#initially thought the beginning of this year would be slow and I'd get a chance to make up for lost time with those

[kindahoping4forever]

📸: Ryan Fleming

[xaniyuu]

Thought I'd share my Golden Kamuy OC here!

Private Fukuoka Yuuzou, a new recruit that joined post Russo-Japanese War, 1907, when Golden Kamuy starts. His role does not matter much to the main plot point, in fact he was made for me to ship with Koito (more to explain below).

Yuuzou's hometown is left unknown, but he used to travel on foot since he was 12y.o for 2 years until him and his parents ended up in Kagoshima. He struggled to blend in and make friends because of their differences and his tendency to steal from people for the fun of it.

Yuuzou's first interaction with Koito would be somewhere when Koito first met with Tsurumi, except Yuuzou (16) never had the courage to walk up or even speak to Koito (14) until now. Ever since then Yuuzou would bother Koito with every chances he got, Yuuzou began viewing what they had as friendship. On the other hand Koito never liked Yuuzou from the start, the rumors of him stealing things from people turned out to be true; because he would often steal Koito's belongings and hide them for Koito to find, like a hide and seek.

Years has passed and Koito (18) went for the Military Academy without Yuuzou's knowledge, he waited for one full year until he heard the neighbors talk about Koito following his father's steps. From that moment on, Yuuzou's entire life goal is to follow Koito's path and to find him wherever he is.

Yuuzou (21) spent about a full year traveling by himself from Kagoshima to Tokyo, where Koito (19) is currently trained for the military (Only God knows how he managed to get there). Unfortunately though by the time he arrives, Koito would probably still be trained in there with very low chances of Yuuzou seeing him. And so, Yuuzou took an alternative.

He'll join the military! That way, he can see Koito for sure this time right?

Shaved: Yuuzou (23) freshly joined the military in 1907.

Undercut, man bun, and hair down: Yuuzou (25) waiting for Koito to come back from his missions.

Yuuzou spent 2 years at the training camp, why? Because he failed the first test which caused him to go over from the very beginning. (For this part I'm still unsure how long it takes for one to go through the training camp, but the main point I want to highlight is the fact that Yuuzou failed his test either once or multiple times but insisted to try again).

*(UPDATE: I just found out that apparently once you fail you get expelled? I'm not sure if this is accurate but it's definitely not gonna stop Yuuzou from trying again LOL. I'll think of a way!)

(How Yuuzou got his scar is still a huge draft of mine, but my initial idea was that it's related to Usami. In this unfinished comic especially, shows their dynamic and how Yuuzou talks back to Usami far more often compared to the other superiors.)

Yuuzou doesn't get along very well with Usami from the very beginning because he tends to talk back to his superiors. Nothing crazy, he's just a kid full of questions. Most of the time the superiors would answer him with a stern look on their faces, and Yuuzou wouldn't mind a little harsh treatment. When it comes to Usami, however, something about him makes Yuuzou uneasy.

From here on out, everything between Yuuzou (23) and Koito (21) is gonna be 8 years worth of slow burn, with Yuuzou watching over Koito from afar most of the time and trying to get Koito's attention in the most inconvenient way as possible like bumping into him or spilling his drink.

Their ship name goes by KoiFuku/FukuKoi! This is the first ever sketch I've drawn of them.

If you've read this far all the way down, thank you very much 💜 They're just another silly little hyperfixation of mine, hopefully I get to draw enough of them before my interest runs out lol

[mypoisonedvine]

Consolation || Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: you know it’s probably not great that you always turn to your best friend Bucky whenever you’re especially hurt by your husband.  you know your husband should probably care that you spend so much time with him, but he doesn’t.  which is good, in the end, because you two really are just friends… until you’re not.

word count: 4k

warnings: smut!, infidelity (see summary, reader is married), descriptions of failing/sexless marriage, angst, fluff, ~feelings~

You were good at hiding it— the real reason why you showed up at Bucky's apartment unexpectedly, that is.  

It wasn’t entirely unexpected: you sent a text first, asking if he was down for a movie night, telling him you missed when you used to hang out more.  He did, too, but he had always been afraid your husband would be an issue.  Nice enough guy, but he didn’t seem to trust Bucky entirely… certainly didn’t seem to love that you two were so close.

And who could blame him?  A beautiful, sweet, smart girl like you… he understood why your husband didn’t want you hanging out with other guys when avoidable.  I’ve told him a thousand times, you’re just a friend— you’re just Bucky, you would tell him when you were recounting arguments, explaining why it had been a while since you two had had a chance to catch up.  But Bucky never told you that your husband was right to worry, that he had dreamed since he met you of being more than ‘just a friend,’ that he himself was the reason you two didn’t spend more time together: because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confessing his feelings.

Because of course he would never make a move on his best friend— on a married woman.  It would be so overwhelmingly inappropriate, such a colossal waste of time; and it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle just being your friend.  Sure, it killed him a little bit sometimes, but it was worth it a million times over to be near you at all.  He would take what he could get… and if that meant platonic movie night because you’d had another argument with your husband, then so be it.

“I stopped by the store on my way; heard your ice cream reserve was depleted,” you explained as you brandished the Ben & Jerry’s before slipping past him to put them in his freezer.  

