically charged song to a slightly less so, haha! Emor Shalom is s very playful and cute song, the three girls charm their potential lover (or diplomatic) with their voices and dance moves.

The hidden political context comes from "shalom"--is it hello, or is it peace? When the song was performed, Israel had been independent for thirty years, but their geopolitical relationships were not good with their neighbors. So the three girls, who sung for the military, were not only hoping for a lover, but also for peace.

The song itself incorporates some elements disco with trumpets, which got me into it in the first place. I'm not entirely sure about how the latter works--they are fine, but it does feel a bit cartoonish. While the lyrics are a bit simple, they still add to it.

Personal ranking: 2nd/18 Actual ranking: 6th/18 in Den Haag

#131: Sonja Lumme -- Eläköön elämä (Finland 1985)

“Kaupungissa on yö, puistoon kanssasi jäin Sä seisot edessäin täynnä toivoa” “It’s night in the city, I stayed in the park with you You’re standing in front me full of hope” Top ten anime opening themes, part two!

From the intro until the end, I love how Eläköön elämä progresses. It not only has a sound which matches with music trends (along with those mullets, but it's the 1980s so we can move on about this...), but also has a joie-de-vivre in terms of the lyrics. I've heard about it being connected to the Cold War; considering it was before glasnost, I'd imagine one of the themes here was to enjoy every moment before the world ends.

Ossi Runne's orchestration mixes the punchy pop-rock with some really good strings and brass. An awesome instrumentation and hopeful lyrics, when put together, you’ve got one of Finland’s best ever entries.

Personal ranking: 1st/19 Actual ranking: 9th/19 in Gothenburg

Final impressions on 1985: While Sweden first hosted in 1975, the production ten years later shows their capabilities in putting on a good show. From the graphics to the stage to Lilli's hosting, it's a totally fun experience. The songs were a bit weaker than it, though there were enough gems to keep the mood buzzing. Plus, there were several good orchestral moments there (especially #193) which made it all the better!

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Freaks” Part 1

Y/N is a metahuman with several peculiarities, but one could say the weirdest is her heart: it is gated by four locks that make it impossible for the woman to fall in love. Also one could say she’s manipulative, cunning and ruthless. Sounds familiar? Maybe that’s why The Joker is the perfect candidate to help her finally get something she always desired: a one of a kind heir.

“Yoooo-hoooooooooo, Mister Jooo-kkkeeerrr!!!!” Bane skips along the poorly lit corridor since it’s almost 11 at night and the Arkham inmates are supposed to be asleep. Yet they’re not: the ruckus woke them all up and now they are standing by the glass walls facing the hallway, wondering what the heck is going on.

The real Bane sighs, completely unappreciative of you borrowing his physical appearance.  

“Hey, cut it out!” he admonishes as Y/N passes by and she decides to stop for a moment.

“Hello there handsome,” you swing your hips while walking towards him and The Riddler snorts, entertained: his cell is right across so it’s not like he can miss the show.

“If you’re going to mimic me, don’t do stuff like that!” Bane hisses through his mask, irritated.

“Apologies honey,” you wink and continue. “Far from me to purposely chop your masculinity to pieces,” but seductively sway on the tip of the heavy boots, taunting more because... who’s going to stop you?

“Seriously?!” Bane growls and you cut him some slack, transforming into The Joker for a few seconds.

“Jeez, don’t get worked up,” you smirk and blow the green hair off your face. “I’m looking for this guy, I know he’s here too.”

“Why are you looking for him?” Killer Croc punches his fists together, hoping he can twist your presence in his favor.

“I need him for breeding purposes,” you serenely admit as The Clown Prince of Crime rolls his eyes three padded rooms up from your present location.

“I told you before I can help with that,” Harvey Dent flips his coin in the air, not understanding why his offer was rejected numerous times.

“Me too!” The Riddler grins. “You should forget about the man that repeatedly refuses your advances and pick one of us,” the mastermind gestures at the cells containing prisoners willing to take on the task.

“I want him,” you revert to your human form, Mr. Freeze gasping with admiration: he’s been a fan for the past two years. “He’s the only male I’m compatible with for procreation on this continent and nobody else will do.”

“How do you know?” Deadshot addresses the burning question.

“I just know, ok?” you pout not wishing to get into details. “That’s why I’m here to bail him out. I helped his men clear the area so we can rescue the father of my future baby.”

“Ugghhhh,” a displeased and very loud protest is heard from The Joker’s cell.

“There you are,” you light up with the happiest smile and abandon the captives held in pretty boxes lined up on the south side of Arkham Asylum.

“Hey Y/N,” Jonathan Crane smacks his lips, “if you get me out of here also I’ll give you two millions.”

“I’ll give you double!” The Penguin shouts and Bane promises:

“I’ll give you three!”

The offers keep on pouring in and the shapeshifter is not a person to say no to easy money.

“Might as well,” you press the yellow buttons outside everyone’s incarceration chambers, leaving the best for last.

“Hiiii Mister Jooooker,” you drag the words and he grumbles, squeezing past you as soon as the glass slides enough for him to emerge from the cell.

“Shut up!” he barks and you couldn’t care less about his crabbiness.

“Your crew is waiting outside,” you giggle and turn into Frost, escorting the grouchy Clown in the direction of the exit you know it’s safe to take.

“Would you look at that?” The Shark teases, not being able to contain his laughter.

“Holy shit!” Panda tries to keep it together yet it’s impossible: the real Frost gives them a dismissing glare, annoyed Y/N is lovingly holding The Joker’s arm as they come down the stairs, definitely engaged in some sort of argument.

“That’s obviously not me!” Jonny mutters and there are more disrespectful remarks from the henchmen patiently waiting for their boss.

“It’s still funny as hell!” Richard underlines and swallows his sentence when Y/N posing as Frost kisses The Joker’s cheek.

“One more sound out of you jerks and I’ll bash your brains in!” Jonny threatens because he’s sick and tired of Y/N playing charades at his expense.

Thankfully you switch to your old self immediately after but the team is glad they’ll have something to tease Frost with in the weeks to come. Although it can be overdone: under the apparent calmness he has quite a wretched temper.

“Delivered as agreed,” you cheerfully announce to his gang and follow J even if he’s not thrilled about it.

“Get lost!” he angrily stomps, pushing you away when you grab his hand again.

“Stop being so rude!” you remodel your body after his and he takes a deep breath, staring back at another fabulous J courtesy of Y/N.

“Stop mimicking me!!!” he sneers and Panda comments in a low tone, convinced he’s far behind to safely say it:

“Two Jokers. God Forbids!”

A couple of goons nearby snicker and the amusement abruptly halts when you raise your voice:

“I heard that!!!”

“Huh?” J inquires.

You just lift your shoulders up, not wanting to distract him from what he has to focus on: making sure he fulfils your demand.

The First Lock  

“You’re still here?!” The King of Gotham comes out of the bathroom, intensely drying his wet hair with a towel. “I thought that by the time I’m out of the shower you’ll be gone.”

You gaze at his naked body, reckoning it’s a nice coincidence to be compatible with such a beautiful specimen. Could be much worse.

“Why don’t you want to help me?” you ask and The Joker is aware what you’re referring to. “I’ve been begging you for a year; I must emphasize I’m losing hope and I will probably have to move to another continent in order to find a new prototype that could give me an heir.”

“Not my problem. Why do you want a kid?” he tosses the towel on the floor and digs around in the closet for a pair of boxers.

“So I won’t be alone,” the disarming reply makes him tilt his head to analyze the stubborn metahuman that pesters him on a regular basis about crap he doesn’t give a damn about. “The storm is coming,” you shift the subject when the lighting strikes the dark skies in the distance at 1:23 in the morning.

J gulps, uneasy: he saw the 6 feet creature for a split second and it certainly startled him.

“Apologies, Mister Joker,” you try to fix the mistake because it’s evident his reaction is below excitement standards. “The fire bolt must have projected my true nature. You only tolerate the pretty side, don’t you?” the sadness in your demeanor confuses J. “They all do…” Y/N whispers to herself. “Is this better?” you transform into Poison Ivy, then Cat Woman, then a random blonde girl with big boobs; by the seventh option The Joker had enough.

“Cut it out!” he finally finds his favorite underwear and you stand by the bed, opting out to be your human self for his sake.

“Can you please help me?” a disappointed woman pleads since he’s getting ready to go to sleep.

“Why would I help you?” The Joker snaps, hoping you’ll disappear from the premises and let him rest at the mansion he found refuge at after breaking out of Arkham.

Your eyes get teary and he never saw you show any type of weakness before; it’s sort of uncomfortable even for him.

“Because us freaks have to stick together.”

“Speak for yourself!” J gets mad at your affirmation and doesn’t know how to react to the tears rolling down your cheeks. “Mmmmm,” he debates, deep in thought: the insane Clown was captive for almost three months and a half and they surely don’t allow any conjugal visits in that shithole. Not that he has anybody in particular that would come to tend to his urges.

“If I help you,” the sudden switch in mood makes you pay attention, “will you quit bothering me?”

“Y-yes, of course! I swear!” you wipe your eyes, full of hope for once. “Since we’re a match it will only take one time! I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

You watch J take off his boxers and don’t blink when he yanks you in his arms, afraid he might change his mind: he’s not the most well balanced individual on the planet.

“No kissing,” you dodge his lips. “I only need the technical stuff.”

He gives you a cold stare, fed up with the infernal plague:

“You don’t get to make any other requests!” The Joker pulls you into a passionate kiss that unexpectedly shatters the first lock of your heart.

“Wait, wait…” you part from his soft lips, kind of drunk on the intimacy. “Did you hear that?!”

“Hear what?” he shoves Y/N on the bed and slowly crawls on top of her.

“That deafening noise.”

“Nope,” J purrs while carefully listening anyway. A strong thunder shakes the ground and he grins: “I heard it.”

“Not that, it was something else,” you attempt to explain and he buries his face in your cleavage, protesting the unwanted dialogue: 

“After chewing my ears for months, less yapping would be nice!”

You smile, delighted to have tricked The Joker with your fake tears; you sure counted on him being trapped inside the Asylum without any feminine presence to grace his existence and it payed off in the end. Making yourself available when nobody else is around brought the desired outcome: Y/N always gets what she wants.  

************

The Joker moans in his dream, unhappy with your wiggling.

“What is it?” he cuddles up to your body and it feels soft.

“I’m pregnant,” you yawn and he puffs in disbelief.

“Already?... We had sex a couple of hours ago.”

“U-hum,” you say and let him caress your skin, unaware your true essence peeked from behind the human shell. “It shouldn’t take too long. By morning I will have my heir.”

“That fast?” J opens his eyes since the pillow talk is actually interesting.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice I’m different,” you hum with your eyes closed, exhausted from the energy you have to channel into the tiny life growing inside your womb. The soon to be mother is so impatient she won’t skip accelerating the process at the expense of her own vitality.

“No kidding,” The King of Gotham mumbles, smitten with the apparition peacefully dozing off in his arms. The storm outside is wreaking havoc and each time lightning illuminates the blackness J can inspect the delicate feathers covering your body: when he touches you they change colors, red butterflies flying out of the pressed skin. He curiously pokes one and the illusion shatters into glowing dust resembling small fireworks.

The Joker has no clue that he is the first soul to ever see you like this; earlier he didn’t have the opportunity to comprehend what he saw, but he’s sure taking advantage of the situation now to understand what he’s looking at.

“Oh,” he touches your tummy that seems to expand with each passing moment: something is moving and he foolishly smirks without realizing.

Whatever is developing inside Y/N he helped create and strangely enough he can’t wait to see the result.

************

The Second Lock

J drags his feet on the wet grass, watching you admire the sunrise. He woke up and the bed was empty: made him wonder if you vanished without a trace. Yet there you are, waiting for him in the backyard since you figured you owe him this much.

“Mister Joker,” you chuckle, holding something wrapped up in a blanket. “I’m off to my house: thank you for participating in this project,” the indifferent metahuman blurs out: it’s the only speech she prepared. “I requested that everyone owing me money from last night should send it here,” you gesture at the huge duffel bag at your feet. “There’s 35 million dollars in here, all yours as a thank you for helping me.”

“Hm?” he crinkles his nose, insulted at the gift. “Do I look like a prostitute?!”

Why is he getting angry?... That’s a lot of money for a one night stand.

“They get paid for sex, don’t they?” he enlightens the puzzled Y/N. “What’s that?” J nods at the bundle you gently rock.

“My baby.”

“You gave birth?!” he forgets his hurt pride, not believing it’s already done.

“Yes, about 45 minutes ago,” you kiss your daughter’s forehead and her innocence makes your chest tightly constrict before the second lock of your heart is broken to pieces. “Did you hear that?” you interrogate the man you don’t need anymore.

“Hear what?” The Joker rushes to glimpse at the newborn as you step back, discontent he’s trying to take her.

“That horrifying bang! How can you not hear it?!”

“I have no idea what you’re rambling about,” he forcefully snatches the baby from Y/N’s embrace, grunting at her resistance. “Gimme, I wanna check out what I made!”

He parts the blanket aside and…

“Waaaaah,” the mesmerized parent holds his breath:

The sweet angel has wings embedded with neon green feathers, the same shade as J’s crazy hair.

“Are you done?” you attempt to reacquire your treasure and he slaps your arm.

“Little bird…” J runs his fingers along her wings and the mini-metahuman fusses a bit, already establishing a connection with her dad.

That’s exactly what you’re trying to avoid before it’s too late.

“Mister Joker, I have to go, ok??!!” you seek to remove the baby from her father.

“Stop bothering me!” he sucks on his teeth and begins striding towards the mansion while the panicked Y/N runs behind him.

“What are you doing? Give her back!”

“What should we name her?” The Joker ignores your outburst, totally struck with this overwhelming emotion washing over him.

Oh no, she’s already getting under his skin!

“WE?!” you shout, exasperated. “This is MY descendant!”

“You said I participated in the project so she’s half mine!” The Clown implies the obvious.“I think we should name her Emma, I always liked that name,” he adds to Y/N’s dismay. “Pretty bird…” J shuts you down as soon as you open your mouth to protest, stroking his daughter’s feathers.

He’s already addicted and this is a complete disaster!

“I’ll tell my boys to get baby supplies,” he decides without taking into consideration any opinions you might have about his plan.

“Why?!” you cringe at the proposal simply because The Joker is not part of the equation; but your daughter is already bonding with him and that’s something mommy can’t break: she has her own will and set of abilities enabling her to already make choices. You’re not sure why she’s making him believe he could be included into a two party family; there’s no space for a third, otherwise it would be a three party family and that won’t work.

“Don’t you need supplies for her?” he enters the master bedroom where the infant was conceived only hours ago.

You’re still on the patio, fuming at his absurdities.

“No, I have to go home! I’ll take care of it! Listen Mister Joker, I’m not expecting anything from you! ” you underline the truth and his witty response baffles Y/N:

“I was sure expected though to get naked and have sex right after escaping Arkham, huh?!” and The Joker protectively covers his daughter’s ears, his messed up brain figuring out she shouldn’t hear that. “Where’s home anyway, huh?” the tirade continues.

“That’s none of your business!” you shriek and he repositions Emma in his arms, preparing to lecture her mother when he gets distracted by the growth spur.

“Did she just get…bigger??!!!”

“Yes,” you join him in the middle of the room, explaining things you shouldn’t because frankly you should be at your residence by now. “She’s using capabilities inherited from me in order to speed up her evolution and then take a break to recharge around one year old landmark.”

“Fascinating,” J gushes while placing Emma on the couch: the baby is napping, not bothered by the quarrel anymore. “Wait here; I’ll go instruct my men on what we need.”

This is the limit to make you lose your marbles.

“There. Is. No. WE!” you thud on the wood floor and The Joker watches you get taller and taller until you can barely fit under the vaulted ceiling, electing to show him what he’s messing with. The metahuman transforms into the nightmare she really is: dark and sinister, covered in black feathers with sharp, long claws and fangs ready to tear apart the human trespassing a fine line.

That’s not what The Clown saw last night: you keep the beast caged but now IT needs to come out, otherwise he won’t understand the seriousness of his circumstances.

“You are not needed!” your heavy steps make the ground shake. “You are not wanted!” you corner The Joker between the table and the couch Emma is resting on. “Don’t stay in my way or you’ll regret it!!!! I’m taking my daughter and we’ll go: don’t try to stop me or I’ll kill you!!!” and you bend over to snarl in his face, prepared to shred him to pieces.

Eerie silence while J is gathering all his strength to put up with the fucked up events leading to this moment.  

“You two can’t go,” he straightness his back, so stiff one could think he swallowed a broomstick.

“Why not?” you smell his skin, antagonized.

The Joker tries to look as imposing as possible but he’s still half your size; nothing else in his mind besides some words of wisdom he’s about to repeat:

“Because us freaks have to stick together.”

You unravel your tusks, displeased with his strategy:

“Speak for yourself!”

That went down the drain fast, J thinks while the hideous mug a few inches away from his face doesn’t bulge. His eyes wander off to the sofa and he gasps:

“Where’s the baby?!”

A sharp claw points towards the ceiling and he looks up only to notice Emma snuggling in her blanket.

“Oh my God!” his eyes get big. “What is she doing there?!”

“Snoozing!”

“She’s gonna fall!” The Joker circles around you, worried about the angel.

“She’s not going to fall; she’s comfortable,” you huff and reach to caress her.

“Where are the wings?!” J glares at the gigantic mother tending to her peculiar offspring.

How many people have witnessed such bizarre sight? NONE. And yet The Clown is asking questions without a trace of disgust or judgement; only pure curiosity.

“They’ll come and go, she can’t fully control them yet.”

“Can you…can you turn into your usual self?” he suggests. “You’re very ugly like this and it’s spooking me out.”

“Do you know you’re interested in us because she’s making you?” the monster bites without using her fangs. “You’re useless, yet she wants you around.”

“Oh yeah?” The Joker’s attitude escalates despite the sticky context. “You’re useless also since you chased me until I slept with you; she exists thanks to my help! You should be ecstatic!!”

“Money is not enough?!” you gradually switch to the Y/N he’s familiar with even if you’re still mad.

“I have money,” The King of Gotham pretends not to be relieved by the welcomed transmutation.

“Then what do you want?” you attempt to compromise for your daughter’s sake.

“My birds,” he calmly admits.

You debate on his stupid reply: is J deaf and didn’t catch the memo?! He might be because he keeps on telling you he didn’t discern the odd, loud noises you heard twice so far.

You are not aware it would be such a blessing to hear those sounds again: it could mean the unconventional family Emma is trying to keep together might actually work.    

Also read: MASTERLIST

Diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[detectivejigsawpines]

Hideous Creatures-part 8 (Showdown)

Surprisingly, Stan was late in showing up at the glen the next morning.  And his cart was missing.

At once Ford was suspicious-he knew his twin far too well to think he was throwing in the towel and surrendering the bet, so he was definitely up to something.

He was about to go looking for his brother, when a new crowd of tourists began filtering through the trees-even bigger than the ones that had come in the last two days.

