#hm. for the sake of this as well. we will pretend that the ghost event hasnt happened <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[lanternlightss]

today i am going to be so self indulgent. so. (gently pushes my current favorite things together)

[saphirered]

Could you write another fic for Kingsley? I absolutely adored The Lovers and there’s so little content for the pirate tiefling, it leaves me so sad. I was thinking something where the reader and him have been flirting for awhile but he’s still doubtful of wether they like him as Kingsley or they just see him as Molly. (The reader doesn’t, and they end up comforting him, just overall some of that good Hurt/Comfort)

Don't know why writing is taking so long for me but I blame the double shifts. Sorry this took so long to write. I hope it was worth the wait 😘

Some things are doomed to repeat themselves. Mollymauk had always been a huge flirt regardless of actual interests in people he knew exactly what to do and say to make someone blush. That’s not something lost in the resurrections. Kingsley is no different. Flirting comes like a second nature to the lavender tiefling.

Molly’s goal had been to make you blush a task difficult to achieve so when you quipped back each and every time the flirtations escalated to what some might consider inappropriate to be spoken in certain social circles. This little back and forth turned into a bit of a competition to see who could make the other blush or gasp the most because you did manage to get those responses of each other.

It was your game and when Kingsley began with endearing pet names you automatically felt yourself falling back into that habit. You don’t really know when you got back to the point where you’d be outright flirting but the gradual escalation happened before you caught on and since neither you nor Kingsley seemed to mind or made any efforts to stop your little game you continued to play.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and you were both in full force with the flirtations where you might make others around you blush. Even those used to your comments. That’s something both you and Kingsley took pride in. Despite your words you’re always mindful of each others’ hardline boundaries. There’s a mutual respect. You always know when to stop and not take it too far. Though that doesn’t prevent you from walking that boundary like a tightrope.

Currently you’re standing on the bow of the ship looking over the ocean when an all too familiar voice calls for your attention. You look over your shoulder fully prepared in case you have to quip right back.

“Would you mind moving that pretty behind of yours somewhere else, love?” You watch Kingsley standing spyglass at the ready to take a closer look at the islands up ahead.

“If you wanted a closer look you could have just ask.” You wink and blow him a kiss as you move away from the bow to let Kingsley take your place and take a look as he does you catch him glance at you for just a moment. Of course you can do nothing but put on your best seductive face.

“If you’re offering, the lighting in my cabin will be perfect for the occasion.” Kingsley returns with a half smirk lowering the spyglass. Leaning on the wooden border you make sure to arc your back just a little crossing your ankles as you look over your shoulder thoughtfully.

“Hm. Any suggestions for a specific spot? Lighting can be quite tricky. Maybe you should show me every corner of the room just to make sure the view is perfect?” You tease. The Tiefling’s smirk widens, task forgotten, he wraps an arm around you pulling you close to him.

Kingsley leans in and for a second you think he’s going to kiss you. Not that you would stop him. You’d grown to like him but since he’s new to the world you didn’t want to push him into the deep end before having had a chance to discover and figure things out for himself. Your hands slowly snaking up his arms to his shoulders you wait for him to quip back.

“Don’t make offers you have no intention to make good on.” Kingsley breathes removing his arms from you and taking a step back. You’re confused. Mixed signals? Not at all. Not to you. You know he’s a tease and so are you but this is not a quip back. This is a statement. Why? The flirty demeanour drops so you’ll reply with a statement of your own.

“Who says I don’t intend to make good on it?” You gage Kingsley’s reaction but come up blank. Nothing that gives away the sudden mood change. He excuses himself and goes back to work so you do the same; replaying the events of the day to figure out what may have lead to this shift. Still nothing.

Next day comes around and every attempt at flirting is shot down. You know how to take a hint and at first just assume Kingsley just isn’t in the mood or headspace to play the game. You’ll leave him be for a few days to sort out whatever he needs to sort out. No more flirting for a while until he initiates it. Your conversations are more cordial and less warm than they used to be but Kingsley doesn’t avoid you so you at least take comfort in that.

After two weeks you’ve had enough. Another day of work gone by, sun setting slowly you find yourself standing in front of the lavender tiefling’s door. Rapping your knuckles against the wooden door you feel confident the knocks are audible. There’s no response so you knock again but again nothing. A little frustrated you try the handle and the door opens. You don’t fully open it just yet.

“Kingsley? Are you there?” You speak softly in case he’s asleep. You hear a muffled grumble and decide to step inside. There you see the tiefling sprawled out across the bed on his back, pillow over his face held in place by one hand. He doesn’t move but you see the rise and fall of his chest; enough to give away he is breathing and in fact awake.

You close the door behind you taking a look around the room. As expected there’s very few personal artefacts; a spare shirt thrown over a chair, a coin pouch on the table, coins spilled, blue book, a pair of fine boots, an empty bottle and a half full one as well as a half eaten plate of food presumably for dinner. The light of the setting sun bleeds through the paned window providing just enough lighting to make out the finer details of the room. It’s well kept and actually surprisingly tidy. The bed’s made and the pillows neatly placed, the shoes next to the side table and a chest at the foot of the bed. Not a speck of dust or grime to be found.

“Kingsley? Are you alright?” You ask sitting down at the edge of the bed hesitantly. You’re not really sure how to approach him. You don’t even remember your plan you had before you got here. There’s a hum in agreement as the pillow is lowered from his face.

“Yes. Yes, I’m totally fine.” Kingsley sighs staring at the ceiling as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He rubs his eyes and sits up facing you. He looks a bit tired but what did you expect after a busy day of work. You don’t look any different.

“Are you sure? You’ve been a bit out of it the past few weeks. I miss my flirty tiefling.” He snorts at the latter. Does he know something you don’t? Why the attitude? You’ll have to get to the bottom of this because you fear your- whatever it is you have with Kingsley depends on it.

“Fine then. I’m worried about you. One second we’re doing our thing and the next you push me away distancing yourself from me and giving me the cold shoulder. If my words upset you you should have just told me like you’ve always done. Why the sudden change? If you wanted me to stop or if I made you uncomfortable you should have said so.” You twiddle your thumbs awaiting a response fearful his shift behaviour was because of you because what else could it be?

Kingsley doesn’t answer just yet. A single glance at you and your stupid pretty face has him melting like chocolate on a hot day. He’s filled with regret because you’re right. He should have said something. Anything. You deserve that much but no, he had to be stupid and avoid the topic in the hopes it would go away. Problems don’t disappear into thin air. It requires communication.

A hand hesitantly grasps your twiddling fingers. You cease the motions looking at the man. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the look on his face is guilt and pity as he finds the words.

“This is not on you. This is on me being an idiot instead of just talking to you.” There’s a brief moment of silence as he silently begs the gods will be kind and you won’t hate him for bring this up. Then again, you’ve been nothing but understanding and patient in the past.

“No matter how much I love our flirtations I think they should end. If not for your sake, then for mine. It’s not… healthy.” You see him glance at the blue notebook on the table. So he’s read it. That explains the sudden shift. You’re mentally preparing yourself for whatever comes next fearing that what he might have read about you and your past has driven him to push you away. It’s his choice and his right but that wouldn’t make it less painful.

“I know now you had this thing with Mollymauk and now you’re continuing that with me. It snowballed into what we have-had but it can’t keep going. You’re holding onto a thread of the past and I feel like I’m trying to fill the spot he left just because I like you. It’s not healthy for either of us.” You give him a sad smile, your fears have been pushed down and you’re happy it’s not what you thought was going to happen but how wrong he is; it’s almost painful.

Kingsley is conflicted because he really does like you and wants to be what Molly used to be but he also knows he can never fill the spot of a ghost. Nor can he compete with it. He won’t force himself to be someone he’s not or fight to live up to the expectations even if he really wanted to because that’s not what a relationship of any kind is about.

“Kingsley… You fool… You really are a shit communicator.” You laugh. Taken aback he doesn’t know wether he should be confused or offended.

“If you’d only just asked… You’ll never be Molly and I do not ever want you to be so never try to. I like you because of who you are and yes we might have fallen into a habit he and I once shared but that ended and what we have is not the same. Never pretend to be someone you’re not.”

“Well, not unless you’re conning someone.” Kingsley quips. The relief your words are honest washes over him. It’s like he can breathe again or was holding a breath he didn’t know he was. He had been so afraid that facing you with his conclusions would drive you away forever. Maybe he really needs to work on his communication skills to you?

“There’s the Kingsley I know. Never pretend to be someone you’re not for me because you feel like you have to. That’s not healthy. Just be you. If you’re gonna make me fall in love with you, you don’t need anything but your own charm and that grin of yours.” You can see him fight that very grin from crawling up his face but it does anyway.

“I think you got me pegged, love.” You raise an eyebrow suggestively and smirk as he swats at you but you catch his hands. You’re about to comment but he breaks your grasp and pushes his hand over your mouth to quiet you down. You fight against him so determined to make your comment to the point you’re on your back held down by the tiefling, giggles muffled.

“When I remove my hand, you promise to say literally anything but the thing you’re thinking?” You nod and hum in agreement. Kingsley gives you a threatening look before slowly removing his hand to reveal your grin mischievously. Still looming over you awaiting any kind of comeback.

“You know, when you said the lighting in this room was lovely you weren’t lying.” You pat his cheek and trace the peacock feathers curling up his neck and side of the face as you bask in the final rays of sunlight illuminating the room in a deep orange glow.

“The view definitely has improved.” His gaze is on you not at all paying attention to the horizon. You laugh. So cheesy and he knows it. You become more aware of your current position. Some people might think it inappropriate but neither you not Kingsley give a single flying fuck. As long as you’re comfortable be damned the opinions of others.

“You know, when I suggested you showing me the corners of the room I had hoped you’d be more creative than starting with the bed.” You obviously feign disappointment. Kingsley accepts your challenge as you weave your fingers in the hair at the back of the neck pulling lightly to tease him.

“Oh shush you. Your words might come back to haunt you.”

“Is that a promise?” You bat your eyelashes but the grin on your face remains. Of course it’s a promise. You’re counting on it and Kingsley tends to keep his promises. Maybe this miscommunication is exactly what you needed because it lead to where you are now and wherever it might take you. The possibilities are endless and unpredictable. Just the way you like it.

[notapaladin]

a little mystery to figure out

The rumors reaching Nezahual’s ears can’t be true. They suggest that Tenochtitlan’s Master of the House of Darts and the High Priest for the Dead are...together, and Nezahual’s met Acatl. No, Teomitl is clearly going to be pining forever.

He decides to visit his sister city, and learns much more than he really wanted to.

Also on AO3!

-

Not for the first time, Nezahual reflected that his life couldn’t get any better than this. He was a healthy young ruler with slaves to serve his every whim and his pick of lovely, inventive concubines to share his mat; he had only to wave a hand, and a dozen servants would rush to attend him. The mat spread out in his palace gardens boasted two thick cloaks and a deer pelt to cushion his reclining form, and above him a pair of noisy motmots fluttered like living jewels.

By his side, his current favorite concubine—Miyahuaxochitl—picked up a delicately carved rosette of fruit, studying it for a moment before popping it into her mouth. “Hm.”

He put an arm around her, pulling her a little closer. “Is it not to your taste?”

She thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, my lord, it is. Forgive me, I was only...thinking.”

“Oh?” It wasn’t an accusatory question—of course she was entitled to the contents of her own head, though he’d never been especially impressed by her sagacity—but she flinched anyway. He registered, belatedly, that he’d been using what his childhood playmates had called the “creepy snake face,” the one that supposedly made him look like a rattlesnake eyeing a bird’s nest. It wasn’t like he could help being curious, but when you were an agent of Quetzalcoatl, that apparently came with side effects. Oops.

At least she got over her unease quickly. “About the tales you told of your last visit to Tenochtitlan. Working with Teomitl-tzin and Acatl-tzin.”

“...Thinking about other men?” He smiled.