He watched you walk there, silently hating how comfortable you were in his apartment.  He loved it, but he hated it, too.  

“What are we watching?” you asked, snapping him back to reality.

“Uh, I dunno…”

“You were supposed to pick while I was driving over, genius,” you grumbled sarcastically.

“I narrowed it down to The Ring or You’ve Got Mail,” he decided suddenly.

You chuckled lightly and the sound lifted his spirits. “Okay, so, two drastically different evenings."

“I mean, if you think about it, they’re both about meeting new people through technology,” he corrected.

“Do VHS tapes count as technology?” you raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“They do to me,” he shrugged.

//

With the ice cream supply exhausted and Bucky’s largest plastic bowl now containing only the unpopped kernels and little broken pieces of popcorn that didn’t make the cut, the third act of The Ring was beginning and you were spending more time covering your eyes than not.

“Let me know when the scary part is over,” you requested weakly from between the hands on your face.

“It’s a horror movie; the whole thing is one long scary part!” he laughed.

You peeked out through your fingers only to see another terrifying moment, yelping and hiding yourself in his chest.

He froze, not sure at all what to do with your face pressed against him; he held his breath in case the inflation of his chest would disturb you.  

“I can’t look!” you whimpered, voice muffled by his shirt.

He lifted his hand in consideration of stroking your hair comfortingly, but ultimately decided against it and set it back down.

Thankfully, the movie was almost over and you wouldn’t stay cuddled up to him after it ended— meaning he’d finally be free from the glorious torture of your nearness.

But then the credits were rolling and you still didn’t budge, holding him tight.  At first he thought you were just still scared, but then you took a slow, shaky breath… and he realized something was wrong with you, way beyond just a spooky movie.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, preparing to hear you explain what really happened with you and your husband that made you come here.

You just shook your head a little against his chest, making him sigh.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he continued, and you hesitated before pulling back and sitting up straight again.  As painful as it had been, he missed your touch already.

“Yes,” you answered, “but I shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” he nodded.

“But I need to.”

“Okay.”

“But I can’t.”

“...okay…”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands— not from fear this time, but exasperation.  “I told myself that if it ever got to this point, I’d tell someone.  But now I… I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed.

"He doesn't… we don't…” you started and stopped a few times.  “God, Buck, I can't even say it…"

"You don't have to—" he began to tell you, but you said it anyway, tearing your hands away from your face and looking back at him sternly.

"He hasn't touched me in months.  And today marks an entire year since the last time I had sex."

He tried not to choke when he heard that.  He figured you were just going to say that he was texting a female coworker too much or flip-flopping about if he wanted kids or not.  This was something else entirely.  "Oh… um, wow."

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure where to start.  In spite of all his obliviousness, he was pretty sure he should say something, he just didn’t know what.  “And he… he knows that you… want that?  I mean, you’ve like… tried to, you know… initiate things, right?”  He cringed at his own voice, and stupid question.

You laughed a little, in a sad way.  "I've begged him for it, fuck, it's so humiliating.  It doesn't even work.  He's always too tired, not in the mood, busy with something.  And of course I want to respect him and not pressure him into anything but at the same time, I feel so fucking unlovable— so hideous."

"You're not hideous,” he said firmly, more sure of that than anything else he’d said so far.

“I try to believe that, really,” you mitigated, “I try not to take it personally— but fuck, it feels personal.  Do you know how often people talk about sex?  It’s like society has this idea that men just wanna bang twenty-four hours a day and the only thing stopping them is women being prudes.  Do you know what it’s like to hear people talk like that when your husband rejects you every night?  Do you know how it feels to hear your girlfriends complaining about how their boyfriends are pestering them for sex too often, and you’re just sitting there screaming inside your head ‘at least he wants you’?  Bucky, you can’t even imagine…”

“I can’t,” he agreed.  

"It's been so long…” you sighed shakily, collecting yourself before you started again.  “It's been so long since somebody touched me.  I wondered if I would forget what it felt like."

His hand shook a little as he reached out with his flesh hand and brushed it against your arm, staring into your watery eyes and finding less fear there than he expected, thankfully.

"Did you forget?" he asked softly.

"I must have," you mumbled, "it feels better than I remembered."

The heartbreak in your voice made anger bubble up in his chest, amazed at how your husband ever allowed this to happen; ever allowed you to become so touch-starved that even just a brush on your arm made you emotional.  "I can't imagine being with you every day and not wanting to touch you whenever I could get the chance,” he admitted.  “I can't imagine being your husband and not making love to you every day, every hour, whenever you wanted; whenever you'd let me.  I can't imagine having you beg me for something and not giving it to you— I'd give you everything."

He had to fight a gasp as you suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, a bit sudden at first but melting into something gentle and patient and soft.  

“Then do it,” you whispered as you finally pulled back; he could barely think straight to even process what you were saying.  “Give me everything.”

He nodded a little before he kissed you again, rough but deep and slow.  His hands roamed your body like he'd wished to for so long; his tongue slid against yours and the taste of you drove him wild.

As hard as it was to break from your lips, he moved his kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking at your pulse as you groaned and clutched at his shoulders through his shirt.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, and he must've heard you swear a million times but this time it sounded so different.  

