Joker 2019

Joker 2019

I just watched the 2019 Joker movie and I absolutely loved it lol. Idk why I waited so long to watch it but I am now obsessed and I can't wait for the 2nd movie 😫

Ok I know this is like a really big request but I’m so down to wait for it… could you do a nsfw alphabet for Artie/joker? 👉🏼👈🏼

AN: My, oh my.... I had to look things up because I am horrid at smutty terms, despite all the crap I write (: WARNINGS: DNR if you're a minor or at work: this is a not safe for work request fill that contains sexual terms and content.

I used part of the template from https://the-coldest-goodbye.tumblr.com/nsfw-template and combined it, making something with the use of http://www.sex-lexis.com/Sex-Dictionary The Arthur Fleck / Joker NSFW ALPHABET

A = Affection (strong fondness; warm liking; feelings of fond attachment , devotion or love towards another human)

Arthur has such strong feelings, they are the strongest anyone could ever have felt. His emotions usually take a swing to their extreme sides, and the same goes for his feelings of love and lust. Once he has set eyes on you, that’s it. You’re occupying his mind day and night. When he’s on his mother’s bed or on his own couch, he will gently caresses himself while thinking of you. These feelings cannot easily be swayed. Once you’re in his head, you’re not getting out love. That’s it.

As the Joker, these feelings will remain the same. You’re it for him, completely. He will lust for, or love no other because he’s convinced that all he needs to be complete is you. Finding someone else as devoted as him will be hard. Whether this a healthy affection, however, that is entirely something else.

B = Belly-bumping (self-explanatory: bumping bellies)

When he’s having sexual intercourse with you, this is what he loves. Despite his lithe frame, which makes it harder to actually press his belly against yours, he tries his best to touch each and every inch of you, covering you like a human blanket. This is especially a kink for Arthur. Joker focuses less on this aspect, as he’s more inventive during sex and likes to try out new exciting positions.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, sperm)

He loves to see you covered in it, as long as it’s his. Especially the Joker, he has a thing for it. It shows his mark on you and he loves spurting his cum all over your face just to watch it drip down your lips and cheeks. Arthur is less likely to do this, more eager to come inside of you, because he has been without this for so long. And he feels like coming outside of you is a waste, his sperm too precious not to be kept safely stored inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Arthur secretly pulls himself off using your underwear. Missing your panties? Might want to check if they’re not somewhere hidden beneath his pillow or mattress. As the Joker, he has grown more confident and doesn’t feel the need to hide these little oddities anymore. If he likes to pull off using your underwear he will do so while making sure you’re watching him.

As the Joker, he develops a new dirty secret, however, born from his violent side, and that is that he loves to see you covered in blood, whether his or yours. He doesn’t tell you this, but you notice by the way he becomes more eager and the way his hips snap faster against yours whenever he comes home from a task, blood drenched. Blood riles him up, makes him more eager. Though he doesn’t want to deliberately hurt you. But think of the implication, for those of you who have periods, how things will be during your time of the month.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Arthur has little to no experience, only did a bit of fooling around. Most of his knowledge came from magazines, and he isn’t a particularly skilled reader, so it’s been from images mostly. He has to discover this with you, have a journey to discover what you both like and enjoy together.

When he becomes the Jokeris when he finally dares to try new stuff. He sees a lot of shit then as well, going around town murdering people and beating the shit out of them. He is introduced to new places, dirty clubs, paces where other criminals gather to collect intel. He sees new things here, hears new things from allies. And then, when he goes home, he tries ‘em all out on you. And you love it.

F = French kissing (open-mouth kissing with passionate tongue-to-tongue contact)

They both love this. Open-mouthed kisses with lots of tongue used for both, baby! Suck back, twist and turn and battle for domination.

G = Gymnophallation (rarely heard, contrived neologism for sexual-intercourse without a condom)

Because using a condom would be wise, but he’s Arthur. At first he doesn’t even give it a thought. When he does, he doesn’t care anymore. He likes the thought of going in raw, of spurting his seed deep within your core. And he likes it, because you let him.

For the Joker, well, he probably uses a condom at one point, probably when you asked him or for whatever reason it would have been wiser. But he tears it off during the deed, rips it open, or whatever, making sure you feel his bare-skin deep inside of you before the end. Yep, he just rolls that way. And he knows he can, it’s only you he is stretching out like this, so it’s fine, right?

H = Hemerotism (daydreaming fantasies involving sex and/or nudity)

Arthur is one for this, always daydreaming about how he could have you, or how you’re looking underneath those nice clothes you’re wearing. Doesn’t matter where he is or if you’re with him or not. On the bus, sitting next to him, he can have a similar fantasy as when he would be there on his own. You’re in his mind, always, and he likes to think of all the things he could do to you.

As the Joker, these fantasies have not left him. They only occur less often, because he is way too occupied with ‘saving’ the town, fighting what he thinks to be evil. Plus, he’s already taking his full fill each and every day of you, whenever he has the possibility. He has less time to daydream, mainly because he gets to enact these daydreams on a regular basis. And isn’t that nice for him?

I = Illicit romance (an illicit sexual relationship such as an affair)

He doesn’t have them. Unless it is with you. If for whatever reason, he isn’t allowed to be in a  relationship with you when you first meet him, he doesn’t let it stop him. Are you in a relationship already, dating, married? He doesn’t care.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Arthur jacks off to the thought of you often. Sometimes with your underwear clutched in his hands. Sometimes in the shower. But the favorite spot for him would be to have a lie down on his mother’s bed and sneak his hands underneath his pants, fondling himself so roughly that it almost hurts. All the while thinking of how it would feel to be inside of you.

