banschivs

[banschivs]

                                   𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑-𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒 // 𝟎𝟎𝟒

#☠ jokerphoenix. ⋙ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. #this is canon!!!!! when was this this is an anniversary too sdfghnjhgfd #she found him she found him she found himmmmmmmmmmm #then came the tear gas and copes and rioting sure BUT #she found him #probably choked on her own heart thinking that's it i did it i did it that's him and them zzzzzzzzip #gone again #babies #babies babies ouch in the heart spot #mine*

[banschivs]

So, it's Arthur and Nix's third wedding anniversary, yes. It's also the fourth anniversary of their reuniting that night on the train after three years of not seeing each other. Three years of Riktor stringing Nix along and promising to help her find the young man she was in love with, three years of basically everything in the world working against them, three years of Arthur being told she wasn't even real... came to an end with a submachine gun blast and googly eyes at each other across a dark train car, and the sudden 'oh'.

In a single year the two reunited, squatted in Gary's flat, moved out to their own place, got engaged, had Lilac, and got married. A single year. All because they'd been waiting to do it all since they were 18 and 24 (that's eleven and a half years for anyone keeping score). All because everyone and their mom fought to make their life together an impossible feat. Well they said fuck that, and she found him, like she swore to herself and now to him that she always will. Their first wedding was to celebrate their reuniting, and mark that anniversary... and their third wedding today is to celebrate that... and their first wedding. Its a big day, but somewhere on Lake Como in a tux and a third wedding dress, they're being completely zen about it.

#☠ abt. ⋙ 𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠. #☠ jokerphoenix. ⋙ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. #they have........... so many anniversaries lmfao #they met like properly met august 19 so theres that one #reunited april 29 #then got married on april 29 #the whole thing is just really really fucking lame #and i love them

[banschivs]

                               𝙹𝙾𝙺𝙴𝚁-𝙿𝙷𝙾𝙴𝙽𝙸𝚇 𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂  //  𝟶𝟶𝟸

#☠ jokerphoenix. ⋙ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. #this being my magnum opus #the timing the colouring the TWIRL #they're on beat with one another and they always will be #HAPPY ANNIVERSARY YA FUCKING DORKS #i'll never make anything better swear down

[banschivs]

#☠ jokerphoenix. ⋙ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. #the best wedding song bc it is theirs!!!!!! #them and ghost is a dream come true for real #arthur has the logo tattooed on him but with ivaylo's name bc they were dancing to fucking spillways when nix went into labour like oops #the music connects with them #this was the first song they danced to as a couple #how embarrassing #happy joker-phoenix day!!!!!

[banschivs]

                                 𝙹𝙾𝙺𝙴𝚁-𝙿𝙷𝙾𝙴𝙽𝙸𝚇 𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂  //  𝟶𝟶𝟷

#☠ jokerphoenix. ⋙ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. #mine* #the first!!!!!!! #....................i think #anyway this is early early that's why it's SO janky but thats ok bc so is nix and we love her anyway #happy anniversay weirdos!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #and good morning to everyone else ig #but really #truly #tis them #mwah !

[banschivs]

She can't imagine Thomas as anything more than the brisque, silent guardian who visits them both, much to Arthur's surprise. But then she remembers, or creates, something of a smile, pinched toward one cheek, lopsided and handsome like his son. They share a face, almost, now unlike Arthur and his own son — and it would be eerie were it not for how grateful she is to see it each day. Her husband's olive skin he claimed from his father has now turned a darker shade than anyone Nix has seen, on this terrace or out there on the long shores of Como. His long, once dark and quintessentially 'Wayne' hair, sweeps with the next breeze like silk. The outside air is good to him, though she has an inkling he doesn't quite see it that way.

Nix gifts him a smile, so soft and tenuous that for a moment it doesn't seem to suit her. He's placed in her head that great old house and it's many walled, now rugged and abandoned gardens. She hadn't seen the lake in question on their few scant visits to Wayne Manor — given how large those grounds are, as he's said, it makes sense that she didn't. Now, however, a pinch of yearning claws at the base of her breastbone. Scene's she's missed, all those years. The boy perched on his father's shoulders before the swarming bats, the boy tumbling on the floor with the Spaniels. The boy at all.

Nix wasn't even alive at the time.

Stupid, though she presumes it is, she gulps. And she's almost embarrassed for how her eyes must have fogged and her cheeks hollowed in longing. Still, she kills the space between them and crosses their mouths. It saves face a marginal amount, but not enough that she doesn't have to snicker into the proscenium of his mouth.

" I don't think it's my choice, " She says against his skin. A sugary scrim lies upon his bottom lip from his meringue, which she gladly thieves for herself. That spurs her to thieve the spoon from his hand, and it's with such a deftness that she isn't even sure she performed the feat herself, or if he helped her on the sly. She spins its stem with the tips of her fingers, then takes a scoop of ice cream. She can't feel the cold against her metal canines. Not at all.