His cock was straining against his jeans already, just from this— it was like he was a fucking teenager again, but to be fair, you'd always had that effect on him: sweaty palms, stammering, sudden boners.  It was like lifelong puberty with you around.

When his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing over the skin right above your sweats, you pulled back briefly to pull your shirt off over your head.  He thought it might be awkward if he just stood there gawking at your chest, so he only allowed himself a moment of it before he got back to work holding you tight and kissing your collarbones.

He pulled you closer and you must've felt his cock pressed against you because you gasped a little.  And you must've liked it, because your hand slipped down and rubbed him through the front of his jeans, making him choke on nothing.

“S’big,” you mumbled, and he grinned a little.  

“Feel what you do to me?” he asked softly, and you nodded a little before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand down your body and into the waistband of your pants.  He shuddered when he felt how warm your skin was, the lacy fabric of your panties, the slick folds you guided his fingers through.

“Feel what you do to me?” you shot back, but your cockiness faded when he circled his middle finger over your swollen bud.  He loved the way your body reacted so easily, subtle little gasps and shivers, your hips jolting forward for more stimulation.  You both moaned when he pushed a finger into your channel, your walls already pulsing around him.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You whispered your approval and he twisted the finger inside you.  Even just that made you let out a heavy breath, your hands reaching down to grip his wrist— they didn’t push him away, thankfully, just reminded him to be gentle with you as he added the second finger, pushing a bit deeper than before.

“More,” you whimpered your plea, “I want more.”

For a second he thought you meant more fingers, but then you opened your eyes and gave him a look… that look.  

It made it abundantly clear that fingers weren’t going to be enough.  After all, you had asked him to give you everything.  So he gladly obliged when you started to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.  You lifted your hips to let him pull down your sweats, not giving him much time to drink in the sight of you before you started opening his fly for him.

Being undressed by you made his heart race; the way you rushed, like you couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him, was flattering yet relatable.

You sighed when you got his cock out, instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft and stroking.  He shuddered at the softness of your hands, at your gentle but persistent exploration.  Clearly it had been a while since you’d gotten the chance to interact with a dick, but it didn’t show in any lack of skill— if anything it just made you more eager, your grip firm but your touches gentle.  He kissed you again, holding your face in one hand and leaning you back with the other until you were laid on the couch and he was hovering over you.

He guided your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own as he guided the weeping head over your slick folds, smiling at your gasp when he bumped against your clit.

“Do you want this?” he asked, fully prepared for you to back out now before you did something you really couldn’t take back.

“Yes.”  Your answer was more confident than he was expecting, but he still couldn’t really believe it.  It was just too good to be true.  So he had to check again.

“...are you sure?”

"Don't make me beg, Bucky," you whimpered, "I've done it enough, I can't do it again.  Just make love to me— I need you inside me, please…"

Your head fell back as he pushed into you, your nails digging into his shoulders until he stopped from fear of hurting you (even though it took more willpower than he knew he had).

"Don't stop," you whined, "need to feel all of you, Bucky, please please don't stop—"

He definitely didn't have enough willpower to resist that.  Slamming into you all at once, he hissed as you cried out, baring his teeth at the sight of you quivering and moaning beneath him.

"I— I need a second," you explained, voice tight with ill-concealed pain, "it's been a while.”

"I can wait," he nodded, "I won't move until you're ready."

He could tell you were struggling, because how could you not be when you felt so fucking tight around him?  He guided you to breathe slowly with him, feeling your body relax slightly and noticing the way your face untwisted as you became more comfortable.

You nodded a little, but he needed to hear you say it.  "Fuck me," you whispered.

And he did.  

He still kept his pace measured and relaxed, savoring every inch of you— savoring your reactions to every inch of him.

But watching your face was going to push him towards the edge too fast, and he wanted to make this last if possible, so he leaned down to suck on your neck, thoroughly tasting your skin as you moaned and writhed beneath him.  It felt incredible to surround your body with his, to cage you in and pin you down with his weight— it made him feel like he could protect you, keep you safe, even though he knew he couldn’t save you from heartache as much as he wanted to.

If you wanted someone to touch you, to give you affection, to make love to you and make you feel loved, then you’d come to the right place.  That came to him naturally; the hard part was going to be letting you go, letting this be the one-time favor for a friend that he already knew it was.

“You feel so good,” he found himself whispering against your skin, just beside your ear, “so good for me.”

The praise must have had a strong effect on you, because your walls tightened around him suddenly.

“So perfect,” he continued, wanting to feel it again, “my perfect girl.”  And you weren’t his girl, but maybe he could pretend you were; you certainly seemed to enjoy pretending, with the way your moans egged him on.  “God, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good around my cock.”

“Bucky,” you whined, arching your back, and he grinned because it was obvious that you responded even better to dirty talk than praise.

“You like that, huh?  You like makin’ me feel good?” he pressed, laughing a little when you nodded feverishly.  “Fuck, such a good girl… takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ deep…”

You grabbed him by his hair to make him kiss you again, hungry lips smashing against his.