K = Karezza (or: carezza, a form of prolonged sexual-intercourse with penetration but no ejaculation, and little or no coital movements)

He practices this. When he has need to just be close to you, to be intimate, because he missed you. He just wants to be inside, to feel you around him, and cuddle you close. He has these needs as Arthur, but they don’t fade. When he’s had a particularly rough day, prepare to be sheathing Joker’s cock for an indefinable amount of time just to make him feel better and chase the traumatic thoughts away.

L = Lace (the silky kind of fabric)

He covers you in it. As Arthur, he has fantasized about you in lace negligées. As the Joker, he finally has the means to bestow them upon you as presents, so he makes use of it. The lace flows around you like water, showing your curves and features in just the right ways. It is driving his men mad with desire for you, and he prefers it that way, smirking because he knows that while others are wishing they could have you – he is the only one to truly touch you.

M = Multiple orgasms (climaxing more than once)

Seriously, the stamina of this man. Even as Arthur he manages to get off a few times in a row. But just for good measure, he tries to see how many times he can have you orgasm too.

You know you’re in for a row of orgasms when Joker walks up to you with that haughty smile and that mischievous glint in his eyes. He won’t be done with you soon.

N = Naked (as it says on the tin)

He’s not scared to show off his body. He was at first, as Arthur, when he felt insecure and tried to hide his chest from you. But when he noticed that you still wanted him all the same, he became more and more confident, walking around naked whenever it was just the two of you and he did not have the time to put any clothes on. After all, you’d seen it all before.

The Joker seems to care even less. Though there are more strangers around now that he has his henchmen, and he tries not to appear undressed in front of them. Not that he would mind it – in fact, some of his followers, a chick named Harley, saw him in a state of undress once and totally dug him from that moment on – not like he cared.

So long as no one else sees you naked. See-through clothing that you’re wearing is fine though, because he probably gave it to you to show you off and tease not only himself but all others around him with it. But really, really naked? Na-ah. That is for his eyes only. Don’t even think about it.

If someone were to catch a glimpse of you by accident, he would not live to tell the tale. Joker makes sure of it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As Arthur, he loves giving you oral pleasure, using his mouth and lips on you. As the Joker, he occasionally still does this, but he makes you return the favor much more frequently. Your lips around his shaft, yes please. As the Joker, he grabs you and guides your lips up and down his shaft, showing how he likes it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? Etc.)

A combination of both, always depending on his mood. Arthur can really have his mind set on taking it slow, drawing it out, but then suddenly the feelings become too much and he just needs to chase his release. You never truly know what it’ll be when he starts to have you. It could be hard and fast, or a sweet love-making. He has it all.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

A bit superfluous if you ask me, but yeah, he can do quickies. When you’re somewhere and he can’t control the urge any longer, he just pushes you a little out of sight and tugs at your clothes. He unzips his fly, making sure only your nether regions are uncovered, so he can have a quick dip in. Or push you onto your legs so you can suck him off underneath a table when no one is watching.

R = Ravishing (extremely beautiful and attractive)

Because that is what he thinks of you and that is how he describes you. His ravishing beauty. Whom he loves to ravish.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Arthur never really has had any toys, but if you’d made it know you would like to try some, he would be sure to buy them for you. Although he’d probably ask you a billion questions in advance to make sure he’s getting the right thing, and then be embarrassed at the counter when paying for it. He would mask that embarrassment by loudly declaring that his love-life was going fine and they probably knew nothing of how to get a good shag. But hey, that is the Joker part of him already shining through.

Joker would be pretty much the same, perhaps using equipment to try out new things he has heard about. But other than that, he thinks his body is a toy enough for you and has plenty of uses. Yet, if you asked him for something, he’d be sure to get it for you – and to have it tested out in his presence, possibly with his help.

U = Unchaste (not chaste, lacking moral discipline; especially sexually unrestrained)

He is a little of this, because he used to start out rather unexperienced and pure. His mind wasn’t though. And by all that has been described above, you can hardly call Arthur or the Joker a chaste man.

V = Voyeurism (the practice of gaining sexual pleasure from watching others when they are naked or engaged in sexual activity)

He takes delight in this. He used to as Arthur, when he flipped through the dirty magazines and imagined how it would be to see his neighbour in a state of undress. Then along came you. And he might have just spied a little on you to see how you looked like between those layers of clothes. As the Joker, he visits paltry clubs where his henchmen go to get their fill. He never accepts a whore’s offer though, although he does enjoy watching others at it. But the deed itself, that is restricted only to you. And when he comes home, he’ll show you just exactly what he’s been seeing.

W = Wanton (sexually open and unrestrained)

If there was any doubt left about this, I’ll take it away now. He is a very wanton man, openly displaying his lust for you. He doesn’t care if people see his gaze linger on you, the smouldering look in his eyes as he silently undresses you within his mind – in public. He will touch you when others are around, and with no shame. You are his. His hand on your arm is there to show it. If it dips lower, to come to rest between your legs, that’s also to show how much he years for you. He makes no effort to hide this.

X = XXX: (1. A prefix and symbol referring to pictures, magazines, or movies graphicly depicting sex.

2. Affectionate symbols for kisses at the end of a letter or Valentine.)

Arthur has a lot of them. Despite the state of his low income, he has quite a few dirty magazines lying about. Where did you think all that pocket money had gone to? But now that he has you, he stopped buying them. After all, they never top the real thing, and he has so many delicious dark fantasies that aren’t featured in them, but that he can act out with you. He doesn’t need them anymore.

