#i'm praying the fandom is still alive

[thegalaxysqueen]

I went back to watch the Heart no Kuni no Alice movie and realized that imo the movie didn’t do the series justice. It’s a beloved series (video game and manga wise) to me and I would love to see it have a better anime form. The movie just seemed all over the place to me.

(I know QuinRose went bankrupt but there has to be someone out there who can make a movie or show for the series)

#i'm praying the fandom is still alive #someone please tell me it is #i would love to find more people who love the series #heart no kuni no alice #clover no kuni no alice #joker no kuni no alice #diamond no kuni no alice #hnkna #i know quinrose went under but someone has to be able to make something hnkna related

[booksandabeer]

Steve-Centric Stucky Fics: 5 Recs + 1 TBR

As promised, here is the rec list for Steve/Bucky fics with a focus on Steve-centric stories—all of them not EG-compliant, as requested. It's not quite as long as my usual rec lists for two reasons:

(1) I'm still sick and I can barely sit up straight, so please forgive the brevity of the list, and

(2) I deliberately wanted to include exclusively fics that were written in 2022 and 2023 to shine a spotlight on a few of the many wonderful writers and artists who are still creating absolutely fantastic works for the Stucky ship and who deserve to be read just as widely and passionately as older works in the fandom. Recency bias, but make it positive!

So without further ado, here are five Steve-centric Stucky recs and one more fic that I can't wait to get to:

1. say it soft and it's almost like praying by Somanywords | 41K, M

Author's summary: Natasha says, “Look, whatever the truth is about you, we have no way of really knowing the Winter Soldier's intentions. He’s not all there, he’s not who you remember. He’s a hot mess, Steve.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Steve says, and he’s nearly yelling, but not quite, because he doesn’t need to, not when they’re so close. “Why does everyone keep saying he’s a mess—have you seen me?" 

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. I literally finished this fic about 15 minutes ago, so I haven't even left a comment yet. I'm still processing, you could say. The author tagged this with "just another post catws fic (but by me)"—and yes, that's what you get. All the usual ingredients are here, but the joy of TWS canon divergence is of course in the endless possibilities of how these well-known ingredients are used, re-arranged, and re-imagined as something new, exciting, and often much more satisfying than in canon. This fic excels at all three and is an absolute joy from start to finish.

2. Daybreak by BonkyBornes, art by PottersPink | 9K, NR

Author's summary: They called it project Rebirth because the person was supposed to be reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes. Steve was supposed to be the phoenix. He was supposed to rise from the ashes of his old body, he was supposed to leave behind his deafness and his limp and the scoliosis that bent his entire body to the left. He was supposed to leave behind everything that held him back.

In the end, the only thing that left was the only thing that mattered.

Shrinkyclinks canon-divergent AU. What if Project Rebirth didn't go right...but it didn't go entirely wrong either? A story about ghosts but not a ghost story. Or maybe something else entirely? Steve fights his body and time and the memories that keep haunting him. Beautifully written, with gorgeous art by PottersPink that perfectly complements the story.

3. Exhale by seapigeon, art by dudewhereismypie | 15K, M

Author's summary: After the Chitauri invasion, Steve parts ways with SHIELD, unsure if he can trust an agency that tried to deceive him and built weapons from the Tesseract.

He finds himself alone in an unfamiliar future, penniless, not even legally alive. Fortunately, he knows how to survive. Steve Rogers is used to getting by on his own.

The thing is, he doesn't have to.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A fic that asks the question: What if, after the battle of New York, Steve had told SHIELD a polite but firm 'No'? Follow him as he strikes out on his own, finds an apartment, a job, and friends, figures out life in the 21st century...and of course falls in love!

4. Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter | 6K, T

Author's summary: Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye. The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

Wartime fic. Would you like to read some excellent gay angst full of yearning and unresolved tension, peppered with interesting and wonderfully specific historical details and Howlies camaraderie? Would you like to get your heart crushed a little? Yes? Here you go. And if this makes you feel too sad by the end of it and you crave a bit of a happier resolution, just jump straight into a fistfull of dollars (5K, E) by the same author, which is not intended as a companion piece or even set in the same universe, but it works just as if it were. (Look at me sneaking in extra recs.)

5. Not In The Answer But The Question by aimmyarrowshigh, art by PottersPink | 27K, T

Author's summary: It rankles that his drink was made before he even got a chance to order it. What if he wanted a change? What if he were adventurous and bold? What if he tried something new?

---

Or, Steve Rogers shakes up his gray daily routine in 2014 by going back home to Vinegar Hill. To his surprise, the Jewish deli he used to frequent with Arnie is still standing.

And Steve's whole life changes again.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A lost and lonely Steve tries to figure out who he was, is and most importantly, wants to be in this new century he's found himself in that is both terrifying and full of possibilities. Told in vignettes (I did not count, but I believe all of them are exactly 100 word drabbles) that perfectly illustrate the fragmented mind and life of its protagonist and his experience of constantly shifting and adjusting between past and present. A story about identity, memory, self-acceptance, and finding the courage to love and let yourself be loved. And food. So much amazing food!

+ 1 TBR: Operation: Gros Michel by SquadOfCats | 358K, E

Author's summary: “It starts with bananas. Of course, it's not really about the bananas. Just like a camel isn't bothered by one single straw, just like a dam doesn't break because of one extra drop. Obviously, Steve's mental breakdown isn't about bananas.”

Steve is overwhelmed and hanging by a thread, doing his best to take care of Bucky while still deeply traumatized himself. He finally has a breakdown over the stupidest of things: bananas. So Bucky takes care of him.

In which Steve learns to surf, Bucky becomes a gardener, and they both begin to heal.

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. No, I did not make a mistake, the word count for this story really does come in at an impressive (or intimidating, you decide) 358,225 words! Which is the only reason why I haven't read it yet. I do want to make time for this asap because the snippets I've read so far were very intriguing and everything I've heard about it from people who have finished it, sounds absolutely amazing. So, this is the wild card pick!

Happy reading! <3

#stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky rec list #steve x bucky #stucky fic recs #steve x bucky fic rec #stevebucky fic rec #stucky fic #stevebucky #steve rogers fic rec #my recs

[takitafulily]

"I've lost everything..." "Not me, I'm still here."

The angels have won, and demons are doomed.

Fandom: What in Hell is Bad

Characters: Satan

Warnings: whb content (mdni), hurt comfort, might be ooc, very experimental

AN: First WHB fic! Watched too many fantasy c-dramas recently and welp here we are- This is an au where the angels (somehow) takened over Gehenna and the reader is pulling Satan into safety.

The warm blood stained your clothes as you dragged Satan's heavy injured body further into the alleyway, praying to fate that no angels would find you here. Ppyong had accidentally separated from the group early on in the battle, and you didn't know what happened to Satan's subordinates after you scattered. You just hoped they were still alive.

You opened the door to a random pub that happened to be tucked away in the alleyway and dragged Satan inside. It was eerily quiet without the loud chatter of its usual visitors and the overwhelming welcome of Gehenna's devils, and the pub just didn't feel the same. You laid Satan down in one of the rooms, trying not to look at the giant gash ripped open into his body, bleeding profusely, and searched around for a first aid kit. Coming up with some disinfectant and bandages, this was all you could work with.

A sharp sting of pain made Satan hiss in delight, and he opened his numb eyes to see you gently and carefully try to wipe away the blood from his wound using a torn piece of your clothes. The sting didn't come from the piece of fabric, he had quickly figured out, as another drop of tear from your concentrated eyes fell down onto his exposed flesh, the salt irritating his skin.

"... Don't cry, MC. I want to see you rage like a roaring flame. Go on, rage."

Satan lifted his bloody hands and smeared your face with red as he wiped away the tears dripping from your eyes.

"How can I rage when you're like this?" You sobbed, chocking back the loud wail you wanted to let out as you saw nothing but blood, blood, blood. Satan's blood.

"You should go. Go and hide before they find you." Satan tilted his face away, his face unreadable, drawing his hand back, away from your warmth. How badly he wanted to hold onto to you, to protect you. But he can't risk your life. He is no longer able to protect you. Not like this.

"I'm not leaving you here, I'm staying." You gripped the piece of blood-soaked fabric in your hands, staining your hands in red as you tried to hold in more tears. You knew. You knew if you left, this would be it. If you left, this will be the last of Satan and Gehenna.

"Why stay, MC? I've lost everything, I have nothing left."

The way Satan looked at you now was so different from the confident and proud Satan you knew, the menace who'd kick anyone who looked at you wrong. It twisted your guts as reality blows up in your face. How wrong this situation felt. He should be commanding you to stay and watch him snatch the victory from the angels, to cheer him on as he teared into the enemy like butter. Yet he's asking you to leave, to abandon him, to run before you're also in danger.

It's like he's took the reigns and gently put them into your hands, giving you the choice to ride or to drop it.

You had a choice.

"Not me, I'm still here. And I'm not leaving anytime soon."

#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad? #what in hell is bad #whb #whb mc #whb satan #what in hell is bad satan #whb satan x reader #whb x reader

[hotpinkrathian]

Ahhhh so I have to admit I have been working on something, it's a very big project for me.

It's 30 000 words long as of now, and I estimate to be about 1/2 - 2/3 of the way through the story. I'm super excited about it, however I don't want to get to a point where I'm almost done and don't finish, which is why I am writing it so much.

I want everyone in the kyalin Fandom to be right there with me when it's ready. So I'm going to do my best to finish it before I start posting.

How would I describe it???

A Kyalin mystery slowburn

Here's a snippet from Chapter 3 (spoilers ahead)

“Here,” Tenzin said, passing Lin a notice.

“So secretive,” Kya joked, pretending to lean over.

“It's not that secret,” Tenzin said, “two more came forward getting letters, bringing the total to-”

“Forty-nine.” Lin finished. The names added to the list weren't familiar to her. An Earth Republic mayor, and a fire nation general. “Something tells me there's one more out there,” Lin said.

“You think? An even 50?”

“Stopping at forty-nine would be good thinking on their end,” Kya said, “I mean, it would have everyone worried over the 50th letter, which doesn't exist.” She elaborated.

Lin raised an eyebrow, shrugging it off.

“What are the odds they get out anyway?” Kya asked.

“You mean the dirt?” Lin clarified.

“Yeah. Are the threats… real? Do you think they actually know something, or is it… broad enough to make yo- people think they did something.”

“Well we've bounced around that idea for a while,” Lin said, “but I think the general consensus was that… they were a little too close for comfort.” She looked to Tenzin, whose harrowing eyes reflected the anxieties of her own.

Her own letter bounced around in the back of brain, waiting to be unpacked. She had divulged so much into dealing with the case, and worrying about Suyin, she hadn't put much thought into how she would deal with the information revealed by her letter.

What she would do.

What she would say.

She didn't inherently think she had anything to be ashamed of, but there were plenty others who wouldn't see it that way.

It would be career ending, perhaps enough to chase her out of town in search of a fresh start.

If Suyin was still alive, Zaofu could make for a nice retirement place.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, getting up. She made for the bathroom down the hall, but instead opened the window at the end of the hall.

Delicately, and with precision, even in her wine-induced stupor, she climbed outside, hanging onto the ledge.

She'd done it a thousand times in her teen years. Scaling the air temple had been a right of passage, and a necessity, when she was with Tenzin.

It was second nature to her as she hauled herself to the upper floor.

Luckily, the window wasn't locked and she got back inside with ease.

She walked quietly down the hall, praying she didn't wake the kids. It was as she remembered. Almost nothing had changed, and a strange wave of deja vu overcame her.

It ended when she entered the left door, and not the right.

Kya's room was one she hadn't been in much, especially as she got older. It looked as she had envisioned. It was tasteful and colorful. Lin envied her ability to pick out pictures and tapestries of varied colors, still managing to make them go together.

First she checked the nightstand, which had a lot of interesting things, but nothing she was looking for.

She checked the duffle bag on the chair, nothing but clothes and towels.

She sighed, looking around.

She noticed the bed was lifted slightly off the floor. Tenzin used to keep… stuff under his bed.

Perhaps these airhead all thought alike.

She got on her knees before laying herself gently onto her stomach.

She outstretched an arm under the bed, feeling around until her palm landed on a box.

She pulled it out, and allowed herself to stand up before setting it on the bed and opening it.

The unmistakable waxy green seal.

The inky handwriting on the back with a clear name designation.

The clear indication that it had been open and removed multiple times.

She held it in her hand, her fingers frozen.

Fifty

#legend of korra #kyalin #korrasami #atla #lok #lin x kya #tenzin #pema #korra #asami #mako and lin #bolin x opal #post cannon #kuvira #should i hide a secret in the tags #mystery

[vitzi9]

Pretty gifts

Joker X GN!Reader

TW/CW: reader is androgynous, murders, talking about kys, work in catering (it needs its own warning), reader curses a lot, mention of vomit, stalker, reader throws up, racism, Gotham is hell and fuck capitalism, blood, violence

tbh i'm a little sad bc nobody ever give their opinion on my works. I put another divider (like the red heart below) in the middle of the story, not really to separate as it's following directly but bc some people find my stories too long so it's like a checkpoint. So when you leave, you know where you were. (It's really long)

also the end is a little weird bc I have no idea if this fandom is still alive so, yeah :) if people are reading, I might continue it. Thing is some ppl find this Joker ugly so...

I hope you'll enjoy this. (19/02/2024) (17k)

You weren't weird by any mean, okay ? Life in Gotham is just really hard. You got harassed, robbed and assaulted more times than you can count. And each time by a new profile type ! Old, young or teen, it doesn't matter, everyone is desperate.

Some of your colleagues at work are prostituting themselves and you for sure considerate selling feet pictures.

That's how life is in Gotham.

But weird ? You stare at the angry man before you, unimpressed. You can't believe he called you weird as well as an incestuous result. You're neither of these. Fuck, how is weird and incestuous his first thought when insulting someone ? Like, he could've called you a fucker, a bitch... Anything !

Your aggressor, if you can even call him that after this, shows you his middle finger while walking background. Quickly though, he loses his balance and fall on the ground. Well, at least he didn't beat you up !

You already got assaulted for your money, which you don't even have, you got two jobs and barely reach the minimal wage. But at the end of the day they, well, stole the few you have, you know ? When you think about it, he strongly smelled like alcohol. That's probably why he failed his attempt.

Even stealing is death here. You never know who you're facing. Hell, just yesterday a guy was killed because he tried to assault some big chief of a mob. Someone with a clown face. TV says the man's limbs were still not all found.

Shit, getting killed by a clown must be mad humiliating too.

You sigh, trying to ease your tired traits by passing your hand on your face. At least the day is over, right ? Another day closer to death. You drag your suddenly much more heavier body on some few meters/yards more, silently praying that no one else will bother you.

Thankfully, your cries were heard. Pushing the old creaking door of the building, you rush to the mailbox. Never have you been comfortable staying long here. The door is only behind you and you don't know if someone is able to enter with bad intention.

Speaking of the devil...

No mail except for this weird card yet again. It's cardboard displaying a drawing of a joker, withdrawn from a poker package. It's certainly not the first time someone pull this kind of joke on you. Though, you have no idea who this is and it creeps you out a little. You turn the card to see if a message was left and sadly, (or not) you were right.

You've been trying to understand who this was for a long time now but in a big city like yours, with god knows who or what ? It's just impossible.

As always, you hate to think this because you don't want this creepy card to become part of your habit, a messy handwriting greets you in black ink.

"I'm everywhere in this city, no one can touch me yet some are fond of me."

You stopped school kind of early so your IQ is probably not high enough for you to understand that. Plus, you don't fucking want to.

You grab the card with you in order to throw it once at home and rush to the stairs (some says someone got killed in the elevator plus it's not working since months so you're not taking it anymore). Finally home. Your hallway still smells like piss and a deadly cold reign here (Nobody knows why). Two of the four bulb of the ceiling has burnt out and a faint static noise is resonating in the whole property.

This building is not even in a neighborhood that bad. But in Gotham, not that bad is still bad. Because bad is sleeping to the sound of gunshot and broken windows. While here, there's still these but not as often as in bad neighborhood. But you can add the moans hearable in the night in it as well.

Your building is really old though, which explains (partially) the bad state it's in.

Taking out the key off your pocket, you start to unlock the door. Unconsciously, your mind goes back to the card of the day. "I'm everywhere"... What's everywhere? There's air. But they specified 'in this city' so air might be too simple.

No one can touch me yet some are fond of me.

You can't touch air and you're not sure people are fond of it particularly. Like, air's fine. It's cool as fuck but are you fond of it ? No. Then what is it ?

You didn't even realize you were looking at the card again, your door wide open while standing in the middle of the hallway ridiculously. Slapping yourself mentally for being so careless, you enter and close the door and all your locks shut.

Some are fond of me, huh ?

In Gotham, what are people even fond of ? Misfortune you'd say. These fuckers love to see others suffer and even make sure they do by engaging in others people life.

But you don't know if that's really the answer. Damn, can't they just give you simple question? Or even better: stop giving you any ?

You drop your bag on the floor, slouching your shoulders and throwing yourself on the couch. Fuck, you hate your life. Why are you even here? You don't deserve this life. Nobody does !

Haphazardly moving your hand, you end up successfully grabbing the remote. You need to empty your mind, or have a background noise at least.

The screen lights up displaying you the newest information girl. The last man disappeared after he made the mistake of letting show his politic side. It's obvious everyone is corrupted here but the mystery in this story is ; who erased him ? It could be mob, politics themselves, everyone.

This city is lost.

The woman is talking about the incessant inflation and how numerous factories and business saw themselves forced to close for good. You just hope your business won't shut down, you need money. What if it does close, though ? You were already sweating trying to live with two jobs, but what if you end up jobless ?

It'll be impossible for you to pay anything. To keep your apartment. To eat. What are you supposed to do if this happens ? You already thought about that and all of your long reflection session always end up on one conclusion: kill yourself.

Because there's no way you're living without job in Gotham while being in the streets. You would have left the city if you had money or even family out there but it's not the case. So yeah, killing yourself that is.

Sure it looks a little extreme but isn't earth overpopulated anyway ?

It's better than being killed. At least, you choose your death ! But you're gonna hope this still won't happen. Up to now, your job is yours so taking such drastic measures won't be necessary. And you hope it'll stay this way.