Inspired by your passion but afraid of what he’d do with all of this control, he wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up until he was sitting while you straddled him, looking up at you with a grin.  "Ride me, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it," he instructed lowly.  The way you rocked your hips and threw your head back was everything he'd dreamed it would be, increased exponentially.  Of course, he'd never told anyone that he dreamed about that, but he'd also never thought it could ever come true.  He ran his hands over every part of you he could reach, just to make sure it was real; just to make sure he memorized the feel of you while he could.

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking gently and smirking a little when you moaned loudly.  “You’re sensitive here,” he noted aloud, kissing his way to the other nipple but still teasing the first with his metal fingers.

Your moans came faster and louder, your fingers combing through his hair and pulling seemingly unintentionally.  He noticed that you let your eyes fall shut, your head crane back, and although he was glad that it was a sign of pleasure, he wanted to see you; he wanted you to see him, know that it was him making you feel this way.  so, he reached up and cupped your face in his hand, cradling your cheek, pulling you closer to look at him, staring into your eyes— and he knew it wasn't a subtle move, wasn't believable as a guy just helping out a friend, but he didn't care anymore.  When he kissed you again, it almost felt like you meant it, too; like you wanted him first, and not just as a consolation prize.

But you pulled back a little too soon, a reminder to both of you that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was.

Your hips gyrated faster and more vigorously, his hands gripping you tight and guiding your movements while you sighed and bit your lip.  You looked so indescribably good when you were immersed in pleasure like this, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance, your chest swelling and deflating with quick breaths.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered below his breath as his hand softly trailed from your collarbone down to your thigh.  The sounds you made were constantly changing, a little more high-pitched and needy now as you rode him faster.  He was already picking up on the little signs that you were getting closer: your thighs flexing where they were straddled beside his own, how your body jolted and shivered in his grasp, your eyes wrenched shut and your skin breaking out into goosebumps.

Already he knew your body so well, but he knew there was so much more he would never get the chance to discover.  For now, he’d just have to settle for a preview of all the perfect little ways you fell apart.

And, in the interest of speeding that process up a bit, he reached down to where your bodies were joined and circled a thumb over your clit.

“Fuck!” you yelped, your inner muscles bearing down on him out of nowhere until he was forced to groan from your tightness.

“You close?” he stammered out, way less confident than he meant it to be.  He should’ve said something cool like ‘I know you’re close’ or ‘aw, baby, does that feel good?’ but no, he was too far gone and gave his own desperation away.

"Yes, baby, I'm so close," you sighed, "I'm gonna come— you're gonna make me come."

You said it with a hint of shock in your voice, like you could barely believe it.  He couldn't believe it, either, because it was surely too good to be true.

"Come for me," he instructed firmly, pulling you closer until his nose brushed against yours, "say my name when I make you come."

It was unfair, but he needed to pretend you were his for just a moment.  Only his.

"Bucky," you whimpered shakily.  Your walls tightened around him so perfectly, over and over, until it took everything in him not to bust right then.  "Bucky, I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming—"

"I know," he whispered, "I know, pretty girl, keep going."

Your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even notice the pain when he was watching your face as you came— it was tight and twisted at first, before falling into a gasp and a moan that made his heart swell along with his cock that painted your walls the absolute second he knew you’d come.  It was intense, not just from holding back for so long, but from knowing he was coming inside you.

He sighed and started to catch his breath as you slumped forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck.  His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, the warmth of your body nearly overwhelming now as he felt little aftershocks ripple through your channel around where he was still within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it.  But he did, and he nodded a little as he rested his face against yours, stroking your hair gently.  You held each other in silence for a long time, so long that when your breathing slowed down significantly and he could feel your body relax entirely, he realized you had fallen asleep.  

Carefully, he held you tighter so he could stand up and carry you to his bedroom, your body instinctively wrapping around him like a koala… like even in your sleep, you could act all adorable and break his heart just that much more.  

He did his best to tread quietly and gently, laying you down onto the bed and only then pulling his softened cock out of you, finding his discarded boxers to put back on before joining you between the sheets.  

He knew you would be gone in the morning but he indulged himself in holding you tonight, breathing your scent and pressing your back against his chest.  He didn't want to fall asleep because he didn't want to miss a second of your body wrapped in his, but it was impossible not to with the soft pace of your breathing almost rocking him to sleep like a beautiful lullaby.

Where there was warmth and peace before, he awoke to cold and emptiness— both between his sheets and in himself.

It’s not like he really expected you to stay, and even if you had it wouldn’t mean that you would leave your husband for your best friend, that this would have ever been anything more than a glimpse of what could’ve been in another life or another universe.

He could still smell you, barely, and he buried his face in the sheets to take it all in before it faded away.  When it was gone, he pulled back only to find a wet patch of his tears there instead.

[everythingthemoontouches]

Hiii I hope you're fine. I wanna know your opinion about my astrological chart. Of course im not asking you to do a reading that's too much. I only want you to tell me if I have any bad placements about my health. And about my sun mercury in 8th house. Thank you 🌼🌼 take your time 🌺🌺

Hii

OK,

🪐🤼Saturn in 1st House Gemini 🏡♊

You're grounded.

You have very practical ideas and give doable mature advice.

You could be very discerning about how you choose to get your information or who who share it with.