“Not like that.” As he hope she would, she shoved him lightly and pretended to take offense. “I was wondering how Teomitl-tzin’s marriage is going. I don’t like to think of anyone being unhappy in love.”

“His wife is the Guardian of the Duality in Tenochtitlan.” And absolutely the most terrifying woman I’ve ever met. Too bad Teomitl snatched her up first. We might have killed each other, but gods, I’d die happy. He twined a lock of Miyahuaxochitl’s hair around his fingers. “I’m sure it’s going fine.”

She didn’t seem soothed. Her gaze drifted over the sparkling water of the nearest fountain as she replied, “...Well...yes, my lord, but…”

“But?”

For a long moment, she silently traced meaningless patterns over his bare chest. It tickled, but not enough for him to be distracted from her words when she finally spoke. “It’s only that...you mentioned he seemed awfully close with her brother.”

“Acatl is his teacher.” But even as he spoke, his mind whirled. The pup is often angry—I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s his base emotional state—but when Acatl was accused of treason...gods, he was frantic, and not on his own behalf. And there’s the way he looks at him when Acatl can’t see him... Nobody looks at another person like that if they aren’t at least a bit infatuated.

Miyahuaxochitl had clearly reached the same conclusion far ahead of him. He mentally revised his opinion of her brainpower. “Mm. That’s...not the kind of closeness I mean…”

Anyone who could do the things she could with her tongue had no business blushing like that at a mere insinuation. And she hasn’t even seen them together. I swear the only time Teomitl wasn’t glaring at something was when he was looking at Acatl. “You really think so?”

She nodded. “I listen when the slaves talk amongst themselves. They all say that when those two were guests at your summer palace, they seemed...very close. And some of the merchants, too—rumor has it that Acatl-tzin never used to even step foot in the palace until he met Teomitl-tzin, and now he’s there all the time.”

He found himself remembering the last time he’d been in their combined presence. The bloodstained courtyard. The ghosts. The ahuizotls, all teeth and claws. And the way Teomitl had looked at Acatl, even with his sword drawn and visions of the Turquoise-and-Gold crown filling his head. Well. That would certainly explain a lot. I wonder if...no. If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I’d question whether Acatl even had blood in his veins. The poor pup is doomed.

The thought made him grin. There was, after all, a way for his life to improve—watching Teomitl splutter in impotent rage. “I think it’s time I spend a week in Tenochtitlan again.”

&

Pomp and circumstance were, of course, the prerogative of a Revered Speaker traveling to an allied city. But for once, Nezahual found himself curious as to what would happen if he took the subtle approach. Accordingly, his boat docked in the Atempan calpulli—if the memories of his spies served, Acatl had been from there—and he prepared himself for a nice, long walk on a sunny day. He’d even taken the steps of leaving his guards with the boat and most of his jewelry; they would follow an hour or so behind, to be ready in case he needed them. Meanwhile, in his least elaborate cloak, he could pass for a nobleman’s child instead of an Emperor for a day.

Ah, the sacrifices he made for the sake of information.

For being the domain of peasants, the calpulli really wasn’t as shabby as he’d imagined it would be. Children ran underfoot just as they did in the outskirts of his own city, and women called to each other as they spun thread and ground corn. He’d been walking for perhaps half an hour, heading deeper into the city, when he heard a name that gave him pause.

A group of women had gathered in an open courtyard to spin maguey fibers; one, middle-aged, sat down on the outside of their little circle and commented, “Saw our Acatl the other day.”

Acatl was a common name, but the degree of pride in her voice suggested he was more than just a fellow peasant. If he squinted, he thought he could make out a certain family resemblance—that girl shared his nose, and that woman had a precise copy of his jaw. Cousins, then. He made a production of stretching and leaning against the wall of the opposite house, for all the world as though he was fascinated by the birds in the tree branches above, and watched as a woman with red ribbons twined through her marriage braids perked up noticeably at her words. “Oh? How’s he doing?”

Their arbiter of knowledge grinned as she set her spindle whirling. “Seemed to be doin’ quite well for himself; had a nice new pair of silver earrings and all.”

Now that was interesting; Acatl was entitled to a degree of splendor as a High Priest, but her tone suggested he’d only recently begun to take advantage of it. Red Ribbons nudged the woman next to her. “Remember when he went off to calmecac and announced he’d stay on as a priest? His parents were furious!”

General sighs around the circle. Nezahual privately marked down Acatl’s parents as idiots.

A buxom woman in a flower-embroidered blouse muttered, “What a waste.”

Though this mildly blasphemous statement seemed to meet with some approval, the older woman let out a defensive huff. “Hey—he’s an excellent priest! Our Acatl, a High Priest!”

Flower Blouse sighed wistfully, a motion which did interesting things to her chest. “I know, Auntie. I’m sure you’re proud. But...he’s so handsome.”

There were collective nods. One girl clasped a hand to her chest and gazed wistfully up at the heavens, as though the mere thought of Acatl was enough to send her into rapture. Nezahual raised an eyebrow. While that is certainly an apt enough descriptor if you’re into older men, his personality...then again, I do seem to have a knack for running into him in stressful times. Stressful times he’d occasionally caused, but that was besides the point.

Red Ribbons looked thoughtful. “No wonder all the girls were so upset. Remember Huchimitl?”

A slender woman with her hair in a maiden’s plait smirked at her. “Just the girls? Because I remember your husband, when he was young—”

“Her husband, then? My brother, now! You should have heard him when he was at the boy’s calmecac, it was all Acatl-tzin this and Acatl-tzin that—“

“Girls!” Their auntie aimed a scorching glare around the circle, and all five of them suddenly found their spindles utterly fascinating. “You should be ashamed, gossiping like that about our High Priest for the Dead!”

The maiden was either brave or suicidal. “Auntie, you started it…”

“I was merely telling you what I saw!” She sniffed. “Ridiculous girl, it’s hardly my fault if our Acatl wants to finally take advantage of his place in the world—the Duality knows it took him long enough. Why, I remember when you all were young...”

Judging by the assembled eye-rolls and badly stifled groans, it seemed she was about to break into one of the dreaded When I Was Your Age speeches bemoaned by younger generations everywhere. Nezahual had heard his fair share as a child, and had no intention of staying and listening to this one.

Accordingly, he pushed off from the wall and continued on his way with a thoughtful hum. Clearly, Teomitl would have significant competition in the—vanishingly unlikely, he’d seen the way Acatl reacted to the suggestion of sexual intercourse—event of Acatl ever breaking his vows of chastity. Still, he mused. New earrings, for a man who never wears any. The pup must be trying very hard.

Hm. His last meal had been just after dawn, and he was getting hungry. The market should be packed at this time of day, and he had an excellent memory of a certain old grandmother’s tamales. He steered himself towards it.

&

Tenochtitlan’s main market was, indeed, packed. He felt the cacao beans and gold-filled quills wrapped in his cloak, gaze drifting over stalls selling jewelry and knives and caged animals. A woman on a spread-out blanket was haggling intently over the price of a caged parrot; her neighbor was trying desperately to interest a sacred courtesan in a length of orange cotton. At another time he might have bought both—he could always use a sacrifice to Xochiquetzal, just to be polite—but the smell of roasted meat was distracting.

He wound up buying two tamales, leaning against a tree to eat them just in time to avoid bumping into a porter with a load of bulky, fragile feather fans. Quetzal feathers predominated, a blazing iridescent green, but he spied bright blue cotinga and the delicate reddish-pink of spoonbill feathers as well. They were fit for a nobleman, if not the imperial court itself, and he wondered which featherworker’s shop had turned them out.

They were apparently quite impressive to the merchant manning a blanket full of wicker baskets, who remarked, “...Big order.”

The porter shrugged, adjusting his hold as the topmost fan made a bid for freedom from its carrying strap. “Oh, these? Straight to the Temple of Mictlantecuhtli.”

“Again?!”

“Yep.”

The merchant blinked slowly. “...Tlaloc’s green dick, who died?”

Another shrug. The errant fan hit the ground, and he swore as he knelt to pick it up. “Nobody important, so far as I know. At least, not recently.”

Given the way the merchant leaned forward, eyes gleaming as he lowered his voice, he’d come to the same conclusion Nezahual was rapidly arriving at himself. Such expensive feathers were either payments for services rendered, or...well. Payments for services you hoped would be rendered. Nezahual stopped chewing momentarily, the better to eavesdrop on the man’s murmur of “Must be a personal gift.”

That got a snort and a badly hidden grin. “Dunno why they bother. Acatl-tzin’s just gonna sell ‘em and give the proceeds to the poor anyway.”

“Pft, you have no romance in your soul—oh, I’ll let you go.” He’d spotted a potential customer, and beamed encouragingly at the woman who’d made the mistake of getting too close with intent to buy.

As the porter trudged off, Nezahual returned his focus to his lunch. They were really excellent tamales, spiced meat punctuated by the sharp bite of roasted chilies. He wondered if the woman who sold them would be interested in moving to Texcoco. It’s generally frowned upon to kidnap your allies’ citizens, but I might just risk it for more of these. It wasn’t like Tizoc would care, after all. Acatl might—the man was irritatingly principled—but a man who would sell that many expensive gifts to feed the poor probably wouldn’t complain too strenuously if one old woman got a new job in Nezahual’s palace kitchens.

He shook his head, biting back the smirk that wanted to escape. Poor, stupid Teomitl. That’s not a man that can be bribed onto your mat.

A pair of market girls passed by arm in arm, snapping their gum. He was about to tune them out, but their chatter snuck into his ears anyway.

The one in the pink blouse had a particularly chirpy voice; it would be just the thing to cheer him up after a tedious day, as long as she never brought up her current conversational topic again. “Did you really see the Master of the House of Darts down by the knife-seller the other day?”

Her companion—pale blue skirt, yellow makeup—nodded cheerfully. “Mm-hmm!”

A long, wistful sigh. “Mihmatini-tzin is so lucky.”

Blue Skirt puffed her cheeks out thoughtfully. “I wonder when he’ll take a concubine or two…”

That earned her a cheerful, laughing shove. “What, you think you’ll stand a chance?”

She was promptly shoved back, nearly colliding with a young man carrying a load of blankets as she cackled. “I just might!”

The joy in both girls’ faces was infectious, and Nezahual found himself with a genuine grin. Pink Blouse was smirking widely at her friend, showing off teeth that had been dyed a brilliant red. “You’ve got some competition, don’t you?”

“...Hm. I guess so. But...Teomitl-tzin’s really handsome.”

While Nezahual found himself regretting his decision to go incognito—neither girl had noticed him, and he was sure they’d revise their opinion of Teomitl’s supposed good looks if a better option presented himself—Pink Blouse let out a crack of laughter. “Hah!” Gum snapped cheerfully between her teeth as she added, “You’re not the only one who thinks so, I’ll tell you!”

He wondered who those people were—besides Mihmatini, who was proof positive that love made you blind and stupid. Nobody who looked that much like Tizoc could be that handsome, surely. Maybe on a foggy night. At a good distance. But before they could elaborate, he lost them in the crowd.

Both tamales were becoming distant memories, and he closed his eyes against the glare of the day to ponder his next move. Atempan and the markets had been enlightening, but they wouldn’t give him the answers he sought. He knew the palace would be his best bet, but there would be questions and politics and Tizoc there, none of which he especially felt like dealing with. At least not yet.

The Sacred Precinct was on his way, so he’d walk slowly. And if he engaged in the time-honored pastime of flirting with the next pretty girl he saw, that was absolutely besides the point.

&

It was mid-afternoon by the time he crossed over the canals to the Precinct walls, but the open plaza was as crowded as the markets had been. He kept his ears open and his mouth shut anyway. You could learn a lot from gossip if you were quiet. You could learn even more if you were Quetzalcoatl’s agent in the Fifth World, but he decided not to press his luck yet. His attendants were still keeping a significant distance behind him, and calling on the Feathered Serpent was something he preferred not to do in public. People always made such a fuss when your eyes rolled back in your head and spectral scales shimmered along your arms.