As to kisses written as an X, he does that. A lot. Because his spelling is rather poor and he has difficulty reading, filling in an x wherever is easier than writing ‘kiss’. And whatever message he leaves for you, a kiss has to be included.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This man has been starved for all of his life. And it’s all coming out now.  He needs to have his fill, but he is darn near insatiable. Good luck with that.

Z = Zelophilia: (Sexual arousal from jealousy). 

This one is true for both Arthur and his Joker persona. I mean, even in a sense it could be applied to Carnival, because it’s just part of his entire being. If he sees you flirting with someone else, he’ll make sure to remind you who you belong to not long after. Seeing others come near you spikes jealousy in his heart, and makes his dick go hard. That overwhelming need to claim you, to show who you belong to. Yep, you better be careful because you got one horny bastard over here who is not about to let any social interaction between you and another, that could spike jealousy in him, pass.

AN: Hope you enjoyed. This is something I have never really done before and it was quite the experience. So many news words I’ve looked up. Don’t hesitate to send me requests, I am here for it.

Bro writing on Ao3 is a nightmare lol. Like it deletes my work when I leave the page to dubble check my sources, so I end up having to rewrite whole paragraphs/chapter ;___;.

Ma Miles - Ch. 18

3.5k words

Content warning: Mention of drowning, mention of getting shot with arrows

Pouty kitty!! A little bit of a smaller chapter today, but that's because another one drops tomorrow again. We're moving forward in this story and it's going to be a very rough ride for a little bit before ruffled feathers gets smoothed out again lol

(If you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments!)

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 19 - Coming soon

Standing on the receiving end, watching as you leave with their son, is unlike any pain Miles has ever felt before in his relatively short and long life. Screw getting shot by Mrs. Sully’s arrows dipped in neurotoxins, screw Sully and the chokehold he had on him as he slowly but surely drowned him. Compared to this anxious fear that was crawling up inside of him, that had been like a walk in the friggin sunny park. For a moment, how he had ended up in this exact situation strikes him with blinding clarity. He had never meant for any of this to happen, never meant for Sully’s son to get caught in the middle of their war, yet, a child had almost died and it had partly been his fault. 

The bile that followed the realization didn’t sit well with him. A part of him growls angrily inside of his mind, demanding that he ‘pussy up and put a pad on it’. Yet, that part of him lay crushed to dust in the jungle somewhere far, far away from here. He was not that man, that’s what he had claimed the entire time, but when push came to shove, when Sully had been within his grasp, Colonel Miles S. Quaritch was exactly who he had become. By some kind of miracle, he had managed to stop the tulkun hunt just in time before Scoresby sent the explosive-tipped harpoon into the animal. The shadow of your soul-crushed expression brokenly staring up at him with horror had entered his mind, making his entire body clench up, as if panic-stricken. He remembered mumbling something as he pushed the harpoon upwards to the skies, as far away from the animal as he could get it, before demanding that they stop the hunt altogether. From there, Sully would get the message and still be able to save the animal. 

Sighing deeply, he realized that he had screwed up royally. He should have never taken Spider from your arms, should have never burned the villages, or ordered Lyle to shoot that chief’s animal. He should have listened to you, should have taken your lessons to heart instead of just playing happy house while closing his ears to Ardmore’s nagging. The woman, although outranking him, had no tactical sense whatsoever. Miles was not stupid. Upon waking, he had gathered all the intel he could on the General, pulled some strings, and called in even older favors. What he had found was unsettling, even to what remained of Quaritch’s personality inside of him. Ardmore was ruthless but sloppy, her work was efficient when successful, but disastrous when failed. 

It wasn’t as much the failed missions that worried him though. Ardmore had given him a promise inside of her office, one he no longer had any doubt that she would hesitate to fulfill once she got a hold of you. How he was supposed to keep you safe was beyond him. With the way his body ached, he wouldn’t be able to defend either one of you anytime soon. The chances of the village protecting them were slim at best. They were primitive people after all. Once Ardmore set her mind on something, he feared it would rival that of Quaritch himself. The chance of the two of them coming with him was even slimmer. He had no claim to Spider, even though you had accepted him as Spider’s father. The memory of your voice brokenly ringing through the hut pulls him out of his mind for long enough to assess the situation before him. 

‘You do not deserve them,’ 

The claim cut deeply, although knowing you, it was probably not meant to. The despair and heartache you had displayed took him by complete surprise. With every emotion pouring off of you, you let yourself be vulnerable without appearing weak. In fact, he had never seen a more powerful display of strength in his life. You had spoken the truth, even though it had obviously hurt you on a personal level. 

The little mama was right, of course, though even admitting as much to himself didn’t come easily. Spider had gone with her willingly, and why wouldn’t he? She had been there for him his entire life compared to him. Sure, he had been dead for most of his kid’s life, but what did he do once he actually found his son back in that jungle? Kidnapping. Coercion. Manipulation. And hey, what do you know; kidnapping again. 

Shaking his head, Miles clenched his jaw so tightly the force behind it threatened to break the bone. The pain brought a newfound clarity with it, clarity that he had needed so many times in the past few months. Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, he squares his shoulders. Even though he never intended to hurt the children, using them as pawns in a game of war, just to get to the Sullys, had been beneath him. Looking up from his own pity party, he notices how Mrs. Sully doesn’t fare much better than he does. He recognizes the shame and frustration, her anger at him lingering just behind her eyes, as if smoldering embers waiting to ignite. But for the moment, he couldn’t care less what Mrs. Sully felt. Not when there were more important things to focus on.