When you talk to people do you feel like there's a barrier in connecting or putting across your true self and world vision out there? The house saturn is in could feel like it's not meant for us. Like maybe you hate dressing up or having to present yourself a certain way. Or just feel liek you could finalize on a specific sense of how to present yourself to the world. You may also think you take time(saturn) to really think(Gemini 1st house) things through.

Did you start speaking later than others your age?

Mercury and Saturn are in each other's sign. So this would enhance your reserve in communicating. You really like to be proficient in what you project. You need to build a foundational base of knowledge before speaking. Less is more.

Or, in a different manifestation you may give away too many private details because of a lack of control. I think of Gemini as a blogger or chatter placement. There's this need to go out and speak all your thoughts over the Radio / or on a podcast.

You probably don't like talking about yourself much.

🌹🤷Could second guess why people show romantic interest in you?

🥥🦩Saturn opposite Venus

Draw in suitors.

You are almost always the one who wants to take things slow? Atleast that's how people you date see you. With your venus in sagittarius you could just wanna spend a lot of time exploring thr city, museums, shows, ideologies, skillsets with your crushes but saturns restriction could make you second guess or feel a little apprehensive about putting yourself out there like that for them/ the world to see the love / interest written across your face.

Venus in sagittarius you're passionate. Warm. Friendly. Drawn to philosophers, poets, thinkers, travellers.

📥I feel like you could be drawn to women?

Your better relationships probably come later in life since saturn aspects your 7th house.

Is that Pluto and Venus in the 7th house?

Have you ever considered opening a sex shop?

Or go into any business that requires eroticism, mystery, control, research? I really think Pluto and Venus here could give you considerable fame or success. You could emerge as an authority on the subject. Specially with Scorpio in the 6th and 7th, the occult mysteries or tabboos are already subject that are a part of your everyday life.

Or any business that let's you do some digging, and then seduce the client with your presentations or facts. So like a marketing kind of thing. Live readings or spells.

Romantic relationships could cause pivotal shifts in your outlook and ideologies + sense of family values. Do you find yourself singing more in thr beginning if a new relationship / post breakup?

You could even find yourself talking to your mom a lot more when dealing with tumultuous romantic relationships.

I'd certainly advise you to look deeper into that part of fortune, venus and north node tsquare.

Purpose, love, and material success may appear to be 3 conflicting forks in your path and you could be feeling like you must sacrifice one for the other two.

I think in your later years you're meant to master the 'I think' /mercurial approach instead of the philosophizing take you seem to have now.

I'd be curious to see what your Saturn, Jupiter and mercury dashas have in store for you.

Jupiter rules your 7th house and is placed in the second. The expansive nature could mean that you find yourself surrounded by people who want to hear a lot more from you. They want to keep coming to you for help or see you as someone to info dump their issues on. (Jupiter in cancer is like a gentle teacher /mentor/ mom figure. I'm getting a lunar witch /moon worshiper vibe)

Lilith+Mars in Pisces on the 10th house: you could be a really good dancer/swimmer. You probably have lots of sports/ vacation pictures on your ig feed. Come across dreamy and alluring. People could dream of what they'd like to do with you?

Moon in Aries 11th house: horsesssss. Sports. Fiery temper clashes. Leader amidst your friends. This could also make it hard for you to make friends with some people unless you meet them through work. There's a strong chance your friends wouldn't mind a fwb situation or that a lot of them are initially attracted to you.

You could also make /meet better friends when travelling for work.

I feel like you'd advocate for sexual awareness and acceptance of all aspects of people's sexuality.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 8)

A/n: This part is super upsetting. Character death, graphic violence, I dare even say gore. Homophia, which I should have been warning a while back I am so sorry for that. Things are gonna get HEAVY- I am so sorry lol.

Word Count: 3800+

Playlist

Masterlist

"Nah, you're not crazy," Harleen giggled.

"Says you," Y/n teased, rolling his eyes. "You may have a doctorate, but you're also bias."

Her smile widened. "Okay that's fair." Y/n sighed, sitting back in his chair. He looked down at his hands, smile small as he got lost in thought. "What's on your mind?"

"Harleen is kind of a mouthful," Y/n told her. "Do you like the name?"

She tilted her head, as if considering. "I never did. When I was younger I had a friend who called me Lee, but with things happening-" Y/n's face scrunched up and Harleen snorted. "Exactly. Name's already taken- and it would be even weirder if I went by Dr. Lee, so I scratched it."

Y/n nodded. Then he sat forward, his elbows resting on the table. "So you've never had any other nicknames?" She shook her head and then shrugged when Y/n donned a surprise expression. "Well I have to give you one then. That's what friends do, right?" She grinned at Y/n's words and he watched the room get a little brighter. She was magic like that- as if she was made of sunshine. Her happiness was contagious, and she made the world a little better. She was accepting and also calm, making him feel safe as well as loved. She was his best friend and he was hers and they gave each other something they couldn't get with anyone else: unhindered fun with absolutely no expectations. It was an odd place to find real friendship in, but here they were anyway. "What about... Leena?" She immediately shook her head and he chuckled. "Uh... I mean, there's always Harley."

She considered that. "You know what, I like it." She crossed her arms. "Harley Quinzel." She nodded. "I'll allow it."