Ahead of him, one priest of Huitzilopochtli was huddling with another. He slowed his pace and pretended to be very interested in the sight of two sacred courtesans bickering.

The younger of the two priests was looking around warily, but his gaze slid right past Nezahual without seeing him. He clearly had different, worse problems. “...Quenami-tzin still seething?”

“Mmyep.”

“...I think I’ll take the long way back to the temple.” Nezahual couldn’t judge the priest for his wince; being under Quenami’s power had been bad enough for him, and he had been an Emperor since boyhood.

It didn’t take a genius to imagine why he was in a bad mood now. He remembered that load of feathers for the temple of Mictlantecuhtli, and smirked to himself. I can only imagine what he thinks of a peasant’s son accruing so many riches—and then to give them away! All because Teomitl thinks Acatl is one to be courted like a maiden.

The older and wiser priest nodded, but he was already distracted. The two bickering courtesans had descended to a screaming match, with vocabulary even Nezahual hadn’t heard employed in quite that way. It was fascinatingly undignified. “Good idea.”

“I mean, can you blame him?”

“It’s not Acatl-tzin’s fault that he—“

But Nezahual’s pace had slowed too much, and whatever wasn’t Acatl-tzin’s fault was lost when he nearly collided with a priestess carrying an armload of bloodstained grass balls. Since they had a regrettable tendency to roll all over the place when dropped, and since he had been raised with manners, he had to stop and help her pick them up. By the time they were finished, the priests had moved off.

He sighed. There was nothing for it; he’d have to enter the palace.

&

As he’d predicted, it was a unique form of torture. He’d met up with his attendants, so at least he was properly dressed for the obligatory good-to-see-you-glad-you’re-not-dead-yet audience with Tizoc-tzin, but having to listen to the man’s voice sucked all the pleasure out of what should have been a soothingly rote speech. It would take time for a proper banquet to be arranged, leaving him with several hours of free time he seriously debated spending in the women’s quarters. It would probably be worth it if he got caught. Tizoc was almost definitely not up to the task of entertaining a lady, and the women were sure to be bored.

He’d made up his mind to try it when he ran into Teomitl. Almost literally ran into, in fact; the man was striding through the palace corridors at his usual brisk pace, only to stop dead when he saw him. He was wearing the red cloak of an off-duty Master of the House of Darts and a frown.

After a pause just long enough to be insulting, he addressed him. Aww, he was learning politics. “Nezahual-tzin.” A stiff, perfunctory bow. “What brings you here?”

“Would you believe a diplomatic visit?” He tried for his most winning smile.

It didn’t work. Teomitl’s eyes narrowed, and when he drew himself up Nezahual realized that the man was still taller than him. Every line of his body screamed irritation. “...No.”

He paused for an instant, considering, and then let his smile widen. It had always been fun to needle Teomitl, even when they were children—the man was always so serious, so dignified. Of course there was a place for such things, but if the man was in love...it would be terribly amusing to watch that dignity crack. “It is! I heard some very...interesting things about your lovely city on my way here, you know.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Apparently Acatl-tzin’s very well-liked.”

Teomitl’s fists clenched briefly, then relaxed. Oh, he was touchy. “As he should be.”

And quick to jump to Acatl’s defense, as well—there’d been no hesitation in his words. Nezahual remembered the day they’d rescued Acatl from a traitor’s death; it had been the only time he’d ever seen Teomitl so frantic. Acatl had been oblivious then, and he was oblivious now. “A shame he hasn’t noticed. I’ve heard he’s gotten some expensive gifts recently.”

“Mm.” His jaw was tight, and he was resolutely not meeting Nezahual’s gaze. There was a faint tinge of red in his dark face.

Nezahual fought an urge to snicker. Allied ruler or no, they were presently alone in the courtyard and he didn’t particularly care for being punched in the face. The jade rod piercing his septum as a symbol of his rule was just as breakable as his nose was, after all. “Is he the sort of person who enjoys a bit of luxury? Do you suppose he’s the sort of person who’d then think kindly of the sender? You know him so well, after all.”

Teomitl sucked in a breath. “I suppose it’s none of your business, Nezahual-tzin. Good day.”

Then he stormed off, and Nezahual didn’t stop him. Baiting Teomitl was highly entertaining, but he’d had his try at that for the moment. Until the banquet, he’d enjoy himself in more leisurely pursuits.

The banquet, when it came, was fascinating to watch.

Mihmatini and Teomitl sat together, and he found himself studying them. She was radiant in feathers and jewels, but were her eyes tight around the edges? Did she suspect that her husband was besotted with someone else? It had been blindingly obvious to him even when he’d attended their wedding; he’d made it through the ceremony and half the feast before he’d had to sneak off to laugh himself sick. Mihmatini was an intelligent woman, but...well, love did make you blind.

Or maybe she’s just trying not to see it. Of course, all men took their pleasure where they pleased, but he imagined it had to be much different—much worse for the wife—when the one your husband had designs on was your own elder brother. But they weren’t acting as though anything was amiss; as the evening wore on, she leaned against her husband’s shoulder, and Nezahual strongly suspected she was holding his hand where he couldn’t see. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think Teomitl had never gone behind her back to overthrow his brother.

...Speaking of brothers…

He turned his gaze to Tizoc’s gilded screen. Tizoc had always hated priests in general and Acatl in particular; his attempt to get the man killed proved that. The part of Nezahual’s mind that was always turning over schemes and inspecting them from new angles wondered idly how he’d react if he knew his younger brother was interested in his greatest foe, if that was something he could use...but no, he wouldn’t sink that low. Teomitl was not an enemy he wanted to have when the man became Revered Speaker in his turn. And an enemy I’d have in truth, if I did something to jeopardize the life of his favorite priest.

Who, to Nezahual’s surprise, was in attendance. Apparently his unannounced visit was judged a significantly important occasion to merit the presence of all three High Priests. Acatl was seated between his fellows, wearing full regalia and an expression which suggested that if either man tried to speak to him, he’d drown them in their soup bowls. Next to him, Quenami was grinding his teeth; it appeared his foul mood had persisted all day, and Nezahual would bet quite a lot that it had something to do with the silver earrings in Acatl’s ears. They weren’t large or ornate, but they glittered where they caught the torchlight.

As he watched, Acatl turned his head in Teomitl’s direction, and their eyes met. Teomitl, caught in the middle of raising a soup bowl to his lips, flushed and set it down.

Nezahual tried very hard not to start cackling into his grilled turkey.

&

In the end, the confirmation of all those rumors was an accident. He really didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But he’d been about to turn in for his own mat when the idea struck him, and so before he could think better of it he was on his way to Teomitl’s chambers. Maybe the man would spill something interesting if he prodded him hard enough.

Teomitl’s chambers turned out to be occupied.

Very occupied.

To give them credit, they were trying to be quiet; if he hadn’t been actually in the courtyard and aiming for silence himself, he might not have heard them. But there was a very familiar rustle of cloth, and the distinct crackle of a thin reed mat, and then—

He knew that voice. He knew it very well, even though he’d never heard it like that.

“Ah, hah, Acatl…”

Impossible.

He sat down hard in the packed dirt, feeling his world rearrange itself to make room for the noises he was hearing. That was Teomitl, half-breathless with pleasure, and that was Acatl’s answering indistinct murmur, and that was the faint slap of flesh against flesh, and that was the steady rustling of reed mats under a man’s weight. He’d thought Teomitl pining, trying desperately to catch his dignified tutor’s attention. The idea that he’d succeeded...

He realized he faced a crossroads. He could slink away while they were busy with each other—undoubtedly the honorable choice. He could interrupt them—crude, dishonorable, and likely to result in severe physical pain if not immediate death.

Or he could sit down in Teomitl’s courtyard to wait.

He found himself waiting for a long time—enough to pick out the constellations above his head and develop a certain respect for Acatl’s stamina, but not long enough for him to fully pin down what he was going to say. It seemed he might owe Teomitl some sort of apology, which was a distasteful thought. He could bear it, though. Apologies, advice, perhaps some gentle mockery—yes, that was how he’d deal with this.

Eventually the sounds from within faded to a quiet conversation, and then to the faint rustle of someone getting to their feet. He glanced idly at the entrance curtain as its bells jingled, taking in the sight of a formerly-chaste High Priest making his escape from a lover’s embrace. The key word there being formerly; Acatl may have once sworn a vow of chastity and celibacy, but he’d clearly not so much broken it as shattered it to pieces and performed a merry dance on the shards. There were the faint marks of teeth in his collarbone and bruises at his hip, and his previously neat hair was in disorder.

Oh, and he was staring at Nezahual in open horror, such that Teomitl scrambled up off the mat and all but knocked him aside in order to take up a protective stance in the doorway. Any moment now, the open horror would transmute itself to outrage.

Absolutely nothing could have stopped his tongue. “You two seem to have had a very pleasant evening.”

Teomitl had clearly gotten as good as he gave; there were the beginnings of some fantastic marks on his throat. Much more important, however, was that his eyes had gone solid jade, and the air was starting to fill with the scent of the lake. “You.”

“Teomitl!” Acatl seemed to have shaken off his horror; now he laid a hand on his lover’s arm as though that alone would stop him from doing violence. Then again, he’d seen the man accomplish the same with words before.

“Acatl…” It came out in a snarl. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Nezahual, who was beginning to feel some mild concern.

“Look, if you kill him, it’s a diplomatic incident and it’ll start a war with Texcoco!”

“...And?”

“And I think Tizoc-tzin will probably want to know why!”

Nezahual decided he could probably risk interjecting. Acatl was being reassuringly sensible about the whole thing, and Teomitl’s eyes were returning to their normal dark brown. “I heard some very interesting rumors in Texcoco. You’re lucky that Tizoc-tzin never thinks beyond threats to his person.”

He watched as Acatl and Teomitl exchanged uneasy looks. It was Acatl who spoke, with his gaze fixed on Nezahual; the air around him grew measurably colder, though it didn’t seem to affect Teomitl at all. “...Rumors?”

He’d had a lot of time to stitch together the day’s overheard conversations into a cohesive whole, and he discovered he was amused by the tapestry it presented. “You two, together, seem to be rather a...popular notion among the people of Tenochtitlan. Aside from Huitzilopochtli’s clergy, of course.”

Both men recoiled for a moment, their faces red, and then they spoke at once. “I—“

“—That is—“

He held up a hand. “I won’t breathe a word.”

Teomitl’s eyes narrowed, cold as the bottom of the lake. He saw jade reflections dance in their depths. “You wouldn’t be so accommodating unless you want something from us.”

He’d also had a lot of time to determine what that something would be. It seemed a simple favor, and one unlikely to cause offense. Not with what he’d seen. “...Should Tizoc-tzin’s death come with a reasonable amount of warning…”

He paused, watching the way both men stiffened. Acatl’s fingers twitched as though to take Teomitl’s hand before he visibly pulled himself back; Nezahual couldn’t help but smile. As though we don’t all know the useless craven isn’t long for this world.

“You let me tell him on his deathbed.”

Teomitl was still suspicious, but he seemed inclined to listen. “...Why?”

“Star-demons,” he said promptly. He’d seen them only at a distance, but the carnage—the bodies in pieces, such as he’d never even seen on the worst battlefields—had stuck stubbornly in his mind. And to know it was Tizoc’s fault...yes, he’d be very much pleased with the chance to make the man’s last moments that little bit worse.

“...I’ll give you that,” Teomitl muttered.

“Excellent!” He affixed a charming grin to his face. “So we have an accord. I must confess, I really hadn’t expected Acatl-tzin to be swayed by pretty silver earrings. I would have held out for solid gold—“

Through gritted teeth, Acatl snapped, “I think you should leave.”

Since he didn’t want to be an ahuitzotl’s dinner—an annoyingly likely scenario, given the way Teomitl was vibrating with rage—he left. Quickly.

EXTRA: Some Weeks Earlier

Teomitl’s life changed irrevocably over lunch, of all things.