Maybe this was his plan-to try to overwhelm me by making me deal with all of them at once.  Nice try, Stanley.

Ford cleared his throat, and drew himself up to his full height like he had when giving presentations in school.

“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the Tours of Mystery!  I’ll be your host today-”

Before he could continue, his eardrums were nearly imploded by the blare of a horn.

Ford whirled around in time to see Stan come roaring into place in his cart.

Which was now covered in bright red, glittery paint, and had a sign reading “MYSTERY TOURS (™)” on the roof that was decorated with bright, flashing neon lights until it looked like a traveling carnival wagon.

Stan himself was wearing the same suit and fez as usual, but his tie was the same shade of red as the carts, and it looked like some glitter might have gotten splashed on the suit as well.  And as he screeched to a halt and leaped out, grinning widely and lifting his arms (which somehow earned him a chorus of cheers from the crowd), Ford noticed that his eyes, though wide and smiling like normal, were also somewhat bloodshot and manic-looking, like he hadn’t gotten anywhere near enough sleep and was trying to make up for it with an overdose of caffeine.

...Not that Ford knew about that from personal experience or anything.

“Howdy, folks!” Stan boomed.  “Sorry I’m late, I was getting a few extra things set up for the tour of your lives!  I’m your other host, Mr. Mystery, here ta show you befuddlements and wonders the likes of which your kinds have never seen before!”

Ford saw one of his hands twitch, and a few seconds later actual fireworks came bursting from the back of the cart, exploding in the air above them.

The crowd loved it.  Ford didn’t.

In fact, he decided he’d finally had it.

“Really, Stanley?!” he demanded over the cheering.  “You’re trying to upstage me?”

“Seems like I’m not just trying,” Stan retorted, folding his arms and grinning.  “Face it, Poindexter-I’m better at gaining a crowd’s interest than you are.”

Ford scoffed.  “Wow. I’m surprised that you didn’t do something like steal my keys or slash my tires, if you’re sinking low enough to try to sab-”

As soon as the last part left his lips, he realized that that was going too far.  His words screeched to a halt.

“No, I-I didn’t mean that-”

****

There was no finesse or grace to this next part.  In fact, it mostly consisted of them scuffling and shoving each other in the dirt, similar to when they were little and had gotten into one of their rare arguments that was bad enough to devolve into fighting.

Many of the tourists stared at them in confusion...but several loved it.

“Whoa, humans fighting!” exclaimed a new figure in a black hoodie who also may or may not have been a vampire, pushing through the crowd to watch in delight.

“I gotta preserve this for the kids!”  An unusually hairy guy pulled out a video camera and pointed it at the fighting brothers.

“My money’s on the bigger one!”

“Nah, the one with the extra fingers!  That probably gives him an advantage!”

Oblivious to all this, the brothers wrestled back and forth, one of them enraged beyond words, the other trying ineffectively to placate him.

“Stanley-stop-I wasn’t-”

“The heck you weren’t!”  Stan wrestled Ford to the ground, pinning him by the shoulders.  “You think I’d do that ta you again?  Just because I’m not gonna let you take this away from me doesn’t mean I’m gonna stoop that low!”

Something about the way he said that made Ford tilt his head and frown at him.

“...Take this away?”

Stanley’s rage dissipated a little bit, and his eyes darted to the side.

“N-Nothin’.  You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, not if you don’t tell me.”  Ford managed to extricate himself without any struggle on his brother’s part, and sit up, expression open and inviting.

Stan bit his lip, before finally saying, “...I’m just tryna pull my own weight, okay?  I’m tryna make sure I’m not leeching off you, and this job is the first thing I’ve found that I was really good at.  Something that made real money, where my skills as a liar and cheater were good for somethin’.  These people like what I’m selling, and they keep coming back for more, and it’s not even really illegal stuff for the most part, and it’s-it’s fun.  And you just-all you see is a waste of time ta be gotten rid of.”  He sat back, hugging himself uncomfortably.

After a second of processing all this, Ford murmured, “I thought you viewed this whole tours thing as just another con.  I didn’t know you felt that way about it.”

Stan snorted.  “Yeah, obviously.”  Then, with less venom, “But it’s not like I told you.”

“That’s not the point; I should have been able to see it from how much you were enjoying it.”  Ford scooted around until Stan was more or less looking at him. “And you’re not leeching off me at all, Stanley-how can you say that?  You’ve provided me with more samples of unicorn hair and gnome hair and stuff than I know what to do with! I would never have even gotten unicorn hair if you hadn’t set up your business with them-not to mention you’ve been bringing home actual gold!  You haven’t been just pulling your weight-you’ve been surpassing me in doing so.”

Stan shrugged a little, but he did look somewhat pacified at the reminder of the gold.

“Sorry about...gettin’ all annoyed when you tried ta correct me about stuff.  I know you like it when people have the facts. I just don’t feel like a lot of these jokers are ready for them, ya know?”

“...Yes, you might be right,” Ford admitted.

“Eh, it happens once in a blue moon.”

They smiled a little at each other.

“...So, are we gonna have tours now or what?” yelled a creature that appeared to be a mix between a bear and an owl standing at the edge of the crowd.  Several cryptids grumbled in disappointment about the fighting having stopped; another, which looked like a giant bird with the face of an old woman, wiped her eyes on her wing and sniffled, “Reconciliations are so beautiful!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your fur on!” Stan called back to the owlbear, before getting to his feet and offering Ford a hand up.

Both of them were scraped and bruised, and their clothes and hair were covered in grass and dirt.  But Stan went and retrieved his fez, and Ford cleaned off his glasses (thanking heaven that they hadn’t been broken in the fight), and they began organizing who went into which cart.

****

After the tours were done for the day, they brought their profits back home, and found Dan sitting on their front porch.

He looked at their disheveled appearances with a raised eyebrow, before finally asking, “...What happened?”

“Accident,” Ford said, at the same moment that Stan said, “Beavers.  Giant meat-eating beavers.”

Dan gave an amused grin as he stood up.

“Knowing what this town’s like, I could almost believe that.”  He chuckled as they stalked past him inside.  “Told ya to fix your issues the manly way.”

The barrels, when they poured the profits into them, were both overflowing.

“...Does that mean we both win, or we both lose?” Stan asked.

“Yes,” Ford said, catching a few gold coins before they could fall to the floor.  “So I guess that means we need to come up with a compromise.”

He went on, “I guess the tours can stay.”

“Yes!”  Stan punched the air in delight.

“We may need to work out a few extra details later, but yes.  They can stay. In the meantime, I believe there were other aspects to the wager…”

The jubilation faded from his brother at once.  “Yeah, about that-”

He rushed for the stairs.

“STANLEY!!”

****

Later

The omelette felt like it was doing weird things to Ford’s tongue; when he finished he’d have to check in the mirror to see if it had been turned to plaid.  With a grimace he added more salt and pepper to see if that would make the flavor any better.

Stan came into the kitchen and headed for the fridge, pulling out a can of Pitt.

“How’d it go?” Ford asked after swallowing his mouthful.

Stan shrugged.  “Fine.”

“...Just fine?  What did he say?”

“Not much.”

“What did you say?”

“...Not much.”

Ford glared at his back.  “You hung up after asking to speak to him, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly…”  Stan said innocently.

Ford groaned.  “What did you say to him?”

Stan popped the tab on the soda.  “Pretended to be a telemarketer, and he hung up.”

“Stan-!”

“Hey, you never said anything about me needing ta tell him who I was.”  He smirked, and left the kitchen.

Ford rolled his eyes, and finally dumped the rest of the omelette in the trash, figuring if Stan was only going to half keep his side of the deal then he was too.

It wasn’t even that he wanted Stan to try to reconcile with Pa, or be accepted by him again, he mused to himself.  Having learned more about what his brother had gone through since being kicked out, he certainly didn’t feel like having a friendly conversation with their father anytime soon; and besides, Pa seemed to have no regrets whatsoever about getting rid of his own son.  But…

But it felt like Stan should try to find some kind of closure with him.  Even if it was just to tell him to go to hell.

Ford sighed, and washed his dishes in the sink.  And then turned his mind to more light-hearted matters, such as figuring out what new attractions to show the supernatural visitors to Gravity Falls.

********

Since Ford needs some days off to do his research, Stan ends up being the one in charge of most of the tours, with Dan sometimes pitching in too. He also sets up a gift shop in the forest that sells things like abandoned car keys, light switches, and other human stuff that in this context is absolutely useless but that the supernatural creatures go ga-ga over.

Ford, when he has time to spare, gives classes to monsters who are interested in learning more about human stuff-and he even has to teach some monsters basic skills such as reading and writing, and how to read human signs, which decreases the amount of supernatural roadkill in the area by 50%. He makes more of the brochures, and Stan starts handing them out during his tours too. They're able to make quite a decent profit off their business, and if people in town ask Stan where he and his brother get their money from (after he takes some of the gold to the city and sells it) he says that they had a rich uncle who left them a large inheritance as long as they continue living in Gravity Falls.

It's funny how effective lies are as long as there's a grain of truth to them. Because after all, they're unlikely to get paid for things in gold and jewels anywhere else.

[shurisneakers]

espresso [4]

Summary: In which your best friend’s brother begins to set you up on dates when you mention that you haven’t been in a relationship in years, but things don’t go as expected.

Warning: swearing, dating, anger issues

A/N: this is my entry for the beautiful @bithors writing challenge!

hey hey big shoutout to @samingtonwilson because every time she betas this and sends me the revised copy im like!!!! a QUEEN!!!! holy shit!!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous part- Part 3 || Espresso Masterlist

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Yes fucking way! Ain’t she beautiful?” Bucky beamed, running his hands gingerly over the door of his new ride. An old muscle car, a sleek black with a few scratches and dents, but proudly glinting in the moonlight.

You let out a low whistle, glancing up at Bucky as you crouched beside the car for a better look. “Gorgeous. She got a name?”

“I was debatin’ Grace, but now I’m thinkin’ she’s more of an April. What do you think?”

You would have teased him, but this was genuinely the happiest you’d seen him in a long time. Alight eyes were crinkled at the corners and his grin was one of the largest you’d ever seen, and heck, you wondered why he couldn’t be like this more often.

“Shits, that’s perfect.”

You sent him a pair of finger-guns when he opened the door for you and he rolled his eyes in feigned exasperation, smile still stretched over his lips.

In an empty threat, he replied, “Say shit one more time in plural and you’re walking there on your own.”

“Well, God forbid a girl has funs,” you joked only to be met with a groan of annoyance. “Oh, calm down.”

Once in the car, you immediately went to set your feet on the dashboard, legs crossed at the ankle, but received a deadly glare. You slowly lowered your feet, never breaking eye contact with him even as your features twisted in playful fear.

As you tugged your seatbelt on, you asked, “When’d you get her?”

“Two days ago. Couldn’t afford the payments on the other one. Sold it to some frat guys ages ago and took whatever was left after payin’ off the bank to get this one.” He sighed contentedly as he turned the key in the ignition so the engine roared to life. “DMV shit got delayed. She’s probably, like, a third-hand vehicle and needs the upholstery totally ripped up and replaced– but I think she’s pretty great.”

With a soft sound of disagreement, you shook your head. “She’s a ten out of ten, no need for anything. I’m happy for you.”

You tucked your hands behind your head, leaning back into the worn out leather seats which had turned soft over years of use, and a soft sigh of comfort left your lips to prove your point.

“How are your classes going?” he asked after a moment, still smiling softly at your previous statement.

“Getting fingered by Wolverine would be less painful,” you replied casually so Bucky choked and coughed on an inhale. You laughed quietly. “How’s engineering going?”

The indicator made a clicking noise you thought must have sounded less out of tune years ago as he took a left turn. “Shitty. Fuckin’ hate it.”

Eyebrows furrowed, you tilted your head with an agape mouth. “Shitty? Two days ago it was the shit, you said you loved it, that you elected to major in it.”

He gave you a tight-lipped smile and half a shrug and, immediately, you knew something was wrong. While you and Bucky didn’t often discuss your respective career choices and plans for the future, each time you did manage a conversation adjacent, he’d mentioned it was something he’d wanted to do– hell, had he not mentioned it, the number of shitty jokes and puns he made in its reference would have convinced you alone.

“Didn’t want to at first. But Becca advertised wanting to go into journalism all throughout high school and it’s not– it’s not a traditionally lucrative job, at least for the first few years.” He shrugged again, this time in a bit of insecurity, nervousness, but his eyes remained trained on the road. “Figured one of us should be able to embrace that nontraditional job so I picked up something more secure. Something secure because things at home are, you know…”

He had trailed off, but you knew what he meant. Money was a sensitive topic for both, Rebecca and Bucky and, although they could never be ashamed of their family, their pride kept them from asking for help from you despite your continued offering.

“Anyway, she ended up choosing poli-sci for law school for the same reason, so that was pretty ironic,” he grinned and you could see it didn’t reach his eyes, maybe hurting his cheeks as much as it hurt you just to see it.

You remained silent and your teeth wreaked havoc on your lower lip as he continued, “Can’t do anything about it now, though. But, if I could, I’d change my choices in an instant.”

Toying with your fingers in your lap, you asked, “What would you major in instead?”

“I don’t know, it’s kind of stupid really–“

“Didn’t you wanna write?” you added softly, eliciting a look of surprise from him.

He glanced at you quickly. “How’d you know?”

“You were always writing in high school. I saw you with your little notebook every lunch, Bucky,” you laughed, images of an acne-covered Bucky with shoulder-length hair bent over a tiny journal, scribbling for the life of him.

He groaned in embarrassment, a light pink dusting over his cheeks. “I can’t believe you noticed that, Christ. The emo phase was strong.”

“Well, if it helps, I think you’d be a kick-ass writer. I’d be first in line to buy your book. Wouldn’t even sell it on eBay after getting you to sign it.”

He fell silent at that, choosing to bite his lip in place of a response. You’d begun to wonder if you’d said something wrong when he whispered, “Thanks, Mario.”

You didn’t say much more, only turning to look out the window. It wasn’t too long before you heard him chuckle to himself but before you could ask him what he was laughing about, he spoke up, “This is so sad. Alexa, play Despacito.”

You snorted. Fuckin’ dork.

Bucky was leaned against the door of his car as he waited with you until your date for the evening arrived, keeping you engrossed in the utterly ridiculous nonsense you both spoke about.

“I’m just saying, if you made coffee with Gatorade and injected it into your bloodstream, you’re basically God. Like, who the fuck would need heroin then?” you tried explaining for the fifth time, unable to keep the smile off your face. You had your arms crossed over your chest in an effort to keep yourself warm whilst Bucky’s hands were shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Gatorade is for cowards, we use only Red Bull in this holy house– it actually does something. How about if you mixed vodka, ground espresso beans, and protein powder, then snorted it–”

You clicked your tongue. “Intravenous is more effective–”

“Didn’t realize the offer of a date included you, James.”

In a bit of a laborious task, you looked away from Bucky to the guy who came to a stop before you. Dark hair gelled back and darkness which wasn’t hidden by his glasses surrounding deep hazel eyes, he wore a simple black sweater over a pale blue t-shirt. “But I’m not complaining. Love me some three-way action.”

“Tony,” Bucky sighed, smiling nonetheless. “This is–“

“Mario? I figured.” Tony flashed a quick smile at you.

Immediately you could hear loud sniggering from beside you, making you spin to face him in annoyance. “You have got to stop doing that! What the fuck?” you exclaimed, punching a laughing Bucky on the shoulder as he feebly tried to defend himself.

“My name’s Y/N, not Mario,” you stated to clear the confusion, rolling your eyes at Bucky who burst out laughing again, clearly showing no remorse.

He looked from his watch to you, not fazed by your exchange with Bucky. “Ah, I see. Well, shall we get going? Game’s about to start.”

“See ya later, Mario. Have a good time, guys.” Bucky ruffled your hair as you tried to swat his hand away, taking a step towards Tony as he looked at you with a small smile on his face. “I’ll be on the other side of the court if you need me.”

“D’you want to get some food during halftime or before the first quarter?” Tony asked once Bucky waved a goodbye and jogged to join his friends.

“Halftime sounds good, I think the game’s about to start,” you answered, sending him a half smile.

He only nodded and adjusted his glasses, beckoning for you to join him.

You both made small talk and it turned out he wasn’t nearly half as bad as Peter. He rarely spoke of himself and only mentioned he would be looking for a sustainable source of energy in the future, something about wanting to lessen the environmental burden of current energy dependencies.

It started out well enough, the both of you commenting on the players who you knew. You waved at Sam from your place on the bleachers and he shot you a wink in response

“Sam’s starting tonight and it’s against the Gotham Jokers. S’why Bucky and everyone else is here,” you explained, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees.

“Wilson? Number seven? He’s your friend?” Tony asked, squinting at the ball as it was tossed into the air, soon taken by one of the Jokers.

You didn’t bother sparing him a glance as you watched Sam quickly steal the ball back and passing it to Rhodey. “Yeah. Why d’you sound so surprised?”

“Think he’s a bit overrated, that’s all,” Tony mumbled, making you reel back and stare at him disbelievingly. “Got the whole school worshipping the ground he walks on.”

“Captain of the team, MVP last season. He got scholarships to three different prestigious universities, too,” you recited, jumping to your feet as Sam made a shot from the three point line, the ball going in effortlessly with a swish. You looked over your shoulder to raise an eyebrow at Tony, “Still think he’s overrated?”

He only shrugged. “Guess not.”

The next few minutes flew by quickly, Tony progressively getting more invested in the game as it went on. He occasionally let out a cheer when you did, but other than that, he was more observant than anything.

But just as the Jokers were about to pass the ball, Tony jumped to his feet with a scowl, “Double dribble! Double fucking dribble! He stopped! What the fuck, why isn’t anyone calling that out?”

“Tony, he didn’t hold it. There was no double dribble,” you urged as the people surrounding you turned to glare at you both.

“Jesus fuck, this entire crowd is ignorant. Uneducated,” he stated angrily, sitting down in a huff.

You patted him on the back in attempted consolation, but he only ignored you, continuing to glower ahead.

Everything was fine and dandy until the Jokers’ defense pushed one of your team’s players when the referee wasn’t watching. In Tony’s defense, everybody reacted loudly to that. But no one had the passion Tony had when he leapt up like a fucking Jack in the Box, fists thrown in the air. “What the fuck!?” he screamed to no one in particular.

“Yeah, what the fuck!?” you echoed, cupping your hands around your mouth.

“You fucking blind ass, stupid piece of shit, punkass bitch!” he raged, pupils dilated and eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay, never mind.” You promptly sat down, trying to pull Tony with you but he shook you off fervently. You thought he resembled the fucking Tasmanian Devil from Looney Toons.

“That was a foul! Why don’t you use your fucking whistle, you trick ass little bitch?! Try blowing something other than your own dick for once!” he screamed at the referee, shaking his arms around wildly.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, putting your head in your hands as he ranted on and on for another ten seconds before finally sitting down, cursing steadily to himself.

