Only those not paying attention / taking it at face value / or looking for something to complain about… actually believe The Joker was pimping out or “giving” Harley to Monster T.
The Joker barely registered Monster T when he sat at the table. He didn’t look at him, shake his hand or say a word (though in the extended version he responds sarcastically). The second Monster T called Harley a ‘bad bitch’, the performance started and he became his best friend. Those who are around Joker a lot, like Frost, will have seen this before, and knew he was dead.
Why do you think when Joker calls Harley over, and tells her “you belong to him now” she doesn’t even blink twice and just happily sits on his knee? It’s not because she’s used to being given away, it’s because she’s playing along.
Monster T soon understands his mistake and quickly tries to backtrack while keeping calm. But he’s already been backed into a corner. When Joker mimics Monster T with “you don’t want no beef?!” he’s really saying - ‘it’s too late’.
Notice the watches on Harley’s arm. These are obviously murder tokens from the men they have done this to before.
What you are watching here, is two cats playing with a mouse before they eat it. A mouse that swaggered in thinking it was a dog.
DCEU Joker and Harley seem to operate as a sort of tag team. No whispers, no winks, no signals. They just know. There is no way this Joker who searched for Harley for so long would ‘give her away’. And there is no way the Harley that chased down her Mr J on a motorcycle would leave so easily.
They are King and Queen of Gotham, and they don’t share.
The Jennerit are apparently really fond of puns? Like Rath says, “Dont get AHEAD of yourself! Haha! Get it because you have a tiny head!”, after seeing an enemy Montana. Also Deande’s hilarious line, “Keep an eye out for Reyna *chuckles* because she actually lost an eye!”.
*another twisted submission from my god your right Battleborn mister-roche.
*Yes, a capitalist actually made these arguments to me.*
Capitalist: Capitalism is good because it gives humans the tools required to not only survive, but thrive.
Communist: Expand, please.
Capitalist: By creating economic growth, of course!
Communist: Come again?
Capitalist: OK, let me give you a microcosm. You have a man who wants to build an object, so he needs tools. He goes to the tool maker and buys the tools. The man then makes the object, but wants to make a better object. So he buys plans from someone else. So he goes to the tool maker to buy better tools. Since the tool maker can no longer keep up with the demands, he hires others to make tools for him. And the original object maker hires others to make objects for him! And this continues all the way to the point in which the tools needed to make the objects evolve to the point that they can make the objects faster than ever!
Communist: So how are the new tool makers and object makers compensated?
Capitalist: With a salary, of course!
Communist: And does that salary reflect the work of the new workers? After all, consider the notion that, without those workers, the tool maker would not have any tools to sell.
Capitalist: No, see, the tool maker didn’t HAVE to hire anyone. He hired them voluntarily, so the workers agreed to work with him.
Communist: Wait, what?
Capitalist: See, it’s like this: (gives his life story where he brags about lifting himself off his bootstraps) and that’s why Capitalism is good.
Communist: Well, (gives his life story of being exploited by the Bourgeois) and those are the flaws of Capitalism.
Capitalist: Well, nobody is obligated to hire you.
Capitalist: See, you were given a contract out of the employer’s free will, and you signed it of your own free will. So whatever happened to you was your own fault. I would rather go on an epic quest against DEATH ITSELF than ever point a finger at anyone more well off than I, for doing so is inevitably pointing a finger at myself!
Communist: What the hell are you on about?
Capitalist: THIS is why capitalism is not, nor will ever be, theft! Only by breaking contractual terms can there be theft, and that’s illegal!
Capitalist: And this is why communism is bad! Communism argues that capitalism wants its workers to be unskilled. Not so! Capitalism wants its workers to be as skilled as possible!
Communist: Our arguments are that-
Capitalist: Workers need to realize that communism wants them dumb, unthinking, and unskilled. Capitalism, not communism, shall free the worker!
Communist: What about the people who can’t get jobs, in spite of how badly they need them?
Capitalist: Ah, but that’s part of nature. Luck is a part of nature, and nature is inescapable! If someone is without work and cannot lift himself off his bootstraps, he has no one to blame but himself!
Capitalist: I recognize that there are some limitations right now, such as racism, nepotism, and sexism. But Capitalism is a CURE for these ails!
Communist: How the HELL is Capitalism a cure for these ailments?