Damn, you're depressed again. You drown out your worries by hiding your face in your couch's pillow. Man, what capitalism is doing to one.

You switch the channel without looking where your fingers pressed, this time a man is talking. He's saying something about a criminal and quoting every one of his crime. It was going crescendo, at first robbery, assault and burglary but just next to all of that was terrorism and mass murder.

You want to turn your head and watch the profile of this man but are too weak to move. So you simply listen closely to the man voice to get answers.

"Yes, he's a dangerous criminal and he's in town. He already break free from Arkham asylum twice now. If one of you see this man; do not engage, hide and call the police immediately. He is incredibly unstable and may not be alone. If you think you can win against him, you're wrong. He's a manipulative man and a mastermind. If you're seen by him, you better start to pray. Ends the man on a serious tone. Man, this guy knows how to reassure people...

-Indeed, a true monster. But please do not scare our audience. Batman was able to capture him twice, we'll be fine. The man chuckles but does not sound really honest. To answer all the questions you've been a lot to send us, we'll have the pleasure of meeting mister Harvey Dent here, chief of the police department to answer your worries. Harvey Dent ?"

And the voice switched to the other man. You like Harvey Dent. You like to think he's the only man in Gotham who's not corrupted. He's helping the citizens. Unlike that Wayne man. This guy could single-handedly resolve the poverty problem, but does he do it ? Of course not. He's rich after all, why should he care for bum like you ?

Harvey Dent is talking but you're not listening. All you know is that he's trying to ease the population. The men on TV are always saying the same things: empty promises. How the police is already taking care of the problem, that it'll be better soon. Like the police isn't already too fucking busy harassing the wrong people.

Harvey Dent is your last hope. The only man who can change things.

You deeply hope his promises aren't as empty as the other man before him. You turn off the TV and relax in the silence of your flat for a moment, breathing in the perfume impregnated in your couch.

There's screams outside. You can't tell if it's the neighbors or someone outside. Either way, you stand up feeling your eyelids getting heavier by each passing second.

But before leaving to your room, you stop in front of your window and stare outside for a moment. It's nighttime now. The city won't go to sleep, oh no, it's just waking up. The police can already be heard in the distance with its loud sirens. This city really is chaotic. It's just everywhere, you can't escape it. Touching it isn't even possible, you can't grasp it, nor resolve it completely; it's in the air. You can't fight against it. Nobody fights against it.

Fuck, it's like they're fond of it, here.

Chaos, it's scary when you think about it. Because you can't guess what's going to happen. There was a time when you thought that anarchists could be right but if anarchy looks like this, you don't want it anymore. You just want some peace and respect. But it seems too much to ask for Gotham.

You fucking hate chaos.

The next morning, your limbs were so sore you almost didn't make it on time to work. Your boss reprimanded you about your delay, pressuring you by recalling you the time one of your colleagues got fired for it. You were only late of something like one or two minutes but it didn't matter to him.

He only wanted to feel superior. He didn't even need real reasons to yell at you.

The restaurant wasn't packed. Only the usual rich families wanting to spend a pleasant day. They were here to eat breakfast. You try not to think too much about the fact that one single of their jewelry is equal to your salary.

The streets were alive; people running, cars honking. Your colleague hitting your shoulder to bring you back to earth, everything is normal.

"You think you can ask Mike to make another one ? she asks you with a sweet voice. The kid threw a tantrum. It's not salted enough and he hates sausages.

You lift up your eyes towards the crying kid in the back. Cold eyes stuck to his face. You're sure he specifically asked for sausage. You're the one who wrote down his order. And the salt ? Can't he just fucking put some himself?

-Don't question it. They're regulars. Plus, I don't think having beef with a kid is good for our reputation." Tells you your friend after seeing the death look you were giving him.

So you take the plate that looked absolutely perfect and delectable to bring it to Mike. Mike is an old man once passionate about cooking. Now he's forty three and stuck cooking eggs and toast to some crying kids.

"No fucking sausage and more salt please. you say, throwing the plate on the counter in a loud clatter. The man laughs at your anger and don't even need to ask to understand. 'Got it boss !' is your answer.

You lay your weight on the counter, back meeting the freezing temperature of it. Different smells invade your senses; fresh bread, warm oil and eggs. Well, lot of different smells were here as well but they're the one that really stuck out to you.

"You were late this morning right ? Did the client touched their plate ? You can eat it otherwise, it looks fine.

-Because it is, it was made by the best cook of Gotham after all.

The man laughs, mimicking someone blushing by putting his hands on his cheeks. He tells you that you're lying and that you're saying that to flatter him only. Mike had buzzed his hair a few months ago but they were back already; small rough curls mocking him.

You sigh and look back at the plate, it did look really fine. The kid hadn't even touched it ! The eggs and the bread were intact, left in the same state it was neatly put in earlier.

You spend your sweet time talking with Mike before your boss comes in infuriated, ordering you to come back at the front. And you're forced to do so. Grabbing a water jug on your way and putting on a fake smile, you walk towards a new family sitting so straight your back hurts just looking at them.

All of them laid down their menu and are waiting. You arrive, apologizing for the wait. 'Have you decided ?' you ask while putting the water on the table. The man takes the menu and start listing his orders without a smile nor even a look in your direction. The woman is busy keeping her children calm and asking them to calm down. The other tables are side-eyeing her while the husband doesn't even acknowledge his wife.

"Noted, you smile and turn your head to stare at the woman for her to start ordering.

She smiles awkwardly, and tells you her kids orders before ordering for herself. You thank them, "I'll be right back." and you leave to the kitchen. You sigh, scotch the orders on the wall, grabs the plate left for you to take and head back to the crying kid from earlier. The demon who ordered fucking sausage before saying he hated them.

But as soon as you place the plate before him with a smile, the kid slams his fists on the table resulting in his glass of water to splash on you and break on the floor. The mother gasps while the dad gives a slap in his son's head without even you registering the whole situation. Your clothes are completely soaked, you want to say something but his mother is sending daggers at you with her eyes and you know not to mess with this stupid fucking family.

Did he did it on purpose ? Yes. Are you gonna say something ? No.

"It's okay, I love children." you don't.

And you leave. Deeply humiliated. But you can't do anything. Because you're no one compared to them, they're gonna win. Always. Your friend asks if you're okay, you shrug. She's unable to question you further as she has to continue working. You head to the back in search of a broom.

The small closet is all the way behind the kitchen and you're already tired just thinking about it. Once you're in, you frenetically search for your item only for a shelf to fall apart behind you and destroy itself on the ground. You bite your lower lip with all your strength to retain you from crying and cursing the whole world.

It's okay, it's just a shelf. It's okay, you try to think but it's hard when it's not even noon and too much shit already happened to you.

You crouch down and start gathering everything you can when your eyes falls upon another one of these poker card. You frown and take it in your hands, examining it deeply. Uh, wow, okay. It's a little weird. You just happen to receive these daily in your mailbox and suddenly there's one here. Okay, totally normal.

You stand up, looking around you for an answer, trying to see if a camera is here somewhere. But nothing. So you turn the card to read the new message: You need one to live, I often rip it apart and yours is mine to steal. A heart ? you immediately think. You definitely need one to live and the sentence 'steal your heart' is kinda famous. But rip it apart ? Is it, like, a metaphor ? Glancing back quickly, you notice a small note left in the bottom right corner of the card. It reads: what a shitty shelf.

You laugh nervously, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What the actual fuck ? it's not even funny, what the hell ? Sorry for the fucking shelf ? They knew this was going to happen ? You definitely have to talk to someone.

You pass your hand on your face, rubbing it strongly as if to wake you up from a bad dream. Then you take the broom and head back.

Rushing to the kitchen, you accidentally pushes someone in your haste. You see Mike from afar and don't even need to approach him that you yell your question for everyone to hear:

"Mike, do you happen to play poker ?" the man faces you, his confused expression told it all, he didn't. And from the other's cook faces, they probably all thought that you were crazy. None of them looking guilty. But you'll investigate that later.

Not wasting any seconds, you almost run to the main room to find your friend. Luckily for you, she's cleaning glasses at the bar.

"Hey, is it yours ?" you're a little out of breath when showing her the joker card. Your friend simply shakes her head. When you asked her if she knew if one of your colleagues was playing poker, she shrugged and told you she didn't know with an apologetic smile.

"Why ? she asks.

-It's complicated." you say.

It can't be from the same person, right ? If it is anyway, that probably means one of your colleagues is the one putting these at your place. Which is a terrifying idea because you sure never gave your address to anyone here. Trying to see the bright side of it all, that means that you may know your 'joker'. And if that's the case, there's a way for you to stop them. It's better than the cards coming from a total stranger, because you can't act against them. You'll probably leave some clues at work to see and trap your joker.

The rest of the day was terribly hard. You were dying from the inside. Your tummy was growling like a beast; you did not have the time to eat. As you're juggling between two jobs, your boss thought that he had to exploit you as much as he could before you left. Because you're joining the bar, your second working place, at two pm.

"You're gonna leave in the middle of the day, when most people are coming. I'm losing money here, you see ?" he had said to you that day. Yeah, he does not give you any breaks because to him, you don't need one as you leave earlier. Of course you tried to negotiate and he was agreeing with you, on the condition that he pays you less.

"Mike, I'm leaving. you tell him, taking off your apron. Have a nice day, say hi to your kids for me." he smiles warmly to you, wave and you're out of the room in a quarter of seconds. You already bid goodbye to your friend so all you had to do now was to leave.

Putting on your jacket, your thoughts can't stop but think back about this other card you found. Yours is mine to steal. In what sense ? You could've thought it was some creepy flirting but it's just too much. You found these at home, at work. Everywhere. Are they going to rip your heart apart, too ? Are these threats ?

Hopping in the bus, you try to stay away from Gotham's crackhead as much as possible but it's hard when they're drunk and staring at you like they want to beat the shit out of you.

Fortunately, your stop arrives and you hurry to get out. It's 2:36 PM (14:36), the bar is not open yet but cleaning and organizing everything is part of your contract.

It's at five pm (17h) that you open the bar, standing behind your counter and waiting patiently for clients to arrive. You're happy Sean is here. He's a big man of 2m3 (~6'8), practices combat sport and knows how to handle different weapons. In a neighborhood like this, you're more than grateful to have him.

He's also the son of the owner. So it's really just the two of you here. The first persons starts entering the place and it quickly fills up entirely. It's quite a famous area, cops never comes here as mobs are doing their own laws. Sean puts on some background music you can't even hear anymore over the loud voices of the men laughing cavernously.

You're busy serving people's drinks. Moving as fast as you could but it being hard when your thoughts are plagued by cards and your mind is not here. Who's this joker man ?

The street lamp are all finally on, meaning it was past seven already. You didn't even see time pass, the incessant flirting and bickering of the men here enough to keep you from being alone with your thoughts.

"Thanks baby." says a young man when you give him his beer. He has a really bad scar going from his forehead to his lower lip. It's no surprise, you saw men with less limbs, other talking unknowns languages, some with sight or hearing completely lost. Sometimes normal people like you would come, women even but more rarely as the men here were true animals.

You wonder what type of people there is with you tonight. You're not naive enough to think all of them are innocent, in fact, you're sure 85% of your client here are criminals. This bar is situated apart from the city, in a corner more secluded with abandoned looking buildings and scary dark alleys you certainly don't want to visit at night, or even at day for that matter.

This place sucks.

Honestly, with your cards problem, you even considered engaging a spy to see who put these creepy notes in your mailbox. But two things prevented you to do so; first, you do not want to do business with criminals, second; there was a chance that your joker was one of your client.

Some of your clients here probably have mental illness as well, worsening their state. And maybe someone fixated on you and decided to follow you home. It'd be really awkward to engage a man to scare your joker away, only for him to be the same person you're trying to avoid.

But now this idea starts to disappear. You found a card at work after all, your boss is not stupid enough to let anyone break in. So the criminal track wasn't the one. It's one of your colleagues. There's just no way one of the bar's client could have followed you home and at the restaurant.

But on the other hand, it's difficult to see one of your colleagues following you home too. Because after working at the restaurant, you're not heading home right away. You're working here. Is it possible they waited outside until you finished ?

"A whisky for me." is what tears you away from your misery.

You do not look up, instead turning your back to him and reaching the shelves to search for the bottle. You grab a glass, throwing ice cubes in it and pouring the harsh liquid in. You then slide it to him, he nods and drink a first long gulp.

You follow his arm to his face before blocking on it. It's a man with a skin so pale it's getting worrying. His eye bag are terribly dark that you thought he had put black eye-shadow on them. And for a second, you truly thought it was the case. He had really bad scars going from each corner of his lips up to his cheeks, like a badly drawn smile. In the small crevices of his scarred skin, there was faint white and red paint, or make-up that did not left during shower. Is he like, a mime or a clown ? He looks like he haven't showered for a while, no judgements or anything, but his green hair are greasy.

He continues to savor his drink quietly while you're here, astonished by such weird scars. You saw scars, a lot of them. But they all looked accidental, caused by self defense or anything. But his clearly looked volunteer. You could clearly see that the goal was to create some sick form of smile, whether it is successful or not. What the hell happened to this guy ? Has he been tortured ? Did he make these to himself ?

'You got some nasty scars' you want to say. But the wicked grin he gives you is enough to make you gulp and smile awkwardly. Of course he saw you looking at him, you did not move an inch/millimeters. And he does not look like the type of guy to be nice.

"D'you like them ?

-Sorry ? you blinked.

-My scars. Do you like them ?

-Uh, yeah, yeah.

Fucking creepy. What the hell ? What did he do to have those ? Why is he even asking you this ? Why is he looking at you like that ?

-Do you want to know how I got them ?

-No." you answer at the mere second he ended his question, by pure fear he was going to destroy you. Or try to recreate those scars on you. Hey, you never know.

The man grins and chuckles at the quickness of your answer and stops talking for a while. Did you just escape death ? You think so.

He stopped drinking, though. You try to look busy but you're just organizing and disorganizing things on loop. Sean is having the time of his life chatting with the clients towards the tables area. But you, you're stuck behind the counter. You can't even count the times you got your ass slapped or got whistled. Plus, some of these guys often try to threaten you with knifes to make you give them free drinks.

It could've work if Sean wasn't here.

But it's comical in a sense. The morning, you're busy being the little dog, the little slave of these stuck rich people crying when their plate arrives one minute late, with prices on the menu so high it's clearly a scam for some eggs and bacon. With a ground so perfectly clean you could lick it.

And at night, you're here. Surrounded by criminals, drunkards and God knows who. With bad music taste rumbling in the background and place so dirty you could throw up and not even see it through the trash lingering on the ground. Well, in your defense, because you're the one cleaning, it was clean before. But everyone arrives with their disgusting shoes or bleeding and then they spill their drinks, and they fight and, yeah. At the end of the day, this place is a mess.

Your back is still facing the mime guy but you know he's staring at you. You know it because you can't stop shuddering. Your works are sure keeping you in touch with reality at least, you've seen both extreme.

"What's your name ?" You face him, afraid to offend this weirdo.

Telling him your name out of all the people ? Never. Smiling the best you can, you tell him your coworker name from the restaurant. He grins like a Cheshire cat, his smile accentuated by his prominent scars, nodding. You know better than to ask him back his name, he's probably, surely, a criminal. You don't have a death wish at the moment. You usually don't like to lie but this job at the bar taught you better.

-You know, he starts again and you pray he does not start to harass you with questions, he licks his lower lip before continuing. There's one thing I truly hate in this world. He pauses. You wanna know what ?

-Tell me. You say reluctantly, not wanting to anger him.

He lays one of his elbows on the counter, raising a brow and looking around him as if going to tell you a secret he wants no one else but you to know. Then, he looks at you again, a mysterious glint in his eyes.

-Liars.

Oh.

-They're such... he squints his eyes, moving his hand in the air to the flow of his thoughts. Vicious, little bitch, you know ? If we want to change things, he licks his lips, they're the first people that have to go. Don't you think ?

-Yes, I'm with you on that. you hurry to answer, nodding frenetically, feeling your blood run cold and a sweat cross your spine. Myself I really can't stand lying, you know ? Liars are really bad, they're manipulative and all. you were just trying to save your ass at this point. You received a lot of threats in your life, but this man right here ? There was something deeply wrong with him. He was fucking traumatizing you. You did not want to mess with him.

The only thing plaguing your thoughts is; does he know ? Does he know you lied about your name ? Because he specifically asked this question right after you presented yourself. Does he know ? No, no he doesn't. How is he supposed to know you ? You don't even have any name tag on.

The man chuckles deeply before you, licking very briefly his lips again; is that a tic ?

-What's his name ? he asks, looking straight to Sean, as if judging his soul. Does he have to stare at people like he wants to kill them all the time ?

Now you understand. He scared the shit out of you to ensure you wouldn't be lying to him. And now he's testing you. Why, you don't know. But you answer honestly this time. He smiles mischievously. Maybe that wasn't even his plan, maybe he's just deeply weird and unsettling. Maybe he doesn't even know you ever lied to him. Maybe you see things where there's none.

If there's one thing Gotham has taught you, it's to be wary of everyone.

-Are you fucking him ? he asks again, still looking at Sean laughing with the others.

-Why ? this thought never even crossed your mind before. Why would you fuck Sean ? He's nice, he's good looking but, you don't know, you wouldn't fuck him. You just, don't want to ? He's a friend.

-He's quite the tall guy. Are you fucking him ? he insists, ignoring completely your question.

Wow, that is getting incredibly uncomfortable and personal. You know you're supposed to entertain them and all but damn, this guy is killing you. You throw a glance in Sean's direction, hoping to catch his attention so he could help you but he's busy laughing with other clients.

-Why're looking at him ? I'm the one talking.

-I don't think this is appropriate, Sir. It's quite the personal questions you're asking me here. you laugh nervously, hoping to relax the mood but the man before you doesn't even react. Can I maybe offer you another drink ? It'll help...

-You got something to hide ? he licks his lips.

What. The. Fuck.

-I have to stay mysterious in order for you to come back, right ? you do not want this weirdo to come back, but that's the default sentence you usually say to avoid answering intimate questions.

But the make-up man does not insist, he gives you a cheeky grin.

-You want me to come back ? How flattering.