Waiting to swallow is an afterthought, but she manages it anyway. " If you want condominiums, Baby, then you'll get condominiums. " She now wields their ostensibly shared dessert spoon, though her performance lacks all the grace he'd sported. From the corner of her eye she spies an iPhone lifted their way. The modest crowd around them rather lacks subtlety. She hopes they get her 'tapping' her husband's nose with the tip of her spoon; it'll make for a cute addition to her tag on Instagram. " You're the king, remember? By royal decree you can turn that bomb site into whatever the fuck you want. "

Her sincerity is peeled back for a girlish simper as yet again she lays the spoon on her tongue to scalp any sweet dregs from it. Her canines clang awkwardly against the silver in spite of how she softens her features to an impish sort of diffidence that might not suit her at all. Rolling her eyes in play of 'avoiding' his, she says, " But it would look cute as fuck. Some alpacas out front, a shit-load of fairy lights all in the hedges… ponies grazing, oh! " Her eyes bloom too wide in her head again, they lock on his own, " I found out what an orangerie was, like, three days ago, and now it needs one. "

He laughs before she does. Warm and gravelly and melodic enough to hypnotise her.

Nix blinks slowly, like she's under water. " But… " Her eyes still shine while she grazes the backs of her fingers along the apple of his cheek. " Condo's are more efficient. Think of the rent money. "

Crow’s feet reach from the corners of his eyes whenever Joker smiles. They come close to grazing his hairline as the eldest living Wayne tilts his head, scrunches his nose, then risks potentially dipping his hair in their hot chocolate meringue gelato to kiss her again. A rich, albeit herbal bitterness from her drained Martini 2000 candies Nix’s lips. She’d take another dainty sip were the glass not empty and their waitress making herself scarce.

Another couple occupies a table on the far end of the terrace. That tourist duo has been placed in the sun so Mr. and Mrs. Wayne can have the tarp’s shade. For what they lack in shelter, that couple’s received better service in spades. Joker’s been trying to catch their waitress’ attention to refill Nix’s cocktail for half an hour. Should she emerge, he might stand and flag her down. She’ll once again pretend that she doesn’t speak English in front of Nix, then enter perfect conversation with their fellow American tourists on the opposite end of the terrace. Joker squints beyond Nix’s head to see if he can spot their waitress over her shoulder. No luck. He might end up going inside and directly ordering through the cashier, whose attitude has been their server’s diametric opposite.

A gust off the lake blows his hair into their mouths when Joker steals another kiss. He pauses midway to grin against her teeth, allow a throaty laugh to rumble between them, then stamp her upturned septum with another kiss. 

“And the alpaca farm,” he recalls their first honeymoon in Cape May with a honeyed purr, then kisses her hard on the mouth and reaches to cradle her cheek, “And a pony for Evelyn…”

Dreamy haze blinds Nix’s hooded eyes to all but her husband’s face hovering before her. She also tilts her head into their next kiss and echoes, “And a pony for Evie…” 

“I can’t even begin to tell you how much property that rotting mansion sits on,” he doesn’t bother rearing back to spare his elbow from their gelato.

Nix steals his cigarette to take a drag, then pushes that exhaust out the corner of her mouth and slides the filter between his fore and middle fingers again. Joker wraps a few blonde locks around his fingers so they nest deeper in her scalp and pulls taut. Nix makes a show of allowing his cradle to support her weight and flaunts her straight teeth. His eyes rake from Nix's own, down to her plush lips, then back up again.

“Th-The lake...that you’re thinking of...is in the back. Way…” his green eyes blow even wider, “Back there. You wouldn’t even know at first glance. My...great fuckin’ grandmother tried to drown me in it.”

His Adam’s apple jumps. Nix vexes her jaw and claims her own fistful of his long hair.

“She’d bring me out there alone…like a sick dog she needed to put down.” Werewolf pushes against his wife’s grasp just so he can take another drag off his cigarette and forget to exhale. That hand trembles on the table. “The bats were everywhere as soon as you stepped outside at night. M-My old man…” he searches the table for anything he can toss. “He’d take a tennis ball…”

Nix’s empty glass will have to suffice. Joker dumps leftover ice into the saucer his espresso once sat in, then flicks the martini glass as if performing a juggling act.

“Like that…” he keeps his eyes on the glass.

Nix gasps when it comes close to striking the tarp, then flips and sticks a perfect landing on his palm. Clown school trick. He’s rusty, but Nix’s eyes rival Lilac’s upon watching the foot of her martini glass land flat on his hand.