The way you had just walked out on them, on him, threatened to make him spiral into a panic he didn't even want to acknowledge. Being ashamed didn’t fit into his life, didn’t clash well with his personality, in all honesty. Yet, when you had told them - told him - that they were unworthy of calling themselves parents, that they didn't deserve their children, he had only felt shame at the way he already knew it to be true. You were going to leave him for real if something didn't change soon, were going to turn your back on him and walk out of his miserable life like everyone else had. If he was being honest with himself, which apparently was the theme of today’s schedule, he didn’t understand why you hadn’t already left. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected it to happen. Everyone left him, that was just the story of his life. And maybe you would be better off if you did. But then again, if you hadn’t found a partner in all the years since adopting Spider, what was to say you would now? 

Closing his eyes and sighing deeply, he already knows what he has to do. Although it pains him to the very core of his soul, Miles steps up to Mrs. Sully, noting how her eyes darken with wariness as she scowls up at him, the grip on her knife tightening instinctively as he comes to a stop before her. The tension in the small hut is thick enough to slice with a knife, Sully and the big chief ready to pounce if he even breathed wrong. 

“She is right,” He starts slowly, his Na’vi not as good as he wished it to be, but by the shocked silence in the hut, he must’ve said it correctly enough. “I should not use the children on you,”

The sentence is chopped and slow, and he’s certain that he worded it all wrong when the hut remains silent, the Sullys’ expressions that of bewildered owls gawking at him with open ears. Growling his frustration at his own laziness, Miles slowly raises his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. 

“I shouldn’t have used the children against you,” He repeats, in English this time, “I apologize.”

“I understood what you said, demon, I am not slow like you,” Neytiri hisses back way too fast before continuing in English, “I will not forgive. But we do agree, for once. Y/n was right and I apologize for putting Spider in danger,”

It’s not perfect, it’s not perfect in the slightest, but it’s a start he thinks as he looks at his former Corporal. Sully’s shocked expression is not lost on him, and somehow, it makes him feel angrier than he already was. Turning around, Miles steps over to his cot, before sitting down. His body is tired and his head is pounding uncomfortably. With narrowed eyes, he watches as Mrs. Sully leaves the hut, but as she does, the big chief walks up to him. 

“It takes a strong man to admit when he is at fault,” He says before turning back to Sully. The two whisper something in Na’vi before the big chief leaves them both.

Miles doesn’t know how much time passes in silence, the sound of the sea below the hut soothing in a way he hadn’t expected it to be. Still, his anger and frustration over Sully only rise inside of him. The time he had wasted, the lives that had been lost, the cost it had demanded of him - all without a second thought. Although they were his decisions, he couldn’t help but fall victim to Quaritch’s old ways of thinking. 

“You were my brother,” He starts, his low and voice raspy - filled with anger and old betrayal that didn't belong in this new life of his, “And you betrayed that,” 

“It wasn’t personal, Quaritch,” Jake replies, and in truth, he sounds so honest. It only works to infuriate him even more though. 

“I gave you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Corporal. I went out of my way to give you what you needed to succeed. When Parker wanted to pull the plug, I fought for you. I showed you loyalty and you took that and spat it right back in my face - you turned your back on me,” Miles growls, ears pinned tightly to his skull as his tail thrashes loudly behind him, easily giving his emotions away which Sully clearly read. 

“What we were doing was wrong, can you still not see that?” Jake shoots back, his own anger showing, though his body language remained calm, non-confrontational. Anger though, anger Miles could work very well with. 

“You betrayed me, Jake,” He fuels on, the rasp in his growl lethal even to his own ears. 

“You betrayed yourself, Colonel,” Jake spits his title with disgust and for a split second, it hits home. Miles is unable to respond, unable to help his ears from twitching or his tail from freezing up behind him.  

“What we came here to do was wrong. Still, the Na’vi opened their homes, their hearts -” Jake points in the direction you and Spider had just left moments ago and the message hits dead center, “ - and welcomed us, made us a part of them, out of the goodness of their hearts. You know, the Na’vi has no word for shit like lies or sins. It’s not in their nature. But you know what? It is in ours, Quaritch,” 

What Jake says has Miles stopping in his response, mouth opened in a sneer to spit back, but nothing comes. Instead, his thoughts fly around inside his skull, evading him each time he reaches for any of them. He’s left gaping like a fish until he audibly snaps his mouth shut.

“We’ve done despicable things in our lives, Colonel, but this? This is a chance to make amends, to be born anew. Don’t waste it. Don’t repeat history…” And with that, Jake turns his back and leaves. 

Miles sits in silence until night has long since fallen, mind racing as the conversation with Sully runs through his mind. In more than one way, he knew that his former Corporal was right. This was a chance to start anew, to live a life away from war. But did he even know how to do that? He was born into war, lived and breathed war for the entirety of his human life, only to be reborn into war, of a different kind, once more. 

He had done things in his previous life that he knew he could never walk away from. And when his time eventually came, when he was military no more, he had roamed mindlessly before the Head of Chief position for the RDA was offered to him on Pandora. The private sector was sketchy at best, but it was home, a place where people like him could continue to live with the rules and mindset they had been used to from a lifetime of service. The time in between, though, that had been the worst. With no purpose in life, Quaritch had nothing - had no one. Heck, he didn’t even know himself apart from the Marine he had always been. That wasn’t to say he’d never let his mind wander, wondering what a life without the ever-pressing threat of active war and death would be like. To come home to a woman’s warm embrace, hell, maybe even a couple of kids too. Every time his mind went there, however, he would violently throw the thought from his mind. That life was not for him, had never been in the cards he was dealt.  