When your team made an effortless basket, you prayed it would calm Tony down. And to some extent it did work and he kept quiet until the first quarter was up, only rolling his eyes when people turned to look at him.

Ignoring them from that moment on, he tilted his head as he watched Sam send a wink to a girl who only rolled her eyes playfully in response. “Who’s that?”

“Sam.”

“I know that’s Sam, I’m asking who the girl is.”

“Sam’s girlfriend, Sam,” you replied as you laughed at his expression of confusion.

“Sam has a girlfriend… named Sam?” You nodded as he sighed, smiling despite himself. “Fuck, what would their couple name be?”

“Well, they’re Sam and Sam. Or as I like to call them,” you dropped your voice as he raised an amused eyebrow, “Sam.”

“That’s so fucking creative, how did you ever think of that name?” he asked, a smile on his face that made him look ten times less stressed than he’d been mere moments ago.

You actually didn’t mind Tony at that moment. You might have even considered him to be fun.

That was until the next quarter started and the referee called a foul on Sam for apparently no reason and Tony was back on his feet, face red like one of those ugly Angry Birds. He then started in a shrieking voice, “Oh, so now you want to blow that whistle, you piece of utter shi–“

Tony gave you a ride back to your apartment after the game which had ended much later than you thought it would. You knew Bucky had left after the third quarter when he sent you a text saying he needed to get up early for his shift, but he asked you to call him when you got home safe.

You wondered if he was still awake but, as you’d promised, you called him the moment you crossed the building threshold.

“Hello?” his rasped in an infinitely exhausted voice– you instantly regretted calling him.

“Hey, fuck, sorry. I didn’t think you’d be asleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, get some rest,” you said hurriedly, guilt seeping through your words.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he paused and you could hear him yawn despite the muffling over the line. “Is everything fine, baby?”

“Yeah everything’s– wait, what did you just call me?” you asked as you bit your tongue and your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

The silence you were met with was quickly followed by a string of curses, presumably since he perceived what he’d said. His voice was clearer as he replied, “Shit. Sorry, Mario. It just slipped out. I’m, like, half dead. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just called to talk about the king of anger paralysis, clone of Charlie Sheen, Tasmanian Devil embodiment–”

Bucky cut you off with a sigh. “Tony?”

“Oh, yes. Wanna hear all about my super great time with dear Squidward or should I save it for tomorrow?” you asked as you jogged up the stairs to your apartment.

You could hear rustling on the other end before he yawned once again, saying lightly, “I’m ready. Go on for as long as you want.”

“It all started when he called the referee a ‘fucking blind ass, stupid piece of shit, punkass bitch.’”

Bucky sighed. “Oh, shits.”

PART 5

TAGLISTS ARE CLOSED

[davidmann95]

Best comics of 2018?

A handful of disqualifications up front: since they’re just beginning, I’m not counting Electric Warriors, Martian Manhunter, The Green Lantern (though Evil Star explaining his name in #2 might be my favorite moment in comics this year), Ironheart, DIE, Shazam!, Killmonger, The Batman Who Laughs, or Miles Morales: Spider-Man, all of which almost certainly would have ended up somewhere in here with some more time. Additionally, I switched to a new online pull list system in March, so I don’t have a list of what I got before then - if I’m forgetting about something great that came out early this year, there’s a good chance that would be why.

Honorary Mentions: While there were plenty of comics I was happy to keep up with, a number stood out as exemplary examples of straight-take relatively traditional capeshit: Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV and companies’ Justice League, Steve Orlando’s Justice League of America (which would probably go among the best of the best if the art was a bit more consistent or the lineup more to my personal tastes), Brian Bendis and Nick Derington’s Batman work in the Walmart 100-Page Giants, Donny Cates’ Thanos and Doctor Strange work (the latter might not have quite made it, but that last issue with Irving and Zdarsky was gangbusters), Steve Orlando’s brief Wonder Woman run with Laura Braga, ACO, and Raul Allen, Tim Seeley’s Green Lanterns, Nnedi Okorafor and Leonardo Romero’s Shuri, Robert Vendetti and Bryan Hitch’s Hawkman, Saladin Ahmed, Javier Rodriguez, Rod Reis, Dario Brizuela, and Joe Quinones’s Exiles, Captain America by both the Mark Waid/Chris Samnee team and the current Ta-Nehisi Coates/Lenil Francis Yu lineup, Dan Slott and Valerio Schiti’s Tony Stark: Iron Man when it’s committed solely to being a superhero comic and not Dan Slott trying to be Contemporary, Brian Bendis, Patrick Gleason, Yanick Paquette, and Ryan Sook’s Action Comics, and Kelly Thompson and Stefano Caselli’s West Coast Avengers. 

On the slightly different side of things, Steve Orlando and Giovanni Timpano showed how you do an intercompany crossover right with The Shadow/Batman, Max Bemis’s Moon Knight while not living up to all it could have been - and likely to age poorly - had moments of truly bizarre grace, Saga was Saga even if I’ve lost the plot, Ahmed and Christian Ward’s Black Bolt concluded as well as we all might have hoped, Warren Ellis and Jon Davis-Hunt’s The Wild Storm continued to build up steam in its own fascinating style, Doomsday Clock remains utterly captivating in spite of itself, and Tom Peyer and Jamal Igle’s The Wrong Earth is making the most of a deceptively tough premise. On the one-off end, Chip Zdarsky and Declan Shalvey’s Marvel Two-In-One Annual is an essentially perfect off-kilter Doom/Richards story, Action Comics #1000 had no chance of living up to all it needed to be but was largely a great set of Superman stories regardless, and while the remainder of the miniseries has thus far been fine, Tim Seeley and Carlos Villa’s first issue of Shatterstar was a strange, special delight.

My Favorite Comics of 2018

Rock Candy Mountain: Technically Jackson - the rail-rider who can beat Any One Man in a fistfight - reached the end of his journey for hobo heaven this year, and flat-out, every Kyle Starks comic is a perfect one. This is a book where the first issue has a dude beating ass with a beautiful savagery that leaves an awestruck onlooker declaring “He’s got punch diarrhea and their faces are the toilet bowl”, and by the end it built up to one of the most moving climaxes of the year. It’s a comic about fallen men finding redemption in friendship and in dreams, and also there’s a cage fighter who calls himself Hundred Cats because it would be really hard to fight a hundred cats.

Dark Knights: Metal: This is the final, perfected form of traditional Event Comic Bullshit. Everything good about Snyder, Capullo, Glapion, and Plascencia’s Batman post-Court Of Owls is retooled and reenergized to fit the scale of a Crisis event, everything that I would have considered to be a weakness regarding their partnership either burned away or placed in a context where it becomes a strength. This is the Morrison approach to the DCU rightfully ascendant and presented in a form even more fit for mass consumption, and manages to live up to being the first classic-style, large-scale DC event comic in almost a decade - Marvel may blow its own load every six months until it’s simply got nothing to offer anymore, but DC waited until they really and truly had something, and that something was bloodsoaked magic.

Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man (by Chip Zdarsky and assorted artists): I actually wavered a bit on whether this belonged in the best of the best as a whole; most of the issues this year were definitely very good (regarding Zdarsky’s run specifically, I haven’t checked out the Spider-Geddon tie-in stuff), but more on the honorary mention end of the scale. Ultimately however, the Amazing Fantasy arc and #310 are Spider-Man comics I’m going to be coming back to for years to come - the latter is going to end up in every ‘Best Spider-Man Stories Ever’ softcover from now until the end of time - and they tipped the scales.

Batman: Very much in the same boat as Spidey above; a lot of this year didn’t do it for me in the same way as this run has in the past, but The Best Man is the best thing anyone’s done with Joker since Morrison, the ‘wedding issue’ itself worked really well for me, Cold Days made a premise that’s often stymied creators work as well as people have always wanted it to, and the Dick team-up issue was a perfect little summation of a relationship, nevermind how much this year succeeded in getting me hyped up for things to come.

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl: This is one of those comics where it’s so consistently good in such a specific, quiet way that people stop talking about it, but for real, this has never not in the top five or six things Marvel is publishing at any given time for as long as it’s been around. Erica Henderson leaving right before hitting the Kraven story that had been building literally since its first issue 3 years earlier could have been disastrous, but North and new artist Derek Charm manage to hit their own rhythm and continue delivering one of the funniest, cleverest, most sincere superbooks on the stands every month.

Mister Miracle: Yeah, it really was that good.

The Immortal Hulk: So is this, and if I have to name a single best comic of the year, this has probably gotta be it. Al Ewing’s been Marvel’s best creator for a long, long time, and putting him and Joe Bennett (who holy moley, I don’t think anyone would have guessed had this in him) on a tentpole character Ewing’s got genuine reverence for worked out even better than a fanboy like me might have expected. It’s sublime horror, it’s perfect Marvel comics continuity bullshit, and if the superhero is at heart a morality fable, this is very much a soul-searing apex of the genre as it speaks of how we can all go wrong.

Eternity Girl: …or maybe this is the best? It’s probably gotta be this, Hulk, or Miracle. Mister Miracle’s where the comparison really becomes clear, as they’re both books way out on the fringes of the DCU dealing with a character grappling with depression amidst the mundanity of their cyclical existence. However, as perfectly constructed and rawly human as Mister Miracle is, this hits a lot more of my own buttons and expresses its own brand of more surreal emotional authenticity, and rather than the expected and beautiful next step of a pair of already-acclaimed creators with an established partnership, this was a shock coming out party for Visaggio and Liew, who do things stylistically just as odd to see in a DC Comic as anything King and Gerads came up with. It seemed to sail under the radar for readers but also seems to be racking up awards, and I hope this’ll attain the reputation it deserves in years to come.

Ice Cream Man: Likely the respectable fourth place to the three above, while I can’t quite sing its praises in quite the same way when it’s playing so hard-to-get that I can’t quite put a pin in what it’s ultimately about, oh my GOD this is as good as gut-punch horror gets. Not simply grody shock-value stuff, but pit-of-your-stomach-everything-in-the-world-hates-you-and-you-were-wrong-to-ever-believe-in-love shit that’ll rattle your bones and fuck you up good. Not usually a horror guy myself, but this is an essentially perfect comic.

The Man Of Steel: Screw all y’all, this kicked ass and after how hard the Rebirth books blew it - Jon and the new status quo were both excellent, Tomasi had good bits here and there alongside some quality fill-in teams, but those books were still aaaaaaaaaaassssss - this is exactly the fresh start Superman’s needed for years. Granted the Fabok interstitials had some wonky pacing, but this was on-point and insightful for Superman as a character, exciting as hell, and has thus far led to nothing but more good comics as far as I’m concerned.

Milk Wars: Did the various tie-ins live up to the bookends? Nah, though the Shade/Wonder Woman story was pretty good. But those bookends? Friends, those books were AAA+ sup-per-he-ro-bull-SHIT, and while I was initially let down because it seemed as though it would have Superman in a major role and then didn’t, this is even more of an apotheosis of the Morrison approach to the genre than Metal. ACO is ACO, Eaglesham slaughtered it, and Orlando and Way should be as joined at the hip as cowriters as Abbnett and Lanning used to be. This is a gold standard for strange, edgy, colorful, wondrous, fucked-up superhero comics, and there should be a million more like it every day.

Justice League (by Christopher Priest and assorted artists, primarily Pete Woods): On the exact opposite end of the scale, while I don’t think I can say I enjoyed this book as much as the current Snyder-helmed gonzo cosmic adventures, I absolutely feel this was the better of the two. More importantly, this run is the successful version of what just about every other Justice League comic of the past 15 years has been trying and failing to be as the post-Authority, post-Ultimates, post-Civil War take on the concept. It’s as smart and atmospheric and bold as a book like Justice League ever CAN be, building its exploration of the conceptual stress points of the team around one and two-part adventures and clever character dynamics, illustrating an interesting new take on how to handle the main team book with the power players: taking their ability to handle physical threats as a relative given, a structural conceit acting as a delivery mechanism for the politics and people in play. It hardly breaks new ground in terms of redefining the superhero concept, but it’s as far as they’ve gone with the marquis characters without ending in disaster, and it’s an approach I’d love to see more often applied to this scale.

Superman: Walmart 100 Page Giant (by Tom King and Andy Kubert): Of all the places for King to do a regular Superman comic, huh? Still, we’d already seen what he’d done in that Batman two-parter and Action #1000, so I’m more than willing to take what we can get (even if most are going to have to wait for this to come out in trade). There have been four installments so far: the first is the sort of stage-setting that’s common to this type of long-form arc but with a distinctly different atmosphere than how this is typically done with the character, evoking a sort of Miller-tinged Golden Age flavor connecting Superman back down to Earth before throwing him into the stars. The third is a great Fuck Yeah Superman Doin’ Superman Shit throwdown that gives Kubert a chance to shine. The fourth and most recent is haunting, inspired, moving, and tight as a drum. And the second begins as the worst-case scenario of Tom King doing a Superman comic, and ends as likely my favorite Superman story of the last 5 years. If it continues in its current direction, Superman: Up In The Sky is almost certainly going to be a perennial people are going to rank among the best Superman stories of all time for decades to come, and everything I’d want out of this team tackling my favorite character.

Detective Comics (by James Tynion IV and assorted artists): I’m honestly surprised at myself for putting this here, but I just have to hand it to this run - which had to go quite a ways to win me over, between its opening gambit with Batwoman’s status quo and centering the whole thing around my least-favorite Robin (even if it won me over to him over time) - as basically being the platonic form of Dang Good Superhero Comics. Not boundary-pushing, not the sort of thing you’ll remember in 20 years, but just really fun, exciting, good-looking, slick, character-driven adventures building on themselves into the logical culmination of 21st century popular Batman stories. This is Batman 101, but in a good way, and I honestly think that on reflection it’s gonna hold together better as a Batman run than its immediate predecessor in Snyder/Capullo.

You Are Deadpool: This is the smartest, funniest, most inventive big two comic of the year and even if you’re so tired of Deadpool that your skull bones are threatening to suddenly contract and spear your brain in an attempt at saving your weary soul from the prospect of seeing any more of him, you should get this.

Superman (by Brian Bendis and Ivan Reis): I noted Action Comics among the honorable mentions, as while it’s a dang good comic that I enjoy a great deal - and Ryan Sook may well have established himself as my ideal modern Superman artist - it’s very much the best possible version of *exactly* what you’d expect from Brian Bendis doing Superman. This, on the other hand, feels like Bendis stretching himself to do something truly different in a way he hasn’t in years, and the results are stunning. I won’t pretend Rogol Zaar has amounted to much of anything as of yet, but Bendis has acclimated to the realm of Cosmic Superman Punch-Ups in a way no one could have reasonably seen coming; he’s managed to sidestep his usual issues by anchoring each issue in a crazy setpiece and a single perfect Superman character moment, and Reis is doing work here than can unquestionably stand alongside his Sinestro Corps War heyday. Whether it’s #1 having Superman fight an astro-goilla in the middle of a questioning on his responsibilities to humanity, #4 going full Shonen in the best possible way with probably my favorite fight scene of the year, or #6′s storybook mythmaking building to the best, cruelest needle in the balloon possible, or the consistent delightful fucking with Adam Strange, every issue here has something I didn’t know I badly wanted to see, and damn if that isn’t exactly what I want in my Superman stuff.

Assorted one-offs: Along with the major arcs and runs, we’ve got stuff like the Thanos Annual and DC Nuclear Winter Special, as good as anthologies of this kind get. T-shirt Superman got one last ride under Morrison in the Sideways Annual, fighting his way out from under the wreckage of a weird DiDio book to get exactly the sendoff he deserved. The Injustice 2 Annual, of all things, was a perfect piece of bittersweet character work. Invincible #144 satisfyingly closed out The Best Superhero Comic In The Universe by essentially also doing Invincible #145-500 or so, putting this often tumultuous title to bed with the dignity it had earned. And finally, Slott and Marcos Martin’s The Amazing Spider-Man #801 was a perfect minor mediation not even on the title character so much as the basic moral appeal of the genre as a whole.

[sleepypompomart]

The Second Chance - PART ONE

SUMMARY - The district attorney is dragged back in time to the start of WKM. Given another chance to save Damien and Celine, they devise a plan which may or may not involve chocolate mousse, gratuitous amounts of alcohol and sass.

—

Note: This fanfic deals with the same themes as WKM, including Russian roulette and depression. If you find these topics upsetting, I would advise against reading this.

—

You watch in horror as the mirror cracks before you. Damien’s broken eyes linger for a moment. His lips tighten. Then he strides away and leaves you frozen before the mirror. It’s hard to breathe.

Icy claws grab at your soul. You want to pull away - despite your lack of form, you’re in agony. The claws drag you through the mirror. The broken shards scratch and wrench at your mind. You want to scream, but you have no mouth.

You find yourself in a body again - your body. You flex your fingers as the existential horror fades. You sigh. It’s good to be back, but your fear lingers.

You stand outside Mark’s manor. It’s night. Shadows stain the marble pavement. You can see Wilford ahead, reaching for the manor door.

Your first instinct is to leave. Through some strange existential anomaly you’ve been brought back to the beginning. You know how Mark’s twisted “celebration” will end and have no desire to endure it again. Yet…

You think of your friend Damien and how Mark’s death destroyed him, and remember the cold rage that engulfed him during the brief moments you shared a body. And Celine - you’d always been a little scared by elegant seer. You remember what she’d become too, and the wave of hatred and disgust that had torn through her.

You couldn’t let Mark turn them into that monster. They deserved better. Besides, you’re the district attorney. Messing up criminal plans is literally your job.

You make your way to the door and smile at the colonel. He bows clumsily and introduces himself, before following you inside. You hand your invitation to Benjamin. He smiles and gives you a wink. “I shall fetch you a drink forthwith,” he says, smoothing his hair.

Damien catches your eye. You tremble a little, remembering his rage, but he greets you as warmly as ever. “Oh! There you are, old friend.” He launches into a warm speech. Afterwards you wander off and come face to face with the chef, who again appears insulted by your mere presence. “Stay out of my kitchen,” he growls. “Yeah yeah,” you reply as the butler hands you your champagne. “I get it.”

With the intent of pulling a power move on Benjamin, you down the entire glass. It’s strong stuff and burns your throat a little. You make a choking noise. “Oh, sorry.” You look down at the empty glass, and grin. “I’m guessing you’re used to lightweights.” “Not at all. Mark loves his chery. I shall bring you another. Would it please you if I were to bring a wipe as well?” He glances at your shirt and you realise you’ve spilled half the wine down your chest. “Er - yes please.”

You turn to watch Mark descend the main staircase, his silk dressing gown billowing around him. “Welcome, welcome, one and all!” He raises his hands dramatically. You glare at him, remembering his dead eyes and sprawled corpse. “My name is-” “Markiplier,” you interrupt. “Thank you, good and trusted friends, yadaa, yadaa, poker, I could be dead tomorrow - we get it.”

Mark stares at you stunned. Then he launches into his manic laughter. It sounds exactly the same as before, except this time it’s directed at you. It’s not a good feeling. “Allow us to get started.”