He’d started showing up at Acatl’s house with tamales after a long, frustrating argument with the rest of the war council regarding preparations for the next campaign, when he’d only wanted to comfort himself with the thought that at least he could do one useful thing by making sure the man he loved remembered to eat that day. It had quickly become a routine. Hearing Acatl’s voice, seeing him smile...it was good. It was all he would ever get, but it was good. He’d become an expert at ruthlessly beating back the corner of his heart that still stupidly yearned for more. He knew he wasn’t going to get it.

Even if Acatl kept looking at him. And smiling. And laughing, sometimes, a half-disbelieving chuckle that made his heart do unpleasant things in his chest.

Acatl wasn’t laughing now. He’d seemed preoccupied all day, and barely picked at his food. Teomitl’s chest hurt, and he told it sternly to cease. If you keep doing this to me, he told his heart, I will have you removed. Today’s meal had been worryingly quiet.

Acatl broke the silence without looking up from his half-eaten tamale. “...I heard some...interesting rumors from my cousins yesterday.”

Teomitl swallowed. Acatl had a lot of cousins. Not as many as he did—he could still count them all and didn’t need a chart to figure out how they were related—but a lot. It was probably nothing. “Oh?”

“They seem to think your feelings for me are…” He trailed off, and Teomitl had the pleasure of seeing him blush. It almost distracted him from the heartstopping terror coursing through his veins. “...Not quite platonic.”

“Ngyrk,” he said intelligently.

Acatl dropped his gaze to the floor. “...I try not to give credence to gossip.” He swallowed visibly. “But.”

“But,” he echoed. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, the earth he sat on would sink into the lake. Or one of the gods—at this point he wasn’t picky—would strike him down.

Acatl drew a slow, hesitant breath. He still wasn’t looking at him, and Teomitl realized his hands were starting to shake. His own were only spared that indignity by balling themselves up into fists so tight that his nails cut into his palms. “...If...they were accurate…”

He managed to force the words out somehow. I am no coward. If he’s going to throw my heart back in my face, I can damn well meet it head-on. “If they were? What would you do, Acatl-tzin?”

“...I’d say we should be more discreet, for starters.”

We. His heart leapt, and this time he didn’t tell it to stop. He could barely breathe; the dread had faded, and pure joy was fizzling up to replace it. “Does that mean you—“

Acatl pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help him up as well. “It means, I think we should continue this discussion inside.”

They didn’t wind up doing much talking.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Ghost” Part 1

Bane’s wife is a mystery to everyone, including her husband. Ghost also happens to be The Joker’s little obsession, not that she ever pays attention to him. Maybe that’s why The King of Gotham should stop messing around: when you push too much, you might get more than you bargained for.

“Boss,” Frost makes his presence known in the VIP room. “Ghost is here.”

“Don’t make her wait,” The Clown growls and Jonny nods in acceptance, aware the woman’s infamous temper might create some unwanted trouble if she gets delayed from her schedule.

The Joker passes his fingers through the neon green hair, not that it needs fixing; he also unbuttons another button from his purple shirt, only two of them holding the garment together now. A quick glance to the other man present here: still on the couch facing the windows depicting the busy night at the club; earbuds in while listening to an important cell phone message received a few minutes ago.

Might as well take advantage of the situation.

You part the sparkly beads and enter the premises, immediately positioning yourself on the loveseat across from The Joker’s without any invitation.

“Hi Mister J,” you flatly greet without any trace of emotion.

“Hello Ghost,” The King of Gotham checks out the guest since he finds the creature totally fascinating.

I mean, why wouldn’t he be captivated? You have white hair shaved on the left side that’s meant to expose the skull tattoo you got after you’ve met your husband; smoky, dark red eyeshadow and glossy lips. You always wear black, tight skin leather suits and boots; not high heeled because it’s not your style: more like the heavy military kind, custom ordered to match your spouse’s.  

“I have a business proposal; name your price,” The Joker grins and you give him a cold stare.

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to kill Bane for me.”

“Why?” you tilt your head in annoyance.

“I can’t stand him,” the honest response prompts retaliation from the guy that finally realized you’re there and just took his earbuds off:

“Stop hitting on my wife!” Bane huffs, displeased with J’s nonsense.

You’re not a big fan of The Joker either, yet you attempt to avoid useless conflict.

“I’m going to get me a drink. HB, want one?” you address your husband and he signals for his favorite.

“Triple shot of whiskey, no ice.”

“Be right back,” you announce and prepare to leave but tonight’s host is not happy with the outcome:

“I want a drink too.”

“Ask your girlfriend,” you cut J off and he underlines:

“She’s not here yet.”

“Too bad and so sad,” Y/N grumbles while vanishing from the VIP room.

Bane can’t hold in a very amused chuckle and choses to start something for the heck of it:

“Imagine being with a strong minded woman that does what she wants.”

J is far from receptive about Bane’s insinuation, definitely mad you brushed him off:

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Did you ever hear the expression: jerk to the world but not to your girl?” Bane’s distorted tone amplifies today’s advice. “You might want to apply that to your fragile relationships.”

“Spare me your wisdom, HB!” The Clown Prince of Crime emphasizes the initials, deciding to counterattack. “B is from Bane, obviously,” he thinks he found something to make fun of. “H Comes from… Herbert? Hugh? Hedwig?”

Your spouse would love to wipe out J’s almighty smirk with a punch; savoring the aftermath of telling him the truth is infinitely better:

“HB comes from Handsome Brute; my wife calls me that.”

The Joker doesn’t have time to comment though: Y/N returns with the drinks and positions herself on Bane’s knees, helping him taking off his mask so he can enjoy his whiskey.

“Hey Ghost, how come you don’t smile or laugh?” The King of Gotham continues to be obnoxious, still upset you didn’t indulge his request for a beverage.

“I do,” you reply and guzzle down half of your drink at once. “HB makes me laugh all the time; he’s hilarious.”

J glares at the couple with his mouth slightly open; it’s fair to say you are probably the most serious people he does business with. I mean, sometimes you have this expression on your face that could pass as a grin in disguise and your husband…well, the way he looks makes it impossible to imagine him cracking up about anything.

“Duly noted,” The Joker scoffs and Frost suddenly yells loud enough to be heard from outside the VIP room:

“Sir, the truck is here!”

J gets pumped up and rushes out, urging his companions to follow. “Come on, let’s see if it was worth the wait!”

But Y/N and her spouse don’t oblige: Bane finishes his drink in one sip and you place your glass on the small coffee table nearby, casually mentioning:

“I’m late.”

“No you’re not,” he’s fast to disagree while pointing at his wrist watch. “You’re always on time.”

You place his hand on your tummy and it clicks.

“Oooh,” Bane gulps and his wife has to add the necessary info:

“Just a little bit over a week, might be nothing. I’ll have to check it out.”

“Oh my God…” he zones out since the possibility of becoming a father sounds exciting and terrifying all at once. “We might have created a tiny Ghost.”

“Maybe, but I have to let you know I have no idea how to be a mom.”

“Me neither,” his witty answer makes you snort before bursting out laughing like crazy.

The Joker is on the hallway and stops, confused: he’s returning to the VIP section to see why you didn’t follow him, yet the contagious snickering coming from inside baffles his mind: are you two laughing?!

“Bane!! Ghost!! Are you coming or not?!” he shouts and the chuckle slowly dies out as you help your other half put on the mask. 

“Yeah, coming!” the pair joins The Clown towards the exit leading to the private parking lot behind the club.

“What were you talking about?” J curiously inquires.

“Personal stuff,” Bane gives an elusive explanation and opens the emergency door, firmly halting The Joker’s movement. “Ladies first!”

“For God’s sake,” J puffs and waits for you to pass by.

“Where are your manners, hm?” your husband scolds since he doesn’t approve of the host’s behavior.

“Would you give it a rest?!” The King of Gotham impatiently speeds up, fed up with Bane’s bickering.

As you walk towards the truck, you notice something you don’t like: the new muscle hired just a week ago is smoking without a care in the universe. You stomp towards him, yank the cigarette out of his fingers and step on it, aggravated:

“No smoking around my husband; you know the rule!!!”

The crew knows this is law simply because Bane has breathing problems but Lenox decides to mumble a thing or two to himself regarding the feisty woman. That’s too bad: your spouse doesn’t like it one bit. You don’t even have a chance to react to the observations since the goon is slammed against the nearest SUV by a very enraged husband.

“My wife’s a Goddess, you fucking asshole! You’re lucky if she blinks your way!”

The man is trying to escape the tight grip, the elbow forcefully pushing into his Adam’s apple not budging.

“I’m s-sorry boss,” Lenox struggles to speak and the noise of broken bone brings the quarrel to an end.

“You’re fired!” are the last words the henchman distinguishes as his limp body falls to the ground.    

The Joker’s girlfriend sneaks up and grabs his hand, uneasy about what she just witnessed.

“Elected to show up?!” J growls, instantaneously criticizing her lack of coordination. “I told you to be here at 7pm sharp!”

“Sorry baby, there was a lot of traffic on the freeway. What happened?”

”Ugggh,” The Clown scoffs, unwilling to describe the events. “Clean up the mess!” he orders and pushes her arm away since he’s not in the mood for cheap affection.

Kara sighs, upset she can’t squeeze any type of intimacy from him except for the instances when they sleep together. The Joker abandons her, more interested in Ghost because she’s already digging in some crates lowered from the truck, not even phased by Bane’s performance.

“Did you find items that strike your fancy?” he hovers over your boxes.

“Yeah, this gun, “ you show him the pistol decorated with skulls. “ Matches my motorcycle.”

“Very nice,” he praises your option and leans to whisper: “One of these days I would love to sink my teeth in you. I bet you taste good.”

Such an inappropriate remark would usually prompt a punch or a bullet from your part, yet you are dealing with the dreadful Joker: he’s not worth the trouble. Instead you lift your tight sleeve higher, exposing skin that you take directly to his lips.

“Go ahead then: take a bite, this way we can all go on with our lives.”

In the meantime, Bane is talking to his mercenaries, instructing them to load the merchandise he’ll pick in the trunks of the bigger cars.  

“Ghost!” he calls out. “I need you to lead the convoy afterwards!”

Apparently you have your hand up to The Joker’s mouth: did he blur out some crap again?! Definitely.

Yet you abandon your problem-project, waving at your husband.

Kara approaches also, not understanding what she saw from a distance.

“Hi Ghost,” the woman sadly acknowledges, jealous The Clown’s unwanted flirting might interfere with their already frail arrangement.  

“Hey,” you elegantly reject more dialogue, pretending to be immersed in your task.

“I’ll go see what else we received,” J groans and shamelessly discloses his thoughts with his girlfriend standing right there. “When you get bored with Bane, maybe you’ll allow me to make you my Queen.”

Kara’s heart sinks at his indifference regarding her hurt feelings; Ghost certainly has no patience for his shenanigans.

“I’m already someone’s Goddess and I’d rather die than settle for less!”

The Joker smirks, groping his girlfriend in the process. He hops in the truck, starting to search the containers, entirely ignoring Kara and your reply to his proposal.

She sniffles after the humiliation on having her man utter such aberrations straight under her nose.

“You have to keep him in a leash; he sure loves to bark a lot,” you feel the urge to add, irritated she’s such a pushover. “I’m not interested in his rubbish,” you take pity on her pathetic demeanor. “He’s totally howling at the wrong tree mostly to exasperate you and my husband.”

Kara nods a yes, unconvinced her boyfriend’s reasons are the same with the ones you’re illustrating; she tried to unsuccessfully befriend you for a while now, her desire linked to J’s twisted interest in another guy’s wife. Her logic is not the greatest: if you believe getting close to the woman your partner has a special attraction for will help your case, then you should recheck your priorities.

Ghost never gave a damn about becoming Kara’s buddy since she doesn’t tolerate people to begin with. Except Bane. He’s special.

“Mmm…” The Joker’s girl fusses with her minuscule purse,”do you happen to have a pad? I thought I had an extra one in here.”

“Nope, but my husband does,” you serenely admit.

“Huh?” she hums, completely baffled.