Now, though, now things were different. He already had the kid, had his eyes set on a woman… He had somehow been given this unattainable dream, but could he really keep it? Could he be the husband and father he had secretly dreamt of being all his life? And what then of Ardmore’s threats? If she found them already married, she would not hesitate to use Y/n against him, or him against her. But to what gain? There was nothing you could give Ardmore that any other native woman could not provide… unless it was to get full control of him. The thought has him freezing as a chill runs down his spine. The bond went both ways. If Ardmore got Y/n, he would be helpless to deny Ardmore anything she demanded of him, if only just to keep you safe. 

Miles doesn't have time to analyze his new discoveries, either one of them, when Spider walks into the hut, returning first, with a basket of food in his arms. He watches as the kid puts the basket down on the other side of the small hut, rummaging inside of it until he pulls out a ripe spartan fruit in his small hands. Miles watches as Spider cuts into it, dicing the juicy fruit into small cubes that probably were human-sized. It makes his own stomach growl loudly. 

“How are you doing?” Spider looks up from the bowl he’s putting the diced fruit into, his face curious behind his exopack. 

“Honestly, kid? I don’t know. These are new waters for me,” Miles couldn’t help but reply honestly. This was his son before him, the kid who saved him from a watery grave, even though he had just betrayed him and his mother. 

“Yeah, no shit,” Spider chuckles, a grin spreading across his lips before removing his mask to eat the first cube of spartan fruit, humming loudly as the taste no doubt explodes across his tongue. “Heard you apologized to Neytiri,” 

“Words spread fast I see,” Miles sighs, as his stomach growls angrily again while watching his son eat, “It was the right thing to do,” 

Spider looks at him with an expression Miles can’t place before he nods his head and leans back. Rummaging in the basket, he lifts another spartan fruit from it. Indicating that he was to throw the fruit, he waits for Miles to be ready to catch it before sending it over. 

“How angry is your mother?” He asks, digging into the fruit before daring to look into his son’s eyes, a small ‘thanks’ mumbled as he chews loudly.

“Oh, she’s furious. Never seen her this mad before,” Spider grins and Miles coughs as he chokes on the fruit before sighing in defeat while putting the half-eaten fruit down in his overly exposed lap. 

“I’ve never seen her this sad before either,” Spider continues shortly after as if he was waiting to gauge Miles’ response before offering the information. 

“Why’s she sad?” Miles dares as he stuffs the last bits of the spartan fruit into his mouth. 

“You broke her heart and betrayed her trust,” Spider gives so freely, without judgment, and just like that Miles has a new goal in his life. 

Conflicted about what his mind tells him and what he feels, he knows deep down that even Quaritch would have been weak for this Na’vi woman, for their son. She had shown him kindness where he had deserved none, had embraced his unit, taught them well, and made them smile, and what did he do in return? He had turned around and spat in her face, throwing away all of her hard work. Quaritch had always known he was an asshole, but Miles never for a second believed they could sink as low as this. You had taken his son in after Quaritch’s death, giving him warmth and motherly love, letting Spider grow into a confident and strong young adult. Quaritch and Miles owed you everything, even before you had met. 

Now, though, that responsibility fell upon him. Quaritch was no more, no matter how much he tried to come to the surface in Miles’ mind, dictating what he should or should not do, what he should and should not feel. Although his voice in the back of Miles’ mind had been conveniently quiet when it came to you, Quaritch had had his full share of “brilliant” ideas to offer on other stuff. Fifteen years, one and a half decades. That was a lot of time for the world around him to change, a lot of time for Quaritch’s methods to be outdated. This was a new age, demanding a new point of view to defeat an enemy that would no doubt come for them with a personal vendetta much stronger than before. 

Lost deep in his own thoughts, he doesn’t notice how Spider goes to sleep, his small body curled up in his mother’s huge bed, rolled into their blankets like a burrito. Sighing deeply, he gets up to clean the knife and bowl that the kid had used, dipping it into the bowl of clean water. For a moment, he looks longingly at the knife in his hand, entertaining the thought of breaking free, but Miles shuts Quaritch up before that seed can grow. This isn’t giving up, he decides, but rather seizing the second chance he’s gotten to do things right. Looking out over the sea, he sees two ikrans flying in the distance, riderless, and instinctively, he knows that it’s Cupcake and Hawnu. You must have just returned if he caught sight of Hawnu flying away. 

Turning back to his cot, Miles bends down on his aching knees before burrowing down into the material below. The woven mat is nothing much, but the blanket he’s covered in is soft and warm, protecting him from the harsh winds out on these islands. Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander to more pleasant things, like how Cupcake was safe, how you had brought her with you. If she was out flying with Hawnu, it meant that the wounds on her neck weren’t serious as he had thought. Any other thought disappears as light footsteps approach the hut, however. The guards outside greet you gently as you pass them by before stepping inside the hut.

You look tired. Your eyes puffy and dark as they meet his from across the room. Turning your back to him, you fiddle with the flap that works as a door, fastening its buckles as you prepare for sleep.  One by one, you close the flaps until the only light source is the pit on the floor, not that he actually needs it, his night vision working just fine for once. You don’t say anything as you turn your back to him before getting into bed with Spider, the blankets rustling quietly before the hut grows quiet once more. 