Most of the time, what you implies when saying this is that you want them to come back to consume more, so you have more money because you're kinda the bartender of this place. But this guy just plainly wants to fuck you up. Where's Sean when you need him the most ?

It's like no one around you is seeing you. They're all drinking their sadness, trauma, day away, not caring that a creepy guy is keeping you in his weird conversation you clearly do not want to participate in.

-Do you want to play a game with me ?

-I'm... Quite busy, actually. So...

But he knows you, now. He knows you're a bad little liar. Listening to you is now optional to him; he clearly doesn't care. The man stands up and you start to get scared. What is he going to do ? Is he going to hurt you ? Your hand is holding firmly the bat under the counter, fingers shaking with adrenaline. You never used a weapon before, less against someone. You never hurt someone, intentionally at least.

Sean, move your ass over here, now.

The man grins, eyes trailing your arms. He knows you're hiding something under this counter, but can he blame you ? You're surrounded by criminals, he's one himself ! It's impossible to know what to expect. Honestly, you're ready to scream to get attention and get helped. Even if there's high possibilities for a general fighting to start resulting in this poor bar to be destroyed.

But the man does not try to hurt you, he smiles, put his hands in his pocket and you now realize how well he's dressed for someone like him. A nice and well maintained purple suit.

"It makes me live and follow you at dark, keeps me up at night and makes you fall apart."

No...

-Who am I ?" He ends slowly, torturing you.

Your shoulders slouched down, tension leaving your hand on the bat. Your body become a big, useless puddle. Eyes as big as owl ones.

"I-I don't want to play. Your stutter had gave away your uneasy feeling, you step back, eyeing this man from head to toe.

You've come to despise those damn riddles. You don't want to hear more of them.

-But this one's so simple sweetheart. He mocks you. It starts with a pretty little O and ends with a N. I'm sure you'll find out.

You shake your head slowly; no, it's not simple, no, you don't want to find out, no, you don't fucking want to listen to him. But he simply chuckles, relatively amused by such a big reaction. Well, with that kind of huge revelation, you can't quite control yourself.

He's rummaging through his pocket, heart almost leaving you. What is he searching for ? A weapon ? What is he thinking ? But against all odds, the joker man takes out something so small you can't even see it behind his palm. You know he's doing it on purpose, hiding it from you to destroy you more, to see the look of surprise, fear or shock, or... Whatever, on your face.

-That's my business card, as a little... Reminder." You deeply doubt someone like him own any business, less business card. So what is he going to give you ?

He lays gently his hand on the counter right before you, not letting you see what he was hiding until he removed completely his hand, confirming your theory of him hiding it on purpose. You'd recognize them anytime. Your heart is beating faster, so fast you're scared it might explode. Nothing is written on the side you're staring at, you grab the cardboard, praying that it's just a crazy coincidence even if the drawing of the joker smiling stupidly on the card is taunting you.

But when you turn the card, the answer is given to you. For the first time since you've started to receive these.

-Obsession." you sigh, breath getting stuck in your throat. You were petrified. "You're... You're the joker man." you say in a shaky voice. Was it finally him ? Answers, you needed answers. But when you looked up, the man had disappeared. Leaving you with nothing but deep fear.

Silent tears slide on your cheeks, you bring your hand to your mouth in order to hide your muffles. Looking back at the card, you feel your legs give up under you when your real name is written in bold black letters in a bottom corner. Bile is rushing to your throat.

It's him. He's the one sending you these.

But you don't know him. You don't fucking know this man. And he's a criminal. You're fucked. Smiling like a madman, you start to laugh nervously, not realizing the situation. It's a joke, right ? You cough, progressively choking on your saliva. You bite your lower lip so hard it starts bleeding. You pray, you pray so hard this man isn't your stalker but you're lying to yourself. It's literally the worst case scenario that could happen.

You've never seen this man in your entire fucking life. Where does he even come from ? Why you ? Why him ? With his fucking creepy scars and fucking riddles. He knows your address ! Your name ! What else does he know ?

"You okay there ?" You nod without even looking at the person talking to you. You choke out a quick answer before rushing to the back towards the private toilet.

Immediately collapsing to the ground, you throw up everything you had in you, which wasn't a lot to begin with. You barely even ate anything. But you can't stop. You empty yourself, only vomiting water.

Sean finally comes get you, he rubs your back and help you get up. "What happened ?" He asks you.

"I don't fucking know." Is the only thing you can muster.

What you do know however, is that you're scared to go home.

"Are you heading home tonight ?" You ask him, voice hoarse. "Well, yeah" is his answer. So you asked him, begged him to come with you. Because you were horrified by the mere idea of going home alone. Maybe he would be here.

"You can come to mine if ya want." he offers. And you think that the guy from yesterday probably was right, you were weird. Why aren't you going to the cops, after all ? Probably because they'll think you're lying, that you're insane. A joker ? Harassing you with riddles ? You'll end up in a asylum in no time.

But wouldn't you be safer in a asylum ?

When Sean and you closed the bar, it was already well past one am. You didn't had the strength to redo this all over again tomorrow. But Sean was of good company, cheering you up and trying to ease your mind. Multiples times he tried to ask what was wrong, but he guessed it alone. "Was it that weird customer in purple ? The one with the suit ? I saw him lingering a really long time at the counter." You shrugged when he said that, completely worn out. What could he even do against him anyway ? The Joker man wasn't known to any of you. It was a lost cause.

Chatting with your friends wasn't even crossing your mind, you were terrified. The long walk to his apartment was as quiet as a church. What the fuck were you going to do now ? You were dead, yes, you were just dead at this point. What can you even do against some psycho following you around ? Fight back ? Yeah, if you have a death wish. You have to get out of this city, there's no other plan. But how ? And to go where ?

"We're here." says Sean. You've never been to his apartment's before, and to be honest, you would have preferred for it to happen in other circumstances. Trying to escape a criminal wasn't in this year plan.

Before you stood a tumbledown grey building, not much different from yours in reality. After all, Sean's not that rich, he's payed like you and live with his dad's payment. Though, you're pleasantly surprised to see the coziness of his place.

Warm lights were turned on, his sofa looked quite mellow and the general smell of the apartment was lovely. Not that you're judging him, but you wouldn't have thought he was such a clean guy. Because he's like, well, some kind of mafia man. So, yeah, he often smells like sweat and dirt himself, it's a surprise his place is so neat. Sure, it's damaged by humidity then and there, there's cracks in the walls but so do yours. The paint is peeling in some areas as well, you're used to it enough to not notice it. You take off your shoes, but keep your jacket. Probably in search of a safe feeling, maybe by fear of being vulnerable.

"You can sit on the couch, I'll order something.

You don't even have the will to eat right now, the ugly feeling everything entering your body might be threw back out instantly bothering you too much. However, you did sit on the couch. It smelt like him; you hated it. You were violating his property, his intimacy. You shouldn't be here.

But do you really have a choice ?

Sean is talking in the background, on the phone, yet, not a single word is understood by you. It's like he's speaking a whole new language. The red flowers on his TV stand keeps reminding you of the joker's card and his damn hat.

He hung up, that you heard, and left for another room. You hate to bother him, he probably only wanted to go home and sleep after a hard day but you messed up his plans. Grabbing the remote, you turn on the TV to empty your mind. You search for series, documentary or cartoons, only to be disappointed at the sight of obnoxious ads.

You end up watching the news, it being the sole channel not drowned in ads. A woman is speaking in a professional neutral voice, wearing a white shirt. She talks about the inflation killing our country before going onto her next subject; the outgrowing insecurity. The two preoccupation of the government, or at least, what they want you all to think about.

From what she says, a hold-up happened in a bank yesterday, in plain sight. (Why do they talk about it now, you don't now.) The building stank laughing gas. Only one man declares having seen the main suspect. Her chair slides to the side, leaving space for the video to appear and for the victim to testify; "Green disgusting hair and some fucked up clown make-up. That's the only thing I saw. He has no value, I'm telling you, criminals used to believe in things ! He has no respect for anyone, he killed his own team ! He's gonna come back for me, I'm sure of..." and he's erased from the screen at his outburst, for everyone to forget his trauma.

Did he say clown ?

"Indeed, the woman vigorously resumes, a faint smile on, was she laughing at the victim ? green hair and clown make-up is on brand today as everyone only talks about this mysterious criminal. After disappearing for months, the troublemaker is back in town and seems unstoppable. But has he truly ever gone away ?

It's not the same man, right ? No, no of course not. If he's a famous criminal, he has better things to do than harass insignificant useless civilians like you with stupid riddles. He robbed a bank ! Why would he even look in your direction? Fuck, what if he thinks you have some kind information? What if he think you're related to a criminal ? What if you are ?

-He calls himself Joker, always wears his clown make up and has a habit of wandering at night." The woman straightens her posture and clasps her hands together. "After yesterday's fiasco, the famous criminal already perpetrated his next attack. Earlier, at noon, the biggest hospital of the city was targeted. Cops were able to evacuate everyone urgently. Gotham is in shamble, people are afraid and angry. The police is trying to calm the crowds, in vain." Images are shown behind her of people running, yelling, stretchers evacuating and flashing cops car during her speech.

She continues talking but you stopped listening when finally a picture of the Joker was displayed on the screen, his face horrifyingly reminding you something. Too many information are going to your brain in so little time. You try to rationalize everything but it's hard when your mind is too tired to cooperate.

He's called the Joker. And you happen to receive joker cards. He wears make up. The man at the bar looked like he did. Hyperventilating is the only thing seemingly still possible from your body. You stand up, inking, sinking, learning, engraving his face to memory.

Two big scars, both going from each corner of his mouth to his cheeks.

Like a badly drawn smile.

"Sean !" you call. Your friend runs out of the bathroom, disheveled, shirt loose and no pants, only in underwear. He rushed out, scared something had happened. Your shaking pointer aim at the TV screen, at the face of the man on it. "It's him. He was at the bar."

When Sean looks at the man, a chill runs down his spine. He understands what might have happened earlier. He could see the purple suit the man had on on the picture, which was the exact same one he saw at the bar. Fuck, it is the same man. He knows the Joker, hell, everyone knows him here.

And that's bad news.

He's everywhere in everyone business. He has no sense of loyalty whatsoever, killing even his best allies and no one has the slightest clue what he wants. At the bar, he probably scared the shit out of you, he probably threatened you, too. Why, it's impossible to know. He's quite the unpredictable.

-Don't worry, he says, he probably forgot about you already. He's a scary man, likes to shock people a little. He always attack for a reason and you're not a criminal, so you're good."

But you couldn't believe it. He does not have all the information. He doesn't know about the tons of cards you received until now. Eyes completely stuck to the screen, you observe the face before you, knowing you probably wouldn't be able to escape him.

Somehow, this emission confirmed to you that he was real, that you weren't dreaming. And that you really were in it deeply.

Sean insists you shower to relax a little bit, you're holding onto the remote for dear life, nails digging in your palm. When in the bathroom, your eyes automatically gravitates towards the mirror, discovering your new face scarred by sleepless nights and cries. You're almost scared of your reflection. Sighing, your hands find themselves in your pockets alone but you're startled by the coldness they are greeted with. What have you in your pocket that is freezing like that ?

Your unease comes back in a rush when you take out another one of these cards from your jacket. Are you for real going crazy ? What is going on ? When did this get here ? How did it get here ? It's your damn jacket ! You had it in the work closet all day !

You're tired and doing this little fucked up game is not doing any good. A greasy almost wiped red is the first thing you see, his lips, you guess. He wears some kind of paint as lip stick, he fucking kissed the card, creepy bastard.

Turning the stiff paper, your eyes meet once again one of these painful riddle.

"I'm everywhere, you can't escape me and I'm coming for you. Who am I ?" tears slide quietly on your cheeks, the only sane reaction your emotionless state can give. You're not even moving, eyes staying fixated on the card; the tears are just physical. Body exhausted from it all. What is this now ? You know he's not talking about an object anymore, he's talking about himself. It's not riddles, it's threats. He's coming for you, what is he going to do ? Kill you ? Torture you, or worse ?

The shower did nothing to ease your nerves, you've never been so tensed in your life. What could you even do against this man ?

When Sean called you to eat, you let him know you weren't feeling the slightest hunger. He said nothing, simply keeping a plate for you on the kitchen counter.

You did not even blink an eye that night, paranoid at the slightest noise, a knife slept cautiously under your cushion. The windows and doors were completely shut and you would have loved to do the very same thing to your brain. You fell asleep, eventually, when you should have been up.

Sean was still asleep when you awoke the next day. You were late, and terribly so, the clicking clock on the wall warning you. It was already way past nine. You don't like to leave his house without even thanking him for his hospitality once again. But you'll see him tonight, at the bar. You'll probably have to quit, though. Not yet, as you have to secure another job. You can't risk being here without money, after all. Joker knows where you work at, no way you're staying more than necessary. But... he has to know about your restaurant job too, somehow.

You had a card in the closet, with his stupid shelf trap, after all.

You're safer there, maybe. It's quite the chic area. There's camera, people. Socialites are here, nobody attacks socialites. Usually, at least. Doubts subsists, the journalist on the TV affirmed the Joker attacked in the middle of the day, in plain sight. Would he attack the rich ? They're untouchable, their lawyer always know what to do and they know everyone. You can't kill a famous advocate, right ? It's like attacking the mayor. Remembering his face, you keep the unsettling impression he could kill anyone.

Fuck.

You take a piece of paper, write a few words on it, scotch it on the fridge and leave, dashing outside to not worsen your lateness. You were dead, oh you were so dead. Late couldn't even describe your situation by now. You boss was going to kill you, de-materialize you and send you in another world.

You ran until your legs couldn't support you anymore, people were side-eyeing you in the streets. Certainly thinking of you as some kind of thief or at the very least a criminal of some sort.

Jumping in the nearest bus, your legs being too weak to support you anymore, you finally arrive at your workplace ten minutes later. It was quarter to ten.

You're breathless, rushing once again to the rear of the restaurant. You push the back door open but to your surprise, it won't budge. What ? The guys never lock the door that early in the morning, they know you'll arrive, eventually. You knock a few times, knowing you had the key anyway but if someone was passing by inside, it would be quicker.

You don't have to wait that long as your boss himself is the one opening it for you, as if waiting beside it until your entry. He probably was. He crosses his arms on his chest, eyes glaring holes in you. Damn, you'll have to fight with him, again. You promised him you wouldn't be late anymore, he will never trust you again.

Well, it's not like he trusted you much before to begin with.

"Listen, I'm terribly sorry I'm late but... he scoffs.

-As If that was the only problem ! The man tightens his jaw, talking between his teeth. He approaches his head to yours, almost colliding your forehead together; he talks lowly, scared to be heard. You know damn well what's wrong.

Wow, okay. You were not expecting his reaction to be that dramatic. You're just (incredibly) late. It's not new. What's gotten into him ? You squint your eyes, at a loss of words.

-I was just... You start, ready to recite him once again your preposterous apologies.

-I don't give a fuck about you being late, he cracks, get out of here now ! You are not to put a single of your foot in this restaurant anymore ! You're gonna scare my customers ! In the process, a postilion left its house to attack your cheek. You cringe, immediately wiping it with your sleeve, shuddering in disgust.

-What ?

-What, what, he mimics you with a grimace and a weird voice, Get out of here ! He articulates each words slowly as if you were a foreigner, except his tone was harsh and firm. Haven't you seen the news ? If they hear a criminal is working here, I'm screwed.

-A criminal ? But I'm not... I'm, what the hell ? I'm not a criminal Tony.

-Yeah, yeah, and I'm rich ! Get the fuck out of here or at least, do me a favor and let me turn you in to the police." his face changes to disdain, suddenly thoroughly repelled by your being. "Man, you have to be some dirty criminal to have 600 000$ put on your face. What kind of shit have you done, huh ?

Six fucking what ?

-Uh, listen, I think there's some kind of misunderstanding here. I'm no criminal and I'm definitely not worth that much money.

Hell, in all your life, you did not even earn that much money !

-Hey, his tone changed to deviously adopt one sweeter. I don't want any problems okay ? With you, the cops or whoever is fucking wanting you dead. I'm an honest citizen.

What a hypocrite, he was literally yelling at you seconds ago.

You frown, trying to even understand what he's implying. You scratch your cheek, eyeing him from head to toe. He's in a tux, like always. He never do shit here, settling for bossing everyone around while trying to make you believe he's an irreplaceable element in the team.

Judging by his eyes, he is not kidding.

Is he for real firing you ? Just like that ? For some imaginary story he just made up ? Jobless, you will be jobless. He is firing you. A nervous chuckles escapes you, earning you a raise of the brow from Tony. No, oh no no ! You have this job, you did nothing wrong ! Life is already more shitty than it ever been ! Stalker, debts, fucking serial killer wanting your ass and now you lost your main job ? No, that won't do.

You were already planning to leave the bar, how are you supposed to find back two jobs ? One already was an ordeal.

-Honest citizen ? Are you blind ? You were more so than him at the moment. You don't even have an ounce of honesty in your fucking body ! Are you even aware of everything I did for this shitty place ? You can't fire me and you won't because no one else want to be your fucking slave ! Your job is slavery ! I don't want to be some kind of toy you throw away after you've had enough fun with it !

Tony was outraged you could talk to him like that. He was similar to a bourgeois in the eighteenth century, acting shocked after being the most gruesome person alive, putting his hand displayed on his chest and playing innocent.

-Me ? You should be honored to even be working ! You never understand, do you ? You are wanted, that's it ! There's nothing more, nothing less. You are fired. I am not hiring trash.

You hope the worst criminal of this town gets you, right here, for his fucking ugly disgusting restaurant to be destroyed to the very last crumbs. You'll use his body as a human shield while you're at it, after all, what else can he be useful for ?

Your body is boiling like lava. Hitting, jumping, crying, you don't know what you want, need, to do to externalize all of these toxic feelings. Never in your life have you felt more used, humiliated.

You knew he was an asshole, of course. Everyone does, but hell he fired you ! After years of being his toy !

You understand why people in Gotham are crazy. You understand why they suddenly breakdown and fall into crime. Their life, just like yours, was wasted by some self centered prick like him. Some self centered prick who are not even much richer than you, but think they will be when disrespecting you.

Your face isn't even warm, it's seething.