Capitalist: see, the Free Market will-
Communist: Now you hold on right there! Let me tell you a little something something, mister! Capitalism was doing fine and dandy at a time when women were expected to stay at home and be mothers! Capitalism didn’t care a rat’s behind about forcing CHILDREN to work 12 hours a day in dangerous factories for pennies an hour! Cap-
Capitalist: I repeat, those workers weren’t obligated to-
Communist: The threat of hunger and homelessness is a more powerful chain than any metal could ever hope to be!
Capitalist: All humans face that threat, workers and bosses alike. It’s nature.
Communist: Bosses? Bosses who always look for any way to skimp out on paying workers their fair wages? How many workers are made to work unpaid overtime?
Capitalist: Like I said, the only theft is breaking contract terms, and that’s illegal. Capitalism guarantees a fair wage.
Communist: What about these sweatshop workers who work for pennies on the dollar to make shirts to be sold for over 70 apiece?
Capitalist: They are free to-
Communist: NO THEY ARE NOT! THEIR COUNTRIES ARE POOR! THERE AREN’T MANY OPPORTUNITIES, IF ANY AT ALL!
Capitalist: That’s too bad, but that’s nature. If you can’t lift yourself up, you have no one to blame but yourself. I did it, why can’t they?
Communist: Not everyone has boots to lift themselves up with. For many it’s a struggle just to survive.
Capitalist: That’s just a cheap excuse. Like I said, I did it. And if I can-
Communist: You don’t care about anyone, do you? You look at the suffering of others and you just go and say “you suffer because you want to.”
Capitalist: Life is a competition. Capitalism just makes it an even playing field.
Prompt: We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine.
Pairing: Space Husbands
Requested by @watercolourstains! Thanks, hon! This was super fun to write! Cliche in literally every possible way and I don’t even give a damn.
Under nearly all circumstances, Spock avoided physical contact. It was a well-established preference that each member of the crew respected. Including the single exception to that rule. Though Spock never minded when Jim, in a moment of distraction, placed a hand on his shoulder or took his wrist to guide him, Jim always apologized for those missteps and did his best not to repeat them. In spite of the fact that Spock never once told him to stop. In fact, Spock rather looked forward to those few instances of breached boundaries. It was the closest he ever came to Jim, and he had long come to terms with the fact that he wanted desperately to be closer to Jim.
So Jim’s mumbled apology now was considerate, if unnecessary. It wasn’t as though Jim had forced their contact. And– though when Spock contemplated proximity as it applied to he and Jim, a very different kind of closeness came to mind– he supposed that this also satisfied, at least in some respect.
And this one is dedicated to the famous and beautiful @restlessanawake who is really awesome! Go check them out! They were a massive help to me in setting up this blog. Hope you enjoy!!
Warnings: Pregnancy. Labor. Fluff overload ;) One sex joke With him and the whole Stark clan, This is post White Walker War were all is good and Jon knows his parentage, but still goes by Jon Stark, or I guess goes at last. Things are almost too happy. But fear not no one dies.. Well…..Meh
“Time to get up love.”
You groaned, pushing away the arms that were attempting to shake you awake and moved closer to the other side of the bed. “Jon.. Lemme sleep. Little Mister Stark would not stop kicking last night. I am surprised you couldn’t feel it actually.” You smirked and opened your eyes, hearing his laughter and he carefully turned you around as he echoed your smirk.
“I told you, my love. It will be a she.” You gave him judging eyes and he rolled his own gray ones, “Even our Lady Sisters and Lady Aunt is on my side. As is Tyrion.”
“Well while that may be true, Bran is on my side and he has the sight.” She winked while forcing herself to stand slowly. “Speaking of your Aunt and Sister, when will the royal Queen and the Hand be visiting?”
He smiled, standing up so that he could help you while he continued, “Sansa and Tyrion promised to be here by nightfall, but you know the Queen. She said she would be here a fortnight ago… She will do her best to make it for the labor. And Arya, of course, must guard the Queen being the head of the Queen’s Guard.”
Your nine-months were up and being a Stark, family was essential for all things. Holidays. Name-Days. Weddings. And pregnancies.
As though the stress of almost delivering a child was not enough, the anxiety that holding off the labor until everyone was present was madness. Jon, being around you enough, could tell.
“Fret not, Y/N.” He smiled, pressing his forehead yours and wrapping a robe dress around you for the day and kissed your nose, “They will be here. And now, we must break fast.”