Damien sits down at the table and starts shuffling the cards. Wilford grabs them from him. “Let me show you a little trick.” His eyes gleam as he divides the pack in two. Despite his drunkenness, he manages to shuffle them together again in one swift movement. “I can do that,” Mark snorts. He takes the cards and spills them all over the floor. “A little more practice is in order I think,” Wilford says. “Nonsense.” The detective squints at the fallen cards. “Actually, your technique needs some work.”

You help Damien pick the cards up. “Thanks,” he says. He puts them on the table for Wilford to shuffle. You sit between Mark and the detective and pick up your hand.

“We didn’t take the jokers out,” you announce. Everybody groans and throws down their cards. The jokers are removed and the deck reshuffled.

You don’t pay much attention to the game - you’re losing money fast, but you’re not bothered. You’re trying to think of a way to save Damien and Celine - to do that, you have to stop Mark from engineering his own death.

He sits at the head of the table, smiling like the devil. His eyes are brighter than you’ve ever seen them. Already he’s accumulated a small fortune in chips - he’s definitely cheating.

Benjamin brings you another round of drinks. You catch Mark’s arm. He flinches. “Don’t touch me.” “Sorry.” You remove your hand. “You wanna do shots?” “Hell yeah,” he replies, and winks. “Benjamin? Bring us shots.” “Of course master.” He bows and heads for the kitchen. “Care to let me join in?” Wilford asks. You grin. Everything is going to plan. “The more the merrier!” Mark replies.

Damien watches with disgruntled admiration. “I wish I didn’t have to be the responsible one.” “You don’t have to be,” Wilford insists, patting him roughly on the shoulder. “Do shots with us. Who cares if you’re mayor? We won’t tell anyone.” “Wilford. If the press found out I’d been binge drinking with the local millionaire I’d lose my job.”

Mark raises his eyebrows. “You’re already playing poker with him. Why stop at one scandal?” Damien laughs uncomfortably, but still doesn’t take a glass.

Five shots in, and the room is blurring around you. You can barely sit straight. Mark’s smile is everywhere. Somehow, despite his maniac expression and slurred voice, he only seems to have improved at poker. Meanwhile Wilford bets more and more recklessly. His cheeks are pink.

Finally he gets up from the table. “I need to pee,” he announces, almost tripping over his chair. “Same,” you reply, following him out the room. You can barely walk in a straight line.

He lets you pee first. After washing your hands, you take the key out the bathroom door and hide it in your pocket. You wait until you hear Wilford sitting down on the toilet. Then you lock him in. Trust a millionaire to have a bathroom that locks from both sides.

You stagger down to the kitchen and hide behind the door frame until the cook leaves, then run in and grab a pot of mousse. You paint a moustache on your upper lip in chocolate and admire yourself in the back of a spoon.

The chef returns brandishing his ladle. “How dare-” he starts, seeing your brown fingers. You make a fast exit, still clutching the pot.

Stage one complete, you return to the table. Mark’s eyes dart to your chocolate moustache and go no further. “Hey, Will! You’re back!” Mark’s tongue trips over itself as he speaks. The champagne has long dissolved his marble facade.

Damien on the other hand is still sober and regards your chocolate disguise with a mix of amusement and despair. Mark reaches across the table and grabs your arm. “Will.” His eyebrows furrow wickedly. “I have something to show you downstairs.” You empty another shot glass. “Is it, like, important?” “Yeah.” Mark nods violently. “Very.”

You nod. Your nerves are on fire. Your fingers shake. This is it. In the moment, you’ll tear Mark’s plan to pieces. Too bad you can’t think straight, but oh well.

But before Mark can lead you down to the cellar, the front door crashes open. Everybody jumps. Damien drops his cards.

Celine stands like a statue in the doorway, silhouetted against the twilight. Her fists are clenched. Her dark eyes contrast sharply with her pale face.

Everyone in the room stares at Mark, expecting an outburst. But Mark is so drunk he’s lost his grip on reality. “Heya, there, Celine.” He makes a choking noise. “How - how on earth did you get in?”

Celine throws a keyring at his feet. “You can have my keys back. I don’t plan to visit often.” She closes the door and throws off her coat. “Oh no,” The detective mutters. “Not you.” “Celine?” Damien sounds frightened. “Please don’t do anything rash.” “Rash? Me?” Celine snorts and pulls up a chair. “I don’t know about you, Damien but I’m here for the poker.”

Her eyes lock on you. She leans across the table. “Tell me. Who are you?” “I’m beauty. I’m grace, I punch criminals in the face,” you announce, grinning widely. Damien slaps his hand to his face. “Meet your district attorney.” He doesn’t seem to know whether to be proud or mortified. Celine continues to stare at you. “Since when did district attorneys punch criminals?” “It’s a long story,” Damien mumbles. “You see-” you say loudly, sitting up. “It was late evening during March last year, and-”

Mark gets up again and grabs your arm. “I’ve still got something to show you,” he mutters. Frightened by the gleam in his eyes, you let him lead you down the stairs. “Wow.” “Impressive, isn’t it?” You haven’t been down to his wine cellar before, and the sheer volume of alcohol contained within these walls is unreal.

Mark pulls a bottle out the rack and pops the cork. “Take a sip of this Scotch. Hasn’t been open since nineteen-twenty-one.” “What’s the occasion?” You ask, fully aware that the “occasion” is his funeral. The whisky tastes like bitter honey.

Mark grabs the bottle back and takes a long swig. His eyes narrow. He can barely stand. “I think you know why I’ve brought you down here. We both love the same women. Only one of us can have her.”

You stare at him, taken aback. Demonic rage burns in his eyes. “What? Nobody gets to ‘have her’. She’s her own person.” “She loved me first.” “But now she loves me. What the hell Mark, aren’t you over this? It’s been so long.”

“It has.” He slips to the floor and crosses his legs. “It’s been years. And I’ve spent every one of them alone. Sometimes I go weeks without going outside. Sometimes - sometimes I don’t even leave my bedroom.” “Mark…” your breath catches in your throat. The collar of his dressing gown slips, revealing his scarred chest. “I think you need help.”

“No. I don’t need help. I need vengeance.” His voice turns forceful. His breath catches in his throat. He pulls out a silver revolver and shoves the butt against your forehead. It feels cool and scary. You want to push Mark away but you don’t dare. “One bullet. Six chambers. I think you know the rules.” He pulls the trigger. Click. You know the game is rigged, but still you gasp.

He looks away and offers you the gun. “Your turn.” Your hand shakes as you take it. As you aim, you crack open the chamber and slip the bullet out. It drops down your sleeve. You pull the trigger. Click. Mark’s eyes widen. “Here.” You hand it back. He stares at you. “But…” “Lo and behold, we both live. Please listen Mark. I don’t want to kill you and I definitely don’t want to die myself.

“No. You know the rules.” He points it at you again. This time you can see fear in his eyes. He still thinks the gun is loaded but he doesn’t know what chamber the bullet is in. He doesn’t want to kill you. He can’t stop though.

The gun clicks and he hands it over.

He’s so drunk that you pass it between you twenty times before he realises something’s up. He opens the barrel and finds it empty. “Goddamnit. I forgot to load it.” “Good. Let’s forget about this. I - I don’t want-” Mark produces another bullet. “Ready?” “Mark! No, I-”

You hear footsteps on the stairs you freeze. Benjamin stands in the doorway with a tray of cocktails. If the sight of the gun shocks him, he doesn’t show it. He wears the same ambivalent mask as always. He raises an eyebrow. “My apologies for interrupting. Could I offer either of you a cocktail?”

Mark grabs a cocktail off the tray, downs the entire thing, then pulls the trigger. His aim is so shaky that you doubt the bullet would even have hit you, had it been fired.

As you take the gun from him, Mark crumples. His head hits the floor. His legs sprawl. “You’re welcome,” Benjamin says. He reaches for the gun. You let him take it, shaking. “How…” You point at Mark’s slumped form. His eyes are closed. “Sleeping drought,” Benjamin explains. “Feel free to take one yourself if you feel you need it. Now, allow me to conduct you to bed.”

You let him lead you to the stairs. Halfway up, your foot slips. Benjamin catches you. “Careful.” “I- I think I’m going to be sick,” you moan. “Would you like me to take you to the bathroom?” “Nah.” You push him away and struggle to the window. Benjamin unlocks it and you lean out. The cold breeze grazes your cheeks. You throw up on the patio. “That’s right. Get it all out. I’ll look forward to cleaning it up in the morning.” “Sorry.” You stop retching and clutch your stomach. Benjamin guides you to your room and leaves you at the door. You wobble inside, kick your shoes off, and dive on the bed. You’re to drunk to marvel at the extravagant silver headboard. The silken sheets are very soft though.

There’s a cough from armchair in the corner. You look up. “Tell me. Who are you?” Celine demands.

You grunt loudly and bury your head in the pillows. “You’re surrounded by dark energy. You can’t lie to me. You’re not from this timeline, are you?” You don’t reply. “I’m not leaving until I get answers.”

You look up at her with hooded eyes. “I don’t knowwwww,” you moan. “One minute I was trapped in a mirror. The next, I was outside the manor again. Take from that what you will.” “What? You don’t know?” Celine sounds disgusted. She gets up and walks to the door. “Are you lying to me? Because if not, that’s really weird.” You groan in reply. Celine pauses at the door. “I dreamt of fire last night,” she says. “I hope it wasn’t an omen.” She finally lets you sleep.

—

Tune in for part two, in which the house burns down.

[luminaryhub-archive]

fyeahpersona​:

we stan one lovable dork

#Joker: -son of a P1 protagonist-#also Joker: -gets smacked with a pool ball-

He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’ll punch his own face.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Sledgehammer

Chapter Eleven

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 3319 Warnings: Swearing, violence, Norse language which may or may not be correct

The specially equipped plane was minutes out, Natasha and Clint at the controls while Faye, with Grant at her side, stood before the Command center. Everyone was geared up and ready, listening as she went through the plan a final time. She held everyone’s focus, everyone’s attention except Steve’s.

He knew his job. It was simple. He was going for his girl, and no one could tell him different. When Faye finished her recitation, he turned to Bucky, and with a short jerk of his head, the two of them made their way to a quiet, private space.

“Buck…” Steve started and hesitated, hating what he was about to ask.

“I know, Stevie.” Smoky blue-grey eyes held his unyielding.

“I hate to ask this,” he sighed, looking away. Even the thought of it made Steve’s stomach turn.

Reaching out, Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder tightly. “Steve, I’ve got your back in this. You don’t gotta ask. I’m with you til the end of the line, pal.”

Lifting his eyes to Bucky’s, Steve watched the blue slowly brighten. “Winter?”

“Yeah, man. I’ve got this.” The Winter Soldier looked back at him.

It was a part of Bucky Steve knew he had a hard time reconciling with. He was brutal, cold and hard, and that wasn’t Bucky. Not the Bucky he knew. Not his best friend. But he needed the Soldier in this. He needed the no mercy fighter. He wasn’t coming out of there without (Y/N).

“Thank you.” Deflating slightly, Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall.

“We’re going to get her back, Steve,” Bucky stated firmly.

Nodding, Steve glanced toward Thor and Loki. “Buck…”

“The horned wonder got under your skin, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky smacked him in the back of the head. “Fuck him and his true love bullshit. You’re her true love. I should fucking know, watching her make cow eyes at you this last year, and now the two of you, shit, pal. You were made for each other.”

“But what if we weren’t? What if she and I…” he couldn’t even voice the concern and took another smack to the head, this one harder than the last.

“Don’t be stupid. You two look at each other and the world fades away. She’s yours, dumbass, no matter what that joker says,” he snorted, his opinion on the matter clear in his tone. “Stop being a fat head and focus on getting her back.”

A smirk curled his lips as Steve nodded. “Where would I be without you, Buck?”

“I dunno, but I bet you’d be doing something stupid.”

“Hey! You took all the stupid with you back in the day. There’s none left for me, jerk.”

“Punk! Who let a German scientist experiment on him?”  

Before he could reply, or the conversation degenerated into their regular brand of play fighting, Natasha called back, “Two minutes!”

“Thor, you’re up,” Faye nodded to the God of Thunder.

Steve watched Thor focus his attention on the storm raging around them. Faye had been brilliant in her planning, using the storm pounding down on the compound, having Thor send it on toward their destination, using it as cover to get close to the facility (Y/N) was being held in. The God of Thunder had built it big, letting it flow south like a natural storm and not a god created, rage-filled one, keeping a pocket in the middle of calm air for the jet.

Thor placed his hand against a window, and thunder rolled, breaking and crashing around them. Lightning flashed, slamming into the ground as Natasha set the jet down in a clearing not far from the compound. The dark, violent storm closed in, the heavy rain shielding them from sight.

“Loki?” Faye looked to the God of Mischief. “You’re next.”

“About bloody time.” Loki lifted his chin, glaring down his nose at Steve. “I will find (Y/N) and bring her to you.”

“Thank you.” Steve nodded.

“I’m not doing it for you,” he growled, eyes glowing green as his magic wrapped around him and he disappeared.

“Everyone else has their assignments,” Faye said, looking to Steve.

“Let’s make some noise.” Pulling his shield from his back, Steve headed for the door. He stopped when he came to Faye who would be staying in the jet running the show from the Command center with Grant and Maria as back up. Her heart was beating so hard, Steve could hear it.

Placing his hand on her shoulder, he looked down at the small woman who fidgeted nervously. “Faye, trust yourself. I do, or I would never have asked this of you.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, shock filling them. “You trust me?” she whispered.

“Shouldn’t I?”

She straightened, the nerves falling from her as her face smoothed into lines of confidence and the darkness which bespoke her powers filled her eyes. “Yes, you can trust me. I can do this, Cap.”

“Good.” Patting her shoulder, he headed for the rest of the team standing at the door.

Thor would be working with the brother’s, Skippy and Marcus, the wind and water elementals complementing the Thunder God’s powers. Susan and Maggie were running with Clint, Nat, and Sam - grounded thanks to the storm - doing what they could to get into the facilities computers and gather all the Intel they could. It might be a rescue mission, but the more information they had about what the Hounds were up to, the better. Besides, they didn’t know what this mystery substance was they’d been giving (Y/N). If they could get into the files, it would make discovering what was done to his girl easier.

Bruce and Tony were going to do what damage they could - which would be excessive - to the portion of the facility farthest from where they were holding (Y/N), while he and Bucky would be going in as close to her location as possible.

He looked to those gathered and waiting, Bruce already undoing the buttons on his shirt, skin tingeing green. Each face, those familiar and those new, were filled with determination. “I believe in each and every one of you. Let’s get this done.” Taking his helmet from Bucky, he put it on and punched the button for the ramp. “And if you find Garry,” he glanced again at Bruce when the Hulk within growled, “he’s mine!” Steve snarled.

***

Connor, the once Garry, standing aside with the rest of the top Hounds, watched smugly as the machine warmed and drifted back. It would only be minutes more and everything he’d worked for his entire life, everything his family had been working for these past generations, would finally come to fruition.

The reincarnation of Sváfa was within his grasp, her body prepped and waiting for the return of her past self, the memories of her Valkyrie days, and the power which would return when Sváfa did.

And he would be waiting. He wasn’t Helgi, but he was descended from the same family tree, the same family of the Norwegian king Hjörvarðr and Sigrlinn, though through the line of a daughter, not Helgi, the son. It should be enough to convince the newly reborn Sváfa he was her true love, her Helgi, especially with the drugs they’d been injecting her with. She would be so far under his spell, so completely his if they ever came across the reincarnated Helgi, she wouldn’t bat an eye.

With the return of her memories and the loss of her current self, Connor would have access to all that Valkyrie power. The strength, speed, ferocity, it would be his to command as would the rest of her sisters be when she reclaimed her title as Leader of the Valkyrjur. A legion of Valkyries would be at his disposal, and no one would stand against the Hounds with their might behind him.

Her muffled scream for Steve made him roll his eyes. Steve would not be coming. No one was coming. They had been far too careful. They’d left no trail for Stark or any of the Avengers to follow.

Thunder crashed, rattling through the building. “We going to be good if the power goes out?” he asked the man running the controls for the machine.

“Has its own power source,” the man muttered. “Storms been building all day. We were prepared for it.”

The General to his opposite side muttered, “Least it didn’t just appear. Don’t need Thor showing up.”

Connor snorted. “Not likely-” he was cut off by the snapping crackle of electricity when the machine started and (Y/N) screamed.

***

The pain was excruciating.

White hot lightning was tearing through your skull, ripping, shredding, pulling little pieces of your life away a knife slice at a time. You screamed and screamed, and screamed, tears pouring down your face. Your spine arched away from the chair, the only part of you not tied to the apparatus, bending with force to the point you thought it might snap.

Clenching your hands around the ends of the armrests, you were unaware of the cast crumbling beneath your palm. Every muscle in your body strained with effort. Dark spots filled your vision as you felt like your head was going to explode.

When the darkness went from spots to blobs to filling your vision, you just thought it was the pain causing you to pass out. Right up until the pain ended as abruptly as it had begun.

A warmth wrapped around your mind and you drifted within it as a bright light bloomed. A woman, beautiful and devastating in her glory walked toward you out of the light. The blonde of her hair was nearly white, her eyes a deep blue. Her headdress of wings flared out above her ears. A breastplate of old gold showed off her svelte figure, garbed in a flowing white gown which fell to mid-thigh. Heavy leather sandals encased her feet and legs, and she walked with a deadly kind of grace toward you. But it was the smile, big and wide and kind upon her lips that put you at ease.

“Hello, (Y/N),” she said softly.

“Who are you?” you asked, staring in awe.

She smiled and held out her hand. “You know.”

Without hesitation you took her hand, her first two fingers covered in long rings like armour, pointed talons for nails, gleaming in polished silver. “I’ve been dreaming of your life.”

Her long braids danced as she laughed quietly and shook her head. “You’ve been dreaming our life.”

“What?” you gasped in disbelief.

Her hand tightened around yours as she whispered, “Remember.”

Memories flooded through you. Laughing and playing with your sisters. Choosing your steed. Learning to fight. Patrolling and collecting the fallen for Valhalla. The day you met him, the man you’d come to love with your entire heart and soul, the one you’d named, “Helgi.”

She nodded, her smile spreading. “And we were Sváfa in that life, our first life. The life in which Helgi was taken from us far too soon.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered, eyes widening. “I’m a Valkyrie!”

Sváfa laughed, throwing her head back and letting loose right from her belly. It was so infectious; you couldn’t help but join in.

Once her giggles slowed, she squeezed your fingers and lightly touched your cheek. “You are a Valkyrie, have always been a Valkyrie. It is what has brought you to this point. It is why you were taken from them, your team and family.”

“But… I don’t understand. For what purpose?”

“They seek to take your life away to return me to this world. They wish to bridle us, place a bit in our mouth and tame what can never be tamed.” Anger filled her eyes, set them blazing as power crackled around you. “This cannot be. I will not allow it.”