“HB!!!” you get his attention. “I need you for a sec!”

He comes to meet you at the end of the truck, lowering himself so you can reach his heavy vest. One of the many pockets contains the required product and you can’t help but soothe his disappointment:

“No worries, it’s not for me,” you wink and he exhales, relieved.

As soon as Bane returns by his side, The Joker has to say it:

“You often carry feminine hygiene articles inside your gear?”

“Ghost might need it,” your spouse marvels at J’s question. “You don’t do that for your girl?!”

J doesn’t like to be put on the spot, yet your spouse grills him on regular basis as a payback for The Clown’s numerous offenses.

“I have no space,” he wiggles his way out of it.

“You got pockets attached to your fancy suits, correct? I’m sure you have enough anatomy knowledge to understand such matters and how simple it is to improve your woman’s life with such a small thing.”

“Would you give me a break?!” J interrupts Bane. “Nobody cares to hear about how perfect you are.”

HB doesn’t appreciate the irony in The King’s tone:

“You’re so hopeless,” he justly deduces, raising a massive crate with ammo he finds useful for his team. “I’ll take half of everything,” Bane changes subject, actually bored with teasing The Joker.

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

The convoy is exiting the parking lot following your lead: you usually ride your motorcycle in front of the vehicles, scouting ahead when necessary. You never know when there’s a road blockage or accident where cops will be patrolling the area; it’s wiser to steer clear of redundant trouble.

Your husband is driving the first truck behind you, followed by four more vans and six SUV’s. He wouldn’t have it any other way: Bane’s addicted to the nice view of seeing Ghost mounted on her customized Harley Davidson: skulls painted against a shiny, clear background to match her tattoo, a gift from him for your four year wedding anniversary.

“Your butt looks very nice on that bike,” he compliments and you giggle through the mike in your helmet. “I can’t wait to…”

“Boss,” Eric cuts in. “You forgot to switch the frequency to the other line; we can all hear you.”

“Goddamned jerks!” Bane groans and pushes the red button on his walkie-talkie, vexed he forgot to switch the channels.

Again.

You laugh at his frustration, finding it priceless this keeps on happening.

“Yes, I know you can’t wait to get home,” you snort and accelerate. “Me too; it’s been a long day and sex is bound to do the trick and wind us down.”

Watching Ghost’s long, white hair flying in the wind makes Bane even more impatient.

“We might need to pull over, not sure I can make it.”

“You have to,” his wife advices. “Otherwise we’ll be late and we might bump into traffic coming from 205 Southbound.”

“Shit…” he reckons you’re not wrong. “I’ll try my best but I can’t make any promises.”

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

After two hours

You ignore the first knock. The second and third also.  

“Jesus!” you moan, disappointed with the interference.

Bane continues to kiss your neck, making his way down your cleavage: he sure adores the red, skimpy little bra you’re wearing.

More knocking.

“You must be kidding me!” you grind your teeth and get off him, leaving a disappointed husband hanging by a thread.

“If it’s one of the boys I’ll bash their brains in!” he threatens and you tug on the door handle, prepared to lash out when the sight of Kara catches you by surprise.

“Yes?...” you roll of eyes at the unwelcomed visitor while wrapping the bathrobe around your frame.

“Hi Ghost,” she swallows her tears and you can see she is fighting to stay calm. “Is J here?”

“No.”

“He’s not answering his phone,” she gulps and nervously bundles in the thin coat she’s wearing, unconsciously attempting to cover her ripped skirt.

“Well, he’s not here,” you make it short but something about her strange behavior causes a small investigation. “What’s wrong?”

She chokes and suddenly bursts out crying, struggling to articulate the sentences. 

“J l-eft me at the c-club to wait for him and o-one…one of the bouncers tried to rape m-me.”

You’re silent for a few moments before inviting her in your home. No wonder security let her pass: they recognized The Joker’s girlfriend and assumed she was expected.

“This way,” you guide her towards the living room, gesturing for one of the chairs. “Sit!”

She can’t stop sobbing and you pour some bourbon in a glass, encouraging her to drink.

“Finish this!”

Kara sips the alcohol and her shaky hands almost drop the container.

You take a blanket from the sofa and cover her with it, immediately snatching your cell from the table.

You touch the screen and it rings just once.

“Hello there.”

He sure picked up right away.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?!”

“I just did.”

“Your girlfriend is trying to reach you!” Ghost mutters, literally pissed at his conduct.

“I’m busy,” he takes the easy way out and you are instantly fired up:

“If you would pay attention to Kara instead of wasting your charms on a married woman maybe the idiots working for you wouldn’t assume they can take liberties without any type of consequences!!!!”

J is stunned you’re screaming like that, yet he wants to find out what’s going on.

“What do you mean?!”

“One of your bouncers at the club tried to rape her and you won’t even answer her calls!”

The King of Gotham is dumbfounded and speechless for once since someone would dare such an affront.

“Lemme talk to her,” he requires and you hand over the phone to the horrified girlfriend; she has a difficult time telling him the details of her scary experience and how she barely escaped the attack.

You keep on gazing at her, Kara’s misfortune striking a chord within your soul: her situation reminds you of your past, although the circumstances were quite different.

Five years ago, Y/N survived her faith; the man responsible for creating the Goddess she is today saved her and didn’t ask for anything in return, not even for a name.

Although she told him once.

And he decided there’s nothing better than a mysterious Ghost, except being loved by one.

Also read: MASTERLIST

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

[castlehead]

: LITTLE MILE,

PART ONE : : [live for the weekend and buy grams of blow with your paycheck.

see section A. feel good about going for walks. work thru a long distance relationship and get through the suicidal shit okay. then

break promises but also keep a few, not to keep up appearances but you wish rather to keep the purity of your word, which is hard fucking work. wait till she comes for a visit after super long time

apart and spread some roses on the bed because she likes that sort of thing. leave oreos on the pillow as oreos are delicious. ride her later in the night about that time you smoked six cigarettes in five

minutes as she was blowing xanax to prove a point. go to sleep crying but remember a few special moments as well and base your memories around that. see GOD for awhile but then decide it was

bullshit and perhaps just your conscience given a literal voice. see section A. hear nobody text you for days and understand some weird nonsensical ehrebung at really enjoying a smoke for the first

time in the morning as you look out the window. it is brisk and sunny and the bricks of the buildings look beautiful. think what a day what a day etc. then actually try to accomplish something with friends in

PARK SLOPE. understand finally that the general agreement is you whack as shit. then find a letter from your girlfriend from awhile ago and feel uplifted all over again for some reason but as for positivity

you do not discriminate. drink horn of sun to fierce last dregs. think about whether you are actually thin or just think you get thinner when you are really just used to how fat you are. talk to your girlfriend at

a certain point mentioned in section A. while on break for way too long.

sweat out a cluttered subway ride every morning forever. decide to jump off the BROOKLYN BRIDGE then decide not to. look meaningfully at a

church because you are reading twilight of the idols. repeat a lot of different stuff at irregular intervals. repeat stuff at regular intervals. learn that those statements are an acceptable example of an irregular repetition: or is

irregular as regards time only, not difference: an irregular life has less to do with fiber than we think. an irregular life can be as varied as disposition to pate : : as feeling to brokenness, as alteration altered to fear of change

might comfort one back into the nest of ignorance : it doesn't have to mean as regards, well, anything : it itself can be fiber, a fibrous fiber: so: we scrounge for something burred underneath the soft netting: crack up: put way too much

weight in your presence at social events : leave social events early or go to sleep in front of everybody pretending to be passed out : see social events as a total stressor : don't kno what to do : never know what to do ever: social

events. assume yourself a negative, discomfited person thereby. lose all friends because you dig deep into stupidity to find a reason for it, think about it until you go blind, rectify and rectify till all's a mess: is that what you want: yes:

friends are lost based upon too many simpering blasted apologies. really wish that you will leave a good looking corpse and do leave a good looking corpse. wonder why you don’t think about childhood very often, as in the concept.

see section A. come to the conclusion that fuck yes it is too late to have a happy one but really come to understand that that doesn’t matter as all things are for a time anyway but then get pissed off about this because you then realize as well

that you are mere mortal and still fields of open grass and oak away from describing something beautiful or whatever but then also wonder that you are infinite wherein the moment is concerned: and then think about your ex

for some crazy reason because all that matters is the past as regards what you’d want to retain in some eternal rolodex of spite or some shit, or maybe it’s just you but you can’t reimburse your mom because of all the infinite

you’re feeling and tell her you can’t and she says that is okay but doesn’t mention that it is ok because the advent of your twenties was mainly depressing, and you there, in room, gnawing at psyche like some useless ape as usual say, WELL

OUT WITH IT, and there she goes finagling a fart out of her ass your mom we are speaking of your mom and her aggravation and her remnant pain from a lost job years ago because oh certainly to fail once is to fail forever

and then you as you are young realize the moment is forever and you can make it a failure and you can make it a wonderful revealing of some big thickened BLEAR asking for property, asking for sense to be given it but you

can’t you can’t justify the dread nay [beckett] nor the odd ghosts in your bathroom that time you spoke to yourself for days and and and so then so then the weekend promises at least an end to this damned ineradicable

gloom and empty state as in empty and taxing but no state of emptiness no state of gloom yet here is gloom here is the reflections of a man refusing too long to look in the damn mirror and see himself is it you or is it i or is it all

the damn farts from the woman who birthed you wanting to be the final whiffing sound as to all of your gutsy failures and drudges through fields of stone and grass and oak you paint out of a backpack and some green

carpet in your room that one time you tripped balls on a tuesday on mushrooms and the razor talked to you and proved by its unassuming nature a very grill to the face that damned long face of a son too burnt

into his own damned house and wired by the damned eternity that sounds like some resilient, grand tocsin, some priketh ye some don’t but ya know it’s all just plain forgotten and happy at that, I’d live in codes wordless

more than explain this meaninglessness and/or stain on the life of time, that is humanity: that is growth: that is the paradigm of something written, written, scratched along the judgments of your mom’s farting fucking

asshole, your grown ass self, so proud to put on pants, so good at that one joke made riskily at a party and relished ever afterwards, so good at failure, happy failure, happy, happy to enter that small crack in the sadness too, happy

to bloom out of dismissal, shunning, happy to mature past the point of needing a single reason for a fart, an end, or a waste of mind. turn 30.

repeat. [etc] see section A.] ?? . . . .