“And the bats would try and knock it around. I couldn’t throw very high…” he bites on the inside of his own cheek, then carves himself some meringue with his spoon, “Not even from his shoulders. They liked…skimming this pond in the secret garden….” He grimaces, “I don’t even want to imagine what it looks like now...but it should go to you.”

Joker nods along to his own conjecture, eyes downcast.

He pops meringue in his mouth and chews before speaking again, “I-I-I’d knock it down and put up condominiums…” the cigarette returns to his lips. While he hollows his cheeks, Joker holds Nix’s eyes and paws their joined hands against his cheek. “But you'd make it beautiful...even though it's filled with dead relatives that hate me."

#jokethur #annnnd she doesn't even notice bc it's So Normal #happy anniversary you fucking lame bitches!!!!!!!!!

[banschivs]

#☠ aes. ⋙ 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙩.

[banschivs]

Every word seems to draw her eyes wider and wider. She can't be too far from watching those spheres rattle from her eye sockets and land between them on the table like marbles. Behind that stare lies a black and white image of a boy crouched by a duck pond. His cheeks aren't quite as round as they should be, but there's a softness to his sweet, solemn features as he outstretches his hand for the closest mallard. Even desaturated, those eyes seem to glow.

The photograph taken by some old Elliot family patriarch she doesn't care about sits, nestled beneath their bed in a little box, about five-thousand miles away. It shares space with Arthur's single-sentence wedding vow and other such pieces Nix has collected across her few years of freedom. She doesn't need the photograph before her to know its grey lines by heart. She maps them now, with her free hand caressing in slow, long lines down across the valley of her husband's cheek and down the cut margin of his jaw.

The clean and and crisp light adores him, much in the same way she does. That truth, looking upon it herself, narrows the channel of her throat. The same little boy busies himself with two Spaniels in what is now a great husk just outside Gotham city. She struggles to picture Wayne Manor as anything but the hollow mausoleum now home to vagrants, drop-heads and suspected ghosts, but within her husband's eyes, she thinks that she sees the scene as clearly as it had dawned on him.

Her lips part when she drops her chin, and yet first finds no voice to fill the modicum space between them. The next sough caresses the water and riffles through the vines draped above their heads. It kisses his crown coolly, combing through soft waves and lifting them from his shoulders. Nix crosses their mouths before even attempting to pluck words from the void of memory her head's become. Memory isn't even hers, and yet she sinks within it as if it were silt.

Drawing back with a subtle pop, she sniffs, and once again strokes from the hinge of his jaw to his chin. " Things are adding up. " She says softly, and low, like she isn't entirely committed to the bit. " Not a dog, not a bird… Not even a pet rock, I bet. " A pantomimed wince pleats her brow and steers the corners of her mouth further south. Arthur snatches his chance to kiss her downturned pout while he can. It makes her giggle. " No wonder your brother's such a brooder. "

To soften any blow, she laps at his parted lips and gifts him a hum with such vibration that he could drink it in. " Dad, um, " Her tongue parts her own lips now, so that they press without pinching. The sun winks off the spoon Arthur wields with all the grace of a sabre and momentarily throws a long slip of light across her face. " He'd take you to see the ducks, right? A-and the bats? " Curiously bashful, she blinks thrice. Nix's fingers drop to beneath his chin now, so that he shelves atop their tips. She's careful not to spear his neck with her nails. " He knew you liked animals, even if the corpse-wife he had in the house wasn't for it. "

Lopsided, her smile now. Nix speaks from the corner of her mouth as if they share a secret, despite the countless eyes and ears wanting for their conversation in the crowd around them, " Wonder if he figured you for a three-dog-five-cat… pig, " Her eyes roll to the sky as she reels off her list, " Owl, snake, two tree frogs, a goldfish… kinda guy. Wonder if that's on him. "

The breeze in Como is balmier than he’s used to. Gotham Bay cuts through clothing all year round. Here, Joker's hair dances off his shoulders and upper back. Fine green wavelets rope across his face even with his back to the lake. He doesn’t bother brushing them away, but Nix pleats her brow and reaches across the table to free a few snags from his eyelashes.

Shaking his leg under the table jostles their spread. Nix rests their spoons on a saucer and covers his espresso with her palm so scalding black ropes don’t leap from the tiny cup and stain his clothing — or scorch his skin.

Smiling without his face is arduous. Too many creases. There’s nothing to distract from his twisted teeth and that gap on the top right. The awning’s little blue tarp billows at its edges. An iron pergola garlanded with ivy clanks back and forth, too. If the tugboat hauling across the lake would sound its foghorn, Joker could conjure up something of a harmony.