“But... the machine…”

“You are still in it. Your body feels the pain, but for the moment I have shielded your mind. You cannot lose who you are in this life for if you do, they win. I dislike losing,” she huffed.

It sounded so much like something you would have said you snickered. “Me either.”

Sváfa’s face sobered, features setting into lines of determination. “They know not what they do here, the forces they meddle with. This was to be a quiet life for us.”

You snorted softly. “This is quiet?”

A smirk twitched her lips. “No Valkyrie would shirk from a battle. It does not surprise me to see our chosen path in this life has led you to fight for that which you believe in, but it is a quiet life compared to clearing the fields and serving in the halls of Valhalla.”

“Really?”

“You’ll remember soon enough,” she snorted, an echo of your previous one. Again she turned her attention to you, and you could feel the snap and crackle of power around you. Her free hand found your shoulder, gripped it tightly. “The time grows short. When I leave you, you will retain it all. Every memory of mine, Sigrún our second life, Kára our third, down through the ages until today. With it comes the return of our Valkyrie nature. The strength, power, instincts… but there will have to be a price paid. They have forced this connection and used… unnatural ways to bring it about.”

“That green crap?”

Sváfa nodded.

“What price?”

“I do not yet know,” she whispered, a touch of fear in her voice.

You stood in silence for a moment, absorbing everything, contemplating the coming change in your life before the niggling thought which had been itching at you since the start of this conversation would no longer be held back. “Helgi… is he… did he… who?”

Sváfa shifted her hand to your chin, tilting your face up. “You will know him on sight. We always do.” Her head lifted, a wolf on the hunt as the vibrancy of her eyes darkened. “It is time, (Y/N).” She leaned forward, her forehead coming to rest against yours.

Memories flooded you. Every life, every battle, every moment filled your head so full it ached and felt about to burst. Then your muscles began to burn; your bones ached, your joints snapped and popped. Groaning, you grabbed on to Sváfa, nails biting into her forearms as she held you up by your elbows.

She squeezed your arms tightly. “You will be weak once you return to your body. Good hunting, skjaldmær.”

Shieldmaiden.

The blackness faded as she did and pain rushed back in.

Something in your throat tore with the power of your scream. It felt like days, weeks, years before the whips of electricity coursing through your veins, searing off your nerve endings, trying to turn your mind to ash, finally ended.

Shaking, covered in sweat and tears, you heaved for breath, throat screaming pain with each exhalation. Blinking at the ceiling, you watched the lights flicker, and half of them die when an explosion rocked the building.

A roar, familiar and deafening pierced the air, making it through the thick walls to send fear tripping the hearts of those around you.

Well, that’s new. You’d never been able to hear so well before. Memories rose up, crashed through your already painful brain, made you whimper and slam your eyes closed against the new pain. Everything from your neck up throbbed violently, and when the chair started to tip forward, you fought down a violent wave of nausea.

The gag in your mouth disappeared as a calloused hand cupped your cheek. Eyes fluttering open, you blinked to clear the double vision. Crouched between your spread knees, hand touching your face, was the person you despised more than any other in the entire world.

His image wavered, shimmered, and you realized you could see right through his glamour. Blonde and blue of eye, Garry still appeared dark and grey to you. His powers now useless against your Valkyrie ones, and it made you smile.

“Sváfa?” he said quietly as the building shook from the Hulk’s blows and Tony’s missiles. “Min elskede?”

My beloved. So that was his game, the reason behind the glamour suddenly becoming clear. You made to lift your hand only to find it still tied down. “Hva er dette?” you asked, What is this, voice hoarse, playing along, knowing your team was coming.

“Kjenner du meg, kjære?”

Do you know me, darling? You bit your tongue to keep from spitting on him. “Selvfølgelig gjør jegdet, Helgi.” Of course, I do, Helgi. As soon as he released you, you were so going to punch that asshole in the face!

“Do you know this language, min elskede?” he asked, a smile spreading, excitement growing in the grey depths of his eyes.

“I… I think… yes. What… what happened, Helgi? Where am I? What is this?” You struggled against the chair, needing him to believe you.

“Easy. Easy, Sváfa, darling. Here.” He released the binding around your head, and it fell forward on your neck, a very real groan of pain falling from your lips. “Do you hear the battle, Sváfa?”

“Yes.” He was falling for it, and victory sang in your veins.

“Those people, the ones attacking us, hurt you. They took you away from me. Erased your memory of our time together in this life. I had to force you back to your first life, make you remember. I need you, Sváfa. I need you to fight at my side again.”

You looked past him to the scramble taking place as the other men ran to prepare for the onslaught, and the doctor approached you with another syringe. “Free me, Helgi! Free me, and I will win this battle for you. For us!”

Triumph filled his eyes, and he tore the bindings from your right arm, the cast cracked and in places completely crumbling to dust. “Yes! Yes, Sváfa! Call them, your sisters! End the Avengers and their reign of terror in this world!”

Lifting your hand, pieces of plaster falling away, you touched his cheek. It stalled his hands as he made to release your other arm, and you smiled. “I bet you didn't know I could lie as well as you. You always were a stupid son of a bitch.” Balling up your fist, you punched him with all the strength you had, sending him flying across the floor and pain rippling through your broken arm. “Oh!” you gasped, shocked at the power behind the blow. “That’s going to take some getting used to.” Reaching for the buckles on your left, you struggled to get free.

A half dozen weapons cocked, dots of red appearing on your chest, and you froze.

“Take your hand away!” Garry, Connor, whatever the fuck his name was, snarled at you holding his cheek.

You lifted it slowly into the air. “You’re not going to shoot me, Garry. All that work gone to waste? I don’t think so.” A sudden awareness washed over you, a familiar, yet foreign feeling which made you smile when a new memory rose up. “Besides, you have much bigger problems than little old me.”

Garry sneered at you and motioned to the doctor. “Knock the bitch out, then get her on a transport until we can figure out what to do with her.” Getting to his feet, he stormed out of the room, shouting orders as he went.

Doctor Dick stalked forward while a half dozen soldiers kept their guns trained on you.

“I don’t think you want to do that, doc,” you said as he closed in on the side of you still tied down.

“You think you can stop me, sunshine?” he scoffed, pulling the cap off the syringe.

“Oh, I can’t stop you,” you smiled, and he shivered, nearly stepped back, “but he can.” You nodded toward Loki pulling his knives from the body of the last of the soldiers, letting the man drop at his feet. “Hei, ugagn,” you called out and watched magic filled eyes widen in surprise.

Next Chapter

[readersimagine]

The Days That’ll Never Come (1/7?)

Note: I thought of this a week ago while I was washing dishes. Hahaha this is my first time writing DC universe fanfic though I’ve been reading these for months now. I just wanted to share this thought to all. I got a help from my ever so loyal and amazing beautiful friend, who is also my beta reader. She helps me with my series most of the time. I hope you all enjoy it! I’m thinking of writing this with 7 parts??? We’ll see.

Y/N L/N - your first name and last name

S/N - your superhero name

A black Mercedes Benz car pulled over the new Grand Westward Hotel that recently opened a few months ago. Thousands of people crowded along the sidewalk behind the gold velvet ropes, in hopes to get a glance of the rich and the famous. The crowd was ecstatic and full of energy. People talked amongst themselves to guess who’s who were on the list. Some people even brought sharpies and papers just in case there’s a slight chance someone important comes there way and gives an autograph. Security kept a close eye of the crowd, standing by the ropes while wearing black suit and ties. Photographers stepped foot on the sides of the red carpet with their camera’s flash on, ready to take a shot of a publish-worthy picture. The driver opened the door, gasps and whispers ensued.

“Isn’t that Y/N L/N?”

“OMG, is that her?!”

The dazzling Y/N L/N placed one of her legs out and another off the car and came out. She stood beside her car as the valet took her car for parking. She revealed a gorgeous red dress that flowed down to her legs. Camera flashes immediately began to go off non-stop as soon as her car left. She turned towards the hotel and began walking towards the sidewalk and into the entrance door. She was bombarded by numerous questions but everything was muffled and toned down to her. She knew who she was. She was Y/N L/N. She knew all too well about her tragic history that the press didn’t need to remind her off. It didn’t matter to her that she wasn’t a socialite anymore. She was content of where she was now.

She strutted her way into the great big open doors of the place and was greeted by a man in tuxedo.

“Miss L/N, welcome to the Annual Tri-state Area Charity Ball. The party is to your right.” The man said

“Thank you.” Y/N said, flashing him a charming smile that melted him away.

She made her way to grand ballroom. The click of her heels followed suit and echoed through the hall. She heard soft jazz in background making her smile to herself as she walked in the room. It was indeed a high-end event when they have a live band playing jazz. She stood by the top of the grand staircase, having the best view of all the rich and the famous with their plastic and silicon coming all the way from New Jersey, New York, and Delaware to the city of Gotham. She laughed at how everyone was unrecognizable from their high school yearbooks due to their constructive surgeries. Some things never change in this society even though she was gone for years. Artificial beauty was still the norm.

She was once part of the glitz and the glamour but she left it all behind. Ever since the car accident that caused her parents’ lives, she decided to live with her aunt and uncle who raised her with all the love she deserves. Her inheritance including her shares were saved and managed by her uncle until a year ago, when she took over and started working. Now, she was back; ready to face the world with good morals on her hand and justice on the other.

She was glad that she was invited to the homelessness charity, But she knew too well it was because of her big name and the success story she might share. As much to her dismay, the accident still had its effects. But being here didn’t mean she had intentions of jumping into their band wagon again. She only came to provide for the people and nothing more.

The band switched songs into a slower song. The crowd gathered onto the dance floor, swaying their hips into the music. She started to descend the stairs as she looked ahead to the open bar.

“Perfect” she thought. She’ll need it to carry on for the rest of the night.

When she continued to look at that direction, her eyes lingered to see a handsome outline of a tall, strong build gentleman standing by the pillar. She caught his eyes and he gave her that genuine smile only reserved to her. She smiled back to him. She could recognize that face anywhere ever since she was a kid. She gracefully and excitedly walked towards him, crossing a parted sea of people.

And oh. Y/N’s breath was taken away when she saw his blue dazzling eyes that she always got lost into.

God! She felt nervous, a rising heart rate and cold sweats accompanied her in her walk. She stood in front of him. Y/N gazed at this man. Her first crush.

“Y/N L/N. It’s been too long.” He said with his deep smooth rich voice.

“It’s been a while, Bruce Wayne.” He took her hand and held it so gently as if it were made of porcelain. He brought it to his lips and gave her hand a feather-light gentle kiss. Her cheeks began to turn into a light shade of pink in response. She didn’t know it was possible for her heart to beat faster than earlier. However, her anxiety died down like the calm after the storm. This felt right just like before.

“I am so honoured that you graced me your presence tonight.” He teased and she laughed in response

“Bruce,” she playfully waved at hand at him, “Always such a tease.”

“It has been years since you’ve attended any socialite events. It’s good to see you again.” He smiled, just like how she remembered it when she was young.

“It has been a long time. I figured I would use this fame I have left for something good.” she said

“Following my footsteps, I see?” he said causing her to chuckle.

“Not a chance, heart breaker.” she retorted. Bruce placed his right hand over the left side of his chest.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

BAM! CLASH!

Bruce instantly wrapped his arms around Y/N and turned her away from the crowd. Y/N was too shocked to respond, safely cradled in Bruce’s arms. She looked up at Bruce, who was facing them away from the sound. Bruce looked at Y/N in the eyes and noticed how they were positioned. He slowly took his arms off Y/N. They both turned to look at the damage. The grand chandelier fell from the ceiling, nearly missing the people by the staircase. In an instant, the band stopped playing and was replaced by a deranged laugh. The two stiffened at the sound and became more guarded. It could only be one person. The Joker. Lo and behold, The Clown Prince of Gotham himself emerged amongst the band.

Bruce swiftly turned to look at Y/N with serious and concerned eyes. He held her hands and Y/N looked at him, concerned. She opened her mouth to say something but Bruce beat her to it.

“Get to safety, Y/N. Quickly. I need to take care of something.” He told her and took off to an employee exist near his right, not noticing Y/N slinking away into the shadows behind her.

It took a while for the Joker to say anything. He took off his disguise along with his comrades to reveal his clowned up face and his signature green hair wearing a white three-piece suit. His goons revealed their hideous scary looking clown masks, still suited in their band disguises.

“Well isn’t this quite a party.” He said, face contorted into his signature smile, showing the scars on his cheeks. His goons started to flock into the room. Weary guests started to run towards the exits but were faced with closed doors.

“Awww leaving so soon? The party's just getting started!” He exclaimed before he laughed.

High pitched shrieks, shouts of panic, and heavy footsteps filled the room soon after they realized they were all trapped inside with the Joker.

Suddenly, the glass windows shattered as a man in black entered the closed off grand room. He landed right in front of the Joker causing the grin on the Joker’s face to widen. The man in black straightened and towered over the clown.

“Well if it isn’t Batsy. You came just in time for the party.” The joker said to Batman, but only receiving a glare in return.

“Let these people go, Joker.” Batman demanded.

“Ohh. No can do, Batsy.” The Joker shook his head as he looked down. “Where would the fun be with that?” The Joker said as he looked up before he ordered his men to take the guests.

Batman took his stance and threw a smoke bomb at Joker’s goons. He maneuvered in the smoke easily as Joker’s goons blindly threw punches in the smoke-filled air. He grabbed one of the goons and punched him, knocking them out. He high kicked the one on his right causing them to fly off to a nearby table. One goon started running towards Batman and was about to attack him when he caught the goon’s hand and threw him on the ground. The smoke was clearing up, revealing a guest emptied grand ballroom. Only Batman, the Joker and his goons were left inside. Everyone turned their heads around to see the room.

“WHAT HAPPENED!?” the Joker shouted angrily as he continued to survey the room. Everyone stopped fighting. His eyes were opened in rage, wrinkles were evident on his face and his jaw clenched. Even though he had his classic white makeup on, he’s face fumed red. Batman looked around to find a mysterious woman with a full-on tech mask wearing a black mono-chrome skin-tight suit with armour. The Joker followed Batman’s gaze and spotted the said mysterious woman.

“YOU WEREN’T INVITED, S/N!!!!” The Joker shouted at the female vigilante. He shook in anger. Underneath her mask, she smirked at him.

“Well you guys weren’t really invited to this party either. I didn’t see your names on the list.” She stood on her spot. She stared at the Joker whose enraged. Batman immediately pressed a button on his utility belt sending a recorded transmission back to the Bat Cave.

“GET HER!” The Joker commanded his goons. The fight between the vigilantes and the goons began.

Meanwhile in the Bat Cave, Robin and Nightwing were on stand by. They knew too well that the Joker was on the loose but Bruce ordered them to stay in until he needed them.

“This sucks.” Dick impatiently said in his Nightwing uniform. He tossed his escrima sticks in the air like a twirling baton and he leaned by the railings of the bat cave near the computer.

“Be patient, Dick.” Tim replied while he was in his Robin uniform to his adoptive brother. He spun around using the chair in front of the bat computer, waiting for the signal.

Suddenly, a message popped up on the bat computer monitor. Nightwing sat up and grabbed his escrima sticks as they fell on his hands. He walked towards Robin who spun back into position and opened the message.

“Operation identity revelation in commence.” Batman said on the recorded message. Robin looked at Nightwing, who knowingly nodded at him. It was time.

In the grand ballroom of the Grand Westward Hotel, the goons split into two. One ran towards S/N  and began to attack her while the others defended the Joker from Batman. S/N touched the right ear side of her helmet. She heard a chime sound in her helmet and then radio static was heard. She was connected to Batman’s radio transmitter.

“Testing? Batman can you hear me?” she asked. Batman listened carefully to her voice as he fought off Joker’s goons. Her voice was unrecognizable due to her voice distorter machine.

“Clearly.” He answered.

“I let the guests escape. I’ll take care of the goons.” She said as she landed a mean right hook to one of the goons attacking her.

“Noted.” He said when knocked out the last goon in his way. He spotted the Joker and ran after him. S/N continued fighting the rest of the goons, defeating each and everyone of them.

Batman and Joker continued their showdown on the grand staircase. Batman avoided the Joker’s attacks and kicked him off the stairs. The Joker groaned in pain as he hit the floor. Batman jumped after him and sedated him. He placed a high tech Arkham handcuffs. Commissioner Gordon and the GCPD entered the ballroom soon after S/N took out the last goon. The commissioner ordered his men to apprehend the Joker and his goons and approached the two vigilantes.

“Thank you, S/N and Batman, for defeating-” he started but was cut off by the sound of Batman’s grappling hook shooting into the distance.

“-the Joker.” He watched Batman flew into the night sky. His gaze fell on the female vigilante who saluted him before leaving as well. He just chuckled in response to the two as he shook his head.

The two vigilantes jumped from building to building in the Gotham City skyline. Batman led them away from the hotel. Not too far away from them, Nightwing followed behind them, watching S/N’s actions intently.

Batman landed at the top of an abandoned building by the river as S/N followed suit. He waited for S/N to land on the building’s roof before turning around to see the vigilante. Nightwing stayed close by hiding at the rooftop that was close to where Batman was.

“S/N.” he greeted.

“Batman.” She said.

“Thank you for the help tonight.” He said

“No problem. I was around and I thought you need a hand since I saw your little birdies weren’t around.” She said. He smirked at her response.

“They were busy.” He said. Nightwing and Robin were watching and listening to them throughout the entire night since the battle begun. S/N paced around the roof and looked around, finally setting her gaze at him.

“You know, I know they are listening.” She said with her hands behind her back and a smirk on her face.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, cursing in his mind. He wanted to gather evidence about S/N as much as possible from tonight’s encounter with the Joker. He didn’t like the idea of not knowing anything about the newest member of the Justice League.

“I heard them through the transmitter that I connected into and I saw one of them earlier.” S/N walked closer to him.

“They need more practice, Bruce.” He flinched at the sound of his name.

‘How did you know who he is?’ he thought to himself.

Nightwing and Robin did the same. Robin continuous typed in the bat computer to restore the recorded voice of S/N in his program especially made to undistort voices. He was now working in on a whole new time limit. Beads of sweat started to show on his face that Alfred, the loyal butler of the Wayne’s, noticed on Robin’s face. Nightwing narrowed his eyes at S/N’s figure from afar using his binoculars.

“Got any info yet, Robin.” Nightwing asked through a separate transmitter between him and Robin. He kept a close eye on the two vigilantes that’s two buildings away from him.

“Not yet. She’s a professional. This wouldn’t be too easy.” Robin said as he focused on his task.

“Who is this Bruce you speak of?” Batman asked, hoping he can redirect this topic to S/N. Nightwing faced palmed as he listened to the two. Robin was too busy to react while Alfred stifled a laugh at such a serious moment. S/N chuckled. She noticed his sudden flinch and the way he muttered his own name.

“You too need to work on your lying skills, Wayne.” She said. Batman uncomfortably stood in front of S/N. His heart rate increased. The mission wasn’t going as planned but he kept his composure. Nightwing stood and got ready to back up Bruce if things get more worse.