Your life is flashing before you, old friend, family, home, Mike. You won't even be able to pay your rent ! Of course chaos would be loved in a city where trash rules. Why the manifestation are so violent, why insecurity and banditry are prominent ? Because everyone is tired but nobody is listening. Because nobody wants to talk, they think they're at the top of the food chain.

And he won't change his mind. You're fired, that's all. Nothing can alters his decision. It's too late. He probably just created some poor excuses to get you out, you know it. Because you're not a criminal, and no one is giving away 600 000$ for your ass; he's lying. It's too farfetched.

You muster the calmest voice you can get while in such a boiling state, and God knows how hard it is. Wasting more time here is useless, he'll pay but not now, and not by you. You have a new problem: you need to find a job.

-Why don't you kill yourself, Tony ? Right now ? your eyes were empty against his outraged ones. That's why your wife left you, by the way. That's why she left you and took your damn kids. You don't even deserve to live, really, kill yourself, jump, it'll be better for everyone."

You shrug and turn away to never come back. You really hope he disappears forever.

And without anything else to do with your day, you went back home, body functioning by its own. With no diploma and no driving license, how were you supposed to find a job ? You had little experience, mostly having worked in little jobs everywhere. Cashiers, cleaner, babysitting, gardener (you really just cut bushes and mowed the lawn), security guard, fuck, you did it all. Plus, you have a second job and companies hate to arrange their schedules according to yours, in their point of view, you're the desperate one, you should manage your life.

It was safer to wander in Gotham now, the sun was bright in the sky. It was a clear day, really pretty. A shame you couldn't enjoy it.

You open the always creaking door of the building, feeling the freezing temperature inside. Truly a mystery, though a benediction in the hottest summer. A night out and it's like you already don't know this place anymore. You stand in the middle of the hall, staring at each crack in the walls, each suspicious stains, inhaling the disgusting smell emanating from it all.

Yeah, you hate this place.

Sighing and rubbing your tensed shoulders, you approach your mailbox. Opening it, you're pleasantly surprised when no cards is in sight. Maybe he finally got bored ? Your reaction back at the bar probably wasn't what he expected, not satisfying enough so he gave up. You hope so.

What's inside however is a A4 white sheet folded in two. Thinking a neighbor might have wanted to contact you, you open the paper. Yet, on it, the photo of your identity card in huge format, above it, your whole legal name with just below a price, written 'wanted' for treason. A chill run down your spine.

Okay, that is not funny. What the hell ? Did Tony did that ? If yes, how and why ? You pass your hand on your face, harshly rubbing your eyelids to wake you up. This is a joke, everything's a joke.

An echo brings you back on earth when someone goes down the stairs, upon seeing you, your neighbor halts. You offer him a tight lip smile out of pure politeness, which is a an act he does not even try to imitates as he eyes you as if seeing an animal. Do you look that bad ?

Awkwardly, you shift your weight on your feet to ease the tension growing in you. Why is he still looking at you ? The man, even though you were already well far away from him, distances himself and instead of going straight to the door to leave, bothers to make a detour in order to skirt you completely, without daring to approach a millimeter. Does he think you're going to bite, or what ? You two have talked in the past, briefly sure, but still. Fuck, his behaviour does not comfort you one bit.

When the door shut, you're left standing alone once again.

Things are definitely going in a direction you don't appreciate, you may need to hurry up before something really bad happens. Your hand fetches your phone in your back pocket, calling Sean. When he answers, he does not even bother to greet you.

"You okay? You left really early. You're at work ?

-I got fired, long story. I really need your help, again. I'm truly sorry I myself don't quite understand what's going on and... you stop your ranting, breathless and a lump in throat.

-It's okay, really. I don't mind. Tell me everything, how did you get fired ? Why ?

You called him for several reasons. The first being that he's kind of the only friend you have. The second being that Sean's family know people. They're all criminal at different degrees, whether it is gang leader, small thief or hitman. He's the only one actively trying to live an honest life.

-It's complicated and I'm still pissed about it. you tell him seriously, walking in circles in the hall. I have a question and I really need your answer.

-Not stressing at all. He tries to ease the mood, in vain.

-Am I wanted ?

Sean doesn't answer for twenty seconds too much. His silence is starting to worry you, why isn't he saying anything ? Is he confused ? Does he know ? Please, may he not hide something from you. Wanting to distract yourself, you take the stairs to join your flat. Your fingers were creasing the paper sheet in your hand so hard you could have ripped it.

-In like, he finally starts with a strained voice, a personality kind of way ? Relationship ? He chuckles awkwardly while you frown. Well, no offense but uh, I don't think I am attracted to you, I like you but I wouldn't say I want you, you know ? But you shouldn't be insecure, you're a really great person you know, and I mean, you're not ugly so...

-Sean, what the fuck ? You finally cut him when it hit you that he wasn't answering. You were on the floor just below yours, wanting to walk and not quite go home for the moment.

-I'm sorry, was that mean ? That was definitely mean. He clears his throat. Listen, what I meant was...

-No Sean I'm not insecure, everything's fine. I did not mean... Argh ! You're in this kind of environment, you should know !

-What environment ...?

You want to pull at his hair and shake his head back and forth to punish him for being so stupid. Or maybe you were just not being clear, it was surely that. You were incredibly stressed. Traveling between the different floors or the building to stretch your legs.

-Like, criminals, mafia, I don't know. It's... You sigh, your anger dissipating when you realized you were being a little harsh to him. Weird things keep happening to me and I think I'm going crazy for thinking I may have a price on my head.

-Oh, wanted wanted. No because I thought... He coughs. Never mind. I can definitely tell you that. But honestly, odds are low. No offense but you have nothing to give to anyone. You don't have a lot of money. So I don't think anyone wants you.

Damn.

-Why do you think that anyway ? he asks.

Very briefly, you explain to him why Tony had fired you, still using the stairs and floors as a distraction. Of course, you then told him about the paper you found in your mailbox and the weird encounter with your neighbor.

-I'm just really fucking lost, Sean. I'm sorry, you've been nothing but nice to me and I keep snapping at you, I-I don't know what's going on.

-You're freaked out, it's normal. I don't blame you. I'll help you, send me the wanted poster you got. Maybe it's fake."

Of course, you tell him. You'd do pretty much anything to get out of this situation. You want it to be fake, but there's just an accumulation of bad things that tend to make you believe it's true. Looking around you, you notice to be on the last floor of the building. Flattening the paper sheet back, trying to erase all the creases, you lay it on the dirty floor of the hallways. You tear your phone away from your ear for a simple moment to take the picture. You press send.

You wait impatiently for him to say something, anything. But his reaction is clearly not the one you were waiting for:

-Oh fuck.

-What ? you panic, feeling your heart rises in your throat. What do you mean 'oh fuck' ? Sean ?" But the nauseating ringing of the call being cut short echoes in your ear.

He hung up.

You bite your lip, shutting your eyes as hard as you can. Your fingers find your closed lid, pressing on it as if calming an upcoming headache. What the fuck is going on exactly ? Why did he hang up ? Did you say something ? Did he see something ? You can't keep doing that, nobody answered any of your questions since this morning. You are tired.

You give up. You'll go back home, sleep a little. Research a job in the newspaper and hope for things to get better. Sighing, you walk the stairs once again, only this time to really move on.

Has everyone given up on you ? It feels like it, no one seems akin to want to help you. You never did any wrong to anyone. You always hold the door open to people, you give the few you have to homeless people in the streets. You payed what an old woman lacked in money for her groceries. You work everyday of the damn week, with no holidays.

What have you done ?

Sure, you're starting to break down, you told Tony to kill himself, you yelled at Sean. What the hell ? Never would you have done that in your life. What's happening ? It's getting scary out there, yet, no one's here for you to confide in.

You never should have left your hometown, you punished yourself.

The first thing you do once inside your home is falling head first on the couch. Feeling tears filling up your eyes. You don't fight them, letting them slide freely along your cheeks. After all, it's the good part of having a place to yourself, you get to cry alone in the safety of it.

You'll have to give it up, though. Without necessary money, you'll eventually need to move. Probably find a roommate and live in a red light district.

You spent the next hours trying to read classified ads, key word being 'trying' as your watery eyes didn't allow you to see much. And you ended up watching TV, like you always do. You couldn't fathom the idea of being that alone. When did it all go wrong ? Are you a horrible person ?

The news-woman kept talking and talking without stopping, saying the same things as yesterday and probably tomorrow as well. Inflation, criminality, inflation, criminality. Where were you in all of this ? What about the population ? Where were the solutions ? Is this city really stuck in a loop of chaos ?

The screen now displays a cop in a police station, sharing his feeling and impression about the improvement of the city. You don't listen to him, more struck by what's behind him: a poster on a cork board. Yours. It's your face, with the price, 'treason' shit and everything. The exact same poster you had in your mailbox. The situation is that bad, huh ? Your wanted poster is right next to The Joker one. Is there a link ? Are they hoping to find him after finding you ? They're wrong, then.

You wait, impatiently trying to decipher whether the policeman will talk about you or not. But he does not, so you lay back down on the couch. How does wanted people live freely ? You've been researched for a few hours and you're already going crazy with the feeling everyone's watching you.

Do you even know a criminal in this town ? Well, the only one you do know is Sean. You briefly meet them at the bar, as part of your job. Befriending them is not for you though, so you have no useful information to give the Joker. Then what does he want ?

The doorbell rings through the flat, screaming at you to get up and do something with your life. A chill run through your body, breath stopping for a second out of fear to be heard. For a while, you don't move. Who could it be anyway ? Surely bad news. Now that you're wanted, it could be anyone. But the rings echoes again, forcing you to get up. Slowly and as quietly as possible, you slide to the door. Eye staring through the peephole, you're surprised to discover Sean standing anxiously outside.

How did he get your address ?

Opening the different locks on your door, you however keep the small chain closing it. It wasn't much of a protection to be honest, but you needed to lie to yourself a little bit.

"You hung up on me. Is the only thing you say when your eyes meet.

-I know, I'm really sorry. Are you okay ?

-How did you get my address ? It's weird.

He explains to you how your information are given on your work file. You stand inside, judging him from head to toe. He welcomed you at his place, you have to be polite or you'll really look like an opportunistic. But it's hard when you don't know his exact thoughts.

-Why did you hang up ?

-I talked to my uncle, he has a bar in the center of Gotham. Every criminal goes there, he knows everything.

-And ?

-You're safe, it's false. You're not wanted. He... He didn't see your poster. So it was a bad joke. Silence, you don't believe him. I promise. You're not in danger.

Then why is your face plastered in all Gotham ? Is he completely sure about that information ? You hate to act this way but, it's too late for him to tell you that anyway. False or not, the poster of your head is everywhere. People will try to find you. The veracity of it all doesn't matter anymore.

Though you can't shake that uneasy feeling inside you alerting you of his lie. You saw your face on TV, in a police station. It's not nothing !

-How are you so sure ?

-I told you, you have nothing that could interest such a dangerous man as the Joker.

He's right, on the other hand, something's definitely wrong.

-What do we do, now ?

-You could let me in ? I want to help you but we can't talk if I stay outside.

Halfheartedly, you let him in. He thanks you, admires a few seconds his surroundings before plopping down on the couch. You stay standing even after closing the door shut, crossing your arms on your chest and awaiting his arguments.

Should you tell him you saw your face in a police station ? No, you need to know what he's going to tell you. He's lying, you know it now. But why ?

You thought he could be a friend, turn out you can't trust him that much. Or are you losing it ? Policemen are quite dumb here, they are completely capable of believing everything they see and considering they're desperate to catch the Joker; they could have took your poster as a track.

-What's your plan ? you ask.

-It depends on what you want.

Well, you want a lot of different things. Money, happiness, freedom, family, equality, peace. Right now though, one will be enough.

-I need a job, I can't pay my rent this month otherwise.

-That one's easy. He crosses his arms on his chest, sinking into the sofa cushions. Try ask your bank, they'll lend you some.

-No they won't Sean, I'm indebted. Seriously, did he really think life was this easy ? Did he really think you haven't thought of doing just that ?

He sighs and shrug, crossing his legs, he put his feet on the table. Your eyes are enough to tell him to put them back on the ground. He's a little bit too comfortable for your liking.

-It's these immigrants my friend. We lack money because of them.

What ?

-No, it's just poor distribution of resources. With the ongoing inflation and such, it has literally nothing to do with immigration. You frown, confusion lacing your tone, answering him as if asking a question, because what ? That was so out of pocket ? It's stupid to think like that, it's too easy to accuse others. They're as fucked as we are, you know ? Don't say that.

That's what Gotham thinks ? That each one of their problem is caused by others ? Industries, Government, Politics, they're the one causing all of this. How does someone get to this conclusion ? You thought Sean was good, hell, his family was poor. They survived thanks to drugs and banditry. He's bold to think immigrants are the problem: His family literally embezzles money.

-Jeez, calm down.

Well, it's difficult to be calm towards this kind of stupidity. But at least it keeps you in check, you know who he's voting for. Never trust anyone. It's true you don't know him that well, after all.

-You want my help or not ?

It's harder to see him in the same light as before after this, but if he's the only one willing to help, you can't waste this chance.

-Yeah. You sigh, ashamed with yourself. I need people to forget about me.

-Good, meet me at the back of the bar at the end of our shift. He's not waiting for an answer as he gets up to leave.

-Wow. No ?

He stops in his tracks as you block his way.

-What do you mean, 'no' ?

Is he serious ? With everything you risk ? Criminals at the bar know you, hell, some of them see you every night. No, you are not joining him in the dark in a creepy alley late at night when people want you dead. Also, you need to think a little before jumping straight back to work, it's dangerous.

-Because I don't want to die ?" You need to tell him. "Okay, Sean, I may not understand everything but I know you're lying to me. Am I wanted or not ?

He already lost every ounce of respect you had for him. First with the lying, then with the whole immigrants things.

-You don't believe me ? Is he trying to make you feel guilty ?

-I saw my fucking head on the TV. I believe that's enough proof for me. You cut the conversation straight, not wanting him to keep lengthening things uselessly.

Sean doesn't answer, seemingly hesitating. What is he thinking ? He has to respond. He's constantly trying to avoid the subject and it's getting frustrating.

-That means I'm in danger, right ?

-Yes." he finally answers. Thank God, you think, God why, you also think. "But not because of the Joker. He's not responsible for what's happening to you. All the cards and riddles are from him, yes, but someone saw you two talking at the bar and thought they could get to him by killing you.

You entirely stopped trusting him after he mentioned the cards and the riddles. Because never, in all your discussions, have you mentioned receiving these. He knows too much.

You don't bring it up, of course.

-Explain.

Who could have told him about the riddles, if not you ? The one sending them ? Yes, but Sean's terrified of him. Plus, he couldn't talk to him, even if he had the courage to. It's the Joker, from what you understand, you don't approach him easily. He's not the small local criminal. He's something more.

-The Joker's well known. Everyone wants to defy him. And someone saw you.

-Who ? you ask, finally getting some well deserved qualitative answers.

-His name was, uh, Korej I believe.

-Ko...Rej... you repeat, unimpressed, frowning.

Is it you or does it sound vaguely similar to Joker, but with the letters all mixed up ?

-It's his pseudonym." He hastily answers. "But his real name is John, he lives in the richest part of Gotham. He's a mob leader. He fucking despises the Joker, that's why his name is Kojer.

-Korej, you corrected.

-Yeah, it's difficult to remember. It's quite the shitty name.

He really think you're dumb, right ? You clasp your hands together, catching his drifting attention.

-Okay, well, thank you for everything Sean. It was a pleasure, truly. But now I'm gonna ask you to leave.

-You don't believe me ?

No, no you don't. Everything he ever said to you since he first came here was either weird or false. And sometimes weirdly false.

-Please, leave my house.

You'll go to the nearest police station, ask for help. And if nobody helps you, you'll find a way out of here. This city is dead anyway, there's nothing for you anymore. It's too late.

-Don't you want to talk about it ? he asks hurriedly, displaying his open hands in the air as if ready to grab your shoulders.

-If you want us to talk, okay, you yield. But choose somewhere safe, with a lot of people. I am not joining you at the back of the bar at night where everyone could kill me.

You're going crazy. Why are you even accepting this ? It's not a dream, nor a joke, you really are wanted. People want to kill you. There is money on your head. Sean is deep in thoughts before getting the enlightenment he needed, suddenly vigorously saying:

-Shopping center.

-What ?

-Let's meet at the shopping center, in two hours. I have things to prepare, people to call. You have my number, I'll call you. Is it good for you ?

His behaviour is screaming danger, on the other hand, a rendez-vous in a crowded shopping center at 3PM is not as risky as the bar. And if things turn bad, you still have a chance to run away, hidden in the mass. You hope the things he'll prepare will help you, and not worsen everything.

"Okay. You yield, once again.

-Thank you so much, he exclaimed." Why is he thanking you ? "You're a real sweetheart. It will be worth it."

And with these last words, he left.

You won't go. Of course you won't go damn, you don't want to die. He's so suspicious ! Why so much relief ? He's the one supposed to help you, you're not doing anything for him. You absolutely changed your mind. Yesterday, he was that nice man who saved your life, welcoming you home warmly. Today, he's, well, you don't know who he is anymore. You want to understand, discover what's wrong, but at the same time, it's not yours to do.

Fuck, you need to empty your mind. It's tiring, to be suspicious of everyone, to always have to thoroughly think about everything you do. You plop down on your couch, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on. There's a cartoon going on. Tom and Jerry, a cat chasing, or at least trying to, a mouse. But the mouse's well smarter than the cat. 

Each time he thinks he'll catch it, the mouse finds a way to turn the situation to his advantage. Because in fact, the cat will never win. He has the illusion of strength because of his height, when the mouse is vicious, malign. 

Also, if the cat caught the mouse, well, the show wouldn't have any interest anymore. 

On the screen, the mouse finds a way to slam the door in the cat face, who's dizzy. To illustrate it, stars and birds are rotating around his head.

You don't know why the mouse does all this, maybe to survive. The small animal found the comfort of a warm house with good cheese and doesn't want to leave. The cat, however, is forced to chase it all day. As his owners force him to. It's his role, as the house guard, to chase rodents. Otherwise, he'll be replaced. 

You have to be really damn fucked for you to start analyzing a stupid cartoon. 