Y/n rolled his eyes. She was only like four years older than him, but had far too quickly fallen into a rhythm of acting like an adult talking to a child every once in a while, as a joke. Whether she was flaunting the years she had over him, or the schooling, Y/n wasn’t sure, but he refused to acknowledge it and it had become an unspoken inside joke between them. "What about you? I have to give you one now."

Y/n shrugged. "I don't like nicknames."

Harley tilted her head, the bottom of her blonde ponytail brushing her shoulder. "Why not? You like giving them."

"Well, yeah..." He bit his lip. "It's just, every bad guy has a code name, you know? Oswald Cobblepot goes by Penguin. Edward Nygma is going around as Riddler. Then there's Mr. Freeze. I just feel like if I take an alias, it'll be official you know? I'll be as crazy as the people I associate with and as evil as everyone says I am."

Harley hummed. "Okay, that's fair." She sighed, raising her hands to rest her chin in her palm. "Speaking of people you associate with. You and Jerome..."

Y/n's mood darkened. It had been a while now and Oswald was gone and Jerome still hadn't made an appearance. "I think he's mad at me." Harley tilted her head in confusion and Y/n shrugged. "I left with Alfred because Bruce needed me. Didn't give him a heads up, and then went missing for, like, months..." He shook his head. "Maybe he thinks I've gone back to my old life, or that I've left him behind. I just feel like he's avoiding me and one doesn't usually do that for no reason, so I figure-"

"What if he's just busy?" Harley proposed.

Y/n snorted. "With what? Reading a really good book series?"

Harley pursed her lips. "I guess you have a point."

"Why do you even care?" Y/n asked, raising his hands to knit his fingers behind his head.

Harley stared at him silently for a long time. She had the look on her face she always does when she'd trying to read Y/n's mind. When she's analyzing everything she learned in school and looking at the actions and words that he was currently giving as context, as well as past ones, and then somehow putting it all together to figure out the secrets sometimes even he didn't know. The same magic that made Arkham home also gave her the ability to read minds- Y/n had determined she was a proper superhero.

After she reached some kind of conclusion - she always nodded after she'd done the reading and then switched which leg was crossed over the other - a little smile teased her lips. She was trying to hide it. And failing. Y/n tried not to be curious. Usually when Harley didn't tell him something it was because he wasn't ready to hear it... but that smile. It was too late. He had to know. "What?"

Once he asked, the gate broke and she grinned. "You're in love with him."

Y/n snorted. "No. I'm not." The coy curl of Harley's lips added to her raised eyebrows to make Y/n doubt himself, even though he could feel his feelings and knew that it wasn't... he didn't... no way. "He's important to me," Y/n gave. "I care for him. But... love..." Y/n shook his head. "I don't know about that. There's been too much going on- I haven't had enough time with him."

She nodded, expression serious, as if this was a very important discovery. "I call Maid of Honor at the wedding though." They locked eyes as Y/n went to tell her off, but then a slow smile rose to her face as he realized she was joking. They both busted up into laughter.

"Whoever I marry, the position is yours." He winked at her and she flipped her hair, both of them giggling.

A timer went off. Harley stood, gathering her stuff and sighing. "That's my cue. Same time tomorrow?"Y/n nodded then stood.

He draped his arm around her shoulders. "You know, you make this place bearable. You're a real friend to me." He kissed her forehead. "What would I do without you, hm?"

She rested her head on his shoulder for a second before they began walking and it got too awkward to coordinate. "Probably the same thing I'd do without you. Be alone and miserable." She popped up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He pretended to gag and she fell into a short fit of soft giggles. "You're an idiot."

"Ah and yet what I lack for a brain, I make up with a big-" He cut off and she groaned. "Heart," he enunciated. He smirked and she rolled her eyes. "I have quite a large heart, full of love for my favorite gal." He shook her slightly, making a point that said gal was her.

"Every lesbian deserves a best friend with as little brains and as big a heart as you," Harley joked.

"And every gay deserves a best friend with as much brain and just as much heart as you." He finally let her go as she moved to the door that would lead outside. This is where they parted- her, to home, as he was her last patient as per usual. Him, further into the Asylum where he would have dinner then return to his room to be alone and sleep. Goodbyes were the pair's least favorite part of the day. "Until we next meet, Madame," Y/n initiated, pulling away to bow deeply.

Harley grabbed her doctor's coat lightly, pulling it out as if it was a dress as she bowed back. "I shall count the seconds." They laughed one last time, waving before she turned and left. He watched her go until she disappeared. She turned back several times to wave yet again, until she couldn't see him either just by turning around.

The second she was out of sight, the world lost a little color. It was a little darker. His smile got smaller and Y/n's shoulders sagged. He shoved his hands in his pockets before turning back to the hallway that lead to his room, beginning the trek.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. People rarely touched him. The only person that touched him like this was one that Y/n hated so much that his hands curled into fists in his pocket, his face suddenly cold and empty as he stared straight ahead, halfway through a step- his foot on the ground and extended, but not carrying him forward as it had been intended to. He took a deep breath through his nose. Unfortunately, in all the chaos and people getting booted from Arkham after beating on Y/n, the one person that meant the most hadn't been caught because everyone refused to rat him out.

The man who'd started it all.

"You and her..." The older guard mused, a nasty smirk on his ugly face. "I thought you were gay." He said it mockingly, like he'd caught a child who hadn't said they weren’t hungry sneaking food when everyone seemed to be asleep.