Eyes averted, he performs as best a theatrical frown as he can without makeup and then shakes his head, “I don’t know what he was thinking. Some business partner came over with two of those Kermit the Frog…kinda Lady and the Tramp puppies,” his focus returns to Nix’s face, “You know, the ones with the long floppy ears and the cow spots…” Joker makes a claw with his hand and pantomimes as if this charade will help identify Blenheim-colored Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, “So I’m about…” his lips quirk as he looks up at the awning to help him remember, “Four…”

One of their spoons becomes his newest demonstration tool; Werewolf taps around their table with it like staging some scene from a play.

“Playing on the floor with these puppies. I…I don’t speak a word of English, but my father notices that I’m really,” he makes his eyes big, “Liking these puppies. At the time, they still had no idea if or when my mother was ever getting out of the hospital. So he tells that cunt he married,” he forgot to check where their rude waitress was before he said that — she intentionally hasn’t been using English at their table and delayed Nix’s cocktail by about twenty minutes, “Something to the effect of,” his Thomas Wayne impression is fairly accurate, though the gruff voice coming from him startles Nix, “‘You know, he’s really liking these puppies. Why don’t I buy one off'…whoever the hell that guy was,” he clicks his tongue and wiggles his fingers, adding, “Irrelevant,” then he clears his throat, “Nixie…” he squeezes her fingers, “I swear to you...on our children’s lives…that walking fucking crepe looks him dead in the eye and she says, ‘You know that puppy’s gonna die on it,’” Joker slow-nods, then repeats, “I was ‘it.’ Dad and his buddy are confused, maybe even a little disturbed, then she goes, ‘That’s the problem with pets. You love them and then they die.’ Who the fuck says that?”

A frenetic exhale frays his cross between a laugh and a cough from the cigarette he forgot he had.

“I’m four! So my brilliant fucking father goes, ‘I’m gonna drop dead at some point, too’ — as some counter-argument that to him made sense, but I am…��� He cringes, looks down, then leans into a filthy laugh that stings on the way out, “—fucking four so I start laughing!”

Wild-eyed, he shakes his head and taps the spoon on one of the little pieces of waffle cone jutting from their gelato.

“This bourgeoisie mother fucker over here," waffle chunk business partner, "Doesn’t know about my condition. So he thinks...the prospect of a dead parent is funny to me! Even though...I was fucking horrified! And that...my darling dear...is probably why no Wayne has ever had a pet. We went from ‘hey-the-kid-kinda-likes-this-thing’ to ‘you’re-gonna-croak-and-leave-him-an-orphan-even-though-I’m-practically-paying-for-his-mother’s-release-myself-to-get-him-out-of-here.’” 

#jokethur #she just needs more story and she always will #but yeah there will be more martinis #by nature

[banschivs]

Erwin Olaf

#☠ ref. ⋙ 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙. #nsfw cw//

[banschivs]

White sunlight adores his face. Arthur's turned three shades darker already beneath the Mediterranean sky, while she can almost feel her pallid skin wilting beneath the weight of slow-blooming freckles that emanate from the bridge of her nose. That same bridge creases for her next smile — which, of course, their slew of amateur photographers are sure to have caught. The young Wayne couple can't seem to exist here without eyes boring into them. Any dream of anonymity Nix may have had had been slashed upon leaving Villa Balbiano for the outside world. It's certainly less than the royal-like subtlety Balbiano's staff are sure to provide, but Nix hardly minds while her hand is in Arthur's own.

Clear blue skies do offer her some kindness; it lights her eyes in a way so that they glow, at least half as brightly as those across from her do. Jade angler's lantern pull her in, bent at the hips so her torso hangs across the table and their brows knock. It's a graceful suspension that their audience is sure to weep for, but Nix doesn't perform for them.

" He did? " Surprise nestles in the subtle curve of her brows as they lift. She's drawn her long bangs closer to the centre of her face to at least mimic something of a fridge that aids somewhat in shielding her from the pale glare. Arthur's Ray-Bans, however, have saved her today. She hasn't even seen him squint. Everything he does is with an elegance so honed it's preternatural.

Their conjoined fingers lift some when she tightens her hold. He cradles her with a warmth she thinks burgeons more than the sun above their heads while she attempts to draw him closer as if there isn't a table between them. Zeal pinches her bottom lip between her teeth before she ducks to kiss him. A faint sugary sheen from the Coppa Gabbiano between them paints his cupid's bow, but she sweeps it away gently with the back of her finger and lets him clear her skin with another kiss.

With a reticent snort, she offers, " Suddenly the hell beasts at home make a whole lot of sense. Did, " Her gaze drops, fleetingly to their shared desert, if only to ensure their hair is safe. It is, though entangled around one another's. " Did he… think you'd be with him longer? Or that you'd take a bear back to your mom? " Imagining Penny's face, the distorted and foul vision she has of it, in that moment makes her giggle.