Sighing, he pushes the blankets away from his body and gets up to his knees, groaning like an old man as his body protests the activity. Seizing this second chance starts here, with the woman who had offered him the trust and patience he had only experienced in rare dreams. Walking over to their bed, Miles wraps his fists over his thumbs, an anxious gesture he never quite managed to hide. Getting down to his knees before your bed is easier than getting up. It isn’t lost on him how your shoulders rise to protect your neck or how your ears pin tighter against your head while he gathers his… courage.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry, sweetheart,” Miles’ voice comes out raspier than he thought it would, but his words ring no less true. 

He kneels there for a while longer, the silence stretching on, before getting up with a hiss, his body protesting louder this time. Walking over to his cot again, he lets his body crumble to the soft material. The olive branch had been extended, all he could do now was wait and hope that you would accept it.

Chapter 17 | Masterpost | Chapter 19 - Coming soon

The Venture Bros

Bro...I am binge watching The Venture Bros on HBO and man am I obsessed lol. Sadly no one really writes fics for them, but there is suppose to be a movie coming out this years so hopefully that sets the hype off lol. That's all, I just had to share XD

Could u please do reader x joker 2019?

Reader protects Arthur (before he turned into joker) from when his sign was taken and she beat the kids up and he won’t ever forget that moment. But now,Arthur turned into the joker, he returns the favour by saving her from bad guys?

And when he saves her, he walks elegantly towards her 😫✨ and says “I missed you, doll” 🫣🫣🫣😭✨

Title: Savior Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (Joker)  x Reader Rating: Mature for safety. Warnings: Violence, (attempted) sexual assault, Crude Language, Clown beating, Blood, Murder. AN: I wrote two versions of this. A sweeter tale, after which I realized the prompt specifically said that the Reader beats those bad boys up – so I rewrote it. Now I really struggled with how the Joker saved the Reader in this. I’ve written several different scenarios, but none of them felt right. In the end, I decided to base it on personal experience and went along with something that happened to me and frightened me a lot while I was in university. And that was passing this certain school and the young men that tried to sometimes sexually assault you there. It never went as far as in this fic, though, thank the lucky stars. But I had to push the situation a bit more to get a more satisfying end to their lives >D

Be warned, the boys in the second part try to attempt to rape the reader (I won’t go as far as clothes being torn off etc, but they do try to drag her into an alley and scold her).

So if any of this triggers you, please, do not read and hold out for the sweeter fill of this prompt that I will be posting later on <3

~ Savior Fill : I Can Handle Myself ~

The boys ran past you with such haste, it was as if a train passed you. You followed them with your eyes, frowning, and inwardly cursed how rude they had been to nearly trample you on their way past you. But you didn’t have long to think angry thoughts, because a man rushed by, clearly in pursuit. A clown, you thought, eyes now wide. A clown with a green wig cap adorned with curly fake hair and ridiculously big shoes. It must make his steps that much harder. How did he manage to keep up, you wondered.

“Hey, stop them!” the clown shouted. But the boys were shouting back profanities and crossed the road. The clown was nearly hit twice by a car as he followed. One glance around you told you that no one had bothered to run after them. Though some people stood and watched, most seemed to ignore the weird scene. You didn’t hesitate a single moment, though, and ran.

It had been hard to cross the road, but once you were on the other side, you came to a halt and your eyes darted from side to side. Where had they gone to? Then you spotted the clown as his feet slipped from the pavement and he caught himself with his hands. He’d nearly fallen but scrambled up to his feet again before he dashed into one of the alleys. He disappeared out of sight, but you had memorized the spot and made your way over to it as swiftly as you could.

At the entrance of the alleyway, you stood still to observe something you had hoped you would never see. Five teenagers stood huddled around the clown. His bright yellow sign lay scattered upon the floor, broken as if smashed against something. The man was quiet but conscious. You could see how he tried to shield his body from the incoming blows. And your mind went haywire.

You didn’t even register how you moved in on the boys, you suddenly just stood behind them. One high kick was enough to hit the first one on his shoulder. The tall teenager turned around, clearly confused, but you gave him little time to retaliate. Instead, he met your fist eye-first, and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the clown’s shivering frame.

At this point, the others boys had noticed your presence and they stopped their assault on the man. Instead, they turned to you. Eyes all dark and glowering, teeth shown. Like rabid dogs, you thought. But there was no time for thinking now.

You held your arms up in front of your face, hands curled into fists. A little hop to your step as you sprung side to side like you’d seen boxers do on the television.

“How about it, boys?” you whispered. You had wanted to sound cool, but something in your voice broke. It didn’t come out sad though, just a little husky. The boy whom you had dubbed their leader because he was taller and seemed to be the one to take initiative took a step closer to you. His eyes widened at the sight of you.

“Leave the clown alone,” you demanded, then ducked when the anticipated attack struck you right after. The boy’s knee was up to hit your chest, but you had seen it coming and darted out of its way. A fist was launched at your face, but either by sheer luck or good reactional skills, you managed to block it with your arms.

The move seemed to surprise the boy as much as it did you, because he took a second to recover before he tried to hit you again.

The others boys now joined in, the clown forgotten behind them. They inched closer to you with fists raised until a second boy launched himself at you, and all of a sudden, hands and legs were swung in your direction like a flurry.