Jeez, it's a cat chasing a mouse, it's silly, it's fun to watch. You don't think, just turn off your brain and have fun. Why can't you do just that ?

Sighing, you change channel, trying to find something worth watching. You end up watching the news, it keeping you grounded. It helps you think you're not the worst case, that there's always worse somewhere. It's deeply selfish, but hey, you can't do much about it. Your life is pretty much ruined at the moment. 

What's today's problem? Well this time, the subject is centered around climate change and its catastrophes.

"Global warming. Today, in Spain, alarming news. The national temperature has increased considerably by 46°F (5°C) since last year. The Spanish are revolted, the world is encountering a record in warmth. Their main claim, she reads her notes, "It's summer's weather when we're in autumn." She briefly gulps her saliva. "Indeed, the local heat reached 86°F (30°C) while 73°F (23°C) at night. IPCC's report is alarming, something has to change. Is the world government going to act ?" She quits her serious tone and changes the subject. "Local news; what's happening in Gotham today ?"

Ah, here you go. You turn up the volume. 

"Earlier in the main avenue today, several store signs were vandalized by a group of masked men, it is thought to be perpetrated by an illegal organization. It's a real raid that happened, terrorizing the passers-by and owners. The identity of the delinquent stays unfounded. We know that the police department is currently working on..."

You mute the TV. Vandalizing stores, now ? They didn't even steal anything, who does that ? On the screen, a replay of surveillance cameras showing masked men running, pushing people and only stopping to draw weird shapes on a few of the stores. It's bad, but not quite as bad as your case. Putting the sound back, you're perfectly timed with the conclusion of the event. 

"Where is Batman ? Has the vigilante abandoned our city ? We hope for his prompt return in time for him to apprehend the Joker." 

Batman, right. You forgot that man was even existing. While some wonder who is hiding behind the mask, you're left questioning yourself on which side is he. If he's with the cops, is he a good or bad man ? Police is part of the problem, certainly. But Batman sometimes helps people, although you never encountered him yourself. But is he really with the police ? 

Who is he working with ? And why is he what he is ?

"Whatever... You rub your eyes."

Why do you even keep thinking about that, it's not your problem anymore. You're leaving. Gotham has nothing left for you. Batman can do whatever he wants, for all you care. He doesn't know about your insignificant existence, why waste it thinking of him ? 

But are you really leaving this place, though ? 

Are you really about to leave your life and flee like a coward ? Yes, is the obvious answer. You could think about it, is the less obvious answer. 

Yes, your life is at stake. On the other hand, Sean could really be useful as you're still in danger as long as you stay in Gotham, he's a considerable ally in this story. And not only Sean but his family as well could help you. 

You know about his aunt. That woman is quite well known. A powerful gang chief. You could pay her to get escorted outside of Gotham. You're already indebted anyway, you have nothing to lose anymore. Moreover, nothing guarantees your safety once outside of Gotham. If the Joker is as feared as shown in the media, changing city won't be enough. Which is why you need to clear the problem directly from the root. 

Okay, you won't lose anything in going, right ? Maybe your life, but it's worth a try. You'll join Sean. Yes, you'll join him. 

When the time arrived, you couldn't shake that uneasy feeling taunting you all while preparing yourself. What if someone chases after you ? What if you get kidnapped ? You won't, of course you won't. Sean will be there when you arrive. He's dissuading enough. He's a big man. 

You found yourself before the gigantic mall before even being able to process it. It was crowded, people entering and getting out every second. For a moment, your eyes search for Sean in the rabble only to find no one. He's probably inside, it's safer. 

Tightly holding the hood stuck on your head, you stare intensely at whoever crosses your path, trying to gain enough courage to finally enter the building. 

It's scary to be wanted, the displeasing impression everyone's looking at you is suffocating. You could get killed, right now. Abducted, even. 

When the automated doors open, you're greeted by the cold air conditioning. It's autumn, why the hell would someone want to freeze to death ? 

Checking your phone, there's still no sign of Sean. He couldn't possibly stand you up, right ? He's the one who insisted for you to come. It wouldn't be logical. He's just late.

You can't really afford to be waiting in your situation, every second matters. You don't know what will happen. And, yeah, you're kind of starting to freak out. You don’t know where your wanted poster ended up. Maybe you’re already dead, and, shit, you're alone in such a vulnerable position. Fuck, why did you come ?

You’re trying to stay rational, thinking of every possibility as to why he’s not here. You nod your head to yourself, trying to ease your nerves. He'll come. You just need a little patience. He said he needed to prepare things beforehand, that's why he's late. He's late because he'll help you. 

You miss the mall, it's been long since you last came here, too preoccupied with your two jobs. You used to like watching people but quickly stopped. First, you once or twice made an awkwardly long eye contact with a man who then wanted to beat you up for provoking him, "like a pussy". Then, the second reason is that people are just... Mean. You'd look at a pretty woman only for her to spit on the ground. In the street is already disgusting enough, but the mall ! You'll look at a man hugging a woman, just to realize that they both don't know each other and that he's drunk out of his mind. 

Maybe you do need to get out of here, actually. 

Your phone still hasn't buzzed, you need to do something with your body or you’ll go crazy. It’s obvious staring daggers at your device every second won’t help. He's not here yet, you need to accept it and wait. You'll walk a little to not get noticed, your tensed and motionless body language is screaming suspicious and people are starting to side eye you. 

It’s only natural of your legs to start bringing you to the places you used to go to, only to realize that one of your favorite stores closed permanently. Of course, with the crisis. It’s not surprising. 

"Fucking morons..." Mutters a man to your left. Upon looking in his direction, you meet the owner of the voice standing on a stepladder, trying to energetically scrub with a sponge his store's sign. Key word being 'trying' as it's not successful. 

Right, earlier's vandals. 

He's cursing to himself, scrubbing progressively more aggressively the almost intact big black 'O' tagged on the sign mocking him. 

"Can I know who did that? asked your curiosity. 

-Fucking assholes, he answers without even looking your way, that's who did that. 

-What do they looked like ?

-No idea, he grumbles. They all had that stupid mask on. All white with some blue and red. No idea what that was supposed to be. Ask the other owners if you're so interested, but you're late. Journalists already left. 

Oh, right. He thinks you’re a journalist. 

-Thank you, have a nice day sir.

-Yeah yeah…”

You heard several stores were vandalized, where are the others ? Letting your legs wander, you get your answer a few meters/feet away. A sign is hanging by an electric thread. 

It’s a shoe store, but its signboard was now displaying a big black 'O'. You lift a brow, confused about its meaning. Usually, tag either insults or convey a message. Anyhow, there's a sense. Now though, you can't quite pinpoint it. O, what starts with an O. Optimism, oppression, obedient omelette ? It can be anything. Maybe it's not a letter, but a signature? 

Two stores away (you see it out of the corner of your eye) another of these is vandalized, this time, a bold 'B' was written. What word could this correspond to? B for Batman ? It's not a word, mostly a name. Baby, maybe. Bomb, bag, anything. Hell, it could even be badminton for all you know. 

Next letter is directly after the previous one, a 'S' hiding the dress logo the sign was exhibiting prior. The paint is dripping a little and one or two drops can be seen on the ground. 

"Those damn scum." a man grumbles, who you think might be the owner of the poor store. He crosses his arms on his chest, looking up disapprovingly. 

You ignore him, now thrilled by all of this. You want to discover all the tags. It's not like you have much better to do anyway. Sean still hasn't answered you. You know what to do to wait: find words for each letter. S makes you think of sabotage, skull and soup. 

You see the next letter from afar, this time, an "E" welcomes you. Though, this one was partially erased. You guess the owner found the right product. It's now possible to read the sign and enjoy the sweet sight of what seems to be a sex shop sign. Is it even legal ? There's kids coming into this mall. Anyway, a lot of words start with E; Electric, Ebola, education, eagle. 

You don't find the next letter right away, needing to walk a little to find it. But when you do, you're weirdly excited. It's just a bunch of words on some signboards, yet, it's fun. Like an orienteering race. But mostly because you don't get to have much fun today, and this being out of your quotidian, it's easy to be ecstatic.  

Further away, it's not one but two letters that greets you; two "S", entwined like snakes. Shit, is it a nazi kind of tag ? It looks like the police's symbol there was back then. If that’s the case, you don’t find this as exciting as before. Not a good thing to write. There's already so much chaos here, you pray nazis are not going to be added to it. You think of the word 'Swiss' for this letter.

Next letter is an 'I'. Investigation, investment, ice. A woman bypasses you, hitting your shoulder with her. You squeal out of surprise, the woman doesn't even notice you. What a shitty town. You check your phone again, making sure Sean didn't try to contact you. No reply. 

Walking ahead, the next vandalized store needs you to turn to the left to be seen, it's an 'O', again. But you don’t have the time to think of words that you already see the next letter. It’s a ‘N’. Night, Nemo (as in the movie) and nuisance. You already found words starting with ‘O’ anyway. It seems to be the last one as you walk and turn but no others appear. Disappointment lingers, sad it ended so soon. 

What is it, does it form a word at the end ? Like street art ? Maybe, a shame you already forgot all the previous letters. It was fun, though. You'd do it again, it's entertaining. Like a track game where you follow a path. Vibrations are bringing you back to reality, rushing to take it, you rotate to leave the place in order to find somewhere calmer. In your haste, you bump straight into someone. You freeze for a second, phone in hand.

They’re wearing a mask, a clown mask on their black hair. And a really ugly one. It’s shiny, like plastic and it surely is. Their eyes are the only thing you see through the holes. Whoever that is is staring right into your damn soul. Their eyes are empty, so empty you might think they’re on some kind of drug. The big red nose in the middle of their face is mocking you, laughing at you to be scared of something so ridiculous. Two small tufts of green hair are standing on each side of his head, the false bloody teeth drawn on the mask is the final touch that tells you to leave.

“Sorry.” you mumble, avoiding eye contact.

Your hands are holding your phone so tightly that fear strikes you that you could actually break the screen. The clown does not move when you walk past him, and you realize right then and there that they were well too close to you for it to be normal. You hate clowns, you hate them so much. All of this because of that stupid Joker. That person probably wasn’t even related to him, maybe he was one of the vandals. You don’t know, you don’t want to.

When you pick up Sean’s call, he apologizes for being late and plans an area for you to meet. You’re before the sex shope tagged by the “E” by the time Sean joins you. You’re not as convinced as before to destroy the problem from its root after the clown encounter. You’re not a hero, not a criminal. You’re nothing, you don’t have anything to prove to anybody. You should leave.

“You okay ? You look like you saw a ghost ? He laughs, but he’s not your friend so you don’t.

-So ? Got out much more coldly than you intended it to be.

-Jeez, you’re impatient. I’ll help you, I told you I would, right ?

You did, doesn’t mean you really will. You cross your arms on your chest, approaching him for him to hear you more clearly.

-Do you have any information ? Ways to get me out of here ? To resolve this ? Anything ?

He sighs, stepping back as if you’re the plague and looking elsewhere in the crowd. He seems conflicted, forehead creased by his worry.

-I can’t tell you now, walls have ears.

-Then why the fuck would you tell me to join you here ? If you’re so scared to be spied on, we could have continued this discussion at my place.

Your tension is building up. It’s fucking frustrating to talk with him. He starts teasing you with interesting information, then, he retreats and acts as if nothing happened and you’re just impatient. He told you to come here, he told you he’d help you.

-At least answer my questions, you plead, I don’t even know who… Who is the Joker ? Who is he exactly ? He physically tensed, his shoulders literally hunched forwards. What the hell ?

-Well, uh, it's complicated.

Damn, even that couldn’t be answered. Why are you still here ?

-What do you mean it's complicated ? Is he a terrorist ? A thief ? A gang leader ? A serial killer ? It's a simple question.

-He's a little bit of everything, truly.

Why does he always seem so nervous talking about him ?

-Sean for the love of God, he’s not here ! people are starting to look in your direction, but you couldn’t care less. You can calm down, he won’t kill you ! You gotta breathe a little, man. Aren’t you the one who literally told me he wasn’t after me ? It’s not the first time you’re lying to me and I’m starting to lose it. Why am I here ? Tell me, why are we fucking here if you’re not gonna help me ! Who is this man and what does he want ? Why does he want to kill me ! It’s…” a gunshot whistles in the air, cutting you in your sentence straight away, screams erupting from all sides.

Your body acts before you can think, throwing yourself on the ground. It’s hard to understand what’s going on, but in a way, you don’t try to. You get up quickly and lose yourself in the running and yelling crowd. Your paranoia is not helping, was this gunshot aimed at you ? Sean is somewhere in the mall, but it’s too late. You gave him a chance, he wasted it.

Another gunshot echoes, followed closely by the sound of a glass breaking. Your senses are overwhelmed; names, insults, orders are being yelled. Is the Joker here ? You need to get out of here, now. Bodies are pushed against yours, your clothes are being tugged on. But when you were about to reach the exit, someone harshly grabs you out of the crowd, pulling you aside. It’s panic in your head, survival instinct kicking in. You yank your arm out of the person’s hold but freeze upon seeing Sean threaten you with a gun.

“Sean, you start with a shaky voice, what the fuck ? his eyes are cold, you don’t recognize him. He looks at you as if you're nothing, as if you're no one.

-He’s here, he states, looking paranoidly to the sides. He’s… He’s going to kill me if I don’t bring you to him.

-Bring me to who, Sean ? But you fear you might already know.

-The Joker.

Of course he’d betray you. Who are you kidding ? You knew, you knew he would trap you. Your eyes can’t leave the sight of the gun barrel, following each of its movements. He’s shaking, you realize. Is he scared, hesitating ? Or motivated by a hatred so pure he can’t even control his own feelings ?

-Sean, you try nonetheless, he’ll kill you either way okay ? He’s a sadist, we can… you gulp, throat suddenly burning dry. We can leave together, we’ll leave the city and…

-You don’t understand, do you ? He’ll track you, he’ll track us down. And then, he’ll slaughter us like pigs. You hear me ? He’ll slaught…

-I get it ! I get it ! you scream, shutting your eyes in order to erase those images from your head.

How can you even change his mind ? You doubt he’d fold with some speech about your friendship. It’s not like you two were that close to be honest. Sure, you liked him but that changed since the beginning of the Joker catastrophe.

-He promised me money, he explained himself. As if you’d forgive him after hearing his justification. A lot of money. You can’t understand what it’s like to… when you see him lower his weapon, you interrupt him, drived by your anger.

-How can you be so stupid ? He was, he truly was an idiot for believing the Joker. You haven’t known that beast for long, but each time someone defined him, it was always along the lines of wicked, treacherous, vicious and ruthless. So yeah, he was stupid. Was your life worth something as insignificant as money ? Has he ever liked you ?

-Shut up ! I’m done living like a fucking tramp !

Tramp is a big word coming from him, daddy pays him everything ! You’re tired of his tantrums, he is a grown man, ten or fifteen years older than you and he’s acting like a child. Suffering is your quotidian as well, but you would’ve never betrayed him. In fact, that is your problem. You’re not a scumbag like him, that’s why you can’t stand him. You have no value similar to his, if he even has some. By what right does he think he can use you to get, what, a few dirty money ?

If you're going to die, at least you'll die telling him every resentment you had towards him.

-You think I am happy ?! Your life’s better than mine ! Fuck you Sean, you’re an asshole ! You’re a fucking asshole ! You’re the one that should die !

-Shut the fuck up you whore !

A burning pain sliced through you along a sharp sound, legs losing all strength and making you fall on the ground. Your ears are ringing and your breath is cut for a few long seconds. What happened ? Is the first question popping in your head, but the atrocious pain coursing through your leg answers you. Your hand touches your hurting limb, but retreats it instantly at the pain. So you look down.

Blood, there’s blood everywhere.

It’s yours. It’s… It’s your damn blood, you’re bleeding. You have a hole in your leg and it’s gushing out blood. He shot you. Fuck, oh God, oh God, you’re bleeding. You’re fucking bleeding and it hurt like hell. It hurt so damn bad, why, why did he do that ? Your eyes are stinging and soon, tears fall down your cheeks. Are you going to die ? Here ? With nothing accomplished ? Alone ? Shot by the only man you thought was your friend ?

-I believe alive was written on the contract.

You recognize that voice, you hear it in your nightmares.

-Joker ! I… She tried to run away, I had to immobilize her !

It’s weird, your body is exhausted, yet, the pain is keeping you well awake. Your head is heavy when you lay it on the dirty ground of the mall. Eyes trailing slowly to the two men talking. Finally, he’s here before you. He’s shown himself. Even if it’s only the second time you see him, you talked and heard about him so much these past hours it feels like you’ve been with him for months. And maybe you were, in a way. Sean walks past you, not glancing towards your drained body on the ground. He’s scared of him. He plays the big man with you, but he’s a little bitch.

How is Sean, a man built like a fridge, so terrified of someone so ridiculous as the Joker ?

Who is he ?

The pain in your leg makes it feel numb and at the same as alive as it never been. The Joker sighs exaggeratedly, he tilts his head to the side to look at you. Shivers shake your whole body. Is that it ? This is the man who’ll abduct you ? You’d rather get killed instantly.

-And right on Valentine’s day...” mumbles the Joker.

It’s not, it’s autumn. Valentine’s day is in February, in winter. From your position, police sirens are heard and red and blue lights are flashing, reflecting on the windows. The Joker takes out a gun out of his long purple jacket and aims it towards Sean.

“Please ! He yells. I-I did what you wanted ! She’s here, please don’t kill me ! I’m a hitman, I’ll work for you !

Is he, now ? He's barely a barman.

-Do I look like I'm searching for employees ? He asks, opening his arms and bending his hands for his palms to face the ceiling before looking around him for confirmation. Because I’m not.”

You're torn between relief and horror at the sight of Sean falling to the ground after another gunshot, bathing in his own blood. He did betray you, he brought you here, he brought this upon you, upon himself. But he’s dead. You wished him to, but now that he is you’re horrified.

It’s then that you realize that The Joker is surrounded by his masked goons. Probably the one who vandalized the store, now that you think about it. You walked right into his trap.

“Well ? What are you waiting for ? he asks almost comically. Bring the package to the car !

When several men surrounds you, you're left yelling and fighting to get out of their holds, in vain, of course. The blood gushing out of your hurting limb isn't helping much, anyway. You feel your strength slowly evaporate from you.