Como’s population sits below eighty-five thousand…and all of them so far have recognized the ‘new and improved’ Wayne family. At least six old ladies asked after the couple’s children as they explored the twelfth-century città murata hand in hand. Mrs. Wayne has been picked off more frequently than Mr. Wayne, who keeps his green waves loose about his shoulders. His Ray-Ban sunglasses dangle from @banschivs' neckline since she forgot her own at their villa.

Each time they asked a local for a restaurant recommendation, they were directed to the same gelatoria. Thank Christ they listened. With its outdoor terrace on the lake and tiny cast-iron tables and chairs by the rail, Gelateria Il Gabbiano truly is a bait ball for lovers. Neither bothers to dodge mobiles flashing in their faces as locals walk by, but the sun would bludgeon his eyes if not for the blue awning their table’s settled under.

Contrasting the water and forested mountains, Como’s sky is a bizarre cornflower blue. Joker would notice it were he not so captivated by the anxious wonder radiating from his wife. She doesn’t know where to focus: her ‘Martini 2000,’ boats — one may be George Clooney’s and their wedding planner hinted to look for it, mountains so lush and vast that they swaddle, the pink flower beds decorating the gelatoria’s iron parapet, or that oxidized copper dome belonging to the cathedral in Como’s heart.

When she forgets to blot residue from each spoonful of their shared Coppa Gabbiano with a napkin, Joker sweeps his thumb along her top lip and pops it into his mouth. Sitting across from him has made her uneasy enough. His back faces the lake so she can see out. 

Playing with her free fingers, Joker taps their knotted hands on the table and takes a quick drag off his cigarette, “Ambrosius!”

The energy in his pacing tips Nix off. She opens her eyes as wide as she can make them to let him know to continue. Nix also subjects him to her broadest, toothiest smile. He can’t help leaning across the table to kiss smack in the center of her front teeth. The lunge almost dips his hair in their hot chocolate and meringue gelato.

Nix giggles and drops her spoon to cradle the back of his neck and stroke behind his ear.

He hums into the embrace, then parts from her in time to kiss the bowl of her palm and, while squinting against broad daylight, continue, “Something hit me like a bag of god damn bricks wh-when we passed that couple in the village — you know, the ones with that teddy bear-looking dog…?” He shifts his shoulders in fluid slants that come close to touching the marbled tabletop. Joker then leans forward and stage whispers, “My father almost bought one just like that while I was living with him.”

#jokethur #i have a very strong fuck you headache that comes and goes #and stiff shoulders??? i feel 80 now whereas i only feel 75 naturally #so that's a bummer #i think my skull is bruised lmfao but what can you do #anyway love you this is cute i hope i didn't ruin it

[banschivs]

㋡🥀

#☠ aes. ⋙ 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙩.

[banschivs]

Even so much as the notion of some second life, in a pink house, walls ostensibly built by love alone, brick by brick, warms her from beneath her skin. The colour blooming across her cheeks glows on account of the television's illume. It reaches them from across the living room, but only so much as grazes her once it filters through those soft waves of Arthur's, now framing both of their faces. Virescent light cuts in shards across his olive skin, glancing off his eyes with such whet luminance that she finds herself quickly short of breath.

He claims that opportunity, crossing their mouths with enough force that the couch's arm pillows her crown the deeper she sinks. It isn't long before that long cosset's interrupted. Nix's shoulders roll while the bridge of her nose wrinkles and each kiss turns more and more to her teeth. Arthur lands a peck against her incisors, caring little for the clumsy, nasally giggle she gifts him with. Along with that laugh, her limbs seem to pinch inward. She locks her knee at his waist and folds her calf against his lower back.

Every rock of his hips results in the urging of her heel against his backside. Nix has rucked the loose band of his joggers just enough that she pressures bare skin when next she moans and lifts her hips to meet him. Agonisingly short strokes rend any semblance of composure she'd thought to keep for herself. A pathetic, wanting mewl stutters in her chest, and vibrates against the proscenium of his mouth. Like this, they share breath.

Arthur is first to note the change on the television's screen, with what shreds of a view he has through his own hair. By ducking his head to kiss the corner of her mouth furthest from the screen, he works to nudge her cheek with the bridge of his nose. That effectively steers her attention to the Gothic-Stick mansion, flanked by cherry blossoms. Those white-pink blooms match perfectly to the exterior walls of the grand house and white picket fence of its surrounds. Against the backdrop of a cloudless blue sky, with the ocean just beyond, it doesn't look real.