“You know…” S/N voice lingered as she stared at Batman. “You could have asked me who I am.” She continued as she stood in front of him with her hand placed on her hip.

“Wouldn’t that be too easy, S/N.” he said sarcastically.

“No, honestly. You could just have asked.” She honestly said.

“Out of all those times you’ve helped me and the League, you are just telling me now that I could have known your secret identity if I asked?” he questioned, skeptical of the idea.

She laughed and shook her head. Batman changed his stance and put his guard up when S/N began to reach for her helmet. She clicked something on the bottom of her full-head mask to retract it, revealing her still-full-of-make-up face.

“Y/N?” Batman whispered, leaving his mouth slightly parted; shocked to see his childhood friend to be the mysterious S/N. He relaxed and let his guard down.

“Wha-what? How is this possible?” he asked, perplexed.

Nightwing, Robin, and Alfred listened and watched the whole revelation. What caught their eye wasn’t the eye-catching Y/N L/N but Bruce’s lack of words. Alfred smiled to himself as he watched the footage from the roof top play on the bat computer monitor. He hasn’t seen Miss L/N in years since she moved away after Bruce and Y/n’s years in high school, exactly fifteen years from now.

“Wasn’t she the woman Bruce was talking to in the charity ball?” Robin turned to look at Alfred who stood beside him, still looking at the marvelous Y/N.

“Yes, indeed Master Tim. She is Master Bruce’s dearest friend.” Alfred said as he continued to look at the monitor, emphasizing that the word ‘friend’ had a deeper meaning to it. Robin watched Alfred and turned to watch his adoptive father gaze at the woman whom he had known for so long.

“Does he always get awe struck whenever he sees her?” Robin bluntly asked only to receive a chuckle from Nightwing through the radio.

“Haven’t seen Bruce like this even with Selina nor Angela.” Nightwing said as he watched the two slowly walked towards each other on the roof top.

“Everything is possible, Bruce.” She said with a shy smile. She stopped walking to him when they are a meter apart.

“How didn’t I know it was you all this time?” He asked more to himself

“Like I said, I’m better at keeping secrets, Bruce. You could use more practice.” She retorted causing Bruce to chuckle. His gaze was soft as he looked at Y/N, his cold exterior melted and once returned to his younger self.

Everyone focused on the two dearest friends, unaware of the hooded figure on the other building watching as well.

[robbieinterviews]

Tarzan’s Margot Robbie on Why She’s No Damsel in Distress, 2016

When Margot Robbie popped up in The Big Short last year for a 60-second cameo—by definition, playing herself—to explain what “shorting” a bond means while drinking Dom Pérignon in the bathtub of a billionaire’s Malibu condo, I subconsciously shorted her. Here, it seemed, was that girl who invites you to stare and then tells you to fuck off if you stare for too long. The fact that just two years prior she so ferociously inhabited the role of the hottest gold digger in the history of cinema in Martin Scorsese’s The Wolf of Wall Street, permanently lodging herself in the collective male libido, served only to reinforce my concern that she might be some new breed of high-maintenance superpredator. Thankfully, the cameo turned out to be a clever little lie in a movie all about big fat ones. This was Margot Robbie playing her caricature—the retrograde Playboy fantasy in permanent soft-focus.

It comes as a surprise, then—a relief, even—to meet Robbie in April on the Santa Monica Pier and discover that she’s not remotely like the manipulative sex kittens she’s been so eerily good at portraying on the screen. It’s Robbie’s idea that we take a trapeze class together, and so here we are, smack dab in the middle of an amusement park over the water. Robbie, in yoga pants and a white tank top, her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, goes entirely unrecognized, which has something to do with the fact that, dressed for a workout with no makeup, she looks like every third person you pass in Southern California—but prettier. She is smaller and more compact than I had imagined, and has the athletic mien of someone who played sports in high school, along with the graceful gait and natural poise of a woman who’s used to moving through the world on the balls of her feet like a dancer.

I assumed Robbie had taken up the trapeze for one of the very physically demanding roles she plays in two big studio movies coming out back-to-back this summer—Jane in The Legend of Tarzan, costarring Alexander Skarsgård and directed by David Yates, in July, followed by the cultishly beloved psychopath Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad, based on a task force of characters from DC Comics and directed by David Ayer, which comes out in August and seems bound to turn her into a household name—but I had assumed wrong. When Robbie was growing up in Australia, her mother sent her off to circus school—she received her “trapeze certificate” when she was eight. She hadn’t given it a thought in years, though, until she began having a recurring dream not long ago in which she was flying through the air, high above the net under the big top. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid dream,” she says, and so she found this place and took a few classes. “I feel like I missed my calling.” She chalks her hands and gets ready to climb up to the platform.

One of our instructors, Kenna, a daffy redhead wearing comically large yellow sunglasses, remembers Robbie from her last visit. As Kenna is buckling us into our safety harnesses, she asks Robbie what part of Australia she’s from. “Gold Coast in Queensland,” says Robbie, her accent thickening at the mere mention of her homeland. “I watch a lot of really trashy TV,” says Kenna, “including Australia’s Next Top Model, and the girls from Gold Coast are definitely not respected by girls from Sydney and Melbourne.” Robbie laughs knowingly and says no, but because she has just slipped into full-on Australian-accent mode, it comes out as neeerrroh! “I had no idea I was living in a state that gets laughed at until I moved to Melbourne,” says Robbie, “and then someone was like, ‘Ohrrr, yar from Queensland, eh? You put “Eh?” on the end of your sentences because you’re all a bit slow.’ And I was like, ‘Is this a thing? That Queensland is the dumb state?’ It’s so embarrassing.”

At that, another instructor, CR, appears to teach us the finer points of trapeze. There are moments of weightlessness at the peak of each swing from the bar, which is when you want to change positions, or “throw the trick.” “As long as you make the change at the right time,” he says, “you hardly have to break a sweat. It’s all about timing.”

Robbie (precisely, elegantly) throws one trick after another—the set split, the set straddle, the penny roll—with what looks like little effort. “She’s disgustingly good at it,” says Kenna as we stand on the pier watching her above us, and I cannot help thinking that these exact skills apply to Robbie’s life down here on the ground: She has consistently displayed a knack for making her moves at exactly the right moment, no sweat. At seventeen, with very little acting experience to speak of—a few school plays, some commercials, a low-budget flick she describes as “barely even a student film”—she moved to Melbourne and landed a part on the Australian soap opera Neighbours, the longest-running drama in the country’s history, a gig she had for three years. In 2011—after working very hard with a dialect coach to perfect an American accent—she moved to Los Angeles and immediately got a part on the short-lived TV series Pan Am. A supporting role in Richard Curtis’s coming-of-age rom-com About Time followed, and then she was cast as Naomi—that minx from Bay Ridge—in The Wolf of Wall Street. It was a career-defining performance, one that left people agape: Who’s that?

As Jared Leto, her costar in Suicide Squad, puts it, “She took a role that other people would have had a very difficult time with and elevated it to something spectacular. To be able to stand alongside Leo [DiCaprio], one of the titans of the industry, and be there face-to-face, blow for blow, and not only hold her ground but really shine, was kind of a rare, explosive discovery. It reminded me of Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface.”

At first, Robbie wasn’t even sure she wanted to play such a shrewd ballbuster. “When I first read it, I thought, I have nothing in common with her. I hate her. It was a really tricky one to get my head around. But her motivation was ‘You guys are doing it—why shouldn’t I? It’s this man’s world, and I’m going to get mine.’ And I understand that.”

The things she was doing herself as far as stunts, you wouldn’t believe. There’s only a handful of actors who do that sort of work

David Ayer

Now, two years later, at 25, she’s the girl of the moment, on the cusp of a very big summer. The Legend of Tarzan, as directed by Yates, who brought us the best of the Harry Potter movies, is an A-movie reboot of a B-movie franchise, one that the filmmakers hope will lift the character up out of the swamp of kitsch and into the twenty-first century. When Warner Bros.—having kept a close eye on the dailies while Robbie was shooting Focus with Will Smith in late 2013—approached her about playing Jane, her first reaction was: Not for me. “There’s no way I was going to play the damsel in distress,” she says. But then she read the script. “It just felt very epic and big and magical in some way. I haven’t done a movie like that. The Harry Potter films could have been really cheesy, but David Yates made them into something dark and cool and real—plus it was shooting in London, and I, on a whim, had just signed a lease on a house there.” For Yates, “an unpretentiousness, a real pragmatism, was evident from the moment I met her. There’s something very true about her, and those qualities were very important for Jane—someone who’s open to experience the beauty of the world.”

Naturally, sooner or later, Tarzan meets Jane. “I met her in L.A. about a year before we shot the movie,” says Skarsgård, “just before The Wolf of Wall Streetcame out. She lived in this tiny studio apartment in Hollywood. We were supposed to just have coffee and talk about the project, but we spent the entire day together. I remember being blown away by how cool and down-to-earth she was. And then Wolf came out, and she went from relative obscurity to being the hottest actress in Hollywood.” When Tarzan finally started shooting in London, “she was living in a house with six other people,” says Skarsgård, “kind of a frat-house vibe, and on weekends she would go to Amsterdam and sleep in bunk beds in a youth hostel with Canadian backpackers, or to some music festival in Northern England and sleep in a tent. She’s not precious at all.”

The story of Suicide Squad, meanwhile, is that all of the bad guys in the superhero world who are locked up in prison are offered a chance to do some good—a suicide mission, if you will—to get their sentences reduced. Harley Quinn is both the shrink and the girlfriend of the Joker, played by Leto. “She doesn’t even have superpowers,” says Robbie. “She’s just a psychopath who runs around gleefully killing people—she finds joy in causing mayhem, which makes her weirdly endearing and fun to watch.”

The role, says Ayer, demands “a lot of heavy lifting for an actor. But she’s a tough girl, and she’s incredibly smart and mature beyond her years. She has ridiculous depth, and she’s never been coddled, so she’s very physically courageous. The things she was doing herself as far as stunts, you wouldn’t believe. There’s only a handful of actors who do that sort of work themselves.”

Robbie was filming the underappreciated Whiskey Tango Foxtrot with Tina Fey in New Mexico just before she went off to Toronto to shoot Suicide Squad. “She had a personal trainer literally following her around the set so she could be ready for Suicide Squad,” says Fey. “She’s very strong. There’s a scene in Whiskey Tango where she punches me and says, ‘We’re going out tonight!’ I had this huge bruise on my arm for days.” Fey is crazy about Robbie. “She doesn’t take herself too seriously,” she says. “And she has that soap-opera background, which I think is great. Those people just make a choice and don’t overthink it. They don’t think that acting cures world hunger in and of itself.”

When our trapeze class comes to an end, we find Robbie’s driver. As we head back to her hotel in West Hollywood, her phone rings. It’s Robbie’s boyfriend of two years, Tom Ackerley, the assistant director she met in 2013 on the set of the World War II drama Suite Française. “Hi, darling,” she says into the phone. “Just mastered a new trick. . . . Yes, I’m very chuffed with myself.” (Later, when I ask about Ackerley—whom she describes as “the best-looking guy in London”—she says, “I was the ultimate single gal. The idea of relationships made me want to vomit. And then this crept up on me. We were friends for so long. I was always in love with him, but I thought, Oh, he would never love me back. Don’t make it weird, Margot. Don’t be stupid and tell him that you like him. And then it happened, and I was like, Of course we’re together. This makes so much sense, the way nothing has ever made sense before.”)

Ackerley is actually calling to talk business: He and Robbie—along with Ackerley’s friend Josey McNamara, who is also an AD, and Robbie’s childhood best friend, Sophia Kerr—started a production company, LuckyChap, a year ago. The four of them all live together in that house in London and are planning to move to Los Angeles later this year. They have already acquired five projects, one of which is the script for I, Tonya, the highly anticipated Tonya Harding biopic that Robbie will star in. (Robbie is a decent skater—she played on an amateur ice-hockey team when she moved to New York City in 2011 to shoot Pan Am.) Their first film, Terminal, a dystopian noir thriller, has just started shooting in Hungary. Robbie plays a waitress whose story line ties all the others together. “We chose the most challenging indie film imaginable—it’s not commercially viable from a financier’s point of view,” says Robbie. “It’s shaving years off my life. It’s really hard work, but so rewarding and much more empowering than just acting. I was starting to feel like a little pawn getting moved around the board: Go here! Do that! Be her!” “This is a very smart thing for her to do,” says Fey, “because otherwise, as a piece of casting, she’s always going to have someone saying, ‘You look amazing—but we’d love for you to weigh less.’ Already at 25 she’s like, You know what? I’m going to opt out of that fuckery and be on my front foot with my career.”

It’s early evening when we finally arrive at Robbie’s hotel. We walk past the bar, and bump into Sandy Powell, the legendary costume designer, who’s having a drink with a friend. As it happens, Powell did the costumes for The Wolf of Wall Street, and Robbie tells me that most of those tight, come-hither getups she wore were Powell’s actual clothes from the nineties. “I would say, ‘Where did you get that?’ and she would say, ‘It’s mine. I used to wear it all the time.’ ”

We pass the swimming pool, and there’s not a person in sight. “I so badly want to go for a swim,” she says. “Do you mind if I jump in the pool?” She runs off to her suite while I make myself at home on a chaise and order a drink. When she reappears, she’s wearing a white one-piece bathing suit with a vaguely suggestive cartoonish illustration of a half-peeled banana emblazoned on the front, and short-short denim cutoffs. She seems blissfully unaware that the suit looks like something that, say, Pamela Anderson would have worn in the nineties. This reminds me of something Cara Delevingne—who plays Enchantress in Suicide Squad—told me about Robbie. “I was having a conversation with her the other night at the MTV Movie Awards,” Delevingne said. “In this world of celebrity and Hollywood, so many people act like they’re being watched all the time—but Margot doesn’t act like that at all. She’s constantly dancing like no one’s watching.”

The whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing has really worked out for me. You can apply that to anything—you just have to hustle

Margot Robbie

She peels off her Daisy Dukes and knifes into the water. At one point, she submerges herself just to the bottom of her nose. Suddenly, with her hair slicked back, I realize who she reminds me of: Margaux Hemingway, in a famous shoot from the seventies by Douglas Kirkland. Robbie gets out of the pool and lies down on the chaise next to me. I mention the resemblance, and she Googles her. “Wow,” she says. “What a stunner.”

Owing mostly to her surf-tastic teenage years, Robbie seems to prize a kind of athletic comfort above all else (though she does love the red carpet—“I think I enjoy the getting ready part more than the actual event, to be honest”). But her penchant for dressing down is also a tactical measure. Here at the hotel, as at the pier earlier, she goes completely unnoticed. “If I dress like this, people don’t look twice. It’s as soon as I put on makeup and a dress and have my hair done—I can’t get ten meters without being recognized.”

I bring up the various spellings of her name—Margaux, Margo, Margot. “I always said, ‘Mom—there was a really cool way of spelling my name, and you picked the boring way that gets everyone confused. They forget the T or call me Mar-got,’ ” she says, laughing. (Her childhood nickname was Maggot.) “Now everyone’s finally spelling my name right—that’s how I knew I’d made it.”

Robbie was raised with her three siblings by a single mother, Sarie Kessler, a physiotherapist, in a very small house (her parents divorced when she was young). “I adore my mother,” says Robbie. “She’s the most pure-hearted, divine human being.” We get to talking about the similarities in our childhoods: lots of kids, raised in a house with only one bathroom, everyone working to help make ends meet—the kind of setting that can scald one’s heart with ambition. “I went to a school where all of my friends were very well-off,” she says, “and I went to their houses a lot, and so I knew what it looked like to be rich but I didn’t have it, so I was like: OK—I know exactly what I want.” She worked several odd jobs—tending bar, making sandwiches, selling surfboards—which gave her a lot of confidence at a young age. “The whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing has really worked out for me. The more times you do that, the more you realize that no one really knows what they’re doing; everyone’s kind of figuring it out or pretending they know until they do know. And you can apply that to anything—you just have to hustle.”

Robbie’s hustle—her resourcefulness, mixed with ambition and a little naïveté—has defined her career since before it even started. “I was watching TV one day—maybe I was fifteen,” she says. “There was a girl my age doing a scene, and she said her line, and it was just not that good. And I remember thinking, I could have done it better. And then I thought, Well, why is she doing it? Why isn’t it me?”

To a one, every person I spoke to about Robbie pointed out two things: her willingness to try anything and her uncanny ability to be good at everything. A couple of years ago, when there were still eight people living in that house in London, Robbie made a rule: No one can move in unless they get the house tattoo. So they found an artist named Pedro with a shop nearby, and one day, while Pedro was tattooing Ackerley, Robbie begged to have a go at it. “I have a bit of a morbid fascination with needles,” she says. “There’ve been a few instances when I’ve given piercings.” Pedro eventually handed over the gun, Ackerley relented, and, well, she got hooked. As a wrap gift after Tarzan, Sophia—her best friend/housemate/business partner—bought her a tattoo gun on eBay, and soon, between scenes while shooting Suicide Squad, says Robbie, “people would come into my trailer: ‘Hey, Margs—can I get a tattoo?’ ‘Sure—sit on down!’ ” She even gave Delevingne something she dubbed “toemojis”—five emoji faces on the bottoms of her toes. “And then we all decided to get Squad tattoos, David Ayer included,” says Robbie. Now she travels with her tattoo kit everywhere she goes.

We head up to her hotel suite, where Sophia is hard at work on LuckyChap, and before long Robbie has set up her tattoo emporium on the dining-room table. The Rolling Stones are blaring from a laptop, and she’s giving me my very first tattoo. We had discussed it earlier—in theory—and settled on the Roman numeral five (V) because my birthday is May 5 and the V stands for my last name. And, well, why not—anything for a story, no? She sketched out a few ideas in my notebook, and then on my arm, and then, after few false starts, in a matter of minutes, it’s done. I love it, I say. “I’m so happy,” she says. Suddenly, Sophia shouts, “Oh, my God! Look at the moon!” and we both jump up and join her at the sliding glass doors. The three of us stare in silence for a moment at the biggest, brightest, orange-est moon any of us have ever seen. And then Margot Robbie, whose own star is burning awfully bright right now, says, “The moon is glistening. Literally. We’re listening to the Rolling Stones. And I just gave you a tattoo. So perfectly Hollywood!”

[trapmoon-vibez-blog]

🐥Paradise pt.2🐥

~

"s-sir we've made it to your destination." J grumbled, waking up from his slumber "doll wake   up." and when you didn't respond quick enough, J pushed you roughly causing you to wake up  startled "what the fuck?!" you screamed, J rolled his eyes "come on we  are here." you turn toward the small window in the jet and saw beautiful  rippling tides of blue, staining the sand with it's wetness, the sun  beaming brightly and colorful birds migrated the land...this scenery was  completely opposite of Gotham.