Shotguns echoes, but your ringing ears prevent you to precisely locate it. Soon, they throw you in the back of a car and close the door, leaving you in the dark.

Gotham killed you.  

#heath ledger joker #Joker #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #the dark knight #vitzi9writings #i am losing it

[musashi]

very sorry if youre getting this twice my wifi lost connection the first time i hit send so im asking again in case didnt get through. its a relief to see you say writers block is just a state of mind issue! do you have any advice for people who are still stuck in it to stop being that way? what part of my thinking has to change to get better? and this has nothing to do with the topic but thank you for being one of the few mayomei sickfic writers in western fandom! finally some good fucking food

honestly its a hard thing to advise because i quite literally just brute force 90% of things in my life out of spite. but i think just internalizing it is a good first step?

like. writer's block is. how do i phrase this. it's just a term we have invented for feeling "stuck." which can be useful, except... it has now kind of taken on a life of its own, where people kind of talk about it as if it is... a condition? something that you can "come down with" so to speak. but in reality all it means is that you are stuck. something isn't working.

why are you stuck?

that's the thing to figure out. some people get stuck by many things. some people are only ever stuck via one thing. but when you chalk it up to "writer's block" what you are basically doing is giving yourself an excuse to not examine it further. you are saying to yourself, well, it's writer's block, hopefully it passes soon. and you are taking away the agency from yourself to help it pass, giving yourself over to the whim of it. you are relenting.

i am bad at relenting.

this goes hand in hand with the other thing that annoys me to hear people talk about--"inspiration." a lot of writers consider this to be an opposite of writer's block, so to speak. sometimes its inspiration, sometimes its motivation, but much like with writer's block, they consider it this kinda nebulous cloud that settles over them and oh! suddenly they can create!

this, again, takes away the writer's agency. they are simply at the behest of writer's block and its opposite, motivation. internalizing this mindset pretty much guarantees that your output will stagger. that terrifies me. the idea that i must go long swaths of time waiting to feel "inspired" or "motivated" sounds like hell. writing, creating, making something is what keeps me alive, and i think if i stopped i'd die.

so, once again i reiterate: what writer's block is, is a writer being stuck. the writer needs to unpack why they are stuck. instead of just saying 'oh lol its writer's block' and leaving it at that.

for me, what i thought was "writer's block" was actually perfectionism and a dissatisfaction with how the story looked in my head vs how it came across on paper. i felt the words i was putting on the page did not match the story i wanted to tell, and i would lock up and feel foggy and uninspired. but when i did that, i was angry, because it felt like giving up, and i fucking hate giving up. i hate failing even more than i hate being stumbling and imperfect.

more than that, i was writing nothing. i came to a conclusion: as i grew as a writer, my standards would shift and change. therefore, there will never exist a timeline where i am 100% satisfied and proud of everything i've ever written. furthermore, this paralytic fear of not telling the story i wanted to tell meant i wasn't telling a story at all. i was setting myself up to fail regardless, so i may as well tell a story while i do it.

the choice came down to, write hundreds of shitty words that were not up to my own (impossible) standard, or write nothing and hope and pray that one day i feel "inspired" enough to get the story in my head out. from a purely logistical standpoint, i think anyone can see which outcome is favourable.

and then i wrote stuff. and, uh, it turns out literally no one feels the same about my writing as i do. i think it sucks shit but everyone else LOVES it and thinks its top tier. which, again, just logically that tells me that my opinion is biased--i'm sitting with the story all day, so it looks predictable and uninspired to me. but no one else has that viewpoint. everyone else is just eating that shit like candy. again, just logistically, this makes it a lot easier to talk down the voice in my head that says i'm not making good enough art. i can just give it a chocolate candy and be like, calm down, little thing. clearly i am.

so to loop it back around: writer's block is just a term people use as a crutch to avoid examining why they feel unable to write. i personally found that saying instead what i am actually struggling with literally instead of chalking it up to some nebulous affliction made me a much more productive writer. i have a general word count i want to make every day and regardless of how i'm feeling i try my best to hit it. and thats why i can just write 45645645 fics all the time like it's nothing.

anyways THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i will write mayomei forever if people keep talking to me abt it. they are so precious to me

#wendy rambles #wendy answers

[tallowfallow]

I used to have the meanest cat. One of the things she would do is sit on your chest and stare at you while you sleep. It was incredibly unnerving to wake up to at 2am to a Creature looking down at you. It took a while for us to realize that Kitty (rip Kitty I miss you) was actually worried. She'd only ever do it to the kids of the family and she could never sleep until you woke up and told her to get off of you. When you did, she'd settle in close, still watching until she fell asleep too.

I really love the fandom's decision that Izzy is a mean cat in human form because now I'm imagining this:

A crew member, let's say Lucius for funsies, wakes up in the middle of the night, unnerved by the sense of eyes watching them. He's on the deck, with the rest of the crew and it takes him a second to realize there's no reason a large shadow is hovering over him. When his eyes adjust, he realizes in absolute horror that Izzy Hands is sitting next to them, his legs folded butterfly style and his sword on his hip.

Lucius and Izzy stare at each other for a long while. Lucius assumes that this is his last moments on earth before Izzy decides to slit his throat and leave him for dead. He wonders if he should pray to God but decides that God probably isn't too pleased with all the gay stuff and decides he isn't going to pray to a God that won't appreciate it.

Then Izzy speaks, his voice low and monotone. "You made a noise."

Lucius blinks. Is that why he's being murdered?

Izzy continued. "In your sleep. You made a noise, like you were going to choke."

"O-Oh?"

"Don't make noises like that."

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't know--"

"You sounded like you were going to stop breathing."

Something clicks in Lucius' head. Izzy isn't angry, he's... he almost doesn't want to say it but he's worried?

He's about to open his mouth to assure Izzy that he's fine (and hopefully avoid his ire so he can continue that way) when Izzy's hand shoots down and slams onto his chest. Lucius tenses up for a moment before he realizes what Izzy is doing.

So instead of screaming like he had planned, Lucius takes several deep breathes, watching the tension smoothing out of Izzy's face as his chest rises and falls. After a moment, Izzy glares at his face, moving his gloved hand up to Lucius' throat. He presses lightly at the pulse point, like he's checking to make sure Lucius is actually alive and not just a corpse faking it. A few seconds pass before Izzy takes his hand back and moves to stand.

He dusts off his legs and points at a stunned Lucius. "Don't make that noise. It's concerning."

'I was concerned.' Lucius hears so he nods. "I'll try not to. Sorry, Izzy."

Izzy mutters something which sounds a bit irritated but begins walking back to his post. Lucius can't really believe what just happened. And he just... Izzy... Okay. Okay it is way too early for this. Lucius will deal with all that in the morning, he's going back to bed and hopefully he won't make a weird noise that irritates (concerns) Izzy.

So he settles back into bed, scoots close to his Pete and is about to drift back off when there's another noise.

Swede makes a strange sound, a bit like a snore and Lucius hears a long-suffering 'motherfucker!' in the distance before Izzy is rushing over to Swede, who's tucked tightly into his favourite barrel.

Aw, Izzy, Lucius thinks before he can stop himself.

#ofmd #our flag means death #izzy hands #lucius spriggs #izzy hands the motherhen #prompt #headcanon #u decide

[idv-sweethearts]

I loved your ithaqua hcs… the way you write him feels so accurate!! Looking forward to seeing more of your writing ^-^❤️

Thank you. I try to analyze the characters before I write for them. I want to get an idea of their thought processes and beliefs and such before I write for them. It's very important to me that I portray characters in a way that is as accurate as possible.

It seems to me that while Ithaqua has rejected society and humanity, the society he has rejected is one that jumps to conclusions, has pointless rules, and promotes cruelty. The barbaric philosophy he has chosen to adopt seems like it promotes being kind, gentle, and protective towards those who you are on good terms with, but hostile and violent with those who might cause pain to you and your loved ones.

The wiki says he tends to toy with those who enter the forest, but sadism would be counterproductive. So I've speculated, and there is little evidence to back this up, that he doesn't actually feel like killing them most of the time. All the traps and taunting is a warning and if they're so determined to be in the woods despite the cold and the traps and the obvious danger, how good could their intentions be? This "toying" is, in his mind, a test to determine how good these people are. And while there are some flaws in his logic, the people he's killing are likely part of the same village full of people that either tortured his mother or sat on their asses and watched it happen. I don't blame him for being hostile, considering what he's witnessed.

Additionally, there is a line of dialogue on the wiki that I don't have context for because I'm new to the fandom and I wasn't there for it, but he sorta threatens the audience for equating barbarism with stupidity. But the way he goes about the threat is more of a warning, in my opinion. He doesn't say he will get get violent because they've already made him mad, but rather because if they continue to be ignorant, they will make him mad. The audience is being given a chance to correct their behavior before he gets violent.

Also, it's noted that a few people have survived the hunting attempts I mentioned before. If he wanted them dead, he'd have killed them immediately. And I have to point out, why would a village full of judgemental witch hunters ever see his tests and mercy as anything more than torment that they've miraculously escaped? Furthermore, his gameplay abilities have nothing to with tormenting his prey in a manner that they can escape if they pray hard enough. His abilities, in a scenario where he has a reason to kill, are extremely direct. He can move quickly and pull Survivors closer to him. No traps, no toying, and no messing around. Just quick and efficient murder attempts. Animals typically don't kill without reason or act more cruel than needed. That's a trait that is most commonly seen in humans, and that aspect of humanity is the very thing he's rejected.

I've also considered that it might be a Sweeney Todd "Epiphany" situation, where he considers everyone to be either too terrible to deserve living or so miserable that killing them would be mercy, but his mother is extremely miserable and she's probably still alive, so that can't be the case.

Speaking of his mother, he takes care of her and does so quite well, considering he's been able to keep her alive. I've noted that in the official art where they were near eachother, he seems to be close enough to her for to know he's there (And I'm sure she is way too deep into dissociation to be too responsive to her environment), but far enough away that she has her personal space and she won't freak out. That tells me he's observant and careful, which is further backed up by the fact that he canonically knows how to hunt. To hunt, you must be able to observe your prey and act accordingly or you won't catch much of anything. He's able to read people's body language and facial expressions quite well, it seems. I mean, he's able to read the body language and facial expressions of a woman who is barely mentally there and has been rendered almost completely mute due to trauma.

I also think one's status means nothing to him. To him, you're both just beings with thoughts, feelings, and free will. You both have the ability to do everything right and everything wrong. If you want to get close to him in any manner, take inspiration from his mother and be kind to others, gather evidence before condemning someone, and don't accept any cruelty, whether it be directed at yourself or someone else. That shows that despite your ability to be cruel, you still choose to be kind and treat others with fairness.

Note that his concept of what is fair has been warped by trauma. He sees condemning people for made-up witchcraft to be wrong and ignorant, but has no issue with killing people for being in the forest for too long. Some of the people he's killed might be totally innocent, but he's judging them based on how fast they leave the forest once they realize they're being hunted, because if they really want to be there that badly, they must have reasons and those reasons must be bad. And a person with bad intentions can never be allowed anywhere near his mother. She's been through enough and he'd rather test, scare, and more than likely kill a thousand people before he lets her feel any more pain.

#idv ithaqua #idv night watch

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Anyway here's the WIP more-or-less canon-friendly Albert playlist (though there's still some Mycal notes in here, which is kind of a stretch for canon. Oh well.) It's very loosely ordered to go along with the timeline, and since it's WIP, it ends on a gloomy note RIP. And yes, I've been talking about this for weeks and it's only 24 songs. A bunch got syphoned off into the Fanon Albert/Mycal Playlist, which I'll probably also share eventually.

*creaky old lady voice* What is a Sp...Spootify? I don't know what that is.

Brief explanations for song choices:

Cross - religious angst

Fly Away - young Albert building up to that crossroad choice between suicide and murder

I Am The Fire - triumphant self-empowerment music for young Albert to murder his family to 😅

Fish in a Birdcage - Something about the cycle of Albert being caged (first in his childhood home, then in the Tower) until William frees him

Arsonist's Lullaby - for obvious reasons

Can You Catch a Flame? - idk I just think this is what Albert's internal monologue sounds like lmao

Don't Pray for Me - more religious angst

White Lie - Albert & William or Moriarthree angst

Pigeons and Crumbs - chucked this in for the pigeon mention, plus: "All alone but I'm in a crowded room I'm sinking in the quicksand tonight You pick me up and I shine across the sky Till morning then you color me in" is a good verse for either Will or Al towards their respective Holmes boys.

Play With Fire - because General Fandom Rules demand it

Hushh - ngl I literally stuck this in here almost entirely in honour of "What I wish for is your silence"/"My one demand is silence"/however we're translating that line these days

Up in Flames - Moriarthree/Lord of Crime/Moriarty Gang stuff

Used to the Darkness - Another kind of Albert & William or Moriarthree deal

Strange Birds - because I will awkwardly shove Mycal into every bird-related love song and this was slightly more canon-friendly than the ones that went in the Fanon Albert playlist

Flesh and Bone - vibes idk

No Plan - okay I had to stick ONE sexy nihilistic Mycal energy song in, canon-friendly or not. Imagine Mycroft as the cheerful agnostic balancing out Albert's angsty believer.

Icarus - drinking and fire and stuff lol. I feel like this is a good Holmes boys' POV song about their Moriartys

Maybe, I - MORE religious angst (kinda)

High Fire - Albert mourning William

Down - Tower era Mycal where the lyrics are gloomy but there's hope in the tune

Alive - Albert as a child and in the tower

Forest Fire - more Albert mourning William

Casualty - MORE Albert mourning William

Tower Above the Sun - assorted Rapunzbert vibes

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #albert james moriarty #mycal #hyper makes playlists

[monaskydancer]

Into the West - Chapter 5

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 Pairing: Arthur x fOC Genre: romance, adventure, drama

@photo1030 @cassietrn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nancy spent most of the night tossing and turning, the thoughts weighing heavily on her mind the longer she dared to think about the recent events. With a bounty on her head, even though explicitly stating she had to be taken in to the sheriff alive, was it really a good idea to return home? Even if just for a few hours to gather some belongings?

She sighed and grabbed the pocket watch from the nightstand, checking the time. She groaned as she saw it was just barely 4 in the morning. She placed the watch down again and sat up, her naked feet touching the cool ground. She grabbed a woolen blanket, draping it around her shoulders, and stepped outside. The camp was quiet. By the outskirts near the forest, she saw the glimmer of a torch, one of the guys on watch. She sat at the domino table, absentmindedly playing with the pieces. She remained there for a while, silently and alone, until she finally came to a decision.

She headed back to her tent and began dressing in her pants, blouse, and boots. Then, she packed a satchel with some provisions—mainly crackers, nuts, dried meat, water, and some medicine, just in case. She then slung the gun belt around her hips, checking the shotgun. Since she hadn't used it anyway, it was still in good condition. She pushed it back into the holster, then left her tent. It was already 6 in the morning by then. The sun was on its way up behind the mountain range in the distance, its light not reaching quite as far yet. Nancy walked over to Arthur's tent, unsure if she should wake him. She silently prayed he was already awake.

"Nancy?" he said as he just left his tent, her body colliding gently with his. He placed his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. "You're awake already?"

"I couldn't sleep well anyway. I've made my decision," she replied.

Arthur looked her up and down slowly, then nodded. "Can I grab breakfast first?"

She chuckled. "Yeah sure, I'll ready my horse."

He walked past her to the cooking station, gathered some bread, put cheese and tomatoes onto it, and then brewed some coffee. Glancing over towards the horses, he watched her readying Dancer for the long ride. He shook his head ever so lightly and turned back to the sandwich he had made for himself. Despite not having known her for long, he had a feeling she hadn't eaten anything yet. He prepared three more sandwiches so both could have two each. Pouring coffee into two cups, he grabbed the plate of sandwiches and carried everything over to the domino table.

"Nancy?" He called.

She looked over questioningly, noticing the two cups and four sandwiches. A light smile curled her lips as she patted Dancer's neck, then walked over to Arthur.

"You didn't have to…"

"I know, but I did anyway. It's gonna be a long ride. Sit and have breakfast with me." He took a seat, grabbed one of the sandwiches, and took a bite. Humming in satisfaction, he pushed the plate towards her as she sat down across from him.

"Looking good," she said, inspecting the sandwich, then took a bite. "Mmmmh…and tastes good!" Her eyes sparkled as she munched, smiling at him. She took the coffee mug and sniffed at it. "You know, I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but this smells kinda good."

"Didn't know that," he said. "Though maybe you'll like my coffee?"

She laughed lightly. "Are you suggesting that your coffee tastes different from someone else's?"

"Just sayin', give it a try." He finished his sandwich and leaned back, amused as she took a small sip of the dark liquid. She wrinkled her nose a little. His grin turned more cheeky. "So?"

"I think I will stick to tea. And water." She pushed the mug towards him, and he took it, drinking it, then finished his own. Leaning onto her elbows on the table, she added, "Thank you for riding with me today, Arthur."

"Don't mention it." He got up. "I'm gonna send John to check out Valentine for the Wanted posters of you. You're one of us now; we look out for each other."

She blinked and got up as well. "I am?"

He looked at her, tilting his head a little. "Mh?"

"One of you. I am one of you now? Just like that?" She followed him as he walked to the horses. He stopped next to Bounty and looked at her.

"Sure, you are. Unless you don't wanna," he said as he mounted his horse.

"I think I do. I have no one else. I just never imagined I'd be part of a band of outlaws someday. Yet, here I am." She mounted her horse. "Granted, the circumstances could be better, but that's life, huh?"

"That's life indeed," he muttered and pressed his heels into Bounty's side. The horse moved forward, trotting away from camp. Nancy brought Skydancers up to the same speed, riding alongside Arthur.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dutch stepped outside, just catching a glimpse of the two leaving camp together. He looked after them thoughtfully. Hosea walked over to him.

"What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, just wondering where they're going," he said and looked at Hosea.

"I know where they are going. They're off to her farm. Arthur told me last night that she would like to get some of her belongings." He hesitated before he continued. "He also told me that Nancy is a wanted woman now. She found posters of her hanging at the post office in Valentine. Probably more in town. He sent John over to check and remove them."