RAGE on rage on, collapse into morning day like something of a storm, at least Frightful mist, some thunder bloom / glass incipient of the troubling harrowing: Some awful precondition. Out its frightful bells: wetly dew paints grass lucent-

-And I rise away from all that in my small cave in my state an eye half open, My knuckles are red from cracking them on my own jaw very a lot that night And some banging head i.e. sleep deprivation considered itself and made it

Worse. I thwarted myself continually mind whanging useless and thickly, like Sometimes i feel like that hamster I had when I was in middle school, wasn't, That i never named - - - uh, worth, it, wasn't worth it . S'ok it's ok for things

To no be worth it. Don't cry well then here's a fucking cookie Tard. I literally Just spat up phlegm right on my computer / no joke / I am freakish, & loud Also re hamster-mortality: I kno it is tragic, my girlfriend lost HAMSTERR

Named peanut. An entire quadrant of space specking thru eyes of that thing All day . Dont think ive evr done this much speed in one night (lol) i dont think i should be able to backtalk : this quick speed = religious,

[chalk dust molars fanatical facial people crunch 'em with 'em to dust. be sure to drudge up spume in the foggy brume some master floater or for sake of interracial justice an inanimate image of justice untarnished by opinion

or blaspheme. vulgar just for sake of cashing in on the weird honey : dip in there : of big politics etc anticipatory raging, prolepsis, summoner say : ARiSE ! ! !! : my girlfriend: she is sleeping right next to the and oh like a lamb she is, right

next to the voodoo-man, shepherd, making us all fly thru the honey right into some strict objective eye, truly naked vision, making commune with image and self. - - ] She goes on dozing into me and snoring soft like a, like subtle universal truth, or

Somethin. My snot is stuck in the bakc of my skull, i feel, i feel like waking up my Girlfriend with my hands all over like tidal waves : : i know hamstermortality, to let The reader kno : it is the wave of arcanum 17 : it is, it is waft of hope, like random

Prescience. Iit is the great like space etc of all, or some completely lazy encompassing. Kewl things only exist cuz hm i guess they exist for — — time, like hamsterts, Hamsters = meaning of universe, it’s like classical semantics or fuzzy logic:

Supervaluationists predicting borderline cases!!! How many hairs must i lose before You can call me bald : for the hairs will exist alway / they will, they will scream out : They will be a thing that is they are the very fuxxx god calls logic

Slash these words apart, greet blame and slash that, grab the bags: Run from the rage then, drum up some possibility for fuel, beat legs For leagues. ‘Message’ after ye with a bat, won’t get a thing so. But

Kicked up dust he’ll cough on, sweat drooling, finally fatigued: marigolds Fooling in the wind around him, agh, long day: we run into the ‘Pome’ Later: find it sucking on a sugar lump in some coffeeshop, well, money:

Who knew, who but the pivot finally: as drain groans a fable like a job to Do. Shit twists with flood and the seagulls berating lend belief at it all with Solid statement, caw, caw, wishing, duh, To Be Done With Message

Of course, especially one that some brine of heart sloshed up: some Reticular wisdom like as hair, hateful : some weird gloss over shadow Dims the bald head, the bald ‘Message’ - the crested ol’ bigot furious

Yawp yapping damnable in that there roast for the father: big squeeze, Squeeze of animus. Finally, down the block of stillness, down dug into The brig, obstructed color, rigid air, manic doors, kids laughing at him:

Little Mile : : feel it all over again : what answers can we get to as regards You fully: an elliptical, maybe? Or trash, or earthy disarrangement, dirt, Particles resulting in flipflop, wages made but unfulfilled for good? Or

Maybe marigolds !! Breezes coming out of their loops into wiggling weight Themselves, hulking as cathedral tunes, heavy with ambiguous threadiness, And that holy torment of an ever-figuring progenitor, professor of the

'Message'—black & bleak—against the righteous curiosity, ol' puff-head, ol' Apoplectic, Sorry For The State Of - - and dese homeless parties of the Sad. The sad chase, the chase as I must do is still solo. But grand, the

Hemophilic fire, the rusty brigade o’ pleaches o’ daffy hair, dummy cunt To stake on cosmic sex, just a blowoff: still. Then. Little dragoons whiffed It up anyways and blessed the fakery past mythos into real, made a great,

Big sepulcher for all 'em fathers: all the risks at tacky jive: lagoon: great, Great swoon of fibrous living out the ducky’s little murmuring in the mud, Tump-a-tump with buckles o’ swash : #dgaf : yet is we da pirate , as in ,

We is , we ah make anything magnificent and say it is that and leave it So. We. Croon and wait for that swell damned music’s dish to punch big and soft into the pillow : we: meet poetry POETRY POETRY POUR IT ALL

And soft into th. pillow. We. Down a side-street : have a baffled-eye ‘a sec: Din in the den gets closed the sisters ears : think some nature-shit: stfu: Bucolic site there wispy girl : pencil neck : root , , , for Image-Pleasant:

For you that is : root for the Panjundrum not, in his anger-yells all daffy, Deadening reasons for the noise, amplified like a big [bracket] to the side Of something, past declaration, past the final honesty and towards some

New squeamish chuck of ew-grease out of my bad throat : 'Message' Attempts to toughen with - providence, it feels, it knows - of mere scraps Of itself, and then I emit new strings for my shoes, frayed knot, couple

Stoners ranting in a parking lot when one sees a human innim and flees, From eye of him : one states the [bracket] as annotation even though it Supplies nothing : mere notation is as much enclitic for an infidel sense

As rhyming to behead borders of rhythm with timing , adding meaning Like chaff at the end while a sprocket ebbs out then 'splodes at once, a Gathering of mite and fingernail and bedding shod in the cracks under

The bland couch then sets aflame, burning down the garbage, which is Everywhere : police police : fuck da : : whelp : lost musings only whelm As much as one is willing to go rapidly , that is, will be as quality as the

Quicken, enacting some different statement thru defensive natures of style Like Declension : Logoaedic : parse the thought, then let it run before the Jello melts, food gets cold: picnic raped by ants. Premise of the rule. So the:

Uh: bracketed, shuffling fragged things dole more out for the warmness, As in, have something mean what it means, leave it at notation , make the Final well and, "End like a spear, not like a broom" - - Well, who knows

About honor: maybe just to prove myself I will right something really for Awhile too messed for the husbandman to mould with his ass: drop the Incisive manacles, they get my wrist bit with copper: write to right a thing

You never mention: madden out copper tongues: make demands about Stuff you have no idea you are actually talking about: but that's not going To mention itself either and is perhaps what is missing for the right reasons:

So why yell out proper tongues if that is all tongues want is their own voice To hock a spray of legit logey sniffed up the nasal psg. and out into the World. Well. Garbage burns itself to slew. But you like that. You enjoy

The mesmerized epiphanic trumpeting, priketh, prike prike : nasty uncle, He was , and a bald head a sunshine away from DEATH-LAZER. Stun, But be stupid as brick. As was said, I speak to reflect mirrors in darkness.

Should be obvious. Maybe this inkling of finding a new way to speak'll Dart straight for the first reason to pant and wave commodities at the sullen Sucker-tourist upon losing his next day's provender at the hands of silly kids.

DeMand: Wring rungs out proper tongues, lick pompous, drone on in thatt Stat o’ thing: status of thing: state of things: rut t tt t t t tt t tt t t tttt tt t t t t tttt Guts me : feeling in’t I feel nothing but in hole: & & & & & & & & & & & & &

Still the great compilers edge more into the fantastic, learn to eat it along with The tragic as one happy meal. Eventual blossom, hoping Mary and Ed ride fine Off into the sunset, cans tied to the bumper clicking like cliché: Jesus is sick :

He tells me so much is at risk here : then again, who could harbor such a feel But Big J or Yeezy : : well he’s a prick : that’s why you shouldn't music so much: I don’t listen to music nomores: even you’re tarnished bc of all this harlot noise

Attempting heaven, & whatnot : WHAT? WHO THN ?? WHAT THEN ?? So Fortunately, I’m Done. Getting into ye head. I’m already there. Felt random & Also, tortuous pressure spread keen thru label after label, waiting for sustenance,

It was given, as if words could ugh the body with ugh : feed me with 'don't' is What the character 'Message' means. This sentence means it is myself declaring A sentence. That is what it means, and the Myself in it shines out of that part of

It like some beautiful renegade oxygen, a distillation more perverse, a naked way, A death of all that damnable stuff we got our heads warped around in like some Exquisite Fucking Turban [tho false] tho, maybe drunk off picked points smacking

Of defeat, well : : : such's to give up meaning at all - - MESSAGE _a t_ _a l l_ [?] As if words could damage the body : does language uh have one string it can plukk To stop the heart?[.] Or does it all. Well. Uh, lose weight: is it a fascinating receptacle,

Or mere extensiveeverything: ” Do You Believe In God.” – – – – – – I wouldn't be Able to give you anything for jesus, much less Jews. HAve little idea what I believe. Belief is odd. I think I believe in, just, being chased, you know, for thievery. It's a

Saturated L.A. sun like in this song by [The National] it is called "Pink Rabbits." it Is really damn good I remember feeling like the string to my heart almost cut that one Time. But I couldn't tell you anything a medium in some spooky curtained shop

Wouldn't be able to perform with a bit more erggh 'flair' well damn I despise flair write To construct a core or write to DeMand to write or write to right something wrong w. Your sister's [hairdo] or write about strings. Write about all the strings. What all of

Them would do if connected THE WORLD IS POME across the globe. Don't think There'd be much room else for people. Well no worries then, you’ll steal hunches till you Can’t even breathe a thinnest wisp of sister-air. Enjoy never figuring out anything. I

Like to tip-toe but that's no way to run , I gotta say the world is fucked w/o a point , , , The drain is really sick [!] w. all this flood it might as well be the guts of garbage And the rightness of wrong , of the failed and of lineage thru language do we bring

Our own booze do we sing some amped version of the obvious soullessness everybody Gets to grate all over everybody else like some annoying sadness too small for this World, too inscrutable to be anything bt what it is, what it is not anything, as POME

Is words, not ideas, get subjugated by need to buddy up with certainty by corroborating This or that line with another, breaking another, letting pennies go slipshod thru da Grate, while all the while mighty confusion rends a new surprise in plain polished sight,

But o the bees in my gut wig out more folly but as plain to live and hope by their ruin To bring the ties untangled, yes, state the statement-as-goal, martyr a few mirrors thru Indelible mistake, ending Kierkegaard at Democritus' river etc. NO WE NEVER

STEP THRU THE SAME RIVER TWICE NO NOR PERHAPS ONCE, anyways, The bees escape nathless from a pirson-prison. In spite of all this floppy flotsam, Like some weird torture. The stingings bless, the robust yellow flow mitred across

De backs uf'm. And I still considerable, a regular pill for the unagog men still seeing Me unsightly, some lack, some twit, some spook : er something as like, as what god Makes of his leftovers in the afternoon between jobs: but me young boss: HOSS:

What?, zooks, gain, what gain 'questionmark' nothing an adorable steeple could not Bring together as all us wonderful people together rise them, these middle fingers- -Pointing up UP UP, run with lacking, then, fuck, huh?, shut up, suited only to

Sslipped phrase, the bank account gets canceled & yr out on the streets with only Luck and Fucks to feed you. Wiring runoff, shattered, wrecked, fetid, but all of it So Human that nobody seems to mind: neither of those three words can understand

My theosophy, nor gainsay, I'm too cryptic: : fault fault, fault fault, thwartedness- -But still continuance, shorn but not straight dead. Lucky but suffering. What a bore, To get brought in by force, to the party, snatch a few lichen, press against petri dish

To make dialogue unheard of or no at the party what this is about, this sleight of hand, This emotional screening we seize up and clench our asshole to forget about, rot in it I Say, row those sewage tentacles, mandibles, new legs from the mess, new smack to

The veins, new shot, lessening as day and eyesight, NARCAMNARCAM. Ruin stake [valuesystem] bless me achoo gradient risen sceptic collide me w truth,

Ruin stake dress me up in my garters and delirious falbalas at table, valuesystem,

Run to the ruin: make stand up puppetry the rotary: vast tracts of time enable the- -Child to believe he is infinite. Child god goes wishing-wishing at peak, wishing To see: you flee from definition like that stoner guy from earlier all the time, you

You let the questions mysteries bleed out thru yr fanciful cufflinks: drat: quaint: Wanna bleed staid blood. Want to create the hurt that must hurt, that must come: Just to have some control, as elusive blood, got to pour lopsided from a precious

Wound : : we gaze into ourselves and do not speak, wondering what batty thing Happened back there: we go wishing to dash away performance with a little more Laze: 5-year-old Genius. But yea. But, with you I shuffle into someone free. You

You see the curtain and you know the pianist is behind it nodding off into overdose: You are knowing what curtains mean and that curtains rarely help to cover meanings: You realize there is nothing to peek at nothing to see so you shrug and go home to

Your death, ever-approaching some more-appropriate redness , , , but the redness in The West , tho. What's with that haze that looks like the hoarsest GLARE of all: It is the shot in the arm taken too breezy, brought you to the finale, the glimpse then

Recession into embedding blank blankets of so-and-so upon your life, weighty big Deaths greeting you with comfort, delicious sating of the lorn, and raggedy willful Bravery so long perceived like an animal, that is, now seen so much to salute. So I

Have access now into your maze : it is dangerous here : bees go grinding against the Gut. Entrails that trail haphazard underneath everything forever : the flighty frolic Of your hair, sister : good on you for nvr doing hoarse/horse. Your hair that speaks