" Oh my God… " Whisper-quiet, and thick in her throat, Nix's wonderment lies between them. Overt, nigh-tangible revere holds itself in the bobbing of her chin, and the shudder of her next breath — though both are begotten by her husband's teeth, grazing her pulse point. He counts the hike while ardour tightens the muscles of her thighs. Nix's knees knock him at the waist. She threads her working fingers tight through his hair. " Baby it, " A breathy laugh she has no control over steals her voice momentarily, then she steers his face back toward her own. " It's like a fucking Dreamhouse! "

Now nose to nose, she claims his top lip. The curve of his cupid's bow lies upon her tongue as she draws him so close their chins knock and the upturn of her nose burrows alongside his own. A low hum softens her beneath, steering the feline curve of her spine that presses their chests. Her tongue strokes his own, in time with the next rut and push of their hips. Every turn sinks her deeper in the velvet cushions she should really think about replacing.

Quick, open-mouthed kisses draw her from his lips, to his cheek, to his temple, and then down to climb the line of his jaw. " I love you. " She tells him, her attention locked beneath his ear. She thieves the lobe to nibble when next she bucks her hips at an angle that seats her against his left thigh. There she finds that stiff ridge again, and blindly, with her wet outer lips hugging him close, rides his length. " I love you! You're— " Only feeble cotton dares to part them, and so when she all but seats herself on the head of his cock, she loses every word on her tongue. " Perfect… " A well-timed pinch of ribbed walls draws a gasp from him next. How she's seated herself against him, warm and slick and aching already, he could time her pulse. " It's perfect, it's… " An impish snicker betrays the heady timbre holding them both within some dreamscape. " We'll just take the kids and squat. "

Once he finishes kissing her, she can...though if he had his way, they'd never stop.

Mantled over his wife, Joker has a care not to accidentally crush Domino against the cushions or knock their shepherd-mix puppy with his heel while parting his knees a smidge wider.

A breathy keen blooms between them once his hips level with her own and roll forward. Her knee’s bony summit carves the cinch of his waist. Crossing their lips once again incenses him with buffalo sauce from the waffles he’d made her and the chili powder he sanded her glass with. That’s floating around somewhere, too. Joker pauses after a lazy, amorous kiss to incline his chin and try to peek past his damp green hair. Vermilion stains his eye from the coffee table. Should his foot jar, he shouldn’t capsize the cocktail and stain their floor…or so he hopes.

Another thready breath ends with him rocking forward again; pressing that soft, damp valley between Nix’s thighs and teasing its rosy folds through increasingly shallower ruts. Each undulation runs an electric current through her.

Nix traps his backside under her calf, hooks her heel to try and force him to grind harder, and gasps upon feeling the bulge in his joggers that already hang too low on his hips. Trim hairs peek from the crux of his root. They soak under her and collect a pearly sheen that she’d lick away had she the mobility. Instead she parts her lips to swallow his groan.

Joker’s tongue dips past her teeth and curves in a fashion that drives her nape backward. Nix squares her chest as if though her hoodie he can watch goosebumps ensconce her areolae and her nipples tighten. She returns each thrust by lifting her hips off the cushion and grinding despite the tension and stinging sensation straining her spine.

Before she tries not to wince, he cradles her lower back under one hand and pushes her close enough that they lie almost skin to skin. Nix kisses him flush on the mouth, then parts her lips wider to inhale the smoke from his last cigarette and the Altoid’s he guzzled before plopping alongside her. 

Combing a few blonde strands with his free hand, Joker tilts his head and kisses the top curve of her Cupid’s arch.

He whispers, “It should be your house.” Trembling fingertips graze her forehead, “The place has been for sale since the eighties.” To prove his own uselessness, Thomas Wayne’s buried heir shows his teeth and says, “And I can’t afford it even with ten mortgages. But…” his lips tap her chin, “It should be yours. I’ve wanted to buy it for sixteen fucking years and get you the hell out of this shithole.”

Cigarette-warmed, smoky lips wrap around a soft patch under her jaw and suck. Nix tits her head back to open her throat, sighs, then grips a fistful of green hair and pinches his waist. Joker's tongue sweeps her throat’s hollow and lifts until his next kiss.

While he’s distracted, Nix pulls his phone from his pant pocket and points it at their Apple TV. Once Safari pops up, she image searches ‘Ann Starrett Mansion,’ then drops his phone on her stomach like a sea otter so they can continue kissing as the search loads. Joker draws her tongue into his mouth with an unusually deep hum, then nudges her nose and stares at her eyes until she reciprocates.

“There’s a solar calendar in the dove tower that you’ll love,” he stamps a kiss on each star tattooed below her eye, “Allegedly…” his mouth quirks, Nix kisses it; “It glows red from the stained glass — e-each painting of a virtue was made to look just like Mrs. Starrett.” 

#jokethur #nsfw cw// #if you squint

[banschivs]

━ :･ﾟ⧖.* 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘏𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘋𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘠𝘦𝘵 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘌𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘺.