"Why is she a wanted woman?" Dutch looked at him, surprised. "She did nothing wrong."

"You know it. I know it. We all know it. Still, whoever killed Russel Cohen is framing her for the murder. They, whoever they are, make it look like a family tragedy — that she killed her father and is now on the run. It's even in the newspapers."

"And he's taking her to the farm?" He groaned. "That's suicide."

Hosea sighed. "Arthur is a fine gunman, and from what I could see, she has a weapon too."

"And does she know how to use one?" Dutch said, walking over to the cooking tent. "I know Arthur can handle things just fine. Yet, what if Cornwall has his henchmen stationed at the farm, waiting for her to come back?"

"Wait, Cornwall?" Hosea followed him. "How do we know it's him?"

Dutch told him about Arthur's suspicions regarding the letter and the initials. He brewed coffee for them both, and while the coffee was brewing, he turned towards Hosea. "We don't know for sure, but it would fit."

"What would Cornwall gain from killing Cohen?" Hosea rubbed his chin. "They're both successful, each in their own field."

"Cornwall is a snake," he spat. "He'd do everything to gain more power, more wealth, to become richer than he already is. Damn capitalist son of a bitch."

"Whoa, easy there, Dutch. We all hate Cornwall, but don't let one meager suspicion get to you. We cannot just walk up to him and accuse him. He'll have those damn Pinkertons on our heels the second we come near him. This has to be handled with a cool head."

"Let's just hope no one ambushes them at the farm," Dutch muttered and poured the coffee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours and hours had passed since they had left the camp. The sun stood high in the sky by now, burning down on them as they rode across the plains. Nancy wiped some sweat from her forehead.

"Maybe we should pause for a while. Somewhere less... hot?"

Arthur looked around, then pointed towards a group of trees. "That looks good. Let's have lunch and nap for a bit. We're not in such a hurry anyway."

Soon enough, they had secured their horses and settled in the shade, eating their sandwiches. Once he finished his meal, Arthur pointed at the shotgun on Nancy's hip.

"Ever fired one of these?"

"Huh?" She looked at the gun. "Oh, no, actually, I didn't. Tilly gave me this for protection. I didn't want to admit that I have no clue how to use it. I thought taking it with me would put her mind at ease so she won't worry too much. But, it can't be that difficult, can it?"

He brushed his hands against his pants and wriggled his fingers. "Give it to me."

Nancy pulled the gun from the holster and handed it over. She watched him inspect it silently for a moment, then leaned closer.

"Arthur? What are you doing?" she asked curiously.

He looked at her. "Just checking if it's well taken care of. Looks clean and in good shape. But now you're one of us. You need to know how to use that gun—or any gun, for that matter. But for now, you should get some training with the one you have." He offered it back to her, and she took it carefully.

"So, what are you saying?"

"We'll take a nap for now, then I'll teach you the basics. Then we'll ride on til nightfall. Deal?"

She smiled lightly. "Deal."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gunshot rang loudly, the bullet whizzing right past the bottle sitting atop a tree stump. Nancy groaned and lowered the gun.

"I'll never get the hang of it," she grumbled, frustrated.

"Nah, you will. Don't expect to be a gunslinger after just a few tries." Arthur stepped closer behind her, lifting her arm. "You need to make some adjustments first," he said and pushed her feet apart a bit with his boot, then moved her body sideways a little. Then, he placed her free hand on the gun, helping her to level it and aim at the bottle. "Now, try again."

He stepped back. Nancy inhaled and exhaled deeply, then shot again. The bullet crashed against the bottle, the glass shattering into many pieces.

"YES!" She raised her arms and turned towards him with a big smile. "I did it! Did you see that?"

"Sure did," he said, amused. "Well done." He fetched another bottle from his bag and placed it onto the stump. "One more. I wanna see if you understood the posture I showed you."

She nodded and waited for him to step away from the stump, then took the same posture as before, aimed, and shot. Once again, the bottle was smashed. Nancy turned on her heels, blowing the smoke from the barrel. She grinned at him and tried to twirl the gun, but she lost her grip and fumbled for it. Arthur quickly stepped closer and caught it before it hit the ground. She blushed and blew some hair out of her face.

"Sorry, I was too eager to show off," she said and took the gun again, pushing it into the holster.

"Happens to the best of us." He patted her shoulder. "Now it's time we get going. We're not far from the oil fields, we could even make it to the farm by nightfall."

"Sounds good," she muttered and walked over to her horse, gently stroking its black fur. Arthur watched her for a moment, then began packing their belongings and readied his horse.

"You don't sound too happy," he said, mounting. She looked up at him and shrugged, then mounted as well.

"It's just weird returning home after what happened, not knowing what awaits us."

"I know how you must feel. But you're not alone." He said and brought Bounty into a trot alongside her.

It was past 9 in the evening when they reached the outer fence of the Grapevine farm. They stopped on a small hill. The farmhouse lay dark and silent in the distance. Nancy felt a shiver run across her skin.

"Doesn't look like anyone's there, does it?" she said in a hushed tone.

Arthur pulled out a looking glass and looked over across the fields, trying to make out any suspicious movements. But everything was quiet. He lowered the glass and stored it again.

"I think it's safe to go. Still, stay close to me."

She nodded and they rode through the gate and closer towards the house. She spotted the burned down stables. She felt her heart drop. What had happened to the horses? Did they die too? Or could they escape? She really hoped the latter. The chickens were gone too, and so were the goats. The authorities probably set them free or took them for auction. Everything that was left of her former life was a house that lay dead silent in front of her.

"Nancy?"

She shook out of her thoughts as she heard Arthur's voice. She looked at him. "Hm?"

"I asked if you're ready to go inside?" "Oh." She mumbled, shaking off the chill feeling. "Yes, I think I am." She dismounted her horse and let go of the reins. Arthur followed her up the steps onto the porch, the floorboards creaking under his heavy boots.

"Okay, here goes nothing," she whispered and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, pushing the door open. To their surprise, it was unlocked. Arthur stopped her, placing his hand on hers.

"I'll go first. Stay behind me." He drew his gun and stepped past her into the entrance hall. Nancy followed, staying right behind him. The house smelled of dust, and the faint odor of death still hung in the air.

"Where's your room?" He asked as he had made sure the lower level of the house was safe. She sniffled a little and pointed towards the staircase.

"Upper floor, first door to the left."

He nodded and signaled her to follow him once again. She cast a quick glance into the dining room as they passed by. Of course, the body of her father wasn't there anymore. Yet, the dark stain of blood was still on the wall. She forced herself to look away and followed Arthur upstairs. He went ahead, checking all the rooms before he returned to her and pointed at her bedroom door.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." She opened the door. She gasped as she saw the state of her room. It was completely trashed. Books and papers scattered on the floor, her bedlinen ripped, drawers yanked out of the dresser.

"How is it possible someone left my room in such a state and then manages to make it look like a family murder?" She growled. "The sheriff cannot really believe someone who murdered their father would trash their room like this. For what reason? I don't get it." She picked up a splintered picture frame from the ground. It showed a picture of a woman smiling into the camera. A little girl sitting on her lap.

"That's my mother. And that was me." She said as Arthur stepped up behind her. He took the picture from her. He remained silent. She looked over her shoulder at him, furrowing her brow a little. "You alright?"

"Yes, sorry. Just some faint memories resurfacing. Now," he put the frame on the nightstand, "I'd say grab everything you need and we'll leave."

She nodded and grabbed a few of her favorite clothes from the dresser, some boots, undergarments. Some toiletries, and finally she opened a small box. "No!" She muttered. "No, please…"

"What is it?"

"They took my locket! I had a golden necklace with a locket. It was an heirloom! It belonged to my grandma." She let out a frustrated cry and tossed the empty box against the wall. "I swear to god, Arthur, if we ever find these bastards I will personally slit their throats and toss them into the nearest pig den!"

He blinked. "Easy there, Nancy. I know you're hurting but you need to stay calm. Okay?"

"Easy for you to say," she grumbled and grabbed her bag. "Let's just go. I can't stay and look at this mess any longer." She walked past him out of the room and down the stairs. Arthur lingered in her room for a moment, taking in the mess one last time, and followed her as he suddenly heard a noise outside.

"Nancy, wait!" He quickly reached for her shoulder and pulled her back up the stairs.

"Wha--" She said confused, but was cut off as he covered her mouth with his hand.

"There's someone outside," he whispered.

"What now?" She whispered. "Fight?"

"We don't know how many there are." He gently pulled her with him back to her room, closing and locking the door.

"Brilliant, what now?" She asked.

He pulled his guns out and walked over to the window overlooking parts of the front yard. "I see four... no wait, five guys. Bounty hunters, for sure."

She pulled out her weapon. "They know we're in the house; they saw our horses. Makes no sense hiding up here."

He looked at her. "You sure you're ready for a shoot-out?"

"Arthur, you taught me how to use it. There are just five, you said."

"As far as I could see." He went back to the door. "If we're gonna do this, you'll listen to me. You do as I say, okay?"

"Yes, I will."

"Just don't die out there, Nancy." He opened the door. She walked towards him.

"As long as you don't die either," she said and readied her weapon.

He nodded, then walked out of the room, Nancy on his heels as they headed down into the fight.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanart #rdr2 #rdr2 fanart #rdr2 fandom #rdr community

[lonestardust]

hey guys, hi friends, how are you? I miss you. and i miss being here. This was supposed to be a "2023 is over, here is a summary" post but this is just a life update.

TW : wound (⚠️ it's gnarly, ok)

I know I've been MIA for the past two and half months, I've been struggling to write this post. I don't sleep well and I've lost weight. I've been struggling to sit and write about how I'm personally doing. Unable to express personal thoughts. Maybe because I'm the least important thing to me now. All I know is the gut wrenching screams of bleeding Falasteen. I can only tune in that collective suffering. That's where I belong. That's every human being's duty. June Jordan is right "Palestine's liberation is a litmus test of morality" I'll always go back to that quote because so many are failing it. So many disappointed me. It's like they made their humanity crumble into irrelevance the moment they reveled that showing up for humanity is optional and conditional depending on how comfortable and relevant it is to the white western values.

But simultaneously I've been feeling the tourniquet salvaging the wound. The strife for liberation is well and alive. Liberation and Decolonization had become mainstream concepts and practice (although some are still struggling to stay fully principled away from normalization but it's happening!). Like all arabs. I grew up watching the dead kids. The slingshots and rocks combating massive occupation tanks. I grow up haunted by the assassination of 11 year old Mohammed Al-Durrah, by Naji El Ali's Handala being a signature graffiti art in random streets, knowing that Israel assassinated Naji because he was a Palestinian artist. A truth teller. I grow up witnessing how they bulldozed 23 year old Rachel Corrie. I think often of Rayan Suleiman from last year. still haunted by his big rounded brown eyes — this 7 year old, chased by the terrorist zio occupation forces that he fell to the ground and died of a cardiac arrest. A 7 year old. His body shut down. Fear transcended his fragile anatomy that it shut down and died. I'll never forget the photo of his little body surrounded at the funeral by his friends. A bunch of 7 year olds. Starring into the void. not able to process what's happening because it's such an absurd concept. Kids consoling kids. My head hurts witnessing extermination campaigns and mass graves, and maimed bodies beyond recognition — WHOLE full fledged lives turned into literal dust. For 84 days straight now.

My brain, soul, spirit, psyche will never ever be the same again. And I pray this horror dig itself in the depth of the bones of the entirety of the fascist zionist world and their systems and fuel us to take action and never go back to statue quo!

On another note, I've had a quite terrible accident. A deep second degree burn as you can see. Accidentally spilled boiling water directly from a pot on the stove all over my left thigh. The pain is terrible obviously and I caught a really bad flu on top of it in the first couple of days because i wasn't able to cover it, wear pants or properly cover myself while I'm sleeping. So I've been bed ridden, bone-tired with fever and a massive wound.

Day 4 Day 7

Mind you this happened the day before i was supposed to start a new teaching job. Obviously wasn't able to show up and that was a bummer because i needed that job. desperately so and not just financially, I couldn't and can't handle anymore the anger, grief and anxiety pressuring my nervous system. I needed to start that new job immediately to refocus my daily life on a track again just to gain a routine so i could cope. Usually between jobs when I'm unemployed I thrive in doing nothing but my fan hobbies. Art, fandom and creating make my life so rich I could never get bored but in times like these "balancing grief and joy" is NOT an option.

And here is a thing. Because I've seen many many fucked up self-centred individualistic takes coming from white liberals telling us how we should feel (they always feel entitled, don't they), like the irony in the colonial paradigm harming us then offering us their therapy as the solution, coming with "protect your energy", "choose peace", "practice daily masturbation to relieve the stress of what's happening" (yes I watched this being directly and openly suggested on a panel about Palestine) imagine fucking telling somebody to go finger themselves and masturbate the stress of a GENOCIDE away.

The strangest manifestation of the white "self care" industrial complex, where people think they can therapize their way out of colonial mental consequences of bearing witness and being complicit in genocide. Maybe we're not meant to cope with this because it's literally beyond comprehension. Insane pathological narcissistic behaviour to think it's even a goal to feel good right now- if you want to"feel good" your only goal should be mobilising and organizing for revolution through action to destroy and dismantle the imperialist systems, to never go back to status quo!

On the physical aspect. I've been lucky, my dad has been taking care of me, taking me to the hospital visits, paying for my meds, cooking for me and all. And as I sit here, healing and being taken care of, I can't stop thinking of how I have resources, I have a roof over my head, warplanes are not buzzing in my ears 24/7, I get to sleep in my bed. I'm injured and I'm healing, able to sedate the pain with medicine. Can use the bathroom because there is water. But Palestinians in Gaza do not have any of that. None. Kids have their limbs amputated without anaesthesia amid ongoing denial of medical supplies into the strip. Some of them die of pain during that deadly surgical intervention. It makes me sick to my stomach. And I don't know what else to say tbh. I just know we live in a world that has no red lines and we can't continue to exist like that. Empire shall fall.

I genuinely don't know what to say, new year spirit and holidays mean nothing to me. My only new year resolution is to never again get numbed by the Empire. If standing for the lives of people of colour and their liberation is radical in a cesspool of white supremacy and imperialism, so radical it is.

I hope you're doing fine though. i hope you're well and okay. and to be honest I don't have it in me to ask about the fandom and how is it going.. It's probably going, I'm just not there at the moment. But i want to hear from you. How's life lately? What have you been up to? Also I am sorry if you've been tagging me in wips, games or sending me asks, I am genuinely sorry if I did not reply, I promise i see it and appreciate it ❤️‍🩹 I appreciate the special friendships and bonds I've formed in this fandom here, especially this year, and I don't wanna feel like I'm losing that.

#about me #life update

[yusuke-of-valla]

This is why I was praying for Strikers DLC story that was like

Kasumi missed the Vacation so she grabs Joker and takes them to Gymnastics National Meet and Goro is there, and maybe Maruki is there, and they have a case to solve, and you relegate the rest of the PT to voice calls or text.

I'm still surprised there was 0 dlc for Strikers, Koei usually throw a season pass in everything

I mean sure but like the joy of Strikers and Tactica for me is seeing the other Thieves interact and bounce off of each other, and I think the fact that we don't get to see Sumire with anyone OTHER than Joker, Akechi, and Maruki is a flaw. I don't want it to be the Royal Trio and then The Rest Of The Phantom Thieves, I want them to all hang out together

There's also the fact that to have Goro in Strikers you need to establish the fact that he survived, how, how no one knew about it, and why he hasn't contacted Joker until now.

That's the problem with putting him in ANY DLC post royal, it's all good and fine for fics to just skip over this but for the vast majority of players they're gonna want answers (and also putting them in DLC is another layer of shitty)

This is what I mean when I said they wrote themselves into a hole (and that I think most fans in fandom spaces take it for granted that like. Goro being alive will need some sort of actual explanation) Goro being alive doesn't really square with what we or the thieves know, so you have to establish how much he knows about third semester, and give the other PT a chance to react to his not deadness

That's a lot of set up to be the subplot of another game, much less something you walk behind a, what, 10 hour DLC? At most?

I'm sympathetic to WHY they haven't done it, it's a pain in the ass. It's just they're the reason it's a pain in the ass

(Also this is completely unrelated but I respect the Erina profile pic)

#alto replies #like Goro being alive isn't a team up for a case thing it is #WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK *several hours of screaming and explanations* thing #loopingpyre

[greatunironic]

20 questions for fic writers

approximately twenty years late for these twenty questions, but i'm here now so that counts rights? thank you to @aidaronan for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 40

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 711,322

3. What fandoms do you write for? currently stranger things, but i've got star wars (prequels + rebels) w.i.p.s in the google docs that i'd still love to see the light of day

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? steddie overtook my oldest fics, so most remarkable thing is my number one, with two other fics in the same universe behind it (frozen with joy and the world throws its light), followed by all the missing girls and brutalist masterpieces

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? i try to respond to all of them because i'm trying to be more outgoing in fandom spaces; i also feel very humbled + touched by the response to my steddie stories so i try to stay engaged there when i can

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? i don't think anything is particularly angsty from stranger things -- i try to lean into optimism and hopeful endings when i can, even if something tragic happens with the story; so i would have to say the untitled companion kallus au out of rebels fandom, since part two ends on a bit of a downer.

(though various stories out of the eating in the underworld series probably qualify, especially when you're reading them chronologically...)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i like to think the whole of most remarkable thing, and other b-sides and rarities as the happiest, i would say? mainly because the idea of steve + eddie, alive in 2023 and thriving with their family, careers, and marriage is very dear to me.

8. Do you get hate on fics? not really

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes; allow me to be pretentious and say that it's typically serving a plot purpose, and often tender, sometimes silly, sometimes spicy

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? i like a good fusion, mainly; i think the only crossover i've written + published is an ancient avengers and battlestar galactica fic

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? yes! remarkable has french + spanish translations, and crozen with joy also has a french translation

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no; i'm a solitary creature by nature, and also anxious to a fault so i've never felt it was something i'd be able to do + do right by my co-author.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? i love steddie but i gotta be honest here on tumblr dot com: kalluzeb

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? i pray every day that i'll finish all my wips; but my greatest fear is that i'll never conclude the star wars f+f au, even though the google doc is halfway written

16. What are your writing strengths? once again imma be a little pretentious and say crafting the story itself; i think i'm a really solid plotter + have good outlines that allow me to tell the story i want to tell

17. What are your writing weaknesses? probably being too wordy, and having a hard time trimming + cutting things; i have a whole google doc devoted to passages i've loved that i've excised from stories but just couldn't get rid of entirely -- i'm definitely a director's cut bitch

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i've encorporated mando'a into a handful of star wars stories, and used a few russian terms of endearment for at me too someone is looking (rebels) -- so i think if it serves a purpose to the story, you gotta do it.