In looks looks like the bigger maze, the bigger harder hug to give one day when just , When things get better: just so one don't get bitter, what from examining all sides of The same pipe dream. DeMand, and makes thus bigger dissonance w. me. Say me,

Of your aspect, at base, nothing less, your talent is my name and sister-curse, my uh My name is one to have in spades, you gotta have it so it radically disappears under A veil mentioned elsewhere in full wherein the chase is always and never the point

As your legs, extremities exist by the disappearance of a prior location, or some Name, some name called death we get into other ideas 'bout. But it is a lost name. Bu I cannot bless more than I bleed. Whatever that means. Perhaps I tell

This to others, they do not offer but stares and blinking : oh alienation : what an Easily dismissible thing : REAL PROBLEMS hah : in that case, those girls Kidnapped in Nigeria're having real problems : suffering is subjective & hell

We, as In I, Race Towards It as anything the wiser, wise as answer, jus cast answer, Jus cast ANSWER:- whatever happen to be, jus quake out a few inappropriate Inabilities in front of anyway, including meshing: hear aspersions there, here

And there: I say, if one feels pathos then uh                              you know the whitest lash fuck express it, fuck!, don’t you                        painful on your brow                                                                              loose the snow came, bother with a perfect shape as the                   clad in crammed houses families shape you have is naturally a very          frown at homies, themselves children, improvisation, imperfect as a sky                made random and the same                                                                                 as all storm, asleep flakes or something, like, one sky, just                        made like me to feel like an actor one. i guess, uh. that is what i                                       make like to me guess. that nothing happens if we                                     within the thin walls,                                                                   while bruised dads glimpse the hood are indifferent or something. give           in rochester,   barely guap to eat, to obsession, passion etc. then uh                       my father runs into a grand jizz what follows’s a thing the greater                                  on the way back                                                                        captures it and puts it in a safe . for therapy. write on for therapy?                               his father was a vato, well fuck yes. do it and do it and                           gift-wrapping raining down do it. i like channeling whitman , ,           on christmas, wanting to capture fame                                                                                       and getting the pink slip . cuz it’a means wealth, like, iduno                    it was majestic, slowly he i guess like, [vulgate,vulgate] it    drowned in throat cancer, later. my dads hates is freewheeling all over the place                christmas, but at least he caught                                                                                     a good fuck in childhood and without regards -blank- see yu kno, i cant write on tumblr atm bc something is wrong with my uhhhhhh

keyboard. it doesn’t allow me to , ,          delete the space between one anddd             another line. so i am writing this

                                   to you. it’s probably not really i guess to interesting just see that infinitesimal cube understood so , ,

uh, distantly, as me here, in this room, hanging out with whitman! as in i see ‘im, right here. he is in

the corner smiling to himself bout some private meditation, mostttttt likely. have you figured out this

is a msg in enjambments yet?, you are really cool and ring out , , , , , , despite, right?, whether or not or

            maybe regardless. PART II : : : : ERHEM: fast sadness folds in a toilet like down it you know like those soothing squares, gulls take to the particles after response to command goes lagging, and the aqueduct explodes filter to filter after longing for more than garbage could recall, prideful trash–

garbage i done made myself blind blabhah i done made a bad hither, done dash right into the fount of degrading. i feel very such things as i feel and call them detritus still. i am monstrous i am - big eye, i can fuck myself without any charity-help from anybody.

i am to call myself things like topaz once the giddy girth sloshes within a pictureframe's modest dimensions, and the sharks while snapping snapped alive by the implied sort of movement given only to starkly imperishable images that lighten you up at the art

show. well its time t-to start from the start and start a movement founded on a ginger ignorance of other movements. is i-t: is time to start from the beginning of focus way past bemused glance, ripe glare, teeth beside themselves w cavities of roe and garlic:

it’s time to inaccurately anticipate something, like we knew it was coming and wanted our surprise to look nice. anticipate the perfect slur, find a wide audience for that: it is, uh, time to enact maelstrom considerably, like, lofted above the saddest cloud's

drenching of itself: clouds they are clowns : be sure to recognize the hidden voice, what rattles us is not the mystery of how and logical wherefore but in transmuting some odd warfare of a distant crud's finding, that is - - - it is not what links but what is explained,

which for me is the distance crud, or clod, i call planet : am i a part of it or do i depart from its frequent accusings, importances, rudeness, and flat commodity, material, or just shattered booms hailing the demise of precept got so infrequent that one, less

righteous, is more thru the confessional of the lessness, a lesson : us, , rule, , : the sea like an antelope’s stride is, that is, like the picture purely between man, shark, and sea, of slopping sides over the frames of the picture: something by movement not volume,

by not expanse but a few flits of eye - big eye, - regardless of bigness it is, is and will be there for when the ranting stays, crucial delectable bizarre 'mischance of machinery' while the self goes further out, taken by the turning tides, and then yet this is a bit more

than mangling the heart by placing it on sleeve; this will always be here, distant, or like, remote!, yeh, better word!, you will disassociate whatever

from whatever, [edittttttttttt ttt ] from your blinding clarity [edit] : : you will take an eye out for the bossman cannot : since

wills black as char make the crud, clod, dusty clod, a piece of crud: "shouldn't be so hard to have a nice day." Mutter and grimace. wake up to totally remove yourself in the only way possible, that is, from the world of dreamstate: and piss dole me a new

self of yuck and maelstrom. PART III : : drying the die out of to play craps . or somethings like pinochle of life itself, shouted madman. made anterior who wants the soul who wants it made outside of use I see. something— / something digs for a very hinting it goes like something as must to stop,

as much to save the world as self by saving declamatoriations [!!!!!] declarations yeas, declaiming . / well go ahead and rue the ensuing bratty corps of lifer’s whom stake much on image / nada -rtiet- [edit] editwrite made something is^^^ within that words

them words something letters inverted salamander-language seen spanking new by breaking every rule, ruling over breaks like you had more time. / discovering the body, etc. and it all makes you want to imprint on the wise world some attmept, to do more

by removal of sense if sense is not snuffed out already by now in this senseless world, just going on and on!!!! to the creakiest hints shuffling under floorboards like captives from the bad!! quite the soul search. make more inklings, don't harry yourself, I say,

to discover a bunch of cool shit, also, uh, master it. master thinking in language. maybe i always never did nitpick and nitpick only yeup that is me I knit together the nits the nits are scratchiness, a scratchiness. then I think about how nice honesty is as re the slow

deliverance or rather sparing of us all by the most high / as by and by,, we grope for some bigger socket to launch a sensitivity of me I we errybody into, and me and ha and ha. ALERT. cannot diverge ALERT ALERT ALERT!!! Whoop show./Whopp whoop

whoop, can’t but take it down I wsiwiwsh i wish i was blind, i wish the rails weren’t so sharky : : so bloome [!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] 5$%uh September 13, 2014. Leave a comment Edit POME34 there is language to report, a monster essence. hammer away

and believe till the growth gets funnier and then throw it away handsomely / feel it run like sand thurr rthru your thru thru you[edit]hrought your fineger.s ample tome, im ean time, to write, requite certain disposable nothings like a big random power/ mind goes

and glowers at itself again. ah you kno. broken triangle. anything broken becomes an angle or many. a ziggidy line or somesuch. / so break a whole, rift it to life as some ziggidy line. some sorta line that breathes with uncaring for anything like information

but retaineing formless form as if your occupation was with something else/ let relax the

strands in you ankel, let the angel fall my dear / dont deny it / yur a good person, dammit. all the se facile blunders. all this. these stupid years of making. in the making,

or just making, about too. etc. greqat. great magnificent quiet [edit] is that which i search for and make and build into the most complex geometric shape for good / only to rift it and - - make what people would holy-fy even more bettr than the more better it was /

bby oh how you go on concealing pleanty of plaintiveness. am i nice ?? so what if you are. youre a stara special star . . . yr starved, strande line you ssay you are a bulk of issues you say you dance like a man made

of things .. light as wing . dwindle. wind. light as wind. so much so much to destroy sitll. my eyes need more blurs t[edit] to in order make everything wrong rightwise. foreget aspbergers. or any label / speak pretty

mane’s ruffling sinousity in wind. / a bloke with flow / gnarly [edit] speak charlie stude the sirfur, charlie stud is he who rides the wave, rides wthe wave in /by just meeting

wit ha hello and a hahaha at ripe ombustive ripe combustiveness at / a large offense

[aion-rsa]

Marvel’s Road to the Thunderbolts in the MCU

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The first phase of the Marvel Cinematic Universe had a simple mission: build up to the creation of the Avengers. The next two phases went further by setting the stage for Thanos and his quest for the Infinity Stones, culminating in one of the biggest movies of all time in Avengers: Endgame. While MCU Phase 4 is a mix of Disney+ TV shows and theatrical movie releases, there hasn’t been an established narrative goal just yet. So what are they building towards?

One belief is that we’re getting an MCU incarnation of the Thunderbolts or its sister team, the Dark Avengers.

The Thunderbolts first showed up in 1997, created by Kurt Busiek. In the aftermath of the Onslaught event, the Fantastic Four and Avengers were seemingly vaporized. Not only were these two major teams gone, but they were the superheroes people trusted the most. What remained was the likes of Spider-Man, the X-Men, and the Hulk. Not exactly media sweethearts.

To fill this heroic void, Baron Zemo came up with a scheme where he took members of the Masters of Evil, dressed them up with fake superhero identities, and had them gain the public’s trust in hopes that it would lead to world domination. Despite being a ruse, certain members of the Thunderbolts came to realize they wanted to truly be heroes and opposed Zemo. Hawkeye eventually took over the team and they became a group of outlaw heroes fighting for redemption. A reformed Zemo soon took the reins again, once again trying to take over the world…but this time for the good of all humanity.

The Thunderbolts then became a government-run team and acted as Marvel’s counterpart to DC’s Suicide Squad. New leader Norman Osborn politicked his way into running the Avengers, where he copied Zemo’s old idea of dressing up villains as heroes. And so, the Dark Avengers were born, featuring such members as Bullseye pretending to be Hawkeye and Venom pretending to be Spider-Man. Unlike the Thunderbolts, the Dark Avengers were an example of failed redemption on all fronts and the team crumbled. Once Osborn was ousted, Luke Cage took over and the group became far less corrupt.

The Thunderbolts team has been reborn again and again. It’s been seen as a force of good, a force of evil pretending to be good, and a force of evil taking down worse threats. And now it looks to be coming to the MCU.

Let’s look at who will be and who could be major players to this plot down the line:

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine

In the comics, Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was a triple agent who constantly either worked for SHIELD or against it while being an on-again/off-again love interest of Nick Fury. So she’s perfect for whatever they’re doing with her as she plays up a more curious version of Fury’s iconic visit to Tony Stark’s mansion from the Iron Man post-credits.

We don’t know who Valentina works for and how high up the ladder she is, but she does appear to be setting up something. Whatever her Thunderbolts-like team is called, we’re left wondering why they will exist and how many movies and TV shows will we have to sit through before we finally get an answer.

US Agent

John Walker’s role in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier was one of the more interesting parts of the show, even if they didn’t quite land the ending. The US government’s attempt at a new Captain America meant well, but he was only the right person for the job on paper. Too haunted by his military exploits, too frustrated by not getting the respect he wanted, and feeling inadequate due to not being a super soldier, Walker injected himself with a black market serum that gave him the physical boost he needed. It also helped drive him over the edge when Walker’s best friend and partner Battlestar died during a mission and he got a bit too violent while in public.

Disgraced and discharged from his position, Walker was visited by Valentina, who gave him a new lease on life as US Agent. Valentina’s people realize that someone with Walker’s abilities shouldn’t be discarded so easily. Take away the idea that he’s tarnishing a legacy and someone like him could be very, very useful.

In the comics, a wheelchair-bound Walker acted as a warden at the Raft, Marvel’s supervillain prison and, for a time, the headquarters for the Thunderbolts. He did lead the team very, very briefly when it was retitled Dark Avengers, but the series was cancelled immediately after and it was quietly forgotten about. Still, the adventure did allow him to regrow his missing limbs!