You gasped "J come on   let's go!" you ran outside forgetting everything, "(Y/n) get some   fucking clothes on!" J screamed but you was to busy admiring the land,   so J grabbed his and your f/c swim wear and told the pilot to follow him  (of course that was followed by a series of threats.) and when J   stepped out he had to admit it was an upgrade from Gotham but then again  there is no place like home.

J grumbled some more "why is it so damn  sunny?!" you rolled your eyes and grabbed the bag out of J's hand and  pulled out sunscreen and quickly applied it on J's skin "what the fuck  are you doing?! I don't want that on me!" J snatched the bottle out of  your hand throwing it to the ground "J, stop being a baby!" you yelled  and grab the sunglasses you stole for J, "put these on." J looked at them  "no." you signed "but it will make you look more gangsta...right mr.  pilot?" the pilot man nodded his head rapidly, causing J to cave in  "fine give me them...but princess you already know I don't need sunglasses to make me look 'gangsta'." he put them on and started to undress in front of  you and the pilot man. (Of course you guys turned your heads.)

"So what's ya name I don't wanna keep calling you  mr. pilot." the pilot man look at you for a moment then turned his  attention to his feet "my name is Willis Henry." you nodded "you don't  look like a Willis, so how about Willy since we did share a bonding  moment together!" the man look  at you as if you was insane "you had sex  in front of me! and your boyfriend threaten to kill me and everyone I  love!" you look at him in mock hurt while holding your heart. "but that's in the past can't we  just move along and let that shit go!" he glared "no!" you glared back  "fine! be that way...and to think I was going to let J keep you alive!"  his evil glared quickly was replaced by fear "I-I'm sorry miss please  forgive my rudeness!" you rolled your eyes "fine I will forgive  ya...only if you take pictures of me and my baby~" he nodded "a-anything  for you."

Finally J got finished   getting dressed in his very colorful Hawaiian shirt and purple swim   shorts, you glance over and wolf whistle "you looking sexy babe!" J turn  around wiggling his non existent eyebrows "ya like what ya seein~" J asked. You giggled  "always...but it looks even better when there's nothing on ya~" J  laughed "don't tempt me princess, now put your clothes on."

You saluted in mock enthusiasm "aye aye captain!" you put on your f/c swim suit and started to surveilling the tropical scenery , turning your head you saw something in the distance that caught your  eyes "ohh~ J look at that!" you ran over into the jungle abandoning your  green haired lover.

"Y/N! get yo ass back here!" J scan the area trying to find any sign of you but you were no where in site. where the fuck did she go?!  and how did she get away so fucking fast?! damn her curiosity! I told her to stay close to me! she knows the fucking rules! that little brat is so going to be punished! I looked around waiting for her to come back but she didn't and no one makes me fucking wait!

"Y/N WHERE ARE YOU!" I   snatched pilot boy and started searching the direction in where she ran to and  we found a huge cliff at the end of the island oh no oh no! this can't be?! you stupid stupid clown, how could you let her go?! I should have grabbed her! damn it!  I  yelled out in frustration and pulled on my hair, frantically look for clues on where my princess may be, I walked over to the edge examining the area.

There is no footsteps...I saw her go in this direction but there seems to be no trace of her even stepping foot on this part of terrain...it's like she fucking vanished but where?! I crouched down and started searching the ground more closely...there is soot on the ground, but where did this shit come from?! Y/n where the fuck did you vanish too?! I don't like this feeling at all...I need my baby girl back safe with me!

I grabbed the pilot boy roughly by the collar and smile brightly at him "if we don't find my queen before the end of this day...I'm going to hold ya accountable for her vanishing...and you don't want that right?" I loomed over him, feeling my blood lust rise with each passing sentence "y-yes s-sir.", I pushed him on the ground trying to restrain myself from killing him on spot.I looked around frantically and let out a guttural scream trying to contain my frustration and anguish.

~

You  groggily woke up from a sleepy haze, feeling very weak and sore, you checked your surrounding and saw you was on the floor in a very damp cave, that had what looked like an ancient tribal statue with offering by it's golden tone feet, you got up and search the mystery statue and saw it's piercing jewel like eyes shine, "I bet this would make us a fortune." you chuckled, while touching the object.

"You humans are so foolish...when will you learn." you whipped your head in the direction to who the voice belong to, but all you saw was a silhouette of black smoke "who are you? are you the one that brought me here?" you squinted your eyes in cation, guarding up just in case this mysterious being attacked you.

"You humans are greedy..always wanting more and more when you deserve nothing." you look at the being with the 'how rude' face "well jeez who put you panties in a bunch!" the being tilted it's head and started to stagger towards you, you swallowed thickly and walk until the wall stop you, you laughed nervously "what do you want?" the entity was an inch away from you, as it put it's shadowy hands through your h/l h/c hair "I want you." you froze in your spot, in total shock...I never thought the day would come...a ghost wants to rape me?!  and I thought I saw crazy shit while being with mista J but this tops it all.I'm not scared of much but paranormal shit and bugs, freak me out!  you punched the ghost square in it's vanishing face and tried to find an opening out of this cave but unfortunately luck wasn't on my side today "shit shit shit!" you was so afraid to turn around, you kept your face towards the stone as if you was a kid under the blanket hiding from monsters, soon you felt a presence lurk behind you "look I don't wanna die bro...I'm too young to die, I mean I just got my puddin to come on a vacay with me and it wasn't easy persuading him! so if you have any compassion please don't kill me...it would be a waste to ruin my pretty face!" you yelled frantically.

"You're odd for a human." the ghost whispered in your ear, causing you to almost jump out of your skin "well I prefer one of a kind! but odd is doable." you turned around slowly, with a light small gracing your features "the name's Y/n! I would say nice to meet ya but this meeting wasn't so pleasant!" you giggled waiting for the thing to respond but got no reply, you signed softly "so what's your name? I mean it's only fair since I gave my name." you pouted, causing the ghost to chuckle by your childish actions "in due time you shall know my name." the entity said monotonously.

~

Joker POV

"WHY THE FUCK IS THIS DAMN PHONE NOT WORKING?!" I growled, while trying to find any signs of signal but none came and it's wearing my patience out, it has been at least 30 minutes and I'm here making a fool of myself putting this phone in the the most awkwardest places of the island, hoping to get at least a bar or two of service, so I can call Frost to bring his ass over here and find Y/n and get me the fuck off this island, if Y/n is alive she will wish she was dead after I finish with her!

I turned my sights towards the pilot boy and stalked behind him and leaned into his ear "boo!" he screamed and almost fell of the cliff, normally I would find that amusing and funny but right now all I'm feeling is angry and urgency.I rolled my eyes "relax, I want you to find signal for this phone and when you do call me." ,just when he scrambled on his feet and went to take the phone from my hand I jerked it back "oh and don't try to run or I'll shot ya and it won't be painless." I glared as he nodded and cautiously grabbed the phone out of my hand.

I rolled my neck back trying to relieve the knots in it and became searching again for any clues on my lost kitten.

~

"I think you will like mista J, what do ya think Ghostie?" you asked while sitting Indian style, "From the way you explained it...this human sounds demented, sadistic and narcissistic but 'sweet' to you...I don't understand the logic with you humans." you giggled "but he is so romantic when he wants to be...it just makes my heart flutter." you eyes was filled with drunk love "do ya have someone like that Ghostie? someone ya love, adore and would do absolutely anything for." the shadow like figure thought for a moment "my brother...he was with me when the humans betrayed us." you looked at Ghostie with sadness, knowing how it felt to be betrayed by close ones and being in the crime business 'friendships' are always fueled by a more dark underlying meaning "I know what ya mean, I had people who I called 'close'...till they almost murdered me a couple of times but ya get use to it, ya know it comes with the territory." you chuckled sadly "how about you become my servant and I will let you and maybe your lover live when I make this world mine." you looked at the entity confused "how about instead of your servant...let's be friends, ya know I always wanted to have a sleepover with someone other then J, how does that sound?" the ghost didn't respond so you spoke some more "I kinda like ya for a ghost and all and thought it would be cool to have ya as a friend , even though I just met ya, it's really comforting being around you for some strange reason." you put your head down in embarrassment, knowing you said the most cheesy stuff right now in front of a strange ghost that was either trying to rape you or possess you!

"I will take you on your offer human as long as you stay loyal towards me I shall return the favor...now tell me another story of your humanly perils, I find them quite intriguing."

You grinned "well one time me and J tried this weird combination of the fear toxin and some acid and we were tripping ball! I was scared, horny, and happy all at the same time, everything in the room look like candy so I started to lick random spots in the house and let's just say I regret that...but mista J was doing even worst then me, he told me after the trip he was fighting off large killing gummy bears that had me locked up in a castle! the shit was crazy but it doesn't end there!"

~

Joker POV

"Joker s-sir, I finally found a signal!" the pilot yelled will staying in positioned. I got off the rock I was sitting on and dashed toward the pilot, ripping my cellphone out of his hand, going to contacts I clicked on Frost's number, hearing the dial tone, I wait to the line goes through.

"Hello boss, is everything okay?"

"NO IT'S NOT, I NEED YOU TO COME GET ME AND FIND Y/N, HER ASS IS LOST AND I CAN'T GET MUCH FAR BY SWIMMING OR JUMPING OFF A DAMN CLIFF!"

"No worries boss, I will track this phone as fast as I can and I will bring a couple of henchmen with the equipment."

"Yeah yeah yeah, just hurry up!" I yelled.

"Boss *static* isn't *static* out of *static* bounds *deadline*"

"What the fuck! hello Frost! hello! are you there ass shat! " I looked at my phone and saw the fucking battery die, I was really contemplating about leaving Y/n here to die but I couldn't do it, so here I am in these highly annoying situation "FUN MY ASS!" I throw the phone on the ground, kicking the sand in angry...till some of it flew in my eyes "argh! damn it!"

~

"I see you humans like to risk your live...but why? you humans already have such a short life span." you shrugged "I don't know..it's fun!"

"It's fun to endanger yourself?" by the sound of it the ghost seemed to like you a little bit...well hopefully enough to not possess you, and it seemed to maybe even get comfortable with you, so you decided to ask it some questions.

"Since were friends now, I want you to call me by my name and not human okay?" you asked cautiously.

"Okay....Y/n."

"Can you tell me your name now?" you awaited a response but got none "come on don't leave me hanging!" you pouted.  

"My name is...Enchantress." you nodded in response "Enchantress...that's a beautiful name, now what's your story?...since I shared some of my adventures with ya!

"I could tell you all the strange offering, this humans gave me."

~

Joker POV

I can't believe I'm going through this bullshit...it's already bad enough I let Y/n talk me into this trip...now I can't leave cause she is missing, I really fed up and over this whole vacation shit! I glanced over at the jet, then look at my back pack that's on the sand that's it!  I had enough I'm going home! sayonara Y/n and this damn island! I got up, taking a couple of steps towards the jet but something in my chest tighten and it got uncomfortable, so I stop walking toward the jet and went back over to my spot, grumbling under my breath she couldn't have gotten far but she is no where on this island...I mean it's not big enough to where she could get lost! so how could a person just disappear like that?

I turned towards the pilot "did you get the phone working yet?" he flinched by the sound of my voice "n-no not y-yet." I ran my hand through my green hair, looking back over at the cliff and I felt the ground shake lightly, I looked around keeping my guard up and saw nothing but black smoke surround us, I ripped my gun out of the holster and kept my aim steady, waiting for the smoke to clear, when I hear a series of giggles?

~

"Oh my gosh, I can't believe they gave you such a nasty gift!" you laughed, will Enchantress transported you back to the island.

"Indeed, it was vulgar." Enchantress chuckled lightly.

"Come out~ stop hiding so I can shoot ya!" you heard your green haired lover yell.

You couldn't understand why he sounded so angry, it was just you and your new pal.

"J it's me!" you yelled waving through the smoke hoping he could spot you and luckily he did after all the smoke settled, he started walking towards you in a fast pace, but he didn't look much cheerful.

"Doesn't he look mad?" Enchantress asked, you shrugged "I'm not sure...sometimes he has a very intimidating face, so it's hard to tell."

"Y/n when I get over there, you ass is mine!" you flinched when you heard him yell "your right he is mad." you ran over to the over side "relax J! I know I broke the rules but have mercy!" you begged, while hiding around a near by rock "oh~ I am showing you mercy, by not putting a bullet between those pretty eyes! get over here!"

"Come on J! at least I made a friend!" you yelled, J scoffed "is it the one that kidnapped you?"

You replied hesitantly "y-yeah but it's different now! we kinda have the same personality."

Mista J couldn't believe how absurd this situation was, first what was suppose to be a nice relaxing vacay turned into Y/n befriending, whatever that thing is...while he was worried looking for her this whole time, he was slowly wishing he left her and went back to Gotham but it was no used crying over spilled milk.

J let out another loud scream and took a deep breath "what's your name shadow?" J waited for the thing to reply but got nothing instead "any day now!"

"I don't have to tell you anything, human." Enchantress replied with slight irritation in her voice.

"Bitch!" you interrupted J before things got out of hand "J meet Enchantress, Enchantress meet J." you smiled nervously.

~

After the greeting J told Enchantress off, because he didn't like her taking what was his and after about 30 minutes of pure rage and arguing they finally let bygones be bygones...well at least enough to tolerate each other, knowing Y/n wanted them to get along

Despite you having a lot of fun with your new BF at the suspense of J's worry, the over all the trip was a success for you...it was an epic disaster in J's case but he will get over it (hopefully soon:P), and even though the trip ain't go to well at least the make up sex will be pretty awesome when we get back to wonderful ole Gotham hehehe.

Meanwhile on the other side of the equator~

"Check this whole island boys! see if you can find any signs of our boss and miss Y/n!" Frost yelled while getting of the jet.

Where could he be? we tracked his phone and found it but he's not over there. Frost walked around the area and went further into the jungle till he heard a voice, making him guard up and aim his gun toward the owner of the voice "who's there?"

"Relax human you must be Frost, Y/n had mentioned you."

Frost looked at it with a little hint of confusion "yeah...do you know where they are?"

"They already left this island and went back home"

0.0

(Poor poor frosty~)

Author's note

HAPPY 4th of July everyone! soon I will be working on betrayed and another Imagine that I thought would be pretty good, I would've did it today but since it's a day for celebrating I decided to put it off (cause it's a little sad blah blah blah).

Hope your having a great day and stay safe!

Cote- vote and comment, show me ya not a ghost :P

and p.s. this was the longest imagine I have ever wrote and I enjoyed it. (if the story sounds goofy...it's because I'm in a mood for some comedy lol...hope u are too!)

for more https://www.wattpad.com/story/108668229-joker-imagines-%F0%9F%92%9A

[popcartoonkabala]

New Gods vs. Old Gods: The Juvenile as Divine Elder, or foil. Tammuz = Yesod she b Malchus

Jack Kirby, in his fixing of Super-hero Mythology for DC in the 70′s, conveniently avoids the war between the Super-modern and the inaccessibly ancient by having the Old Gods, obsolete and yet eternally important, enshrined in the Source Wall, out of commission as is truly the way of the Ancient of Day  שביתין ושבקין / חבילין דמעקין. 

The challenge is of this: who is satirized out of power, in the freshest story? Who is lionized into the spotlight as the moral of the story gives him the torch of grace? Part of the pop problem is the great parent-punch, where the wicked old gives way to the awesome: how to retell without vilifying the ACTUAL patriarchy of beloved family? This is the ultimate challenge of any non-dualistic narrative, religion, or experience of the schism that makes the world.

Narratives find ways by splitting the distinction between Good Parent and Bad Elder. Note with curiousity: The Angelina Jolie vehicle-version of Malificent takes the Evil Queen and spins her into grace as the Raven Fairy who only loves and is betrayed by the man that turns out immediately to be the Lame King, father of  “Sleeping Beauty.” The infinite purity/ecstatic naivety of princess Aurora is very contrasted with the wounded and knowing of Malificent, but the movie REFUSES to be enlightened enough to overcome the need for a villain, and so the Lame Father dies unrepentant for his crime against the goddess, falling out of a building. His daughter never appears, even for a moment, to mourn his death. 

The Illumination is coherent, and one god must be sacrificed for the rest to live. This is a fundamental part of Old Egyptian religious covenant, Set-as-Joker: one of the royal family must be villain in order for the heavens to be whole. Because informed masonry demands sacrifice, and cosmic order depends on the self-sacrifice of the highest angel-turned-enemy. The is the friendly gnostic Satan; Leviathan co-operative. 

This is the secret of the moon of Tammuz, who is also Adonis, the aspect of Who Knows but Alas! And Woe! For the great king is lost, fallen. But good news! He returns every few months and so does life. Why does he die? According to ld Sumerian myth, it’s because he rules oblivious to the damnation of his beloved Innana. She’s dragged to Hell by Irresistable Cosmic Forces that demand sacrifice for the sake of existence. Accepting this and yet still demanding to return to the earth, that there might be love, life and delight, she is given permission on condition that she bring down someone of equal stature. She returns to Earth in search of unfamiliar kings, but they are all humiliated, dressed in sackcloth and mourning her absence. Not so, her beloved Fisherman, King of the Satisfaction, Tammuz. He sits on the high throne, joyful and fruitful, so that there would be bounty. This offends Innana/Ishtar so, and she casts him down to Sheol/Hel, where he remains until his twin sister convnces Innana/Ishtar to take his place for half the year. So that the world can be. The Romans digest this story, calling Innana “Venus” and Tammuz “Adonis”, de-emphasising his divinity and instead emphasising his beauty and powerlessness before tragedy. 

"Then he brought me to the door of the gate of the Lord's house which was toward the north; and, behold, there sat women weeping for Tammuz. Then said he unto to me, 'Hast thou seen this, O son of man? turn thee yet again, and thou shalt see greater abominations than these." —Ezekiel 8:14-15 

Things could always be worse. Ptolemy, strangely, claims that Phoenicians worship Mars as “Adonis” even as the comentary of his translator makes clear that Adonis is to be identified with Phyrigian Atys and Egyptian Osiris.  Adonis as an epithet like “Ba’al” could be any number of “people.” Literary readings, specifically of Shakespeare’s version of Venus and Adonis, offer to identify him with the Sun, defeated, which could be why the Crab that cuts down the Herculean SunGod is identified with the Moon, like in the Kabbalistic myth where the Moon indicates the problem in Sun and Moon sharing one crown, a criticism that leads to the weakening of the moon into cycle of wax and wane.  Egyptian Osiris, alternately and meaningfully, was the Sun (Ra) when he was alive but became Saturnine and next worldly upon his castration and defeat by the trickster villainGod Set, leading to the claiming of the Sun Throne by Horus, alternatingly refered to by the Hellenists as Mars or Apollo  This Osiris, you’ll recall, is identified by Heraclitis and Plutarch as identifiable with both Saturn, Hades, and Dionysus, all one “for whom they wage and wail”. The Talmud in Avodah Zara further identifies this composite Vegetation, Fertility, and Underworld deity with the Biblical Patriarch Joseph.

Mishnah: IF ONE FINDS UTENSILS UPON WHICH IS THE FIGURE OF THE SUN [or a dragon, they are prohibited]. 