19. First fandom you wrote for? star trek, i think?? maybe stargate: sg1??

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? i love all of my children equally but differently, but gun to my head? dogfish or the other hand knocking, because both were so interesting + challenging to write in very different ways

not tagging anyone because i'm so late to the game, but if you wanna play just say i called your name!!

#writing #writing game

[sardonic-sprite]

Again

Whumptober Day 14 and Day 12 Alt. 1

Batman Fandom, 2k words, Tw: bombs, panic attacks, temporary hearing loss

Ao3 Summary:

"R-red Hood to bats."

It was strange and frightening, to know he was speaking, know what words he said, and yet not hear his own voice. The piercing ring drowned out anything the others might have said in answer.

"Please, I, I need an assist. Bo-... B-bomb. Warehouse District. I'm... I'm stuck."

Jason crept silently through the warehouse, its emptiness setting him on edge. The arms dealers he'd been tracking had hastily abandoned the place two nights ago, and though Jason was investigating to find out why, he didn't want the answer to spring out at him or erupt in his face.

They'd cleaned up remarkably well for such a quick exit, Jason had to admit. No weapons or papers or miscellaneous had been left behind, even in the office. If Jason hadn't been staking the place out for a week preparing his attack, he would have thought it had been abandoned for years. Most areas were even still dusty, despite recent activity.

Thr first floor held no sign of why the dealers would have left. No toxins or structural damage, no indication of a turf fight, but Jason knew they hadn't delivered the shipment yet. He headed upstairs, not expecting to find any information, but hoping to nonetheless.

The first door he opened was to a supply closet with a mouse nest in the corner. The mouse skittered out and ran between his boots, squeaking, and Jason narrowly avoided crushing it as he jumped.

His heart was beating much too fast for a confrontation with a goddamn rodent. He assured himself it was only surprise, and he'd just been jarred to see something alive where everything else was dead and creepy.

He moved on, opening the next door to reveal a nicer office than the one downstairs, clearly meant for a senior manager or someone else more powerful than the floor supervisor. At last, this room held evidence of people's presence: several crates stacked behind the desk in neat piles.

Jason rounded the desk to inspect the crates closer. There were no markings on them, not that anyone was dumb enough to Sharpie illegal weapons on their merchandise. He grabbed one of the knives at his waist and used it to pry up the lid of the nearest crate.

Bright red numbers flashed from 1:00 to 0:59, 0:58, 0:57... and Jason stumbled back, catching his foot on the desk and falling.

Jason, the bomb! Diffuse it!

Tell the big man I said 'hello.'

It's locked!

Hahahahahahahahaha--

He scrambled back to his feet and ran, banging off the doorway in his haste.

0:50, 0:49...

Wait right here, Jason, I'm coming back.

It's ok, dear, he's gone.

Well, lookie here! Seems we've caught a lost little bird, haven't we?

He took the stairs two at a time, eyes on the door, promising himself it wasn't locked. He could make it. He'd be fine.

Then there was only air under his foot and he pitched forward, crying out. He managed to snatch the railing, but felt his ankle snap.

Which hurts more?

0:35, 0:34, 0:33...

A?

0:32...

Or B?

0:31...

"Dad! Dad, help, please, I'm sorry, I can't..."

"Jason?"

He clung to the railing and tried to brace his weight on it, gasping and yelping each time he set down his right foot. Tears spilled down his cheeks, from panic or pain he didn't know.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I need you--"

0:24...

"Jason--"

"Hood, where are you?"

He reached the bottom of the stairs. The door was only fifty feet away, but he couldn't run.

0:21, 0:20...

Jason hobbled two steps away from the railing before his ankle gave out. He toppled over, crying out. Voices clamored in his ears and his brain, but he couldn't tell who any of them belonged to, let alone what they said.

0:18...

He wasn't getting out. Couldn't run, couldn't walk, and couldn't crawl fast enough to get out of range. All he could do was drag himself to the space under the stairs and pray they would protect him long enough to be dug out, and not just prolong his death.

0:11...

He curled around himself as tight as his limbs would let him, panting and hiccuping and trying not to completely break down in sobs.

0:06...

"I love you," he whispered, because he couldn't say it last time. Hadn't said it even when he'd gotten the chance back. Knew he might never be able to say it again.

0:02, 0:01...

"Jason!"

All Jason could hear was a shrill shriek, seeming to come more from his head than his surroundings. He thought he might've moaned, but the sound was deafened.

BOOM.

Every part of him was throbbing, but his ankle was the worst of it. It burned so bad he thought his foot might just fall off.

He wondered if that would make it hurt less.

Something wet was all over his face and running down his neck. He thought it might be tears.

But he wasn't dead.

Jason wasn't dead, and he could deal with anything so long as he knew that was true.

He could feel his breath shuddering and stuttering, but couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear anything above that shriek, like the world's highest-pitched bells playing a concert right next to his head. He pressed a hand to his comm, praying it was the source of the noise.

Even if it was, nothing changed.

Jason finally dared to open his eyes. The world was completely black until the nightvision in his helmet came online. All it illuminated was mangled steel and concrete half a foot from his face.

The view was the same in every direction, a tomb of wreckage enclosing him, barely prevented from crushing him by the stairs. He could see no openings for escape, and there wasn't enough room to sit up to try to shift things, either.

Not that he could have anyway.

Jason swallowed tightly, forcibly slowing his breaths at the sight of twisted metal pinning his broken foot to the ground. It looked to be part of the catwalk, but that didn't really matter. His nerves screamed at him just for twitching. There was no way he'd be able to pull himself free.

His hand shook as he pressed his comm again, praying the rubble wasn't deep enough to block the signal.

"R-red Hood to bats."

It was strange and frightening, to know he was speaking, know what words he said, and yet not hear his own voice. The piercing ring drowned out anything the others might have said in answer.

"Please, I, I need an assist. Bo-... B-bomb. Warehouse District. I'm... I'm stuck."

He wanted to believe they heard him. That Bruce had fucked codenames and was calling him Jaylad and promising to come. That Dick was panting over the line as he ran, and Barbara was calling out directions and ETAs. That Tim was demanding a status report and Damian was swearing to murder him if he died.

But with nothing but the shrieking in his ears, it was easier to believe that they didn't know. That he'd die again, slow and alone, and by the time they found him, he'd be nothing more than a body to bury.

"Hood to bats, can anyone hear me? My... I can't... My hearing is compromised, please, can you signal in any other way if you're there?"

Again.

"It was a trap, it was a goddamn trap, and I keep fucking falling for them-- I'm sorry, Dad. God, I'm such an idiot, I'm so... sorry."

"I'm... I'm just... I'm gonna keep, keep talking, if, if that's ok. I just... If I pretend you can hear me, I... it's better. It's... it's just really dark down here, and cramped, and I can't move, and it feels like I'm back in my coffin but I can't dig out this time and..."

A sob.

"I'm scared."

He didn't want to admit it, but he couldn't deny it. There was no sign of rescue. If they'd even acknowledged him, Jason had no way of knowing. And the darkest parts of his mind whispered that they simply may not care. The murderous family black sheep, little better than a traitor, fading away in a grave he'd dug for himself? Mm, such a tragedy. Better worth the time to go save someone without all that blood on their hands.

"I'm scared, Dad." To his throat it felt like a whisper, but for all Jason could hear, he'd screamed. "I don't wanna die again. Not like this. Not before... not before I can, I can fix things. I want to fix things."

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears leaking down his cheeks.

"I wanna go home."

Jason felt his voice break on the word, and he couldn't speak anymore for the sobs wracking his body. He knew it was using up too much air, knew it was useless, knew that if the bats didn't already pity him, it wouldn't change their minds.

But he couldn't stop. He could only wrap his own arms around himself and try to imagine they were Dick's, and close his eyes against the concrete and metal and pretend it was a blanket fort, and cry and cry like he was still a child and his family would come and make everything alright.

Soon enough the world began to spin around him, swirls drilling a hole in his head and making it pound. Something was crushing his ribs, and he couldn't get air. The awful bells were still ringing.

The shrill shrieking was still there, but it had dulled just a little. There was another low hum with it now, but it felt more like a lullaby than an alarm, so Jason was glad to hear it.

And finally, everything went silent.

He could tell he was surrounded by softness and warmth, even the throbbing in his ankle a mere distant annoyance. The most immediate sensation was one he quite liked: a hand stroking carefully over his hair.

Light shone on his eyelids, making them glow a faint red. They felt like they weighed a ton each as he blinked them open to look around.

The room was one he knew well. Creamy walls with earthy green curtains drawn not fully over the window. Oakwood trim all around it, a warm and homey color. A forest landscape painting on one side of the fireplace and a pencil sketch of a Gotham skyline on the other, with a row of framed photographs on the mantle.

And a kind face with weary eyes leaning over him.

"B," he murmured. "You came."

Jason saw the man's lips move, but heard no more than a gentle rumble, like summer thunder.

"I can't hear you," he tried to say.

Bruce's face pinched. He held up his hands where Jason could see them and signed, still speaking, Of course I came, Jason. You're my son.

Jason blinked very rapidly, but it didn't stop the tears. He didn't need sign language to know that Bruce said, Oh, my Jaylad, as bent down to kiss his forehead. He cupped Jason's face in one hand and brushed the tears away with his thumb. Finger spelling with one hand, he swore, I will always come for you, Jason.

"I didn't know if you heard me."

Bruce nodded. It was all he did, but Jason understood it to mean they had heard him. Heard him crying and frightened and falling apart, and he felt his cheeks heating up, because he hadn't meant for anyone to really hear all that he'd said.

But they had heard. And Bruce had come. And Jason was alive and safe and warm and home now.

"Where is everyone?"

Sleeping. It took us several hours to get you out.

"I'm sorry."

"I'd have been dead."

Bruce shook his head, squeezing both Jason's hands before letting go to say, We would have dug for days if we needed to.

Bruce only shook his head again, tears in his eyes. It was startling. Jason couldn't remember ever seeing Bruce cry.

"Shitty. High. I don't know."

How are you feeling? he asked.

Can you hear anything?

Bruce shook his head emphatically. His sign language got a little sloppy in his haste for reassurance, but Jason understood that Leslie had seen him, and his hearing wasn't totally damaged. Thanks to his helmet, he guessed.

"I know that you're talking." Jason swallowed tightly. "Why? Am I..." Going deaf? "Is it gonna be like this forever?"

He sighed in relief and muttered, "Thank God."

Bruce offered him a smile.

You're going to be ok, Jason, he promised.

And Jason believed him.

#whumptober 2022 #day 14 #failed escape #alt prompt 1 #ringing ears #batman #fic #panic attack #bomb #jason todd #bruce wayne

[ladylilithprime]

What Team?

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sabriel

Word Count: 989

Summary: Dean thought it was a Black Dog. Sam thought it might be a witch. Sam was closer, but they were both wrong. Good thing Archangel still trumps pagan god.

Tags/Warnings: Nonconsensual Animal Transformation, Timeline What Timeline, Apocalypse Not, Hunt Gone Wrong, Gabriel To The Rescue, Dean Winchester's Potty Mouth

Read On AO3

THE BIGGEST ISSUE was honestly that everything was actually Dean's fault. Dean had been the one to find the case, which was normally nothing to fuss about, but he was also the one who had thought they were dealing with a regular Black Dog. Sam was pretty sure there was magic involved and wanted to consult either Rowena or the Banes twins first, but Dean had been in one of his moods lately and charged ahead armed for a spectral animal and leaving Sam to scramble after him so as not to leave his brother without backup.

He wished he had been a bit slower to back his brother up.

The culprit turned out to be closer to Sam's guess than Dean's: a minor pagan animal god who had gotten a recent boost in worship from a group of New Age hyped college kids who had seen an episode of Buffy while drunk and had ended up being the god's first priest and victims. Fortunately (or unfortunately; jury was still out) while the god still had enough power to transform Dean and Sam into animals, he couldn't choose which animals. Those were determined by the people themselves, which was why his priest had turned into a German Shepherd while the other students had turned into a duck, a rabbit, and a raccoon. Dean was left rolling around, yowling and sneezing in turn because he had been turned into a large and very unhappy tabby cat, and the transformation had not removed his allergy. Sam, on the other, er, paw....

"Well, that was unexpected," the god - Sam hadn't actually heard a name mentioned - said as he studied the pair of them. "You didn't look particularly Nordic earlier."

Bite me, Sam snarled at the god, dropping into a defensive crouch as his mind raced. A pagan god was not what they had been prepared for, despite having only one worshiper from his little cadre of college kids still alive, and with his brother practically useless Sam didn't bet on his chances to somehow get a broken tree branch and coat it in the kid's blood before staking the god with it when he didn't have hands.

The reference to a Nordic look did give him an idea.

Gabriel, he prayed silently. Loki... if you're listening and feel like having me owe you a favor, there's an upstart of a pagan god here that's turned me and Dean into cats--

"Oh, this is hilarious," a familiar voice drawled. "And now Crowley owes me fifty bucks. I told him you knuckleheads weren't prey animals!"

The god barely got the chance to open his mouth in shock before a snap echoed through the clearing and he exploded. The still-transformed college kid whimpered and hunched in on himself, tail between his legs. Dean yowled in complaint - he had rolled a bit too close and gotten hit by the spray - and then sneezed again and ended up meowing rather pitifully.

"Only you would have a soul animal you're allergic to, Dean-o-rama," Gabriel snorted. The second snap was less dramatic, but at least Dean stopped sneezing.

Well, we know how much he's allergic to feelings in general, Sam thought at the Archangel, not precisely relaxing but able to at least make his way over to Gabriel with a relatively nochalant stroll rather than a mad scramble. You gonna turn us back, or is that gonna cost extra negotiation?

"Sheesh, gimme a few minutes to see what I'm working with first!" Gabriel huffed, rolling his eyes. "No two transformation magics are alike, you know. Do you want to end up stuck with cat ears and a tail all the time?"

The words made Sam blink, but Gabriel's glare was being leveled at Dean, which... honestly, it figured that his brother was being an impatient ass about this. Sam heaved a sigh and trotted the rest of the way over to Dean, then cuffed him over the head with one paw, claws carefully kept retracted. When Dean whirled on him with laid back ears and hissed, Sam leveled the most unimpressed look he could manage with a feline face and growled. The sound was significantly deeper and more rumbling than Dean's attempt, and his brother's ears lowered as he crouched low.

"Aaaaand that's another twenty-five bucks Crowley owes me," Gabriel hummed, sounding quite satisfied. When he noticed Sam and Dean looking up at him, he shook his head. "As much as he likes to think he's the only one Downstairs who doesn't underestimate you two, he still falls into some of the same traps of preconceptions as the rest of 'em, both Upstairs and Down."

Preconceptions? Sam couldn't help but ask, then wished he hadn't. He could guess what kind of preconceptions demons and angels might have about him and Dean, and he really didn't want to think about that right now. From the sad little smile that twisted Gabriel's lips, he probably wasn't far off, either.

"The kind it took an averted Apocalypse for me to realize were bullshit," he said, then crouched down and looked between Sam, Dean, and the shivering dog-shaped college student. "Right, who wants to let me get my metaphysical fingers all up in your everything to figure out how to change you boys back to bipeds?"

The dog-kid whined and Dean hissed. Sam wished for a moment that he could roll his eyes in his current shape, but nudged Dean's side before padding over to Gabriel and, in a move he probably never would have dared while still human, rubbed his head up against the Archangel in a show of trust and affection. You gonna respect me in the morning?

"About as much as I ever do," Gabriel snarked back cheerfully. The gentle fingers that carded through Sam's fur and scritched at his ears belied the snark, though, and Sam let his eyes squeeze shut in contentment.

He could live with that.

#rk writes #supernatural fic #sabriel #silliness #animal transformation

[fromtheseventhhell]

Well, I said “small”, but it’s grown into a big shitstorm seemingly within a day 💀 @/ozymalek made a wonderful video debunking @/hellsbellschime/Hill’s Alive’s notoriously biased Daenerys “analysis” videos, backed with sources from the book and some pretty well articulated counter arguments to the things HA (Hill’s Alive) says in a lot of her Dany videos. HA and her attack dogs found out about it and are now trying to swarm the comments, attacking @/ozymalek for everything BUT their argument 😂 Now the video has been posted on r/HOTDGreens (where a lot of Stansas have converted into Alicent stans) so there’s even more theatrics and insults being thrown around. But no one has attempted to debate anything addressed in Ozy’s video, so I guess that means that Ozy’s argument was just that good… or that Stansas know that they have literally no evidence to even begin to make a coherent argument. All in all, it’s been funny watching them throw petty insults in lieu of any coherent points.

Wow, that's...a lot. But also it's unfortunately not surprising because that's how Stansas like to operate. They have made it perfectly clear that they don't care about the source material, they're only invested in making their fave look good. I'll have to watch the response video and show some support. It's such a shame that there's so little space for actual discussions about the books. This fandom is really just a big popularity contest and stans seem to think they can "win" if they ignore canon hard enough. That's why they never back up their claims using the books. Most of them have probably never even read them.

I've only heard of HA and their videos very recently. I'm not surprised they never back up their claims considering their "proof" for Dany turning evil is that she kills slavers. Imagine arguing that kill slavers and abolishing slavery is a bad thing? Makes sense that they're a zionist just like their fave Sophie T@rner 🙄. I know these people hope and pray everyday that TWOW never gets released so that their delusions aren't broken.

Watching them scramble when faced with actual facts is hilarious but I hope the person who made the response video is doing okay. Even when it's by idiots, harassment is still hard to deal with. Youtube and Reddit are hellscapes full of biased stans and misinformation. I hope they aren't discouraged from making more, fact-based videos because they're desperately needed.

#ask #anon #anti sansa stans #pro daenerys targaryen