For the MCU, this does suggest that this team won’t be a publicly-celebrated unit. You can use US Agent to kick ass all you want, but I doubt Valentina wants a media spotlight on him in any way.

Yelena Belova

As shown in the post-credits for Black Widow, Yelena Belova has been working for Valentina for at least a little while. She’s a paid assassin and she’s going to be going after Hawkeye in the near future on his upcoming Disney+ series. Much like US Agent, she’s a darker replacement of an Avenger who has been taken off the board. Maybe not as easily manipulated as Walker will likely be, though.

The Yelena version of Black Widow was a member of the Thunderbolts in the comics…sort of. It eventually turned out that it was really Natasha disguising herself as Yelena for the sake of doing undercover work against Norman Osborn. Well, I think we can agree that they won’t be doing that twist any time soon.

The Abomination

“We have a Hulk.”

If they’re building a roster full of Avengers knockoffs, it seems rather suspicious that Emil Blonsky is suddenly becoming relevant again. Not only is he supposed to be coming back for the She-Hulk show, but he has a cameo in the Shang-Chi trailer where he’s taking on Wong in an underground cage fight.

Abomination is someone that the government wanted on the Avengers from the very beginning, even in spite of the damage he caused in Harlem. He’s no longer in prison and the events of She-Hulk could end up working in his favor legally. The cage fighting may suggest that he’s a bit aimless, but for a soldier who loves nothing more than to fight, Valentina’s team might be the perfect place for him.

In terms of the comics, Abomination never had anything to do with the Thunderbolts. Though now that I think about it, the Thunderbolts series did a one point focus on super-powered individuals taking part in underground fight clubs. Hm…

Various Thunderbolts Leaders

As mentioned, there have been a lot of different variations of the Thunderbolts and the team has had a handful of different leaders to push the focus in different directions. Four of those leaders happen to have recent roles in the MCU: Baron Zemo, Hawkeye, the Winter Soldier, and General Ross. It’s also very possible that the team is named after the latter considering his nickname is “Thunderbolt Ross.”

Luke Cage and Wilson Fisk are also notable Thunderbolts leaders, but the wonky relationship with the Netflix shows makes them unlikely to get involved.

Hawkeye and Bucky could easily take over the operation and add a little purity to the situation. But if Baron Zemo gets involved? Man, that could be unpredictable and interesting.

Ghost

With Norman Osborn in charge of things, Ghost was thrown into the Thunderbolts and became a major recurring member. Considering he was blatantly written as being Marvel’s Rorschach, it wasn’t he biggest deal when the MCU gender-swapped him and gave him a different personality. The version from Ant-Man and the Wasp is still pretty nihilistic when it comes to authority.

Ghost has been a huge question mark since the mid-credits scene of Ant-Man and the Wasp. The heroes were trying to mine the quantum materials that would normalize Ghost and heal her, only for Thanos’ snap to kick in. We don’t even know if Ghost went away due to the snap, but it’s possible that she was abandoned by those who said they’d help her and that could push her in a very dangerous position.

Considering her past as a SHIELD weapon, she’d make for an interesting member of the group.

Taskmaster

Taskmaster is a lot like Ghost. Not just in that she’s a gender-swapped version of the comic original with a different personality, history, and mission but in the same character arc of going from villain to someone with a new lease on life and opportunity to be more. Taskmaster was last seen being rescued by an army of liberated Black Widows. With her own future to decide, she’s basically in the same boat as Yelena, so it’s fully believable that she too might be working for Valentina.

Also, Taskmaster only just recently joined the Thunderbolts in the comics. That could be an intentional attempt at synergy. Marvel’s been pulling that kind of thing for years.

White Vision

WandaVision ended with the confusing fate of Vision’s reanimated body. SWORD was able to awaken Vision, now without his memories, personality, or color scheme. White Vision fought a magical construct of his original self (AKA “WandaVision”) and allowed his memories to be reinstated. After that, he peaced out and flew off to parts unknown.

Scarlet Witch is meant to be a major player in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, but I’m not expecting White Vision to be a part of that. It would make sense for White Vision to pop up as part of a group of grim doppelgangers. Even if he’s just a dark doppelganger of himself. I imagine the guy needs something constructive to do while keeping a low profile.

Speaking of Doctor Strange…

Karl Mordo

Remember when Mordo became so disillusioned with the Ancient One that he crippled a man for the sake of making a point about how much sorcerers suck? Then he was all, “Haha, I’m going to get rid of all magic users!” Yeah, that was about 10 years ago according to the MCU’s chronology. Good hustle, guy.

The whole Multiverse of Madness thing makes me wonder how much of a role Mordo will have to play in it. And that’s fine because you know what? I bet Valentina would love to have someone like Mordo on her roster. Not only would she have a Dr. Strange counterpart, but getting rid of all magic on Earth seems like the kind of thing a shadowy operative might get behind.

The Vulture

The Spider-Man/Sony deal mucks this up, especially if they’re pushing for some kind of Sinister Six situation, but since Spider-Man: Homecoming, I’ve always thought Vulture would be a perfect member of the MCU Thunderbolts.

See, the thing about Vulture is that the Michael Keaton version is absolutely nothing like the Mr. Burns lookalike comic version outside of fighting Spider-Man and having the ability to fly. In fact, MCU Vulture has a lot more in common with Abner Jenkins. Jenkins started off as blue collar working man who later used his engineering genius to become a Spider-Man supervillain as the Beetle.

As a founding Thunderbolts member, Jenkins became MACH-I (renaming himself after many armor updates) and was one of the first to realize that maybe he was better off being a good guy. He even led the team for a little bit. Considering how sympathetic and likeable MCU Vulture has been, some kind of Thunderbolts/Dark Avengers situation could help redeem him down the line.

Those Yet to be Introduced

Just like MACH, there are certain key members of the comics Thunderbolts who have yet to show up in the MCU. Perhaps we’ll see them soon enough. For instance, there is speculation that Moonstone will probably be a villain in the Captain Marvel sequel The Marvels. Not only does she have similar powers as the heroine, but she also posed as her in Dark Avengers.

The Fixer/Techno is another big one as the team’s resident tech guy and loyal Zemo henchman. Atlas, who has size-changing powers, is easily someone who can show up in the next Ant-Man movie. Jolt is…actually, we really don’t need Jolt.

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The biggest name to not show up is Songbird. Formerly the villain Screaming Mimi, Melissa Gold is practically the heart and soul of the Thunderbolts. She’s the one who came out of it better than anyone to the point that she was even an Avenger for a little while. If you want to put together a cynical Avengers knockoff and have someone turn it into something optimistic, Songbird is the one you need to throw in.

The post Marvel’s Road to the Thunderbolts in the MCU appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3z9IfTW

[stressful-and-deathy]

questions with the number 6 in them :-)

ahh!thank you so much for asking you’re a sweetheart

6: Aliens or ghosts?

oh boy, this is so vague like what doyou mean? which i’m more scared of? which is the coolest? which i’d like totalk over coffe with?                       anyways i’m gonna go with ghosts only because i’vebeen binging buzzfeed unsolved supernatural 

26: Favourite season?

i was deadass about to ask which showuntil i realised what this actually meant soooooooo i’m in brazil and where ilive we basically get to seasons which are summer (hot and rainy) and winter(cold and dry af) and i like it most when it’s exatcly in between 

36: My current obsession?

i can’t even pretend it’s not brooklyn99

46: Do I play any instruments?

unfortunately no

56: What is my song of the week?

dua lipa - new rules                                                                                sleeping at last - saturn                                                                              liniker e os caramelows - semnome, mas com endereço 

60: Pet peeve?

i’m the queen of pet peeves so i’ll saythe one that happened most recently which is people stopping in the middle ofthe stairs to talk and blocking the way oh my godddddddddddd it makes me wannadie

61: What was the last concert I went tosee?

man it’s been so long but i think it wasthis tiny brazillian band whose name i don’t remember lol 

62: Am I vegetarian/vegan/pescatarian?

I WISH. i’ve tried so many times but ifailed really hard but it’s still in my plans for the future

63: What occupation did I want to do whenI was younger?

i’ve been through many phases but beingan actress/singer was always in my poor innocent talentless mind lol

64: Have I ever had a friend turn enemy?

not exactly an enemy but definitely a friendturn stranger

65: What fictional universe would I liketo be a part of?

this is so hard man i guess anywhere icould get a superpower like I’m not even picky it could be anything 

66: Something I worry about?

hm that i’m slowing wasting my lifewithout moving foward or really doing anything lol 

67: Scared of the dark?

not exactly but if i’m already creepedout by something else (like if i’m 10000% sure there’s a spirit in my bedroombecause i was stupid enough to read a scary  book before bed) the darkdoes make it worse

68: Who are my best friends?

I’ve got this one friend since 7thgrade and she’s beautiful and amazing and i love love love her

69: What do I admire most about others?

kindness, sense of humor and the abilityto overcome rough stuff life throws at you

76: Do I have any pets?

YES i have a dog and a parrot

86: Who is my hero?

my mom 100000000000000000000000000%

96: Can I cook?

i mean i’m not completely useless in thekitchen, i can definitely survive if i have to but i’m no chef 

106: Last time I cried?

like 5 hours ago while watching the igstories of this girl who rescued over 100 dogs from this awful woman. they wereabused for god knows how long and were in a TERRIBLE state and i was sobbingfor one whole hour

116: Can I juggle?

nope

126: My current project?

to stop procrastinating lmao 

136: Do I keep a journal/diary?

i’ve tried to start one so many timesbut nope 

146: Have I ever been overweight?

no but i’ve been underweight 

156: My most embarrassing memory?

there are so many ‘cause i’mliterally the worst but the my most recent one is this: so i have an internshipin a primary healthcare unit and my preceptor is called Dr. Márcio who is likethe most strict teacher ever and i have to send him weekly reports  andall that jazz. I got back from him from the first report i had sent and theonly thing he said was literally a question mark so i was like oh well i’mfucked and when i went to check i noticed i had called him Dr. Marcosthroughout the entire thing.                                                                                A week later. New report. New fuckup. New answer: “Who thefuck is Dr. Paulo?”.                                                                                                               So yes, his name was Márcio, i calledhim Marcos and after being corrected i started calling him Paulo and i honestlyhave 0 idea what the hell i was thinking 

160: What colour mostly dominates mywardrobe?

definitely black

161: Have I ever had a paranormalexperience?

my aunt had some stories about when iwas little but i don’t actually remember anything

162: What do I hate most about myself?

the fact that i’m the biggestprocrastinator ever about everything 

163: What do I love most about myself?

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm my sense of humori guess

164: Do I like adventure?

theoretically, yes

165: Do I believe in fate?

 i really don’t know i mean i understand statisticsand know that a probability of 0% is pretty much impossible so even themost unlikely event is bound to happen to at least someone. but then again,it’s comforting to think that the universe is somehow taking care of you.                                                           so yeah, this answerreally depends on how much of a cynic i’m being at the moment lol

166: Favourite animal?

gotta be obvious and say dog

167: Have I ever been on radio?

no

168: Have I ever been on TV?

when i was little yeah in thosechildren’s show where they called kids on the stage to play a game lol 

169: How old am I?

20

176: Have I ever had a night terror?

no but i am a bit of asleepwalker/talker

186: What is my greatest failure?

damn this is heavy but i guess not beingable to get into my first choice school (which is was a federal institute so iwouldn’t have to pay anything) and now i have to struggle to pay privateschool 

196: A movie that scared me as a child?

oh boy hollow man with kevin baconreally scarred me

206: Sweet or savoury?

savory

216: Favourite fictional character?

too many but for the sake of this blog:AMY SANTIAGO

well that was it i guess. i’d honestlybe surprised if you’re actually interested enough to read all my answers butthat was super fun so thank youuuuuuuuuuuuu 

Want to know me better? Send me any number!