No surprise to the couple, Bran was already down stairs, his plate full as he was working on his sister’s-in-law. Seeing them he stopped and blushed, wheeling towards the two slowly as Jon embraced his brother with a hearty laugh.
Brandon Stark was decreed Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King of the North, so the three of you were practically inseparable.
“How is the Lord Snow this morning, Y/N?” Bran smiled, wheeling towards her and placing his hands on her belly as Jon sat. “He get you any rest?”
“None.” Jon sighed from across the room, “She was kicking all night.”
This caused both you and Bran to laugh and Bran to say a small, “We shall see.” As the three of you began to eat your food.
A grand feast was the result of Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion’s arrive, Jon and the imp drinking away while you, Sansa, and Bran sat across the hall, discussing matters of getting Bran married.
“What about the Mormont girl?” You suggested, “She supposedly has the beauty and wits of the Tyrell’s but the strength of her father’s name.”
“The Queens bastard?” Sansa raised her eyebrows, “She is an adventurous girl. Young though, don’t you think?”
Your sister in law had not left you alone since she arrived, her hand barely leaving your belly.
“Besides. I think our Bran has his eyes on the head of House Reed. Lady Meera, is it not?”
With the words of her name, Bran blushed and brushed it off, “Have you and Jon thought of a name?”
You nodded, “Well since he will not listen to me about the gender, I decided Eddard Robb will have to do.” Bran nodded, a bright grin taking away the blush on your face. Sansa gasped.
“I hate to agree with my Lord brother, I do believe that your babe is a girl.” She winked at you causing both of you to laugh as Jon and Tyrion came towards you guys, handing drinks to Bran and Sansa.
Jon broke the laughter, snaking an arm around your waist to your belly as he looked at Sansa and Tyrion, “When are you and the Hand planning to have children, sister?”
Sansa’s face fell and she set down her goblet, Tyrion taking her hand. “We are waiting.” Silence fell between them as they knew what he meant before Tyrion broke it, winking at the youngest Stark, “We would like to see little Bran wed to the Reed girl first.” Bran blushed as everyone laughed mutter a small no stop as Jon kissed your cheek, then moved to your ear, his beard tickling her cheek.
“Bet it will happen by years end?”
“Please, by months end!” You smirked and he pepper kisses everywhere on your face, causing you to laugh.
A few days had passed and you were still waiting on Dany and Arya. Maesters had demanded you bedridden, fearing labor would come any moment though nothing came for a week. Deciding this and seeing your husbands nerves at an all time high, you had forced him to go on a hunt with Tyrion and Bran, promising that Sansa and a hand maiden be at your side.
“I just want you out lil lord.” You groaned, rubbing sleet off your eyes as you had not gotten proper sleep in several days,(basically since Jon left, your baby had been especially persistent in moving all night) “Stop being so feisty like your father and his family.” You smirked at Sansa who laughed. “Where do you the Queen and her personal guard are?”
“You know Daenerys. “ She smiled sadly, rubbing your belly, “And Arya. Stubborn as mules those two.”
“Aye. That is one way to put it.”
Silence fell as you were both occupied as the baby leapt and kicked about the in your belly causing you to hum in attempt to calm him. When at last he stopped, you sighed and Sansa smiled, but only for a moment when you felt something wet between your legs.
Cursing, you looked at Sansa whose eyes twinkled.
“Do you think-”
“Sansa…” You bit your lip to stop you from swearing again, “Get Ghost. He will get Jon. And get the Hand Maiden… Hurry… Please…”
She ran, laughing gleefully and picking up her skirts hollering, “IT’S TIME! THE HEIR TO THE NORTH IS ON THE WAY!” And within minutes, servants came rushing in, dabbing your forehead with a cloth and offering you food and wine as others spread your legs open. All the while all you could do was scream bloody murder.
“I just want my husband!” You whined, “Gods!” You closed eyes and bit your lip to try to and stop tears from falling out of your eyes.
Then you felt the tickle of a beard on your chin and allowed yourself to cry tears of happiness and the man kissed your cheek and slowly wiped your tears away.
“Hush now love. You need to start pushing.”
“Yes you can.” He grabbed both her hands and brought them to her lips,”You are strong.. You can do this… I believe in you… Ready?”
You nodded opening your eyes to meet his dark grey (brown in show) ones.
A pitch black darkness that preceded
after a spatter of red clouded in his vision. The world around him felt cold
and heavy. His limbs lost its feeling as if he had phantom limb syndrome. The
smell of gunpowder dusted itself over his noses and the loud bang of a bomb
going off jolted him awake, his eyes opening.