Therefore the first and last clauses deal with the act of finding and the middle clause with the act of making! 

Abaye said: That is so, 

the first and last clauses deal with the act of finding 

and the middle clause with the act of making. 

Raba said: They all deal with the act of finding,

 and as for the middle clause it is the teaching of R. Judah. 

For it has been taught: '

R. Judah also includes the picture of a woman giving to suck 

and Serapis.'

A woman giving to suck alludes to Eve who suckled the whole world; 

Serapis alludes to Joseph who became a prince [sar] 

and appeased [hefis] the whole world.

Avodah Zara 43:a

                               The implication here is profound: There is a difference between the one who feeds the world and the one who creates the world, the feeder being inherently more vulnerable, because he is closer to you. Friedriche Nietche identifies Prometheus with Dionysus, Sarapis and Tammuz, another face of the tragic hero, in his Birth of Tragedy. All drama and all tragedy, as well as all idealism as to the value of crime-as-liberation-as-concience are expressed through the divinity of theater. The similarity in the Joseph story in the bible is undercut by the tradition connecting Joseph’s death to the Summer Solstice, as well as his Messianic identifcation as the Hero who Appears To Die but Actually Feeds The World. The irony, biblically, is the degree to which he also innovates selling the world into slavery, for his grain, much like agriculture and intoxication make a certain sort of willing slaves out of us all.                   

Slaves to a good master, are his sheep, happily sacrificed as are all the innocent people killed in the background of every exciting explosive hero moment. Kurt Vonnegut in his pinnacle work Breakfast Of Champions tries to break the cycle, and set his characters (heroes?) free. It’s important to try and break a cycle, if we can. The heroes themselves want to be better, and stop all wrong from being, and for this, we the incapable appreciate them.

One ancient proto-Cinderella is the proto-Buddhist deity Kwan Yin; the poor, righteous orphan worked to death, but then sainted into immortality as the Goddess of Yin.  She will not stop from her chores, so she gains the power to set anyone else free. Building merit in the Buddhist narrative comes with the promise that labors will, ultimately, be appreciated. She is the Tammuz here, except even more virtuous. 

Biblical Abraham finds a way out of sacrificing child, partly by putting Bull in his place. But sacrificed the child is, the circumcision compels caution and restraint of vision and creative imposition of will. Siegfried and Sigmund, Gilgamesh and Horus are all untroubled by parent-imposed wound; on the contrary it is the Osirian Father and The Wild Man who is castrated, Votun whose spear shatters. This is what is offensive about the civil impulse of Abraham: it's a first step in what pretends to be a trustworthy, eternal stability, relatively likeable over the nightmare of Babylon and Ur.  Vonnegut is in a proud tradition.

------------------ In one of the first stories published and circulated, the Epic of Gilgamesh, the sacrifice of the fallen lover of the Queen of the Dawn is noted as a model NOT to be imitated. Gilgamesh distrusts the Goddess, because her love destroyed the greatest mythic heroes. This offends her to a fairy tale degree, and he must contend with this hostility/affection. This cannot make him trust her more, but it does keep HIM from becoming a divinity, enshrined in the stars and months as the summertime moon of mourning and tears, “Tammuz”. Also known as Dumuzi “The Sheperd/The Fisherman” Superman, like Tammuz, is an often dead-and-ressurected Solar deity. He is not failed by love, or made vulnerable by either idealism or corruption-- nonetheless, he is not, and may never be, a father god. To the degree that he ever has children, he cannot raise them, an idea explored in Bryan Singer's Superman Returns and in Greg Weissman's Young Justice alike, both of which treat superman as a very uncomfortable absentee father, unable to take almost any emotional or functional responsibility for the bastard children cloned from or identified with him. The best he can do is rescue and preach, but he cannot devote himself to specific children-- in 1950's superman “imaginary” apocalypse literature, being responsible for wife and child is exactly what finally cripples and destroys superman after all. It's a bit different for Batman, formed from the duality represented by his two horns. Conflicting duality, Black and white, is the very definition of Gothic. Metropolis is not, and can never be, Gotham, even in narratives as inversionary as Kingdom Come or Dark Knight Returns: Gotham is Black & White, Metropolis is gleaming bright gold and steel. And yet-- Both are New York City, just as equally. Or wherever the capitol of the world is. This is part of the absurd theatre that the city becomes. Age plus success equals implication in the eternal crimes of the city, or increasing merit in the construction of that which is beloved about it. Superman's and Spider-man's eternal youth is partially their innocence and alienation from the source of the problem. Batman is different-- he is not a solar deity except in the context of his own internal cosmology; barring that, he's as lunar as it gets. One of the main mythic responsibilities of the Moon is to literally second guess the Sun, with a question that divides the kingdom but restores wholeness and insists sensitivity to the failure of the normative order. This is the moral advantage that Batman tends to have over Superman-- although in Grant Morrison's post 52 Action Comics, this order is inverted-- with Batman being the super-mainstream expression of society's natural beneficence, and Superman as the radical socialist, come to critique and overcome the corrupt excesses of the Great City. This will not last, hardly lasting into Morrison's brief run, any more than the original populist Superman of 1938's Action Comics #1 was able to be anything other than a cheerleader for the American Way, once exposed to the wider airwaves.  Superman is also categorically NOT a child, but most Superman villains for all intents and purposes are; it's the nature of tyrants. Superman's presence, and functional stasis, are in the space in between the super maturity/responsibility of a new adult, freshly but firmly out of his parent's home, but not building a life of his own. Numerous brilliant efforts at writing the story of Superman as father have been written, but none allowed to be canon. The Super child of Kingdom Come appeared once, and then becomes unavailable, the great Kurt Busiek  “Birthright” treatment could only occur in distant earth prime, a reality conspicuously destroyed in the Infinite Crisis. Contrast this with Batman, who is defined by his pack of children and lovers. 

The problem of lovers and sidekicks:  First, it's meaningful how easy it is to confuse the two in relationship to Batman, as opposed to Superman. A lover, a ward, and a friend, all of whom can share the occasional title of “partner” if they're so graced, but generally come to play the part more of some kind of a cavalry; a children's crusade as training unit to take care of peripheral missions (which often tend to wind up being crucial situations that the kids get stuck in.) There must be a pattern, occult logic hopes, to how these peripheral helpers form naturally off the sweat of the overwhelmed human hero.  First is Robin. Notably somewhat gender neutral in impression, or at least too young to feel overtly masculine, the role has been taken by a range of kids over the generations. 

Two girls, four boys, not counting the myriad alternate realities, Robin is the defined First Supplement to the super-competent Batman, and traditionally, the stand in for the reader themselves. All Robins, unlike Batman himself, must be trained to some degree before the traumatic event that leads them to abandon normative childhood to become child soldier vigilantes. Compare this with the Batgirls-- similarly trained before the signal to masked vigilantism in some variety of acrobatics or combat-- in either case, it is the existence of something like a Batman that pulls these boys and girls out of the wood work to support the Batman's apparent mission. This is powerfully satirized in the film Super, where one man's psychosis, borne out of a combination of some kind of brain damage, sexual frustration, weird religious fundamentalism and exposure to pop-television, inspires him to become a ferocious vigilante, dealing out justice to anyone he witnesses offending him somehow, with his chosen weapon: a wrench. This inspires the girl who works at the comic book store to want to come along, help in whatever (violent) capacity, which can be as simple as screaming at a defeated foe, and at a crowd surrounding the action, about how fucking hot they are.

There is a similar relationship described in many astrological systems between the Sun and Mercury, described in the Talmud as “the scribe of the Sun.” (   Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 155b) The mythic relationship between Apollo and Hermes, between Horus-Ra and Thoth, between Sol and Odin all describe this similar intimacy that all have witnessed in the physical movements of the literal star Mercury (just called “Kochav” in Hebrew, literally “Star” or even “Mark”) in direct correlation with the movements of the Sun itself. The narratives that emerge to describe why and how this arrangement came to be are meaningful whenever they are. Mercury is known traditionally as the Greco-Roman tradition as the “youngest of the gods,” stealing, working, tricking and charming his way to godhood after most of the worldly and divine order are established. But when Julius Caesar and Tacitus witness the main father god of the Norse and the Celts, Odin, they readily identify him with Mercury, as do all subsequent generations of syncretists. Mercury and Thoth, the gods of intelligence and communication, who teach language to the world-- there's some mystery about how much they are the ones who initiate creation, and just stay aloof enough not to have to rule. This model goes back to African Anansi, who although the most vulnerable in most of the stories, winds up with all the stories, tricking his way to the very beginning of creation, and perhaps made the whole origin possible. Hebrew Kabbalistic tradition, relating to the biblical Seven days of creation, attributes the creation of divinities in the heavens, stars and angels alike, to the Fourth day. The original light that filled all creation from the first moment was pulled back and hidden away also smaller forces, priorities and characters would shine. Tuesday night at 6pm is already Wednsday in this model (“It was evening and it was morning the fourth day,) and so the tradition makes clear that Mercury was the first amongst the stars, before even the Sun and the Moon, although the sun and the moon are identified with the conflicting primordial masculine and feminine that divorce on the second day of creation, they come not into their minor fullness and place in the heavenly heirarchy until Mercury emerges, followed by Jupiter, and then Venus. Saturn takes it's place at the center of of the week, just as the Sabbath is the center of the weekdays, surrounded by three on each side, on the opposite end of Mercury. Theres a whole game-mystery of reverse-on-reverse, where the attributes of one is expressed only in the other, hence much of the confusion and evolution of the heavenly hierarchy-- who ever acts as if they're in charge must not be in charge, whoever acts as if they're foolish is the smartest one there is. Hence that traditional self mutilation and even partial suicide of Odin, who hangs himself and lets himself be pierced in the side in pursuit of Knowledge, also indenturing himself like biblical Jacob as a shepherd, just to learn, furiously. The fool, the child, stepping blindly, might actually have a plan all along, all the plans even. But it's not clear, because we're being tricked.

Venus, on the other hand is never tricking you-- it's your own will that compels you forwards, and hence the deep confusion about how originative she is.  Greek philosophers came up with two distinct Aphrodites: one, the cosmic, celestial and originative, borne out of  Uranus's castrated phallus, once it fell into the great ocean, and second, the lower earthly one, “Pandemos” identified with worldly passions, as opposed to originative cosmic yearning.  The main distinction between a moon goddess and a Venus is how much they are defined by their wildness and independence vs. civilizing eroticism in the context of consortium chambers. Wonder Woman is not a Venus; she's an Artemis, a Diana.  The Moon might depend on the light of the sun, but it's not trying to impress the sun, and that's the dignity of the moon vs. the intoxicating intimate irresistibility of the morning star. Every other plastic come hither is more of an Aphrodite, like Poison Ivy, Catwoman, or Vampirella.

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

Speaking of the difference between Lovers and Sidekicks: Who is closer? Superman and Batman or Superman and Wonder Woman or Batman and Wonder Woman? Generally the first, as often almost the other two, especially maybe in any given future, as too many World's Finest stories are told (god forbid) and maybe one of the other two. There was some investment in a Batman/Wonder woman romance for a time, and in a Superman/Wonder woman coupling occasionally, both and either treated as almost messianic unions. The child is rarely seen, or used as more of an omen, or future narrator, because he's too perfect to fathom for long.

This dreamchild is a huge issue in comic book apocalypticism, one which, to my knowledge, is rarely  translated to Cartoon or film, perhaps because it's too disturbing except for horror. It's certainly one of the stranger parts of Kubrick's 2001: A space odyssey, and it's been coming up more and more: It was the major plot development of Alan Moores LOEG 2009, as well as Jonathan Hickman's extended Fantastic Four/FF run, where the previously similar Franklin Richards, oft hinted to possess invincible power in the future, emerges as a major character, both as a divine child from the chronological present, and as the nigh-omnipotent and apparently immortal that he grows up to becomes, a god over gods, who enslaves Galactus the world eater and fixes time. His introduction and incorporation is a testament to Hickman's narrative ambition, to make the shocking future more accessible; not humanized, but appreciable. This is the aspect of the redeeming child, which is who the old testament ends with the promise of, and in at least a few French and Italian traditions, who the Tarot begins with.

Noted Kabbalist R' Nachman of Breslov tells an allegorical story once about a master of prayer whose mission is, partially, to reunite a shattered royal family, torn apart by a hurricane.   Very few of the actors in this family are able to actualize their redemption and reunification except through some degree of personal expression and actualization in the context of being found by those who seek them. The child is both the oldest and the youngest, last found most central. But who is the youngest of the gods? The inevitable answer: whoever is most compelling at their root, is who is infinitely focused on in youth, specifically. This is who can be “youngest of the gods” and oldest of fathers all at once. R' Nachman tells another story, about sailors on a great ocean marooned on an Island with a great tower. On this tower they find great food and clothes stored away, and upon feasting and relaxing begin to ask each other “what's the first thing you remember?” As they begin to describe progressively more originative memories of what becomes closer and closer to the first moment, the history of expressed kabbalistic exploration is also shared, with the approach to the earliest moment of almost-existence expressing the most innovative mysticism, as well as revealing which amongst the crew is secretly the oldest of all assembled. Naturally, ironically, meaningfully, the youngest amongst them is the one with the access to the most primordial memories, and is revealed by the stories end as secretly the oldest of them all, as the assembled sailors are met by the owner of the tower, the Great Eagle, who leads them out in similar fashion to biblical Joseph's arrangement of his brothers, in age order, with the first and oldest actually being the youngest. It occurs to me something similar occurs with certain Pantheons, where Mercury or Anansi are the youngest of the gods, and secretly the originators of all language and narrative, and, as such, all existence.

The advent of graphic literature came with two directions-- the violent and the romantic. But it started with the neutral gendered Kid. The original image that first spoke with an avian fowl surprising a medium into existence was The Yellow Kid. Although satyric images hewn into stone have appeared since as long as anyone can remember, the novelty of a sequential set of images, creating a popular story medium never before quite possible in the history of graphic literature. Heralded by that bald pre-heroic central pillar of engaged, powerless but invulnerable; infant-king recurs in Windsor Mckay's dream hero Little Nemo, but survives into modern hero cartoon as  Kirby-Lee's Uatu The Watcher, The Last Airbender, Mxyzptlk,  and even into as a number of specifically Superman Villains, notably Mxyzptlk, Lex Luthor and especially Brainiac, who also parallels a number child-monsters spawned from science or alien world-- the borg/Trelane, V-ger, Ultron, Moondragon assorted children of heroes who were transformed by any encounter with the cosmic. What is this original kid? The first card in the Tarot, 0/Aleph, is called the fool but identified with the divine child, the youngest one in the room who still remembers further back before any one else, even though all appear older than him. It's the very first moment, that remains as innocent and entirely original and revolutionary as it did that very first moment where a stupid blind step was taken out of nothing and no where.

His manifestation as Robot-alien is profound and the ultimate terror, literally. The dynamic relationship between Hank Pym and his two robot “children” (both notably bald) is indicative of this tension: one is profoundly noble, and even humanly capable of devotion, nobility and love, and the other is heartless, monstrously devoted to the death of all flesh, with an alarming tendency towards actual genocides and atrocities-- such is the gamble of blind capricious invincibility, that something wonderful and/or something terrible might emerge. Notice the moral flexibility of the Superman villains in this model too, their tendency to incarnate as heroic occasionally, if not often, bespeaks the degree to which the chaos that Superman is reining in actually can go either way in it's selfish fervor.

The secret truth of the universe is the degree to which we'd rather not acknowledge that the hunger is our own, The great hunger consuming all is the good that surrounds, filled with an astonishing depth of emptiness within. It's tail, it's tale, is the problem of how to end a story that lives to not end: the pickle of pop narrative myth.

What is the earliest version of the end of Herakles? He never does the thing that he's ultimately prophesied to do, that is, replace the father god as Master of the Universe as Zeus did to his hungry horrible father before. Hercules ascends to heaven, and there can be no more stories about him after that-- until the Cartoon serials resurrect him into modernity. The Greeks have no Apocalypse, because their stories, like the Egyptian, Vedic, and Babylonian astro-narratives before them, aren't meant to end; and by the time they might, slipping into mediocrity (Christianity) they lose control of their essential narrative, as the Roman Book of Revelations is written from a Greek island used as a way station for exiles from Judea. The ancient Egyptian apocalypses turn quickly into creation myths, reflecting the suspicions of cosmic cyclicalism reflected by the solar voyage. The exception to this rule is the Trojan War, from whose survivors the literary Romans claim descent as elaborated (or invented?) in Virgil’s Aenid, before he dies and guides Dante through the depths, as Innana was once guided. Story endings are invitations for strangers to pick up the charachters, now literally in the public domain.

  The alternative to the Apocalype/Resolution model is a beginning and and end that are ultimately relatively unrelated, i.e. an ULTIMATE end that offers no future. Many characters are born from this scenario, this moment, and then brought back into the present. The X-men are replete with such figures, notably Cable, Bishop and the Rachel Summers Phoenix, who is dragged to the end of history to become the great goddess Askani, before being brought back to youthful modern triviality. Both Cable and Rachel Summers, it must be noted, shared parents, the great noble first couple of the house of X(-men.)

So too with Hercules, Samson, and King Solomon: another Christ child made immortal by his ability to travel into the future. The Legion of Superheroes only really comes back to see one particular hero--Superman, or maybe sometimes Abe Lincoln, or Julius Caesar. Super-villains just go back for Helen of Troy. Hercules comes to New York as easily as he makes it to Hollywood. Inevitably.

Later this week: more about the Divine Julius and the Romulan/Vulcan tension, in the context of Star Trek and Old Roman Religion. Plus: Audio cast about the mystery of Enoch and Markolis (Hermes/Thoth); i.e., how and why does a person become the voice of G-d, identifiable with and representing? Only on  Pop Cartoon Kabalallalalalalalalalaaaaaa!  

1Kurt Busiek, as opposed to contemporary diamond age adventists like Mark Waid, Peter David and Karl Kesel, suffers on explorations of characters and concepts that are inherently peripheral. This is his genius, and perhaps his curse, an eye that gazes specifically on the pop-awesome from a certain degree of alienation and distance. This is the way he was able to partially intiate the Diamond age of late nineties integration of Silver Age awe into super-modern dark age post-modernism, without the filter of Warren Ellis's cynical cleansing cinematude.

2Dark Knight Returns, at this point in our cultural discourse, might as well be considered cannon of sorts. The pre-apocalyptic vision of an aged Batman returning, somehow not to fight “crime” but to overcome military dictatorship by rallying the gangster children of Gotham into a militia army parrallels the transition from an alienated elite mission to a genuinely populist heroism, an authentically helpful radical Batman, at last on the same page with the people he was ostensibly protecting, but generally more just keeping down. This is the only moral triumph that can ever justify a weirdo like Batman, his personal crusade against the kind of “crime” that killed his parents being naturally extended to a socially intelligent revolution that would unseat the essential alienation that IS the cause of “crimes”.

3   Babylonian Talmud, mesechta Shabbat 155b