You didn’t manage to dodge all of the blows, but you made a lucky move when you crouched down to avoid them, then kicked out your leg. Your foot hit an ankle, and one of the boys fell, taking the boy next to him with him by accident. With two down, you sprung up again and hurdled yourself at one of the remaining three. It was one of the smaller ones, an easier target. You tackled him to the floor in a tight hug, then let go of him the moment he lay down. Seated on top of him, you smashed your fist against his cheek, a blow that pushed his head into the dirt and the crumbling asphalt below. Then you moved off of him.

Just in time, it seemed. The two boys who still stood rushed forward to you. In a fit of panic, you reached next to you. The road was littered with garbage that had been torn from the many uncollected garbage bags, and your hand closed around something sharp. What the hell was it?

It didn’t matter. This was your life you were concerned about. With eyes closed, you flung the sharp object away from you, only to hear a gasp come from the boys. Had you hit one of them?

But when you opened your eyes, you saw they were unharmed. But they were gasping at something, eyes raised to the sky. You looked up to see your shot had cut one of the electricity cables that hung above the alley. The cable dangled dangerously above your heads, a crackling sound and sparks erupted from the cut end.

“Come on,” one of the boys then shouted, “Let’s go, let’s go!” The boy still on the ground jumped up to his feet. Blood seeped from a gash on his cheek. He threw you an accusing glare, but made no comment, before he turned away from you and the dangling electricity cable, then ran off.

The other boys followed until you were left alone in the alley. Alone apart from the shivering clown.

You ignored the cable above your head, as you did the shouts of someone in one of the apartments who was cursing that their television had stopped working. Hurriedly, you crawled over to the hunched form of the man, and then slowly bent over him. He kept his hands between his legs. Must have taken a few hard kicks to the balls, you thought. You felt pity for him.

If only you could have chased them off earlier. If only you could have spared him this fate.

“Hey,” you carefully started, your hand on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t shrug your hand away, but he did flinch when you first touched him. But then, as he heard your voice, his eyes opened and he looked up at you. Your heart nearly stopped beating, because the eyes that locked with yours were the brightest green you had ever seen. So pretty. Accentuated by the clown’s makeup and his hair, certainly, but ever so beautiful.

You could have asked him then if he was okay, but that would have been a superfluous question. Of course he wasn’t. He was beaten up, and bruised, his sign shattered. There was nothing you could do to help his bruises, you knew that. But perhaps there was a chance to bring him comfort, to soften those mental wounds he must have received so they wouldn’t scar as badly.

“Let me help you,” you whispered, again. Your hand slid to the man’s white-painted cheek.

He smiled.

2.

You’d nearly forgotten the man you had once saved. The mysterious clown who hadn’t given you his name and hadn’t accepted any offers to help him. It had been as if he was scared of you. The way his shoulders raised when you spoke to him and how he avoided looking into your eyes. You had caught him looking at you though. Whenever you looked away his eyes would be upon you, and there’d be awe within them. As if he couldn’t believe that you were real.

But that was months ago.

When you met him again, you were on your way home. This particular street led you past a community college building, a place where young men often loitered about, hands in their pockets, leering at you when you passed by. You’d gotten used to the whistles and the comments. You thought it was normal until one of your fellow female students pointed out that they never called after her.

Passing this street didn’t always make you feel safe, so when you were particularly tired, you’d go the long way around to the train station. But today, you wanted to take the shortcut. A choice you instantly regretted.

“Oi, pretty girl,” one of the boys wearing a hoodie, hands in his pockets like they usually had, shouted the moment he saw you. He came heading your way, a weird lilt to his step. You instantly knew this wasn’t going to be okay. “Oi, come here,” he said.

Behind him, a friend of his emerged out of the shadows of the building. A crooked smile upon his face and an evil glint in his eyes. “I think you have a little time for us, don’t you?” the boy said.

Two more friends emerged and you quickly scanned the area. Somehow, you were all alone. No other students were behind you, just in front, but they had just rounded the corner and were long gone.

The streets seemed empty as it was already getting late. The setting sun shone over the street tiles, making them shimmer. With hands flexed, you made to turn around, but the first boy managed to corner you.

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so,” he said. You wrinkled your nose in disgust when you saw he had grabbed you by the arm. His grip was tight and unpleasant. You started to feel scared for being surrounded by these young men who clearly wanted a thing from you that you were unwilling to give them. “Here, baby, don’t be difficult. Now, you’re gonna be good to me and my friends?”

You flinched, certain of one thing. You were not going to make this easy for them.

With as much strength as you could muster, you pulled your arm back sharply. An attempt to bring your arm back to your belly, but the boy’s hand remained attached. It hadn’t worked.

With gritted teeth, you flung your knee up to aim at either his chest or his balls. You hoped to hit the latter. But once again the boy was too swift. He used your own arm to block the attack, which hurt darn much. You winced and bit back a cry at the pain you felt. Stupid, you thought. You probably had bruised your own arm.

Another attempt from you to twist out his hands, but the second boy gripped your shoulders from behind and forced your body still. You cursed, loudly. “Let go of me,” you said as loudly as you could. “Let go, or I’ll scream.”

This threat instantly triggered a third boy to cover your lips with his palm. “You try and fight back bitch, and we’ll fuck your cunt into a bloody mess.”

With eyes wide of shock, because how dare they scold and denigrate you like this? You noticed how the four of them started to drag you into the narrow alley next to the building. An alley, you knew, would mean the end of it. Because how many people passed this street? And how many of them would think to look in that alley on their way? Your chances to escape would be zero to none.

No, your mind screamed. No, this can’t be how it goes. This can’t happen to me.