“It took you long enough.”
“W–Where am I?” It looked like an abandoned
mall, glass storefronts broken, the escalator stopped working and there were
small patches of fire in some places. There was a boy, maybe three years
younger than he was, firing from this range and shooting down people.
If he didn’t know any better, he would
have thought he was trapped in a video game.
“The dead zone.”
“For a new recruit, you sure do ask a
lot of questions but do little action.”
It was August 9, 2009. I was thirty eight years old. My
oldest daughter Avis was twelve, and the younger pair, Joanne and John, were
nine year old twins. I’d been married for fifteen years. I worked at an
insurance firm. And every Sunday, while my wife and Avis went to church and the
twins went to my mother’s house, I took a walk.
It was a clockwork sort of arrangement. My wife knew never
to push me into going with her, I was an atheist and set on staying that way.
Of course, given what’s happened, my views have changed.
The picture has zero to do with this blurb really. It just made me think of the attitude that Harry and the missus might playfully have with each other.
The belly has been getting in the way recently.
She doesn’t realise how much it protrudes from her body; knocking her in to the sides in the kitchen, thinking she can still fit through the tiny gap between her and the car next to them in the car park, forgetting that she can’t cuddle up to Harry at night so much these days.
Not with the baby boy nestled safely inside.
Harry’s missing the touch as well. Everyone forgot to tell him that it’s not just the six weeks after babies are born that are sexless; people neglected to mention that the last few weeks of his girl’s pregnancy would be so uncomfortable for her and so draining that she’d struggle with almost every position, if they got that far without her falling asleep on him.
Neither of them had thought this through.
Domestic bliss was a hormonal, angst-filled war zone with sexual frustration and midnight cravings causing more arguments in nine months than they’d had in four years. Muttered words in the silence, rolling of the eyes disguising their sighs of annoyance at each other.
He knew it wasn’t her fault and she didn’t mean to get angry at him, but that didn’t stop words slipping out of their mouths at each other; words they never meant and would never say to if it was just the two of them. The little mister clearly just wanted to start his life as he probably meant to go on when he was born; with trouble.
That’s not to say the raging hormones weren’t sometimes welcome. She was always brushing her fingers across his skin, touching her hands on his back whenever she walked past. He hadn’t missed the way she looked at him when he came downstairs in the morning (she’d been waking up hours before him in recent weeks) dressed in just his boxers, his bare skin and tattoos on show. She would graze her eyes over him, trying to be discreet, desire evident and the tension clear. Harry would simply smirk his way through his morning coffee, revelling in her gaze.
He had a plan tonight though. A romantic, candlelit dinner, aware that any evening together might be their last as just the two of them, less any alcohol for either of them, not when he might have to drive to the hospital at any moment, and her favourite dessert of French silk pie.
She devoured his cooking skills, taking up his offer of seconds because “the little one just needed a little more” and reminding Harry that she couldn’t load the dishwasher because the bump was in the way.
He now had her where he’d been needing her for so long. He just wanted to feel her close, have his hands roam across her body. Not content with finding a comfortable place on the sofa, they took refuge on the brown leather bean bag from his office, Harry throwing himself down on it and pulling her to sit next to him, her legs swinging across his, and her arms cuddled around his neck.
Soft and slow but needy and lustful.
They’d been craving closeness.
He swears he feels a tear run down her check at one point but leaves out the need to tell her. It’ll only make her cry more.
They go on with their bean bag kisses for what feels like an age. His hands cupping her face and her fingers tracing, blindly, across his arm full of tattoos. Until she feels a pop, and Harry…well, he hears the pop instead.
“What was tha’, love?” He breaks away from their kiss. “Did you just let rip on me again?” He reminds himself of a moment a few weeks ago. Embarrassing for her. Hilarious for him.
“No…I think…no it’s ok, it’s all fine.”
Harry dives back in for his afters, relishing in the feeling of her lips on his, his tongue eagerly exploring her mouth for the millionth time.
She feels something wet though. And he feels it too, creeping on to his jeans, and down in to the small gaps that are left between them. It makes him giggle more than anything. He knows what it is and he knows what’s coming, and he’s excited for it, but he wants to prolong their life as just the two of them for as long as possible, even if it’s only for just a few more hours.
But she pushes him away with a wide-eyed look of shock on her face. “Harry, stop! I think I’m having the baby…”