Y/n rolled his eyes, forcing his body to relax as he faced the man. The monster. "Not every girl in the world was born solely for men to shove a dick into them, Jameson." The older man glared and Y/n smiled, getting satisfaction. "As a matter of a fact, Harley and I are just friends."

"You're pretty affectionate for just friends," Jameson argued. Y/n still didn't know the man's first name. He didn't care enough too. He didn't want another name that tasted bitter in his mouth. He already had his fingers crossed he'd never meet a cute boy with the last name Jameson, because the name alone would ruin Y/n's chances before he'd even taken a shot. No reason to make it even harder for himself.

"We're comfortable around each other." He rolled his shoulder back once, slightly stiff from sitting so long. Jameson wouldn't attack, knowing that Y/n would report him instantly- especially in such an open space, with cameras and the chance of someone rounding the corner any second - but one could never be too safe, just in case. "She gets me like no one else does. But, as you so wonderfully pointed out, I'm GAY." Y/n enunciated the word, going the extra mile by taking a step closer to stress it even more. "Girls aren't my thing."

Jameson looked like he wanted to deck Y/n. The younger boy's lips curved into a mocking smile in response. Now the guard was the one who had to control himself. "You guys have a lot in common?"

Y/n shrugged, too caught up in his casual gloating that Jameson couldn't act out like he wanted to- like he used to be able to. "Enough. We talk a lot. She's cool." He relaxed thinking about Harley. "She doesn't think I'm crazy. It's nice." He cleared his throat, focusing back on the enemy in front of him... only to immediately be confused by the very odd expression on Jameson's face. "What?"

"Nothing," the man dismissed, moving to leave. "I've heard enough. You're both a waste." He shook his head as he left and Y/n glared at his back until he was gone. Then the boy turned back toward the cell and finally made his way.

Man, why did he have to be surrounded by such assholes? Why couldn't Harley be around all the time? Why couldn't he be free? They could get an apartment and talk all the time. Help each other get through life and protect each other from unwanted attention. Be themselves all the time. Make jokes and exchange irritated expressions when idiots like Jameson said stupid shit like he always tended to.

Tomorrow. He'd see her tomorrow. That wasn't too far away.

He could wait until then.

-

Y/n's knees gave out from under him and he fell, cracking them on the cement. He didn't even feel it. His attention was being completely held by the TV, which was turned onto the news. It was a small screen that had been installed in one of the Day Rooms recently. They were rarely ever allowed to watch the news, though. In places like Gotham, far too often the news held very upsetting content that set inmates off- either into panics, or into violent rages. Y/n had stood to turn it off when he'd realized what news was being shared. Someone had been murdered. Old news. This was Gotham. Then he'd heard the name.

"23-year-old Harleen Quinzel was found dead earlier today. Her body was badly beaten, with words carved into her stomach. It was the cuts on her wrist that were the cause of death, though it's been determined that none of this was self inflicted. We received a photo of the body recently. Beware: what you're about to see is not for the faint of heart."

Suddenly the screen was showing the broken body of Y/n's best friend. The sunshine girl with the bright smile and the contagious laugh. The girl who was going to be Y/n's Maid of Honor. Y/n's better half. She was limp and unmoving, her eyes wide and empty. Her skin was pale, nearly white, except for where dark, huge bruises and blood discolored it. Her hair had been cut off, the blonde locks left next to her head but clearly detached. Her shirt had been rolled up to letters on her stomach- carved as promised.

There was an L next to a G, in a circle and crossed through once. Underneath the symbol read: Sinner.

Someone was talking, but Y/n couldn't make out what they were saying. A hand in his shoulder and he looked over to see a concerned guard. A woman. She knelt next to Y/n, but she wasn't the one touching him. No, that hand belonged to Jameson, who had a sick expression on his face- a cross between smugness and victory, muted as if he was trying to hide it, badly masked by some version of concern that was so unconvincing that Y/n ripped his shoulder out of the older man's hand.

He was on his feet again and running. Out of the room and to his cell- despite all the people who kept asking him what was going on, and someone in the very back changing the channel as the news reporter announced, "If you have any information, please contact-" Y/n ignored the rules. He ignored the people yelling at him. He ignored the people trying to stop him. He just started running and he didn't stop until he was in his room, where he opened the door and closed it behind him. His heart was ramming against his chest and all he could hear was the rushing of his blood in his ears. He saw black spots and felt an emotion bubble up that he couldn't even begin to put name to. All he knew was that it was dark and twisting and it was very quickly consuming everything good.

Something in him broke. It snapped off. Something vital. Y/n was aching, but he didn't know what it was or where it had fallen to as he lost it. He just knew there was suddenly a gaping hole where something very important used to be, and he felt absolutely terrible with it gone.

On the upside, he could finally breathe. His chest loosened and his body relaxed and as the door opened behind him, he turned to see the person with complete calm.

"Jameson." The word was not a greeting, but more of an observation. No. It was an accusation. The older man smiled and Y/n's insides began to twist and boil- less like a tightening of anxiety and more like a snake, seconds from attacking. "Why?" He stepped forward. "She was innocent."