You struggled with all your might, even if it were hardly possible to move within their arms. All it earned you was a hard whack against the head, and a kick against your shin. More bruises, you thought, panicking. You had to get out.

Just before they could pull you into the alley, you had the mind to bite the boy whose arm had circled around your shoulders and who covered your mouth in the hand. He cried out. Then suddenly his hands were gone, and he fell face-first next to you. His head inside the alley. His body was limp.

You looked at him confused. Had your bite done that? But then a second boy, this time to your other side, called out. A high-pitched yell of pain. Arms flailing, he fell down to the ground as well, leaving only the two boys behind your back.

Their hands let go of you, and finally you were able to turn around. There they stood, both boys with their backs turned to you. Their attention all upon a new man who had appeared behind them. A man in a red suit, stylish, if not for the many spots upon it. Had he spilled coffee, you wondered at first. But no, it would have been a lot of coffee. The spatters were too many and too far apart. Then what could it be?

The man stood face down, a cigarette held between his lips and fingers, the tip glowing. You could not see his face, but something about his posture seemed familiar. Like a distant memory was awoken upon the sight of him. You’d seen this man before, but where?

His other hand rested inside his pants pocket, lazily, elbow hooked. Nothing about him indicated what had just been done, so you didn’t notice it at first. Not until he blew a small cloud while the cigarette left his lips, and he finally looked up at you all. You saw the paleness of his face. Not natural, but made by makeup. Familiar, you thought again. But it couldn’t be him, could it? The blue triangles near his eyes. The green tangled hair.

This man was dressed as a clown, you realized. A clown you’d seen pictures of before on the television, and on the wanted posters all around the city. A villain recently sought after by Wayne and the authorities.

The Joker.

No wonder you had thought you recognized him. A man known to be ruthless. Cold needles spread all over your spine and you froze up with fear. You knew you had to go, to escape, to run fast and as far as you could before he ended your life like had the lives of so many others. His reasons were often left unknown. Not just Wayne’s men had been murdered, dozens more.

But then your eyes turned to the two boys on the floor and you realized the clown must have a gun. Red had started to spread, leaking from the chests of the boys down onto the street tiles below. Their clothes were stained with the red liquid that was now rapidly spreading.

They’d been shot.

Then the stains on the clown’s suit weren’t made by coffee at all. They were blood as well.

You looked up again in fear, eyes wide. But the Joker’s gaze was not upon you. It was fixed firmly upon the boys in front of you. His hand rested lazily in the pocket of his red pants. Probably where he is hiding the gun, you mused.

“I think you have something of mine there,” was all Joker needed to say for the boys in front of you to start stumbling backward. What was it? You wondered. What did they have? What had you found yourself entangled in? Their screams echoed throughout the alley as they turned on their heels to run. They made it past you, into the narrow street, but only made it in several paces before one by one, they were shot in the back. Cowardly, you thought, but they oh-so deserved it for what they had tried to do to you.

They fell forward, their bodies slumped. You didn’t know if they were instantly dead, or if their life was slowly slipping away from them. You didn’t care to watch. Instead, you turned your head back to the Clown Prince of Crime, a title given to him by the most ruthless and the most influential of all men in Gotham.

The Joker stood where he had been standing. The only change was his now raised arm, a smoking gun aimed at where the boys once had run. Your heart nearly stopped of fear, and you hardly dared to keep your eyes upon him. Surely, he would shoot you next. Whatever this was, whatever this had been, he would probably assume you were part of the group. Had they stolen something from him? Did he want it back enough to kill them for it? Why should he spare you?

With your eyes averted, nearly closed while you trembled in fear, you heard his steps upon the tiled street. His soles slipped upon the glistening tiles, still wet from the rain earlier today, before the sun had started to peek through the clouds.

You heard how he walked towards you, taking his time, a cigarette in his hand, still burning. Then he brought it to his lips and took a long drag before he exhaled slowly. Little clouds of white swirled up from his lips to disappear into the early summer sky while he tilted your head with one finger, forcing you to lock eyes with his own.

They were the purest green you had ever seen. It was within that instant that you recognized him as the clown whose life you had once saved. Eyes that had once been filled with terror and disbelief, but had been ever so green that they had drawn you in. Eyes that had once looked at you as if he could not believe you were real. The gaze in them was the same. That look that told you he had a hard time believing that you existed.

But why?

This man had once been hunched over, frightened for his life, trembling. But now it was you who was in his place. And something in his gaze softened. You saw the recognition in his eyes and thought he must have spotted yours.

His fingers upon your chin tightened. The way he studied you while he moved your face with his hand, tilting it from side to side as he took you in the sight of you, made something in his eyes change. His gaze became more intense, darker.

Then his head dipped forward and his lips were planted against yours. The taste of bitter smoke and something unique to him invaded your senses. It felt pleasant. Unexpected, but heartwarming. A butterfly rose in your chest and wanted to fly, hot flames licked the insides of your belly. And this man had done all that with just one kiss.

And then he withdrew, but his eyes remained focused upon your lips. As if he was hungry for more, a craving you shared with him. He seemed to be catching his breath, his chest moved rapidly up and down, while his fingers finally slid free from your face so he could place his hands on your hips. You placed your hands on his chest and looked up at him, lips parted in a silent sigh, a quiet invitation for him to kiss your lips again. The Clown Prince of Crime happened to be your very own clown.

“I missed you, doll,” he murmured, voice hoarse and low. He had no idea how much you had missed him. "I think you'd be a lot safer in my arms, don't you?" he hummed, and you didn't think to go against him.

The newspapers reported you missing the very next day.