#☠ nix. ⋙ 𝙞 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙞 𝙙𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪; 𝙞𝙩'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩. #mine* #oh mrs wayne hello #you're doing just fine #in italy with your man for your third wedding #refusing to do anything branded unless you're in his colours #looking just Fine doing it too

[banschivs]

The friends in question are currently guiding the boys carefully around the fairy grove at the bottom of the garden. Those little toadstool houses are nestled through roots and wildflower spurts. Sometimes Nix adds a new little hovel to the collection for the girls to discover on their next venture through. For however long both Abel and Thomas will tolerate Lilac's zealous running on the spot despite her sister's attempts to relax her, beneath the tree they're occupied.

A pink and black spotted pig snuffles conspicuously around the glass coffee table between them, hopeful for scraps. He doesn't know there's only coffee available — Applesauce follows Nix the second he spies anything in her hand, even if it's Ivaylo. The little boy's eyes mimic his father's in a manner that is particularly eerie. Wide, green as the grass Nix fights for her life to keep alive in the little haven of the garden, he stares at Wendy across from his mother, seated on her lap. It's as if he knows he's missing out on something. His father, most likely, but Arthur is two floor's up. If Nix listens carefully, she likes to think she can hear the next Grammy-winning tune flow through the air.

" What about school? None there? " She asks, in a manner so nonchalant that it surprises her. This face she finds ill-fitting: Skizm's Killer Queen discussing schooling, of all things. Somewhere, his teeth scattered amongst the gravel, Riktor's cackling.

Nix sniffs, and leans back in her seat to at least perform at ease. The boy perched on her thigh rolls back to jam his shoulder-blades against his mother's breast. " I think that shit almost broke Arthur. " A faint smile reveals teeth, then her brows lift, and she locks eyes with her company. Faint fingers of heat unfurl from her coffee to frame her face. " Apparently Gotham's not the lead in education… And no one's replaced the last board of education director since she, " A shrug. She lifts her son's arms as if too couldn't care less. " Got dead. "

hands embrace coffee cup, cradling it with open palms ; the warmth a contrast to the ever present cold which seems to cling to gotham. ( a part of her missing the california sun, though not the way it always came accompanied by violence ). too familiar with the way gunpowder residue and spilt blood coagulated in the summer heat. the city a blur of grey doused in brine-water fog. yet neither abel nor thomas seem to notice the perpetual damp, smile soft as she watches them play. “ all the shit the kids have been through, movin' here, i'm glad they found some friends. ” / @banschivs

#osseums #of course i love !

[banschivs]

Louise Glück, from "Stars", Poems: 1962–2020

#☠ aes. ⋙ 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙩.

[banschivs]

If his handsome pantomime of Leo DiCaprio hadn't melted the icy despair claiming her whole body, then that sweet smile and jest works alone to dismantle it. Nix seems to melt beneath his stare. Her shoulders slung so low that the glass now in her hand meets a precarious angle. She's in danger of mussing the bedsheets beneath them before they've even begun their stay. Nervously, she rights the crystal in her working hand, all the while weaving her other through her husband's hair.

Her features pleat once again though this time it isn't for a sob wracking her chest. A giggle, thick in her throat and quiet, breaks into the modicum space now held between them. Her naturally downturned pout becomes a lopsided grin, flashing her teeth and swelling the apples of her cheeks until they tinge pink. She remains a mess of grey-coloured tracks beneath her eyes, and a wet sheen catching the light beneath her nose. She feels the state of herself as if it were a second skin now. Whatever attempt at glamour and ease she might have been able to pass off to Villa Balbiano's discreet employees she's since shed.

Arthur doesn't seem to mind. He watches as she awkwardly pads the mussed stretches of her face with the underside of her wrist. Blotting beneath her nose with the same tactic probably does little to salvage what once presented her as the picture perfect Mrs. Wayne, but she presses with obstinance and sniffs.

Still with a faint, diffident laugh, she rolls her eyes. " Please. " She's playful, jejune and fragile in her anxiety as she sets her knees against the mattress and plush bedsheet either side of him. Like this, her thighs frame him. Nix has hiked a little higher so that their chests press, and she can find comfort in the pretence of her heart against his own. A grateful sup of her cocktail clears some congestion from her throat. " ...Shit like this on me sells. "

Ere she wounds him accidentally through that self deprecation, she furls her fingers against the base of his skull. Soft green waves, combed through by the great lake's fresh breeze, filter through her fingers. She cannot feel exactly how she winds those strands around dead digits, but watches his shallow curls riffle for her touch. With sunlight crowning him, his hair almost appears to glow as brightly as his eyes. Those headlamps still cut right through her, though the allegorical wounds are warm as home.