Jameson scoffed. "You think you two are subtle? You two act like you're together and then talk about how you're not- you just 'get' each other." Jameson shook his head, cracking his knuckles. "You're spreading your sickness, Y/n." The snake coiled tighter, hissing and spitting. Y/n felt his calmness very quickly drop, perfectly placed with rage. His body didn't move, he just suddenly had a bunch of energy and he was waiting for the perfect moment to use it. "You two aren't quiet either. Strutting around here acting so out of line, in front of me. Acting like you're not being evil." Jameson scoffed. "You're evil, Y/n. And if they wouldn't let me punish you here, I'd have to get more creative. Even if you don't see it, you're in love with her. What you think you are is unnatural, and I knew if you could see how you really feel-"

Y/n's hand was around the man's throat. Jameson tried to push the younger boy away or claw his hand off, but Y/n just rammed him into the wall behind him. Jameson's head cracked against the grey wall, his efforts suddenly becoming useless. "You think I'm dangerous as a disease? You're so desperate to cure me. You're about to find just how very dangerous I am, Jameson. All on my own, with just my two hands." And then he began to squeeze. Jameson writhed and fought and clawed but when he started to get strong, Y/n would smash his head again or ram his knee into the man's junk and the efforts died down once again.

It took longer than Y/n thought. Jameson started to change color, his eyes bulging and his lips moving desperately but nothing coming in or out. Just when the man seemed about ready to pass out, Y/n let him drop to the floor. He gasped, clawing to try and get away. Y/n smiled, toeing the door gently closed. Jameson squirmed away, features taken over completely with terror. Y/n felt amazing.

"You will never hurt another person, ever again." Y/n squatted down, taking the man's thin hair in his hands. "Me however?" Y/n giggled. "You've helped create a monster. Know that every person I kill in the future is on your hands. Every injury is your fault. I'm not a violent person, Jameson." He snorted. "Well, I wasn't. But it seems you fuckwads only answer to violence, so..." Y/n shrugged casually. Jameson shook his head, choking out pleads for his life. Y/n snapped the man's neck and he stopped begging. It was so easy... The silence was wonderful. Y/n felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. "I'm done sitting idly while assholes run Gotham." Y/n stood, not even bothering to do anything but leave the door wide open as he walked calmly away, grinning like an idiot.

Something had been broken and lost indeed. It was Y/n's self control. His moral compass that kept him grounded and toeing the line between good and bad. It was the thing that kept reminding him he was a Wayne. That he was a good person. That he had a family that depended on him, in some way or another. That he had Alfred and Bruce, who he did want to visit even if he also wanted a life outside of them. That he had Oswald, who most often found solace in Y/n's sanity and depended on his restraint to reel him in when people were trying to set him off; Oswald needed Y/n's sense to balance his emotions. And, overall, Y/n was driven by pure spite not to let those damn reporters be right. He would be good and successful and he would show all of them that he could be more than the black sheep of the Wayne family. The disappointment of Gotham. The failure, always in the shadow of the Golden Boy younger brother Bruce Wayne.

But those people who Y/n cared about so much had let people like Jameson walk around, unhindered and unchecked. They had let him get beat up for a very long time before he was nearly killed and their hand was forced. They had let evil people run around and control things while they locked up Y/n for being gay. For being attracted to a man even though he wasn't a woman. There were murderers running wild, with super powers and incredible genius, but the problem people were deciding to focus on was that Y/n was gay.

Well, he was done with the lot of them. He was going to get out and prove to all of them that he was more than a Wayne. More than a mistake. More than a shadow. More than evil or good. More than Bruce's older brother. More than the one dude who had feelings for Jerome Valeska. More than one more gay plague on the face of the planet.

They wanted a monster? They would get one. And Y/n wasn't going to stop until he was satisfied, even if it meant all of Gotham had to die.

-

"Knock knock."

The door opened and Y/n looked over, his face finally showing emotion as his surprise rose. "Jerome?"

The redhead smiled, striding toward Y/n as if he has a tasty treat to share. "My little lover boy." Jerome hooked his finger under Y/n's chin. Y/n yanked his face away. Jerome frowned. "Are you mad at me, pretty boy?" Y/n glared at him. "I'll take that as a yes." He leaned backward. "What have I done, My Darling?"

"You've been avoiding me. We haven't talked in, like, months Jerome. What the fuck?"

"A tad dramatic," Jerome hushed. "And not totally fault." Y/n opened his mouth to argue but Jerome gently grabbed Y/n's throat, pressing his fingers gently into the skin. Their faces were suddenly very close and despite himself, Y/n suddenly felt a thrill to finally feel their skin touch as cheek brushed cheek. "I've been busy planning our escape, if you hadn't noticed." Y/n's eyes drifted to see a nervous Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch. "Come with me, won't you? I think we've been apart long enough."

Y/n suddenly began to relax. He didn't manage to smile, but he did get excited. "Well... lead the way."

Jerome left an excited kiss on Y/n's cheek, letting his hand fall away from Y/n's throat in favor of shooting into the air in victory as he giggled, turning to his two partners. "And so we all escape! Come now, we don't have much time." Y/n stood as Jerome lead the way, all four of the men finding their way out of Arkham Asylum finally.

The fun was about to begin.