" I love you. " So used to their walls having ears, the whisper's shaped against his parted lips. Faint threads of his last cigarette linger as she sighs into the proscenium of his mouth. " I… really fucking love you. " Again, the hapless scattering of a laugh betrays her, hikes her shoulders and makes shudder her chin. She sniffs back another heavy tide with enough force that it bruises her between the eyes. Nix battles the wince, as well as the appeal of closing her eyes to the dull ache as she admits, " I just really need you to know that. "

A kiss adorns his cupid's bow, ere she steers her focus, typically, to that hairline fracture above below his nose. The scar's barely there in truth, but draws her attention without effort. She dots a kiss to the corner of his mouth next, and then the bottom lip she's plumped with attention. Their chins knock, and so she kisses him there, too, stroking long fingers free from his hair and beneath his ear to steer his face toward her own. When their eyes lock, her touch nigh-welds to his skin.

" You're everything. Okay? " Her next intake of breath incenses her further. Now the amber notes of his skin soften her edges, draw her closer as if she were moved by a slow, stubborn tide. Her thumb sweeps the line of his jaw. Nix seats herself against him and attempts to forgo the tell-ache somewhere deep between her hips. Nausea still turns her stomach for desperation's sake. It still feels so fruitless. " I'd be nothing. I know I would; I-I wouldn't wanna be anything. I wouldn't be. You've been my... my whole life for… " Blinking doesn't free the fog from between her lashes. She shakes her head instead, yet somehow doesn't lose contact. Pathetic, and wet as her face feels, she speaks into his open mouth, " I've loved you since I was eighteen years old. And it's so fucking… big. It's so much. Nothing I do is ever gonna feel like it's enough. It's you. "

“But you do,” Joker’s slowed his cadence even more, but also dips each word in honey. His skin is warm without sunlight’s kiss and emits an earthy, amber-steeped aroma that tends to make her eyes roll back in her head. Here, it’s stolen her breath.

Nix’s fingers are cadaver-cold and stiff to the touch. For all she knows, he’ll mistake her for his dead mother. The glass that’s set over his pale eyes thickens and rims his waterlines red. He forgets to breathe. To blink will exacerbate the burn. Nix climbs what she can of his angular face to grazes his lower lash-lines with her nails and catch tears what she can before his eyes keep stinging. A few soft green locks spill over her hands when he leans forward.

His strong palm cradles the back of her head and burrows under her hair so he can soothe her scalp in lazy circles. Joker's free hand slips under her backside and lifts it from the red silk bedspread until she’s perched on his thigh. She finds balance like one of their cats, though her lower lip still trembles. She’s blinked her first wave of tears free. He kisses below her left eye first, nosing the star trio tattooed nearby before jumping to the right eye.

She tries not to giggle at the thought of him recoiling from the blend of brine and Valentino eyeliner. He kisses her plush pout instead, then tilts his head so their lips cross. Her fingers tumble from the inflamed pouches below his eyes to his endeared smile. She can’t quite tell if it’s for her or anxiety-triggered. Possibly both, knowing him.

Werewolf nudges her snout with his own and hugs her lower back as close as he can manage.

“I’m only alive…” his voice deepens even further, though it’s still light enough for the breeze to swallow it, “Because I love you. My only friend…” he smooths her crown from behind, “You carry our children — wh-what ‘more’ could you possibly ‘give,’ Phoenix? You trained our dog to help me out, the only way I can fucking read is with that purple thing, m-m-my lyrics wouldn’t see daylight without you — it’s all. You. Nixie.”

He prompts her to nod with him.

“Everything…is you. You’re learning another god damn language for me!" he insists, "You listen when I need it — don’t you god damn tell me I don’t feel the same!”

Another hard kiss stamps her top lip.

Joker sniffs back what he’s certain is rotten flesh and ash, then pinches his brow and explains, “The very least I can do is take you to fucking Italy for our third wedding. A-And I want you to enjoy every...fucking...second of it.” The bridge of his thumb catches another tear and wipes it away from her face, “It’s not a contest or…” he makes a face, then shrugs, “Some kind of scale. Don’t you ever feel guilty about enjoying yourself.”

With that, he leans back over her to snatch The Royal Wedding from their night table and offer it to her like Jay Gatsby — complete with the pseudo-suave simper and a wink. He further capitalizes with a kiss and uses his own face to nudge hers.

“God sent me one friend,” his jaw slackens; containing a tremble leaves his eyes streaked scarlet and burning as he repeats, “One. Don’t you ever...think that I take you for granted — I-I know I’m a wealthier man," his voice frays like a wire, "—than my father ever was! And it’s all because of you. Nixie. For you. I love you — please don’t cry,” he strains to smile for her, twisted teeth and all, “I don’t think Valentino has a ‘tears’ clause in your contract. I-I-I don't want to have to pay a 'fuck you' fee.”

#jokethur

[banschivs]

Source

#☠ aes. ⋙ 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙩.