#because you still need stakes and some degree of intrigue

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I think what particularly annoys me with the "zelda was always gameplay before story" is that... it's not true? At least I don't think it's true in the way people mean it.

Zelda games were always kind of integrating story based on the standards of the time. When game stories were in game pamphlets, Zelda's stories was in the pamphlets. ALTTP tried to tell a pretty complicated stories with the limitations of the time. OoT was actively trying to tell an epic, cinematic tale packed with ambiance and expand what 3D could offer that 2D games struggled with. Majora's Mask is deeply character-driven in many, many ways. Wind Waker and Twilight Princess are both pretty concerned about their stories, down to the point that some people were bored by TP's cutscenes in particular. Skyward Sword, from what little I have played it, is very very invested in its characters and their journey (and 2D Zeldas have Link's Awakening, Minish Cap... None of them are visual novels, but they are concerned with emotional journeys, character arcs, mysteries about their own world...)

What is true is that the narrative wraps around the mechanics, and not the other way around. The mechanics drive themes, aesthetics, emotional beats and character journeys; and that's great. The world is a puzzle, and the world is delightfully absurd when it needs to be, full of heart when it calls for it, dark and oppressive when it suits the player experience.

That does not mean the games aren't invested in their stories. Even BotW has a pretty complicated story to tell about an entire world rather than one specific tale or legend --all of it at the service of the gameplay, which is exploration and mastery of your environment.

So. Yes, none of the Zelda games are million-words long visual novels that care deeply about consistency and nuance; but stories don't need consistency or deep lore to be meaningful and serve an emotional journey. Again: gameplay is story. The two cannot be so easily parsed from each other.

And Zelda as a franchise obviously care deeply about story, characters and setting (and still does right now --otherwise there wouldn't be a movie), even if it doesn't try to imitate prestige narrative-driven games, which is great and part of why I love this series so much. Doesn't mean it couldn't have done better in the past, it obviously could have, but I feel like pretending that nobody ever cared about story or character is just... false? It's a huge disservice to the devs too. Some of them obviously cared immensely.

The "gameplay above story", at least in the extent to which it is paraded today to defend TotK, mostly, is a really recent development. And I think it's one that deserves to receive some pushback.

#thoughts #tloz #zelda #the legend of zelda #totk critical #(sort of) #(I mean this is the subtext) #guys in 1998 nintendo was trying its darnest to make an epic story (with uhhh the writing that it got) #(love that game to bits but won't defend the actual writing) #the fully gameplay-driven game was mario 64!!! #I think this perception is also partially the fault of that “narrative game” category that is just.... kind of like Prestige TV but for gam #as if most games don't have some form of storytelling within them #and that coherence and vision and consistency are part of game design too #and will hurt a game's enjoyment if not handled correctly #a really really paired back narrative game is really difficult to pull off actually! #because you still need stakes and some degree of intrigue #so you need to figure out how to introduce this without walls of text and is it narrative design? is it game design? it's both!! #anyway anyway

[liquidstar]

i completely missed this but apparently the second season of to your eternity is airing rn, and i dont know if ill watch it because ive actually read the manga passed the point of where the season will probably end off, but it reminds me that i have some thoughts about the series...

first of all i wanna say that i dont think its a BAD show, in fact i liked a lot of it. the premise of an orb that can shapeshift being sent down to earth by god to learn how to be human is already so intriguing. and the first episode is amazing and also a huge emotional gutpunch. it was its most down to earth episode too.

and to some degree i feel like its more fantastical elements (aside from fushi themself) detracted a bit from the story’s message. its supposed to be about what it means to be human, but the way this theme is handled in tandem with the shounen fantasy tropes feels a bit sloppy and makes the series come out somewhat hollow for it, and the more that are introduced the more its quality dwindles.

i DO think this can be done well, of course! im not saying fantastical tropes are bad at conveying the human experience, in fact i believe that they can be used to highlight it brilliantly. mp100 is a great example of a story using psychic powers to convey emotions and connections, fma is a great example of a series using its magic system in tandem with its philosophical themes and commentary, assassination classroom has a frankly batshit premise that actually makes some poignant commentary about the school system...

i dont think things have to be realistic to be human or relatable at all- they still hold value, not in spite of, but BECAUSE of the way the fantasy of their narratives reflect our human experiences. theyre metaphors! theyre fantasy! the whole point is that these fictional stories highlight the realities of our world.

but.... while i feel like to your eternity certainly tries to do this, i feel like a lot of the fantasy shounen elements are... less so thrown in there to highlight the stories message, and more so just added in to spice up the story. and i think thats fine, but after a certain point it feels like these added spices have sort of taken away the flavor that made it appealing to begin with. that and some frankly very weird choices that are trying to be deep but are mostly just kind of strange.

personally i think its a series with a premise that would benefit more from being down to earth. that doesnt mean it cant be a fantasy at all (its premise makes it one by default, technically) but i feel like it doesnt have to do stuff like add monsters and tournament arcs and aliens assimilating with humans and fushi getting knocked up as a turtle to be interesting. also the lolicon step brother shit what the fuck was up with that. i feel like the more elements like this get introduced the less interesting the story became because it was just... literally losing the plot.

and this last thing here really is personal preference but when i first heard what the series was about... i would have loved if it was just. historical fiction? you know, like, a forest-gump style thing but instead of the latter half of the 20th century its just a big chunk of human history. i think i would have loved seeing an orb learn to be human just by watching them go through different eras of humanity, all around the world, just being a small part of history and maybe even sometimes playing a bigger role (for better or worse).

but regardless of that, i just think sometimes... less is more. seeing fushi interact with humans to “become” human is the point, no need to add a grander narrative about copying the entire earth and beating evil monsters- there are plenty of real life historical events to place them in to give stakes! or even fantasy versions of those events! you can tell that thats what they were going for in a lot of arcs but tbh the march and gugu arcs were the only ones that really nailed it. everything would get progressively more and more unhinged from there.

to just see a character that was once an object become moss, become a wolf, become a nameless boy, become a little girl, become their own brother, and learn what all that means... that was already enough. but the story just kind of stopped being about that after that whole prison island arc (which i do think still had interesting commentary about the violent side of humanity too but wasnt really all too elaborated on for fushi’s development). the best episode since that was just the one where they watched their grandma figure die of old age and dementia- that felt genuine again.

the theme of “what it means to be human” was just sort of lost, like, its still there but you have to move aside a lot of contrived nonsense to really still see it, in my opinion. and it doesnt work as well as i would have loved it too. i really really really wish it did! thats why i read like 200 chapters of the manga! but... it didnt refind its footing in my eyes, sadly. i dont think its bad if you like it but i do think it leaves a bit to be desired, for me.

but hidden within there is still an amazing premise. and it doesnt need to be Epic. i think it would have been enough to just watch fushi go through different eras, meet different people, carry them with themself, and move on to the next “lesson in humanity.” it wouldnt have to be part of some grand plan by an alien to copy earth, but just a way for god to learn from his creations (i dont even think god needs to be shown).

and i think the story would have been more impactful too, if it went with a more “nihilistic optimism” route, when asked why humanity matters. whats the point of all this? everyone dies all the time, theres so much pain and suffering, and people struggle for all of history... but people also come together for all of history, make families, friends, art, music, and reasons of their own to keep living. and even though its a blip in the face of eternity its also... something. it also mattered. that the nameless boy, who died without any family alive to remember him, long long in the past, still mattered. not because of something grandiose, but because he just was. and now hes not. but he was. that mattered. i think thats enough.

#i said i was tired but then i had to many thoughts abt this i powered through just to type this #im so sorry to my ocs whose asks got snubbed so i can talk abt an anime/manga i watched 5ever ago

[that-is-just-so-typically-me]

On that note, this absolutely relates to how flimsy the argument is that moneyless societies or UBI economic systems (flawed but you know what I’m getting at) would fail because “people wouldn’t work”… of course they would. We deadass get bored out of our minds without working, it’s why video games are so popular. Hard tasks that are rewarding and still engaging and intriguing with a true buy-in are something with LIVE for - in balance with time for rest and idleness, which are equally as necessary for our wellbeing. We love to work with purpose and dignity and the freedom and knowledge that we are in an environment that is safe for us to self-determine our own needs around rest, like helping a friend move. We are actually really good at pushing ourselves past what we’d maybe ideally want to do in terms of work when we deeply care and want to make sure the work is done right and expeditiously, and then just take even more rest later. It’s actually not remotely toxic to need to feel needed to a degree, it is actually an essential component to bonding especially when it is reciprocated and that smaller percentage of the time where we need/are needed, it’s being met to the best degree of everyone’s abilities without harmful overextension. It’s actually incredible emotional hygiene to let people help you EVEN IF you are technically capable of finding ways to do it on your own or even perfectly capable of doing it on your own. This is one of the essential and dare I say almost sacred places where we connect as living, feeling beings of a social species. We self-mutilate when we cut ourselves off from being generous and receiving/expecting generosity (being understood as the practice of extending ourselves and understanding that occasional overextension when the alternative is unacceptable is inevitable if we want to protect someone’s basic survival, but NOT the practice of continually consciously/unconsciously overextending ourselves when stakes aren’t life or death). If you want the good stuff, you must be willing to give and receive happy work from your people. It is mutually beneficial in ways that total self-reliance and feeling that you don’t owe others occasional discomfort or effort you wouldn’t elect on your is truly a deeply damaging product of modern western culture and it’s harmed us greatly that this is the default. The fairy tale that great love has no trials is simply a false narrative, but we all seem to buy it and believe that the reality of love is “settling”. The truth is that suffering in life is inevitable, and love is not some magic armor that means suffering cannot touch you, that your partner is someone you hired to play a role of someone impervious to the lack of control we have in life who can operate how you want them to at any moment and when they can’t exert omnipotence, they are committing an injustice towards you. Trials are inevitable even among the most evolved and capable people. But the trials are part of the sweetness and they should be a call to do an audit of our own maturity, strength, patience, and actual capacity for knowing and giving love. We need faith in our own critical thinking skills to perceive the difference between the reality of love sometimes not being only ease and happy feelings, and when we are actually being used/abused. Love is an action.

Holy shit it’s been a hot second since a proper midnight ramble that somehow drifts ten miles downstream from the original thesis but I’m wired from having such a different schedule the last couple of nights (no regrets).

[btsmutimagines]

high stakes. (M)

Finally finished phew

Yes, I’m a hoe for blue haired Taehyung leave me alone

Word Count: 8.1k (oof)

Warnings: Light spanking? Oral (giving/recieving), dirty talk, Taehyung

V.

The 22nd letter of the alphabet to some, to others he was a powerful man. A man who pulled the strings of his many associates that obeyed every command. He was a mysterious figure, a man whose face hasn’t been seen by many but very few described him.

Some say he’s a foreigner that settled in Seoul, on the run from the international authorities. Some say he was a tall muscular man who used to be a hitman before chasing his ventures. Some say V wasn’t even a man at all, but a woman.

You didn’t know the truth behind V either, opting out of the rumour mill that clouded the name. It wouldn’t help you anyhow as you were a mere gambler, spending parts of your paycheck on roulette and the occasional slot machine. You liked playing against dealers, calculating every move that you could make and the rush when you make a small payout from a simple game.

Gambling can be beautiful; the sweet taste of victory could overwhelm the senses and lead to people scrambling for any cash on them to keep playing. You could watch desperate men begging for a rematch, screaming that they had to be cheating because there was no way they could lose.

Of course, you knew they’re being outplayed by the dealer, but the addiction eroded their ability to see their reality.

You haven’t gone off the deep end yet but tonight, you were feeling lucky.

You walked over to a table, a game just about to start and took the empty seat in the middle. You made eye contact with the dealer, Hongjoong, he was rarely on shift here. Made you wonder what the occasion was.

“Count me in.”

“Ah, Miss Y/N, you look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you. It’s been a while since I last saw you.” You rested your head on top of your hands as your elbows sat on the edge of the table.

“Been busy, you know how it is. How much?”

“I’m feeling 75 tonight.”

“Alright.” You placed your stack down, along with the others and watched the pit boss walk over and counts the cash. Your lovely stack of chips was placed in front of you as Hongjoong started dealing the cards.

You quietly watched, glancing at everyone’s cards and he finally dealt himself a card. 13, huh.

Hongjoong had a 10. The man to your right had an ace and a six, a hand you had to watch out for.

He started from the left, the first two chose to stand, you hit, Hongjoong dealt you a card, giving you a 7 and you stood. All you needed was the cards to fall as they may, you had the upper hand here.

You grinned to yourself as the other members of the table reluctantly pushed their stacks towards you.

“Another round, Miss?”

“I can’t see why not.” New faces joined, none that you bothered to concern yourself with. After all, all you had to do was win.

And win, you did.

With all the chips you had, you could build yourself a castle and no player around you were none the wiser.

“Count me in.” You heard, a man saying close to your ear as he took the empty seat next to you. He felt cold, the room dropping a few degrees as he spoke. Any weak-willed player would back out instantly, but you were more than that.

Besides, you could remember the last time you came close to a man as pretty as he was. Dare you to say, he might just be as pretty as you.

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A man spoke, one that just lost a round to you. Sore loser.

“Anyone that plays a round with her loses.”

“I bet she’s cheating.” Tch. You shoot the man a glare, him retreating and you heard a chuckle.

“I don’t remember asking for advice, especially from a man who just lost.”

“Dealer, I’m betting double of what she’s got.”

“S-sir.”

“You hear me clearly, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Has Hongjoong ever stutter like that?

“And who might you be, Miss?” He took your hand, bringing it to his lips and you stared in shock. His pinstriped suit fit him perfectly, his dress shirt unbuttoned enough to give you a peek at his defined collarbones.

Taking in the image of him staring at you almost knocked you off your seat. Is it possible for a man to be this handsome or was it the trick of the light?

No, you mustn’t be swayed by his appearance. It was a ploy to play with your focus, all that matters is dealing a blow to his confidence. And that starts with your next words.

“The woman who is about to win.”

“Is that so? I like that response.”

“You want to lose?”

“I never lose.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Start the game, dealer.” The man said, not taking an eye off you and Hongjoong began to deal out cards.

You noted the cards of those around you, making sure to stand when you were sure that you had this in the bag. Despite the man sitting next to you, you still had no clue to what he could have.

You briefly glanced at him, meeting his ominous eyes for a moment and quickly looked away. It felt like he was reading you, opening up parts of you that you purposely kept hidden with the blink of his eye.

As if the more you walled off, the more he broke down with such ease.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

“Stand.”

“Stand.” He parroted, you scoffed. You placed your cards down, having yourself a lovely 19 and glanced around the table until your eyes landed on the cards of the man next to you.

A perfect 21.

“Would you look at that? A Blackjack.” You watched as the chips were pushed his way. His smirk at you mocked you as you received your wager.

“It was nice playing with you, Miss. Hope we meet again sometime.” He threw a wink at the end, taking his earnings with him and you only watched him walk away with the last word.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You stabbed your salad, taking a large bite and chewing to yourself. So maybe the thought of that man stewed in your mind longer than you thought. His domineering presence lingered around you like a cloud, making you wish for clear skies.

Those handsome features were distorted by his supercilious attitude, it was a shame.

“Uh oh, who’s next on your hit list? Is it Lisa again?”

“No, but she’s still on thin ice.”

“I hope you’re joking about that.” Your friend, Soyou laughed as she took the seat in front of you.

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Then, HR.”

“Those clowns? They would make me write an apology letter and call it a day.”

“Police?”

“It was a joke, So, I didn’t think you would turn on me like that.”

“So, now it’s a joke?” You took another bite of your salad, smiling at her and she rolled her eyes at you.

“So, what’s really on your mind?”

“There was a man…”

“Was he handsome?”

“Does it matter?”

“I mean hot guys can pretty much get away with anything.”

“You mean, hot, rich guys do. Wait, that’s not the point!”

“Hey, his hotness is a factor in this.”

“How so?”

“Since he’s stirring you up this much, he’s at least pretty.”

“It wasn’t that kind of encounter.”

“Then?”

“He beat me at Blackjack.”

“He’s a dealer?”

“No, he was a player at the table.”

“I thought blackjack was between you and the dealer?”

“It is but I’m usually the one to win my wager in my rounds and this man defied that.”

“And? Did you lose?”

“No.”

“So, why does it matter?”

“Because.”

“Y/N, you need to use your words, honey.”

“Because he smirked at me as he did. Like he knew that he would win his bet regardless of the outcome of me winning my wager or not.”

“Again, why does that matter?”

“I have a reputation to upkeep there, the Weeper they call me.”

“Weeper?”

“Because any man who plays in any game with me is bound to weep.”

“Makes you sound like a villain, you know. Some of these men are gambling their livelihoods.”

“Then, they’ve already lost.” Soyou opened her mouth to say something but closed it, resorting to eating her lunch as you finished yours.

You knew how cold you sounded but those words were a truth that not many wanted to admit.

You’ve seen it with your own eyes.

And who were you to do anything about it? You were a simple office worker who always had time to kill after work. Maybe you could be like others who drink with co-workers or spend night binging Netflix’s extensive catalogue but you like the thrill.

Watching on bated breath as you gambled, whether it was slots, roulette, poker. As long as Lady Luck was on your side, who could stop you?

So once again, you slipped into one of your nicer gowns, your fanciest heels and strutted into the casino.

The atmosphere was to your liking, fewer people than normal but the stacks seemed higher.

“Ah, why isn’t the young Miss from the other night?”

“Oh, it’s you.” As if he came to ruin your mood, the man appears. He wore a slick white suit this time, the flaps as black as the colour of his hair and you crossed your arms.

“Not quite the reaction I would have liked, to be truthful.”

“What makes you believe I would be happy to see you?”

“Why, I can tell you can’t get me out of your mind at least. Whether it’s out of hate or love doesn’t matter.”

“You’re such a strange man.”

“Oh?”

“Why would you remember me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? After all, you’re the woman they call the Weeper. Is that not true?”

“Is that so?”

“Being coy, aren’t we? I thought it was because one look at your face would make a grown man cry.”

“Very funny.”

“But seeing how beautiful you are, it must be your skill.” He tilted your chin; you slapped his hand away and began walking past him.

“Don’t mock me.” You spat, him making no haste to catch up to you.

“I mean not to, Miss. I was merely intrigued by your reputation. The Weeper, enemy of men.”

“You make me sound like a villain.”

“Only repeating the rumours. And yet you were no match for me.”

“We weren’t competing.”

“Au contraire, bunny, I ruined your perfect streak, did I not? Any man who plays against you is bound to lose his wager. Yet I have not.”

“You’re just an irregularity. That’s all.”

“Sounds like you can’t accept your losses.”

“Now, you’re taunting me.”

“Does it sound like that?” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you against the side of a slot machine and you squirmed.

“Want to make a bet?” Those words, spoken as if they were a spell meant to enchant you led you to a roulette table. The dealer of the table looked nervous as the two of you had placed your bets and he smirked at you.

Gosh, how you’ve grown to hate that look in a short amount of time.

Best two out of three, you reminded yourself. If you won, it would mean his win was just an off round. If he wins, he wanted something from you. You tried to press him from more than ‘something’, but he wouldn’t budge beyond that.

Just two wins and you can watch his smirk be washed away.

Roulette was a game of luck and chance, still, you were up against the odds as you glanced at where you placed your chips.

“No more bets.” The dealer spun the wheel, dropping the ball as it joined the wheel in spinning before it landed in its spot.

“31, black.”

“That’s mine, isn’t it?”

“You sure do like to gloat.”

“Because it winds you up so perfectly, I can’t wait to unravel it all myself.”

“You talk as if something were going to happen between me and you.”

“I’m just going to have to get something will.” You regret agreeing to this stupid bet for a moment, it’s becoming clear to you that the game you were actually playing had nothing to do with the spinning roulette table.

“14, red.” You held back a grin, settling for giving him a look before turning your eyes back to the table.

If you could wish on all your lucky stars for this to land on any number you bet on, you did. After a silent prayer, you waited for the dealer’s words.

“21, red.”

“Oh, isn’t that ironic? Isn’t that where we first met?”

“Fuck you.”

“I wish you would, bunny.”

“Forget this.” You got up from the table, the man reaching for your wrist again and you cursed as he gripped hard. Would he just leave you alone?

“Now, bunny, you made a bet with me. Isn’t the honourable thing to do to fulfill your end of it?”

“Isn’t you winning enough for you? You have bragging rights now, just satisfy yourself with that.”

“No. I don’t need that.”

“Then, what is it? Spit it out.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You stuffed your head in a pillow as Soyou sat on the edge of your bed.

“He asked you out?”

“I don’t understand this man at all. One minute, he’s taunting me, the next he’s flirting with me. Is he a sadist?”

“Wouldn’t it make you a masochist for going out with him?”

“Who said I was going?”

“Weren’t you the one going on about reputations?”

“Well, that’s tainted now. So, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But, aren’t you at least curious about him?”

“And why would I be?”

“He’s hot from how you described him, he’s rich since he can gamble his life away so easily and he gambled like you, so there’s a shared interest between you two. Hey, if you snag him, you could just use him to gamble for you. It’ll be a definite win.”

“So, he’s probably toying with me-” You heard your phone vibrate next to you, raising it to wake and seeing a message.

Hey, bunny, dress casually and don’t be late. I don’t like waiting.

“He calls you a pet name already?”

“I don’t even know why he calls me that either. Makes me want to punch him square in the nose.”

“Well, don’t. It’ll ruin the atmosphere of the date.”

“I’m not going!”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You spoke too soon when you got to the address that he gave you, seeing it was a café. Soyou dragged you out of bed, essentially forcing you into going. She even dared to slip a condom in your purse as if you were going to use it. And with him, of all people.

“You came?”

“Expecting to get stood up?”

“I see you’re sharp as ever, bunny.”

“I have an actual name, you know.”

“Which you have yet to tell me if you haven’t noticed.”

“Y/N. Yours?”

“Taehyung.”

“Hm, your name means ‘all wishes will come true’ huh? Explains your ridiculous luck.”

“Didn’t know you were into things like that.”

“No, I just need something to explain how I lost to you twice.”

“You should let that go, it’s not good for your health, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes, opening the door to the café and seeing a rabbit hopping in front of you.

“Look, it’s your kind.”

“Very funny, Taehyung.”

“But it’s so cute.” He scooped one into his arms, petting it and you watched as it melted under his touch.

“Don’t worry, I can give you head pats too.” He petted your head, his large hand felt warm, but you were annoyed by the casual skinship.

“Ah, thank you customer for catching him! He managed to get out.” A staff member bowed to the two of you and took the rabbit from Taehyung.

“I felt a bond forming with him.”

“You can go out with him instead if you’d like?”

“And miss the chance to spend an afternoon with a beautiful woman? I think he can wait.”

“How many women have you fed that line to?”

“I never had a woman competing with a rabbit before so, none?”

“I’m not competing-”

“It’s okay, Y/N, I’m joking. Let’s order?” He asked, you walked up to the counter with him and ordering your lunch.

You glanced at the rabbits, making eye contact with a small brown rabbit. He hopped close to his gate, you crouched in front and paused. You weren’t quite sure how to approach a rabbit.

A staff member opened his gate for you, letting the little creature hop out and you stayed still.

“You have to show him your hand, bit off to the side so he can see it.” Taehyung was crouched next to you as you followed his instructions.

“Okay.” He began to sniff your hand, you allowed him until he got closer to you.

“I think he wants to go pet him. Go for the cheeks.” You nodded, stroking his cheek and he closed his eyes. It felt like he nuzzled into your touch as you continued to pet him, and you smiled.

“I had no idea you were well versed in rabbits.”

“My grandparents had a farm, they kept rabbits. I can still remember getting nipped by one of the dominant ones.”

“Did it hurt?”

“A bit, he had a nasty bite. But I learned.”

“What else did they have?”

“The usual, chickens and cows. Gramps grew apples and oranges too. When I was born, my grandparents planted an apple tree that day. Every summer, I would check on it and see it grew taller than me.”

“You were competing with a tree, Taehyung.”

“It’s silly but I hate to lose.”

“You were bound to.”

“Unfortunately.” You laughed, Taehyung giving you an incredulous look.

“I pour part of my life story to you and you laugh.”

“Because it’s hard to imagine you competing with nature of all things. Don’t tell me you marked it in your house too?”

“And what if I did?”

“Then, you’re stranger than I thought. Acting all seductive and dominant when you’re a big softie.”

“If I were that one dimensional, that would be boring as fuck. After all, being a one-trick pony wouldn’t let me win, would it?”

“Spoken like a true gambler.”

“Even now, I’m making a wager.”

“On what?”

“Well, it’s not fun if I tell you.”

“Couldn’t let go of the teasing, huh?”

“Of course not, bunny.” You rolled your eyes, getting up as your order was called. The two of you carried your food to an empty table, the meal you ordered was in the shape of a rabbit. A sandwich neatly cut into one with a side of fries.

“That’s oddly perfect.”

“I mean it is the Tokki café, Taehyung.”

“To get the ears so perfectly matched.”

“You’re oddly fascinated by this.”

“Are you not?”

“More curious about you.”

“I like the sound of t-” You stuffed a bite of your sandwich in his mouth, you watched him chewing said bite.

“I thought we start feeding each other on the fourth date at the earliest.”

“I guess we’re moving fast.”

“Mhm.” It was the only thing he mustered, beginning to eat his meal as you ate yours. You patted a napkin around your mouth, careful to not smudge your lipstick and Taehyung kept his eyes on you.

“If you have something to say, you can say it. I don’t think I have telepathy.”

“Just thinking about how I can make this day longer.”

“Did you read some pick-up artist books before coming here?”

“Tch, those books are just for desperate people who can’t flirt.”

“Who knows, maybe they’ll teach you about subtlety.”

“Subtlety? I know what I want and go after it, simple.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“I don’t give up if that’s what you’re asking.” Of course, a man like him would chase until the very end. You met him at a casino for goodness sake. A place where people can put up their homes, cars, livelihoods for a chance to win.

Why would he be any different?

“Unless I know for sure there’s no chance. I also don’t like wasting my time, Y/N.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then, let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” You jogged to catch up with him, stopping when he got in front of a rather expensive car.

“Ladies first.” He opened the passenger door, you hesitated before getting in and he got into the driver seat a few moments later.

“This isn’t where you drive me to some unknown fields and kill me or something.”

“We’re downtown, Y/N, also I’m not from here. So, if anything, we’re more likely to get lost in the city.”

“And you don’t have a GPS.”

“Got one in here.” He pointed to his head and you groaned. Is this a common trait amongst men? You still remember ending up three towns over from where you lived when your high school boyfriend wanted to take you to some cool restaurant. Your mother never let you hear the end of it, she still brings up when you called her now and then.

“Oh, great.” You remarked.

After dealing with some traffic, he parked in front of an arcade.

“A change of pace.”

“Right.” The two of you walked in together, him paying the entrance fee and you two entering the hall. The large room was filled with games, the place was mostly filled with teens and kids running around to different games.

“Come on.” He took your hand, pulling you into the direction of a racing game and taking a seat.

“At least you can’t crash this car.”

“Hey, I just like getting to places in the fastest time possible.”

“I felt like my face was going to fly off like it does in cartoons.”

“You should star in a soap opera, really good at being dramatic.”

“I’m just surprised you haven’t lost your licence.” You said as you took the seat next to his, gripping the steering wheel and entered the game.

“It helps with racing games.”

“Does it now?”

“Wanna test it?” You cocked an eyebrow, pressing start and began racing against Taehyung. The two of you were focused on beating the other that you hadn’t noticed the kids that just boosted his way to first place while you two got second and third respectively.

“How?”

“Tae, it’s okay to lose sometimes.”

“You’re only saying that because you got second, but me getting third?”

“Aw, sweetie, I can get you some ice cream to make you feel better.”

“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”

“Do you want the ice cream or not?”

“Yes.” The two of you ordered ice cream in a cup, you ordered chocolate chip cookie dough while Taehyung had rocky road.

“Let me have a bite.”

“Fine.” He stole your next bite, giving you a wink as he licked his lips.

“Taehyung.”

“It’s too sweet. Here.” He handed you another spoon, you gleefully took it and finished off your ice cream.

You played a few more games, most of them resulting in a tie or Taehyung winning. You didn’t mind much, having fun watching Taehyung’s competitive nature but making sure you were still enjoying yourself. He drove you home, you sat in the passenger seat with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Can I see you again?” You got out of the car, Taehyung opening the door for you and you leaned against the car door as he spoke.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it. Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Taehyung.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Soyou came over for a girl’s night, her letting herself feel at home while you gathered the snacks.

“What’s with all the flowers?”

“Oh, he sent them…” You felt your face grow hot; Taehyung has been sending them after every date since your first. They were always the prettiest bunch; no bouquet was the same as the other and the latest was a bouquet of red camellias.

“What are they?”

“Red Camellias.” You placed down the tray of snacks, taking a bite of a cookie after you replied.

“Do you know what that means?”

“That he has a romantic side to him.”

“Oh, sweet child, do you not know about floriography?”

“Do I know what?”

“The language of the flowers, Y/N. Red camellias mean ‘You’re the flame of my heart’.”

“Flowers have meanings? Can’t they just be pretty?”

“What, they can’t multi-task now? Has he sent you others?”

“Yellow tulips, some Primroses, Alyssum, red roses, of course, and I think red chrysanthemums.”

“And you thought nothing of it.”

“Well, not all of us think of flowers like you.”

“Blame my florist mother. Anyways, the tulips mean your smile is like sunshine, primroses, alyssum mean worth beyond beauty, red roses and red chrysanthemums mean I love you and primroses mean I can’t live without you.”

“W-what? Really?”

“Girl, your man is speaking sweet nothings to you with flowers and you’re questioning it?”

“I mean he could have just sent them because they’re pretty.”

“Or that he’s madly in love with you.”

“It’s only been a few dates. Besides we haven’t done anything.”

“Do you have a photo?”

“What?’

“I need a photo of him.” You looked through your photos, choosing a random one and Soyou snatched your phone.

“What is wrong with you, Y/N?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“You have the hottest man alive and you haven’t banged him at least once?” She shrieked; you covered your ears a bit at the increased pitch.

“I don’t just put out.”

“in any other situation, I would applaud you, but this guy could bag a whole nightclub, guys and girls included. You sure you want to keep him on his toes?”

“If he wanted sex, he can hire an escort.”

“I admire your strength, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes, finishing off your cookie and scrolling through Netflix. You settled on a rom-com that Soyou raved about, staring to fall asleep partway through when the main characters had a stupid misunderstanding.

“Past bedtime, huh?”

“If I remember correctly,” a yawn escaping your lips mid-sentence before you continued, “you’re the older one here.”

“The movie wasn’t that boring.”

“I beg to differ. Will give a review in the morning, night.” Soyou rolled her eyes at you, got a tired laugh from you before the two of you went to bed in the living room.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You woke up, the sheets next to you empty and someone was knocking at your door. Rubbing the sleep of out of your eyes, you walked to the front door and was met with flowers in your face.

“Special delivery.”

“Tae?”

“Your one and only.” He lowered the flowers to reveal his smiling face, making you smile in return.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you until Friday.”

“I missed you, bunny.” He swiftly kissed your cheek as he stepped inside your apartment, the simple gesture making your heart skip a beat.

“Plus, I wanted to meet the famous Soyou.”

“I wonder where she went.”

“Her shoes are still here.” You checked the bathroom, seeing her not there either and going into your bedroom. On the side table was a note?

“Bunny?”

“In the bedroom.” You replied, Taehyung jogging in and peered over your shoulder.

“Someone took So, thinking it was me? Why would anyone do this?”

“It’s because of me.”

“Tae…?”

“I’m so sorry, bunny. But please leave this to me.” He started to rush out the room, you followed him until you got close enough to grab his arm.

“I’m going with you.”

“Y/N, you can’t.”

“She’s my best friend, Tae. I don’t want to lose you either, no matter how annoying you are sometimes.” He chortled at the last bit

“I’ll protect you both, I promise.” He sealed his words with a kiss to your forehead.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Bunny, whatever you do, don’t leave the car.”

“Okay.” Yeah, right. Taehyung caressed your cheek before he left, taking the time between him entering the building before getting out yourself. You sneaked in, seeing Taehyung standing in front of a woman? Getting closer, you eavesdropped on their conversation.

“You really are a fool, V.”

V? He’s V?

“Am I? Coming to my territory, hiding in my turf and having the nerve to taking my woman? You should be thankful I came here and not my men. I’m afraid they aren’t as charitable as I am.” A cold chill ran down your spine as if someone slid an ice cube down your back. His voice was cold, calculated as if he was drained of any emotion besides silent rage.

“Where is she?”

“Aw, now you put away the venom. She really has you wrapped around her finger.” The woman came close to Taehyung, having the gull to touch his jaw with a wicked smile on her lips.

Is this the world Taehyung lives in?

“Beg. I want to hear the great V pathetically beg for his little girlfriend’s life.” You saw him get down on his knees, you could tell he was gritting his teeth as he spat his next words.

“Please. She’s innocent to the life I lead, someone I should have never tainted with my cursed soul. Let her go, I’m begging you. It’s me you wanted anyways.”

“Bring her out.” You watched as a man carried a passed out Soyou, her face covered in soot and her clothes tattered. What did they do to her?

“Looks like I clipped your little angel’s wings. But don’t worry, she’s still breathing.”

“I’m so sorry they did this to you. I-“

“Sorry to interrupt your little monologue but I’m here for a deal.”

“What?” He barked, the coldness was back.

“Oh, you can’t get all prickly with me. I kept her alive, didn’t I? Killing her would give me pleasure but I want more than that.”

“What is it?”

“I want the White Rabbit.” White Rabbit? What is that?

“You talk big, don’t you?”

“I’m a woman with ambitions, V. After all, is this woman not worth as much?”

“Let me think about it.” He crossed his finger behind his back, was that a signal to someone? To answer your question, you heard a volley of gunshots. You shut your eyes tight, covering your ears as the shots rang out and you tried to sneak back out the building. You hurriedly got in the car, your heart racing as you sat.

He had a shooter hidden in the building already? Was this common for him? You didn’t see him flinch as the shooting started, still as a statue.

“Miss Y/N?”

“Who are you?”

“A friend of V, miss. He has instructed that I take you home.”

“Where’s my friend? She was in there-”

“I know you’re scared but Mr. V will take care of it.”

“No-” You tried to open the door, the handle not budging as the man drove you off.

“What the fuck? You know kidnapping is a fucking crime, right?”

“I’ve done worse, Miss.” Your eyes widen at his statement, quickly giving up on resisting the man. He claims to be a friend of Taehyung who is also the infamous V. If the gunfire you heard was evidence of the people who were his friends, it would be wiser to cooperate.

He stopped in front of your building, you quickly got out and the man rolled down the window to leave with one thought.

“He always keeps his promise.”

Those words took root in your mind as you waited for a response from Soyou. It had been a week since you last saw her, trying to pretend that you weren’t desperately missing her. Just a simple phone is all you wished for.

You just remember seeing Taehyung take her phone before the two of you set out for her. If it didn’t work out, would he just make her disappear? The thought was disrupted by your phone loudly ringing and you answered without a second thought.

“Soyou? Are you alright?”

“Bunny. She’s at the Memorial Hospital, room 2305.” You heard his voice instead, your throat suddenly drying up and you just murmured an okay before hanging up.

You were running down the hall to the annoyance of a few nurses until you opened the door to her room.

“Soyou?”

“Y/N!”

“I was so worried.” You cried, tears already welling in your eyes before you could think and held her hand.

“Psh. I’m a lot tougher than I look, you know.”

“It didn’t hurt that I had a gorgeous man waiting on me hand and foot.” You looked back to where Soyou was staring, looking at Taehyung who shied away from eye contact. Has he been here the whole time?

“The nurses totally thought we were dating until I set them straight.”

“I’m too bad for you anyways.”

“Please, you carried up this huge teddy bear because I said Y/N liked them.”

“Soyou!” Taehyung snapped, Soyou giggling at his blushing face. You stayed silent, glancing at the bear that sat on the side table.  The two of them bickered some more, you quietly excuse yourself to take a breather.

Wrapping your head around Taehyung being who he is. It was mind-numbing, to say the least, but seeing him acting so jovial, so carefree when he can speak so coldly, be so callous and stood still as he basically orders someone to kill.

His life was much more than yours was, a life where him getting close to someone meant they were dragged into it whether they know about it or not. That should have been you in that hospital gown, spending a week in a hospital because you fell for a man with secrets. Secrets that are enough to cost you your life.

It’s shameful how you managed to show your face to Soyou when it’s your fault she’s here in the first place. What a horrible friend you are.

“It’s not your fault.” You looked up to see Taehyung standing in front of you and you turned away from him.

“I know you saw, Kai told me you did.”

“If I knew who you were, I would have never… Soyou wouldn’t be like this.”

“I know. It’s my fault, this is just more sins I should atone for. Getting Soyou hurt, putting you in danger, hurting you in the process. I don’t think a universe filled with I’m sorry would be enough for everything I’ve done. But I am still sorry about it.”

“Taehyung. Please.”

“I made a promise to protect you. Even if it means we never meet again, I’m going to keep my word, bunny.”

“Listen, Taehyung.”

“I’m sorry.” He bowed to you before walking off. You wanted to call out to him, give him a piece of your mind for not letting you speak and saying everything that you’ve been wanting to say since you last saw him but you could make two steps before he was out of your sight.

It’s always the last words with him, huh.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

You helped Soyou get to her house, driving her house as she was discharged two weeks after your first visit. Taehyung vanished like a shadow, you never heard a word from him since. You kept it that way, putting your energy into rebuilding your life again.

“Did you and Tae have a fallout?”

“What?”

“Y/N, I can see that lovelorn kind of look on your face. It’s been like that for the past 2 weeks, it’s kind of sickening really.”

“Lovelorn, So? I’m not in love.”

“Please. Don’t try to fool me, I’ve watched too many romantic movies to know the situation we’re in. You blame yourself for what happened, and you don’t want Taehyung around because he’s a reminder of it.”

“Even if that’s true?”

“Then, you’re an idiot.”

“Gee, and I was trying to be a good best friend.”

“So am I. I’m not going to let my best friend miss her chance at happiness. You don’t have to punish yourself for me, I’ve forgiven you for worse things.”

“Like what?”

“Letting me wear white after Arbour day.” You looked at her for a minute, gauging how serious she was before bursting out into laughter.

“Seriously.” You said, Soyou laughing with you.

“But seriously, get your butt in gear. We have to transform you into a woman that Tae can’t keep his hands off of. A femme fatale, in simple words.”

“Soyou? What did you plan?”

“Just go with it.”

“Isn’t that what you said to me about Taehyung the first time?”

“Oh shut it, you’re in love with him now.”

“Am not.” You sassed, Soyou rolling her eyes as she pushed you into her bedroom.

“Let me work my magic.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Soyou led you out the door, you saw the man from that day bowing. His name was Kai, wasn’t it?

“Miss Y/N, Miss Soyou.”

“Is this part of your plan?”

“Of course. Plus seeing Kai in a suit is a little bonus for me.” You saw her wink at him to which he coughed to cover up the fact he was blushing.

“Do you realize what you’re getting into?”

“I don’t mind playing with little fire, Y/N.”

“Okay, I’m leaving before you start with bedroom eyes.” You got into the car, Kai hopping into the driver’s seat.

“Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss. V wants you to be blindfolded even.”

“Still wants to keep secrets, huh.”

“May I?”

“Go ahead.” The cotton scarf felt soft around your face as a knot was skillfully tied behind your head. You sat in anticipation, anxious about what this plan Soyou devised entails. The car finally stopped and you heard someone else open the door, you blindly taking their hand.

“I’ll lead the way.” You could only follow, holding onto an arm and walking up to what you believed was an elevator from the ding you heard. He led you in, the time you’re spending only making you more nervous.

“It’ll be alright, Miss.”

“I hope so.”

“Miss Soyou really cares about you as does V, even though he tries his best to hide it. I could dare say he loves you.” You thought you heard rustling but you dismissed as your nerves talking.

“But I can see that you both care for each other from how Miss Soyou describes you both.” Note to self: Give Soyou a piece of your mind next time.

“Ah, we’re here.” You followed, walking down a corridor and heard a door click.

“I can take it from here.” You pushed the blindfold up, seeing you holding onto Taehyung.

“You were there since I got out of the car, weren’t you?”

“You noticed.”

“For Kai to suddenly smell like your cologne was a dead giveaway, Taehyung.”

“I’m too good for the cheap one he buys.” You rolled your eyes, letting go of him and taking a few steps back.

You bit your lip, fighting the smile that threatened to show. Was it always this easy for him to toy with you like this?

“He was right, Kai I mean. About me loving you.”

“Taehyung.”

“I’m sorry. I know these aren’t the words you want to hear. Not from me, at least.” He’s still there. That goofball that stumbles on his words, teases you constantly and has more cheesy lines than a cheese factory.

“Are you willing to listen to what I have to say? Whatever it is.” He took a seat, you stayed standing.

“Yes.” You gave him a look, him nervously scratching his neck and you took a deep breath.

“I missed you. The part of you that you showed me, even when you rattled me up into some stupid bets. But when I saw you there, how emotionless you were, I was afraid. Afraid of V. Like everyone else was. Seeing you at the hospital confused me too because I thought it was all an act. That cold man is who you should be.” You looked him in the eyes, knowing that he wouldn’t say a word until he knew you were done.

“But I know it’s not. I feel it in my heart, that smile you give me, those flowers you sent me… It was all real. So I want to accept you, all of you.” You sat in his lap, cupping his cheek before pressing your lips against his.

You kept it brief, gently pulling away and resting your forehead on his.

“Give me everything, Taehyung.” You whispered, Taehyung taking his turn to kiss you. It was more passionate as if he were pouring his heart into every movement of his lips against yours.

Yet it was hot, his tongue playing with you smoothly as he kissed you deeply. His hands found your zipper, the dress giving him no resistance and it pooled in his lap.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmured against your skin, pressing kisses along your neck. You made work of his shirt, revealing his chest as he played with your nipples through your bra.

You let out a moan to his pleasure, you began to ground your hips against him. A groan gave you the push to keep going, changing the rhythm your hips followed.

“Shit. Bunny.”

“Hm? What is it, Taehyung?”

“Don’t play coy, baby. I’m not afraid to punish you tonight.”

“Don’t act all tough with me, I know you’re wrapped around my finger.”

“Is that so?”

“Prove me wrong then.” A sardonic smile was on his face, knowing that he hated to lose. He took you to the bed, your back hitting the mattress hard while his hands rest on either side of your head.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He muttered against your lips, roughly taking your lips. His hands were more callous while touching you, ridding you of your underwear with one hand as if it were a simple task.

His hand dipped between your legs, crudely finding your clit and rubbing fast circles.

“No bite now, bunny? You’re wet enough to soak the sheets.”

“Rich coming from the man who’s hard as a rock.” You pressed your knee against his crotch, rubbing it through his dress pants.

“I’d be crazy if I wasn’t. Hearing you shamelessly moan my name while I pound you into the mattress, gripping the sheets hopelessly. Begging for more like the horny little bunny you are.”

“Don’t even bother to deny it, your pussy is soaking my fingers as we speak.”

“You’re a dirty man.”

“And you love it, Y/N.” He dipped down, moving his body down the bed and pushing your legs up and open for him.

You wouldn’t have the chance to speak, his tongue quickly pressed against your cunt. It took everything in you to stop salacious sounds from escaping your lips but a quick swirl of his tongue on your clit opened them like Pandora’s box.

The long strokes of his tongue alternated with short licks before you felt it enter you. Embarrassment flushed you as you heard wet sounds each time he dipped his tongue in. Soon his fingers would replace his tongue, two entering you without much.

“I want to hear more. Come on.” He smacked your thigh, eliciting a whimper from you. His thumb played with your clit as his fingers pumped fast and deep. You knew he had experience under his belt with looks like his but you were already a mess so early on.

“Show me more of that expression, bunny. I want to see how you look when you come.” He pressed on further, his fingers finding your g-shot and your clit beginning to feel overstimulated.

“Come for me.” You arched your back, toes curling and he pumped his finger while you rode out your high.

“Good girl.” You looked at him, licking his fingers clean and you sat up.

“Let me return the favour.” You said, reaching for his belt and he helped you reveal his dick. From grinding earlier, you figured he was above average but he was more than you imagined.

“You can’t intimidate my cock into getting harder by staring, you know.”

“Sorry. Just admiring.”

“Carry on.”

“Dick.”

“Funny.”

“Can be when I want to be.” You positioned him to lie down, gripping the shaft and begin slow twisting pumps, using your spit to lubricate before sinking your mouth around him.

“Oh, fuck.” You found a pace that made him twitch in your mouth, milking delicious grunts and growls from him in the process. His hands tangled in your hair as if he were controlling your pace but the loose grip let you know you were really in control.

“Shit, slow down.” You let him out of your mouth, still pumping him and licking your lip.

“Let me get a condom.” He looked through the drawer next to the bed, you took the chance to smack his ass to which he shot you a glance.

“What, you have nice cheeks.”

“So do you. Would look real nice with my handprints.”

“Want to test that?”

“Such a naughty bunny.” He retorted, flipping you on your stomach. His shins rested on the mattress on either side of your legs, one hand gripping his dick as the other held you still.

“Please, Tae. I want to feel you.” He plunged into you, the thick girth making you gasp as he slowly entered you.

“Are you okay, bunny? Does it hurt?” He pressed delicate kisses along your shoulder blades, trying to keep still until you spoke.

“I’m alright, Tae, you can move.” You breathed out.

Taehyung kept true to his word, only giving you a few slow strokes before he began his merciless thrusts. Your butt jiggled with each thrust, his hand periodically giving slaps to each cheek.

“Fuck, Taehyung.” You mewled out, unable to say more as he drilled into you. The delectable stretch you felt with each thrust numbed your mind as you felt your cunt set ablaze.

Your body grew hot, sweat forming all over your body and you could only vocalize sounds of pleasure. Taehyung’s grunts only made you wetter, allowing him to slide into your further and drive you even crazier.

“Love the way you clench -nng around me, bunny.”

“Gonna mould this pussy into the shape of my cock, do you want that, huh?”

“Fuck, please- ng. Hnng.” He slapped your ass in response, changing his pace and slid almost out of you before slamming himself back in.

“T-tae.” No words left his lips, only loud growls and grunts with the new rhythm he followed.

You cried out as one odd thrust made you come again and he kept going. Changing his pace again, his dick was perfectly angled to your g-spot and you whined from the overstimulation.

You were losing your mind, was sex always this good or was it because of Taehyung? Taehyung wouldn’t allow you to dwell on the question, pulling you back to edge of another orgasm with his touch on your clit.

“Fuck.”

“Clench around me, bunny.” You did as he asked, a low groan in your ear as a reward before he began to sloppily thrust in you. He stopped, cursing as he finally came.

“Are you alright, bunny?”He pulled out, removing the condom as you two regained your breaths. He went into the bathroom, getting something.

“Yeah.” You responded as he re-entered the room, him carefully wiping the sweat off of you.

“Good, it’s time for round two.”

“Taehyung, we don’t have to fuck like rabbits, you know.”He chuckled at your response, getting next to you and you shielded your self with your arms.

“I meant cuddles, bunny.”

“Now, come here. I don’t ever want to let you go again.”

#bts #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts reader insert #bts x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung imagine #bts imagines #bts scenario #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #taehyung #smut #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic

[bibbykins]

Drown Me So I Can Breathe (M)

A/N: Tumblr rlly failed me when I was trying to post this three hours ago buuuuut whatever. I hope y’all enjoy just as much as I would/always enjoy hearing from you all! Hope you all are having a great day/night!

Pairing: (Soft) Yandere! Jungkook x reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: anxiety, anxiety attack, toxic relationship tendencies, unhealthy relationship, vaginal sex, non-penetrative sex

Summary: You stumble in crashing waves, but you don’t lift your arms for help. You gave that up long ago. There is no breath of fresh air that you can attain. But what if there were a savior with the prettiest lock and key you’ve seen? Would you even be able to see it among the murky waters that drown you?

Don’t worry, you don’t have to see it. You just have to take his hand. You’ll fall into his arms soon enough. Well, not literally fall, of course.

Right?

The crowd was loud in the amphitheater where drunk college festivities took place. You didn't even want to be here in the first place, but alas, you were the ball being shoved back and forth between crowds. It was all the joys of getting seasick without the aid of the actual sea, being too meek to stand your ground in the hustle and bustle, you were pushed, shoved, and it wasn't until you had been shoved roughly on the concrete floor, you made it your mission to get through the crowd alive. You felt the sting on your legs as you remained tossed around like a rag doll until a pair of strong hands set you on your own two feet, unmoving, unwobbling, and under his control.

Jungkook would be a liar if he said he hadn't been watching you the entire time. He didn’t mean to be so transfixed by you. He only went to these things to satisfy his sexual needs. Beyond an orgasm, he wasn't planning on feeling anything tonight.

Plans change.

Tonight was some college prom frat and sorority members who peaked in high school thought would be fun. It had drinks, pounding music, and sweaty people despite a cold environment. It was basically a club with a king and queen. Jungkook, despite his broody and less than forthcoming nature, was a shoo-in for the king. He was young, hot, and despite how selfish he was, still a good lay. He had everything he could want. He had a blossoming job as a sound engineer for the upperclassmen Min Yoongi’s company. Jungkook also gained popularity in his potential singing career with songs he randomly dropped here and there, his place in the seven campus princes furthering his fan count.

He was the youngest of the princes, but he was also the coldest. Jungkook was stone-faced around everyone but his fellow adonis friends. Some admirers chalked it up to him being cute and shy, others made him out to be a grungy broken broody man. You on the other hand, just figured he was a guy with a personality who happened to be cute.

You seldom paid him mind. Yes, he was cute, yes, you would say yes in a heartbeat, but you had a little too much pride to pine after him as many people did.

He was intrigued by you though. You always ended up in one of his classes somehow. At first, he figured you were some fan who somehow figured out his schedule, but this idea was quickly dampened.

You were a good student. A fashion major, he discovered. You had high attention to detail, sometimes to a damaging degree. You sat in the front or back row, sometimes too shy to face the front, but you always had your eyes glued to the professor or book. Even when you and Jungkook had been in a group together, you arranged everything through text message, never going off-topic.

You were a good student. How boring it was for you. You smiled, did work, avoided socializing, and went home. This was your routine. You didn't favor making genuine friendships, it was too complicated. You wanted to date, love, and finally fuck, but the odds of finding a mate who would tolerate being the only person in your life, was slim to none. Of course, you had guys you thought were cute, Jungkook caught your eye the most for obvious reasons, plus he was pretty much a loner already, but he didn't seem like the type to dish out the all-consuming love you craved.

You had been right, Jungkook wasn't until he met you. After the first encounter, to say he had become a tad obsessed would be no lie. At first, it had been his pride, wondering what person wouldn't try to fuck him, but then he realized you were no plain person. You were his ideal girl. You were sweet, and it was genuine, but he could tell you craved something more than smiles and pleasantries. You wanted something more, he just knew it, and he wanted to give it to you. He wanted to give you everything as the time of him keeping tabs on you went on.

With this want, also came the want to keep you all to himself. Once or twice, he's been forced to threaten a few guys dumb enough to say anything about you or asking you out. His friends poked fun as Jungkook once had to Taehyung when he was pining after his current girlfriend, and now he understood his feelings.

Taehyung had told Jungkook he would know when the time to make his feelings known was right to which Jimin confirmed while holding his girlfriend at his side. Jungkook recalled this as he watched you play the role of the ball in a game of crowd ping pong. You were trying to politely squeeze toward what looked like the bathroom as you had your arms close to your chest. Watching how helpless you were, he decided now was the time to begin the love story of his lifetime.

Jungkook rushed into the crowd, people being smart enough to step aside at the sight of his camouflage jacket, and he grabbed you from behind by your shoulders and set your teetering feet back on the ground. You jumped, still wobbly, but thankful to be still for once.

However thankful, you felt sick, super sick. The pressure being in the crowd as well as being shoved for almost 30 minutes straight was rushing back to you, and you stumbled forward, only to be pulled back by the strong set of hands. There was too much going on, too many people, and you felt sick. You were riddled with the feeling of instability and ridicule. You had no sense of ground until the man stabled your stance.

“Can you walk?” The mysterious savior whispered in your ear, and you shivered at the proximity.

You nodded, words getting lost in your choke for air, wondering why people were stealing glances in your direction. You began to walk towards the exit, until your legs gave in, causing you to nearly crumble to the ground, the mystery man being quick to catch you.

The voice scoffed, “Just say no.” He spoke when he went next to you to scoop you up in his arms like a princess.

You wanted to squirm and yelp, but something felt so right about being in his arms. You wanted to be the only one in his arms, staking your claim on this spot you craved to keep. It was this flurry of sensations that made you realize you hadn't looked up to see who this mystery man was, and when you got the courage to, someone bumped into your legs and you nearly fell out of his arms. Out of Jeon Jungkook’s arms.

“Watch it, dick!” He snapped at the culprit, but only gripped you closer, “Fuck, hold onto me, okay?” He whispered in your ear as you nodded, interlocking your hands behind his neck as the lingering stares of the crowd turned into blatant gaping. He walked you towards the exit as you tucked your head into his chest and closed your eyes, trying to be unseen.

Jungkook smiled at your movement. This is what he wanted. He wanted you, enveloped by him, safe, his. The crowning of king and queen had begun while he held you firmly in his arms.

“And the king is… Jeon Jungkook…” The preppy girl paused, “Uh… who is busy, so in the meantime, the queen is…”

You heard the crowd fade as Jungkook waltzed you away from the humid area to civilization and crisp fall air. Suddenly, you could breathe again, “Congratulations.” Your voice was muffled in Jungkook’s shirt.

He snorted, “Congratulations?”

“You're king, yay.” You weakly offered, still muffled as you heard doors open.

He chuckled and you felt his chest vibrate on your cheek, “Gee, thanks, princess.” It seemed he began climbing up steps.

Suddenly, the anxiety that had been bubbling in the pit of your stomach, poured out tears that threatened to spill. You felt like shit. You couldn't handle a crowd, so you ruined Jungkook’s night. He didn't even have a chance to get crowned all because he was being polite.

“Sorry.” You broke the silence that held in the air for a few minutes as he walked, your voice cracking from embarrassment.

Jungkook frowned, “No, no, sweetheart, none of that.” He damn near cooed.

You heard another door open, and when the door closed again, it was silent. It was silent until you began sobbing, “I'm so sorry.” You cried eyes screwed shut while Jungkook sat down, you still in his arms, his collar tight in your fists.

You were ashamed. You were overwhelmed. You had been so scared, so helpless, and despite being thankful, you felt like such a burden.

Jungkook’s heart shattered. He went into panic mode. The love of his life was sobbing in his arms, apologizing. Initially, he wanted to go back to the amphitheater and beat the shit out of every person who so much as bumped into you, but he'd be damned if he would ever leave your side. Now, he just wanted to see you smile. He just wanted to tell you it was okay, and he loves you, and at the moment he lacked the ability to deem such thoughts irrational.

He had taken you to his apartment near the amphitheater. You had been in and out of sleep for most of the walk, so when Jungkook reached his room above the lobby, taking the stairs to avoid the elevator startling you, he wanted nothing more than to do what he was at that moment. Hold you.

Jungkook rocked you back and forth as you cried it out, shushing you each time you apologized. In the medical record of yours he happened to come across, completely by chance, of course, he saw you had certain symptoms of social anxiety. He figured the crowd must have sent you into a mild anxiety attack, and he just wanted you safe. The safest place was in his arms.

“Don't worry, princess, you're okay.” He spoke lowly, soothing you as he sat down on his bed with you in his lap.

“W-Why are you doing this?” You cried. You could very well ask yourself the same question. It wasn't like you to break down like this, not in front of people, let alone the hottest and meanest guy on campus. Yet this hot, mean, guy was talking you down. You loved it. You craved this for so long, and you wanted to keep it like this. You wanted Jungkook. You realized at that moment, Jungkook must be the one for you. He had to be. Nobody had ever taken any effort to so much as check up on your well being. It was all small talk and half-empty compliments, but Jungkook was full of emotion.

“Oh, y/n, sweet, sweet princess,” He mused and to his delight, your muscles relaxed as he stroked your hair, “It should've have been like this since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Wha-”

“Shh, calm down fully first, questions later.” His soothing voice ordered and you nodded, submissive. You didn't want to think too hard about the logistics of this moment anyway, you would only confuse yourself, “Right now it’s just me and you, that’s all that matters.”

"Me and you…" You echoed.

You both stayed like this for a while until your breathing went even and you relaxed in his embrace and let your eyes drift closed.

The dreams you had were whispers from a lonely past that haunted more often than naught. They held you underwater and left you to face yourself with the nothing you had surrounded yourself with. The eerie symbolism your subconscious brought worried you as you spent your years in a mirroring emotional solitude.

But tonight was different.

Tonight you drifted above water, breathing in a much fuller atmosphere than you were accustomed to. Two muscular arms kept you afloat as puffs of air hit your neck ever so softly. Cologne held you in emotional comfort as you soaked up the air in a paradise you never properly acknowledged as yours to breathe in.

You felt a hand on your hip as you took it in your own, bringing it to your cheek. It was comfortable, a loving silence enveloped you in the wisps of consciousness. You wished to stay like this, not wanting to face the obligatory awkward morning full of confusion and hazy answers to rock-solid questions.

However, you still had some of your logic left as you turned your body to face Jungkook. He was sleeping still as you looked at him. It was funny how relaxed he looked yet how tightly he gripped you. Not that you minded, of course. He was a beautiful man, this much you knew to be true. He had the softest features when not so on guard.

You looked past him to see the time was half-past nine and you had a class in a half-hour, “Shit!” You cursed softly, causing Jungkook to wake up under the assumption you were hurt.

“You okay?” His voice was deeper and groggy and it made your entire body quake.

“I-no, I have a class soon, so I have to go.” You sighed forcing yourself up before pulling the covers off only to see your short dress, “Oh goodness, it's going to look like a walk of shame.” You huffed at your thigh highs that fell to under your knees.

“Not if you borrow something of mine.” Jungkook was stretching as he spoke and you could see the outline of his biceps. You gulped, nodding mindlessly, “I have some joggers and a shirt that-”

“I'm wearing thigh highs and black heels.” You whined, “I'll look insane.” Jungkook chuckled at this before thinking for a moment. Your outfits always had a very evident amount of effort in them, and it was endearing to see how much you cared.

“My shirts may be longer than your dress though.” He stood, going to his closet as you followed suit, “I have a flannel since it's cold.” He presented the black and red garment to you.

“Perfect!” You giggled as you pulled up your thigh highs, making the male in front of you gulp, “Oh...can you unzip me?” You felt your cheeks heat as you turned.

Jungkook gulped once again as he grabbed the delicate zipper and pulled it down. He wondered when he would be able to repeat this action with a more sultry mood. Your skin looked so soft. He wondered how it would feel on his lips.

Once you felt the dress slacken and Jungkook pull away you slipped the flannel over your arms, buttoning from top to bottom as you let the dress fall from under it. He almost wanted to scold you for being so blatant about showing your body, but he couldn't help but find your naivety endearing as well. You left the top two buttons apart as you slipped on the pumps you wore last night. He watched you maneuver the shirt to expose your collarbone that he wanted to run his lips across too,, “Okay, how do I look?” You turned to Jungkook and damn near took his breath away.

You were wearing his shirt like a beautiful dress and he fought the giddy smile from how proud you looked in doing so. The shirt had a very distinctive J.K. on the sleeve and he loved that you were branded by him, “Beautiful.”

You smiled softly, “Thanks,” You broke the trance once you saw the time creeping closer to your class, “Well I should go, I'll see you later!” You missed before grabbing your purse with the intent to buy a notebook and pen for the lecture and rushed out the door.

Jungkook smiled giddily as the door shut. Fuck, you were cute. Part of him was sad that you were in such a rush to leave, but so long as you wore his shirt, he found peace. He turned to gather his things for a shower. He first grabbed his phone to see that you were typing on the messenger. He texted Namjoon a bit for useless advice before his door opened. Before he could turn, two arms wrapped around his stomach.

Before he could instinctually think to pry the person off, he saw the familiar embroidered initials on your sleeve, “Thank you so much for last night.” You mumbled in the fabric of his shirt, “I could never repay you.”

Jungkook enclosed his arms around yours as he looked at the embroidered initials you held on the cuff of the flannel, and he smiled softly, “You doing this is repayment enough.”

“We have to meet up later, because I have a lot of questions, and I'm sure you do too." You nuzzled into his back before letting go, “I'll message you, okay?” You reached for the door.

“I'll look forward to it.” He called before you shut the door. He broke out into a goofy smile as soon as he heard your heels click on the carpeted halls of the apartment and to the front door before shutting it.

The cab you took back to campus cut the 15-minute walk to a 5-minute drive that gives your fast walk a chance to buy the notebook and pen you planned to get and get to class on time. You hated this class actually counted attendance towards a grade since it prevented you from a blissful morning with Jungkook.

Jungkook. You had to pause your thoughts for a moment to properly assess that the fact was Jungkook a factor in your mind that wasn't rooted in fantasy. He had talked you down and held you like it was his obligation, but the craziest part is that it was his choice. You hadn't spoken with him much beyond casual texts, so what inspired such compassion from him.

You propped your head on your palm as your anthropology professor’s words were put to your new notebook. It was the same formula in each class. He would lecture and then pose a question to discuss with someone for five to ten minutes and then lecture some more. Wash, rinse, repeat. The question was to discuss one's theory of evolution and you sighed before turning to your seat neighbor in the lecture hall.

“So, evolution happened, right?” Jisoo, a notably perky and preppy girl, looked at you as you nodded, “Cool, so we got the same theory right?” You shrugged, “Okay, anyway, why are you wearing Jungkook’s shirt?” She smirked at you.

You balked, “Wh-What?” Was all you could muster in the midst of the shock that clouded your brain.

“I know that signature monogram on the sleeve anywhere.” She pointed to your left sleeve and you gasped at the very blatant JK in white, “It cannot be replicated. Taehyung's girlfriend has a crazy precise hand and Jungkook’s family started buying from her.”

“What the hell?” You murmured as you studied the eloquent calligraphy that you somehow missed.

“No stress, I'm not some wannabe campus princess to the princes.” She went on, “But my annoying roommate is and I would just kill to tell her that another has been snatched up into monogamy.” She jeered lightly.

“Well, I-we-” You paused to try and find the words to explain the situation.

“Holy shit, you're the girl he was carrying last night, right?” Jisoo squealed among the hushed conversations of the students around you both, “You so are!” You felt your face heat, “The world is on my side today.” She beamed, “My roommate's sorrow fuels me.”

“Jungkook and I are not…” You didn't want to deny it because the possibility could be there if you played your cards right and prayed to each deity, so you settled with, “We aren't official or anything.” You said with a slight sorrow in your voice, “We didn't even… do anything last night.”

“He never gives his shirts to one night stands.” Jisoo stated matter-of-factly, “Plus he hasn't had anyone in like a month, it's only a matter of time before the other shoe drops.” She noticed your concerned look, “Yes, my roommate is this obsessed and never shuts the fuck up.”

“But we-” You were cut off by your professor bringing the lecture back into rhythm.

“Thank you, y/n, you've honestly made my day.” She held your hand briefly before returning to her notes.

As the day went on, you noticed something odd. You were being gawked at. If you were in a musical, all those whispers would be a very good intro into a song. However, you were not in a musical, because even this was just too outlandish. It was constant whispering and side-eyes. Maybe it would have been easier if you and Jungkook had a label so that you could say an answer to the occasional interrogation you faced instead of sputter a non-committal one.

Finally, you finished your classes for the day and confirmed with Jungkook you would meet at his place. The day was breezy, so you figured a walk wouldn't kill you. That is until you saw Jungkook in the courtyard walking away from the usual table he frequents with a smile plastered on his face.

Maybe it was the way the light hit him or the fact that he was so breathtaking you felt your throat dry. A wave of embarrassment that neglected to hit you this morning engulfed you. For goodness sake, you were parading around in his monogrammed shirt with nothing but your bra and underwear beneath it. Not to mention the fact you were stockings too. What the fuck was going on? You are not his girl, so why were you even entertaining the idea? The shame you felt for even feeling like you could be something was drowning your short-lived self-confidence quickly. You wanted to run back to your dorm and hide.

On second thought, that sounded like a great idea.

You opted to make a beeline for your dorm as inconspicuous as possible, seeing as it was in the direction Jungkook was heading in. You assumed he was going to his car in the student lot that was in front of your building. Go figure.

Your lack of knowledge when it came to Jungkook’s feelings for you did you in. He had tunnel vision. He swore it was some unspoken soulmate connection that always seemed to train his eyes right to your meek form not so subtly fast walking past him. A small smile formed on his face as he jogged up to you.

Your anxious tunnel vision prevented you from noticing the man walking next to you with a grin slapped onto his face, “Slow down, princess, I'm in some pretty heavy combat boots.” His deep voice made you jump and completely miss your footing, making your knee strive to make contact with the concrete. Strong hands held you up before that could happen, though. This lead you into a half-kneeling position before those hands pulled you upright.

“Sorry.” You huffed out, watching your breath dissipate in the air.

Jungkook looked down at your chest unsteadily rising and falling, “Hey, hey, it's okay.” He spoke softly into your ear as his hands reached for yours from behind and he pressed against you so you could feel his chest as he breathed deeply. He smiled at how you relaxed ever so slightly, “Good girl.” He mused as he watched your chest rise and fall a little more steadily.

“People are staring.” You mustered shyly, “They might think-”

“I want them to.” He stated firmly and it made you shiver, “Come on, let's go talk.” He stepped next to you, his left hand remaining intertwined with your right one as he pulled you lightly in his direction.

Your feet moved on their own accord as your mind tried to add up how the hell Jeon Jungkook knew how to: 1. Recognize when you were plagued by the bubbling of an anxiety attack and 2. Bring you back down from boiling over. There was too much going on and the shame that was squeezing at your throat began to loosen its grip as your tightened on Jungkook’s.

Jungkook smiled at you as you both walked through campus and to his evidently expensive car, “It's a bit much, but I bought it when I was 18, what do you expect?” He chuckled a bit as he opened the passenger door for you. You silently cursed to yourself at how weak in the knees he made you.

“My car predated me before it was totaled.” You chuckled a bit at the stark difference between every aspect of you and Jungkook.

Jungkook chose not to ask you what you meant by totaled. He didn't want to bring back harsh memories of what he could only assume was a death-defying car crash. All the signs were there from the way you tense when somebody yells or some idiot crushes a tin can obnoxiously. He's watched you long enough to know how to put two and two together. Almost everything you do has a reason.

The seats in his car were a deep black leather that reminded you of some cosmic wormhole you could get lost into. It was like a portal into another realm, but there was a slight sting in your nerves at the thought of how many women have sat in the same seat as you with a much heavier mood than this one.

Heavy.

It was now that the weight of your situation hit you harder than ever. Jungkook’s hand had made its way onto your own at some point. Odds are, the way his thumb was rubbing on your palm was the only thing keeping you from dry heaving the anxiety attack you've been swallowing down for the past 10 minutes. You wanted to hate yourself for being so susceptible to his touch. It felt so pathetic. Like you were some charity case or minor piece of some teen movie bet he made with his friends.

There was no way this shit could be real.

That's what you kept repeating to yourself the whole way to his apartment. Even when walking through the very nice building and waiting for the glass elevator. Up the 7 floors, you unintentionally counted and finally to the mahogany door that read 709 in gold numbers.

The living room was quite wonderful. A color palette of black and white reigned throughout. It was very indicative of the serious side of him. However, occasional knick-knacks and posters told you there was a side of him most people don't see, one that you have only seen a small semblance of.

All this, unfortunately, wasn't enough to quell the tightness in your chest as you tried not to obsess over how taboo this all feels.

“Jungkook.” Your mouth spoke before you could stop it. The man in question snapped his head up at the sound of his name, but more so the sound of your voice. Now with his undivided attention, you had no words.

This isn't right.

What is going on?

Is this some sort of sick joke?

Do you always do this?

Instead, all that came out was, “Wh-Where'd you get this candle?” You could beat the shit out of yourself and still not be satisfied as you pointed at the strawberry mint candle with the shakiest of hands. You made a complete 180 as you faced your back to Jungkook to admire the glass candle that obviously had a store name on the label.

Jungkook smiled knowingly. You were so cute. So nervous, scared, confused, and all you could ask was where he got a candle. You were on guard, and he was sane enough to understand why. It made sense. However, sanity only stretches so far between him and his group of friends.

There was an overwhelming presence in the air around you and you couldn't pinpoint why it was so apparent until you felt a rock hard torso press into you, “It was a gift.” Your breath hitched at the gruff voice behind you as you felt Jungkook's nose survey your neck, “But I don't think you care about it that much, hm?” You shuddered when you felt the vibration of his question against your neck.

“H-Hm…” Was all you could muster as your knees nearly locked.

“Fuck.” Jungkook growled as his hands locked in the front of your hips, pulling you flush against him, “I'm really trying to take it slow here, and you are making me so fucking hard.”

You gulped and only then did you realize you were salivating, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.” You said before immediately regretting it. Why couldn't you ever go with any flow?

The tension snapped with a hearty laugh and a kiss on the top of your head, “Son of a bitch, you are so cute.” He mused, spinning you to face him, “I'm sorry if I scared you, I just…” A hint of red dusted his cheeks as his brown eyes darted across the room, “Feel so much for you.”

While you could infer as much considering the past 24 hours, you could not deduce, “Why?” You blurted out, “Not to sound annoying, but I genuinely don't get it.”

“You are so genuine.” Jungkook looked in your eyes, more confident now, “Everything about you is so honest and yet there is so much more I could only see now that I am this close to you.” It was then you realized his nose had been touching yours and there was an almost magnetic pull that caused you to tilt your head up and flutter your eyes closed.

This was it. This was his chance to burst out laughing and talk about how dumb you look. It was now or never, really. He still had time to pull back and kick you out. It would be so much easier for both of you.

However, your thoughts were quickly shut down by plush lips meeting your own. Jungkook's hands gripped your hips as he brought you closer and deepened the kiss. This spurred you to travel on hand up to his chest and the other to the back of his neck and you brushed through his hair, making him groan into your mouth. Before you could even think, your tongues were intertwined, no fight for dominance needed. It was a dance and you happily gave Jungkook the lead.

After a millennia of exploring each other's mouths, you both pulled back ever so slightly to breathe, “I don't want anyone else to see this much of you.” Jungkook's breathed as his hand went to stroke your warm cheek, “Too precious, so beautiful.” He mused, “I want you for myself.”

“Me?”

“You.” Jungkook confirmed, “Be mine.”

“This doesn't make sense-” You shook your head, trying to break from the trance he had you in but his hands that cupped your face kept you trained on him.

“Do you want to be mine?” He asked firmly, “Because I know I want to be yours more than anything.” This made your breath hitch, “I want to be the only one who can touch you, kiss you, hold you, fuck if I had it my way I would be the only one able to even look at you.”

“Jungkook where is this coming from-”

“Do you want to be mine?” He asked sternly, “Answer me honestly, princess.” He spoke firmly as you were forced to look into his eyes.

“I do, but I-” You were cut off with a heart-melting kiss. The only thing you could think of was that you were his.

The kiss was Jungkook telling you everything you needed to hear. He was pacifying you and it was liberating to be cared for. It had been you looking after yourself for so long. His hands went under your thighs and you wrapped your legs around him. He held you so tightly, you felt safe. You felt safe as he kissed down your neck

You were lost in the feeling of his lips against your skin until you heard your shoe drop, "Kook." Was all you could muster but it was enough for him to pull away for a moment, breath heavy and pupils blown. The sight of him being so fucked out after just kissing shook you to your very core, "D-Don't trip on my shoe-" You sputtered as your other shoe fell too, "Shoes, I mean." You smiled sheepishly as you watched the corner of his lips twitch before a cheesy smile sprung into his face. The mood in the room shifted dramatically and cursed yourself, "Oh I didn't mean to fuck up the mood, I want to do...it...with you-" You paused and huffed in frustration, still avoiding eye contact, "I sound so dumb, can you just… shut me up?" You finally gained the courage to look at him, pupils still blown, mouth agape in a short smirk, and his tongue made an appearance to swipe across his bottom lip.

Jungkook simply shifted you to where you could feel his bulge against you clothed core and you gasped at the sensation, "Oops." He shrugged before diving back into your neck.

"Shit." You moaned out, pressing yourself harder against his erection. With this movement, you felt the vibration of a growl against your neck as your back pressed harder against the wall.

In this frenzy of sensations, your eyes only shot open when one of Jungkook's hands slipped past your underwear to rub your sex, fingers instantly coated in your juices. Both of you groaned in tandem at the sensation.

Jungkook could barely work through his thoughts. Everything he had been doing was purely primal. The innate ecstasy of having your lips on his clouding his mind and when he felt how wet you were, he could no longer hold himself back. His filthy thoughts were coming to a head as one of his fingers slipped into you with such tantalizing ease. He leaned his head up to lick the shell of your ear and you let out another delicious gasp at your own sensitivity, "Fuck, you're so wet." He growled into your ear, finger pushing in and out, "I slipped in so easily, and yet, your pretty little pussy keeps sucking my finger back in." He pushed another finger in, "What a greedy little thing you are, hm?:

Your mouth popped open, tongue sticking out ever so slightly as Jungkook fucked your pussy with only two fingers. Your face was red from his explicit words in your ear, but you by no means wanted him to stop, "Please, Kook, I want you inside me."

At your pleading, he curled his fingers up, "What?" He mused tauntingly, "This isn't enough?"

You shook your head, "I want you so bad." You moaned out as he slipped a third finger in.

"How bad?" His voice was husky in your ear before turning to look at your face. His resolve to tease you was shaken drastically at your lewd expression.

"I need it!" You cried out, feeling your high creeping closer, but not wanting to achieve it before you became one with him, "I want your cock inside me so bad!" You moaned out and in an instant, Jungkook freed his hardened erection out only to rip your panties to rub around your exposed opening.

"Ask nicely." He teased, despite his voice very evidently being strained.

"Please fuck me, Jungkook!" Your eyes rolled back as you felt him push inside you with a satisfied grunt when you were filled to the hilt.

The feeling of being so full was intoxicating and when he began thrusting something awoke within you as your arms locked around your neck to allow you the leverage to bounce up and down as he held you up in the air, "Fuck, baby." He moaned out as your hips worked wildly on his dick, "So fucking good to me." He managed before moaning out again as your nails dug into his shoulder.

He felt the need to put you in your place as he turned to lay you both on the sofa, him above you, pounding mercilessly hands ripping the flannel on your body open, the clatter of the buttons falling on deaf ears as he pulled your bra down to suck on your nipple while he fucked you into oblivion, "I've waited so long to feel you around me, fuck." He was in bliss as his hips snapped against you.

His hand went to pinch your other nipple as you began to tighten around him. His hips were beginning to stutter as you both approached your orgasms.

"You gonna cum around me, princess?" He began to thrust harder as you could only let out a choked moan, trying to nod in response, "Do it, baby, cum for me." You didn't need to be told twice as the swirling in your stomach snapped and your well-deserved release came as your vision went white, a scream ripping from your throat.

Feeling you around him was intoxicating. He could hardly control his hips as he ground against you, needier than he had ever been in his life. He was chasing his release, but he also wanted to be inside you like this forever. You were panting as his mouth wrapped around your nipple and you clenched around him. This spurred Jungkook to reach his peak that much quicker with his hips barreling into you until he came with a low moan, hips thrusting spastically as you and he rode out the sensation together.

Your chest heaved as you tried to regain your senses. Jungkook pulled out slowly as you grimaced at the sensation.

He let out a breathy chuckle against your ear at this, "Trust me, baby, I'd kill to stay inside…" He trailed off jokingly as you scrunched your nose with a laugh.

He smiled at you before he made quick work of the condom you hadn't even known was there before redressing himself. You fell asleep, memories of him dressing you in a large T-shirt and slipping a pair of boxers up your legs hazy at best.

Finally, for the second time in 24 hours, you were carried to his bed.

Jungkook slept like a rock with you in his arms, knowing that you were safe and finally his. He wouldn't be surprised if a pleased smile was brushed across his mouth the entire night. The post-sex glow only adding to the grandiose pleasure of carrying you into his bed again. He had been so close to losing you so many times, but in the end, it only proves you both were meant to be. He loved you. He knew that much, and confidently. However, that confession would have to wait. He didn't want to even think of overwhelming you or scaring you away.

You woke up much more naturally than you were used to. You flicked your eyes upward only to see the sun void in the sky. You looked at Jungkook's clock to see it was 4:00AM. You sighed dreamily as you looked at Jungkook. He looked more boyish when he was asleep, his domineering aura not present at the moment. You propped yourself up on your elbow as you studied his face at the moment. You lightly poked his cheek with an amused glance.

Not wanting to seem creepy, you opted to get water and then go back to bed. You softly tossed the covers off your body, and all was well until you stood up. Your standing time clocked in at 5 seconds and your walking time at 2 as you crumbled to the hardwood, thighs slapping against it, "Shit!" You blurted, forgetting how long it's been since you had sex.

Jungkook woke up immediately. He sprang into a sitting position as he looked around the darkroom for your form once he realized you weren't next to him, "Baby?" His voice was so much deeper, sleep still present and you would've been a lot more turned on if you weren't on the floor, "Y/n?!" He was growing more panicked until he heard you.

"Here." You raised your hand and his eyes darted to the direction if your meek voice.

"Princess?" He was more confused this time as his legs swung over the bed to reach your crumbled form, "What are you doing here, huh?" He looked down as you, legs splayed on either side, "Not trying to run from me, are you?" He laughed nervously.

You didn't catch his tone and shook your head, "Can we just say I like the floor and not that I can't walk straight?" You lifted your hand, asking for help. You could see his smug smirk as he leaned down to pull your arms so he was holding you much like he was not long ago, "I just wanted water." You mumbled through pouting lips.

"We can go get some." He held the smirk on his face as you clung to him. He walked with you to the kitchen like that, setting you on the counter before handing you a glass. He stroked your thighs as you tipped the glass between your lips.

You gave him a smile, wet lips glistening as you offered him the glass, "Want some?" He shook his head with a blissful smile as he gave you a slow kiss.

You pulled apart, sipping on the water while Jungkook watched the skin of your thighs in his hands. He squeezed them, enjoying how you looked under his touch, how liberating it felt to touch you all he wanted, "You're so fucking beautiful." He breathed, leaning down to place a kiss on top of your right thigh, before moving to the other. It was softer than he envisioned.

"Kook?" You questioned as you set the glass down on the granite. He placed his hands on your knees, spreading them slowly, placing kisses up your knees. You breathed hitched as he reached your inner thigh, only to deflate when he moved to the other knee.

"Your skin is so soft." He nearly moaned against your thigh, and it wasn't until he was just a couple kisses from your core that he let out a hearty moan, "You smell so fucking good." He growled out as you felt his nose press against your clothed pussy. He stretched the material of the briefs and you felt the pressure of the taut fabric against you. You bit your lips at this, "Can I eat you out, baby?" His nose stayed at your center and you wondered how you weren't grossed out as his strongest hands spread you further, "I am a little… parched now that I think about it." He pulled away to give you a devilish smile as he put your legs over his shoulders.

"Can we at least go to the bedroom?" You whined, "This countertop looks really nice."  Jungkook breathed a small chuckle.

"I guess I can wait just a little bit." His eyes flicked back up to you from the definite wet spot on the white boxers he gave you, "Hold on tight."

Your eyebrows scrunched, "What do you- OH MY GOD!" Faster than you could blink, Jungkook grabbed you by the thighs and held your pussy against his face, legs locking behind his neck, and hands frantically going into his hair as you became much taller than you could ever imagine.

He groaned as you writhed against him, his mouth catching kisses upon your lips through the increasingly annoying item of clothing. You squeaked each time as he skillfully maneuvered his way back to the bedroom. His arms had locked against your thighs, keeping you on his shoulders as he shamelessly pressed you up against the wall to lick you through the fabric. The soreness was easier to ignore as you let bliss and pleasure overtake your senses.

"Not enough." You whined and felt Jungkook chuckle against you.

He laid you on the bed, "You're such a brat when you're horny." He teased before moving the boxers so quickly off of you he tore them.

"Rich coming from the Hulk here-FUCK!" You threw your head back when Jungkook licked a thick stripe on your clit.

"What was that, baby?" He placed a hand flat on your sex as you writhed against him.

"Please, Kook." You let out a strangled moan when the nickname sent him into a lovesick frenzy on your pussy. His mouth found home on your clit, and he groaned at the squeal that left your beautiful lips.

Jungkook could do this all day, all night. You were so undeniably gorgeous, and you tasted like heaven. You were his awakening. You were his savior. But most importantly, you were his. His main goal seemed to be memorizing the feel of you under his tongue. This was the most selfish head he has given to someone who was enjoying it so much. His dick was absolutely twitching at each time you squirmed, he tried to pull himself through his boxers and give himself relief, but he could only moan when his hands left his own appendage to hold your hips still. He almost lost it when you let out the cutest whine as he left your clit to kiss up your body.

"I was so close." You murmured, hands on your eyes. He wondered how you were still so shy despite screaming his name only moments ago.

He pushed the shirt up as his mouth set its course to your own, stopping to grab your breasts, tongue going to each nipple as you let out a soft gasp each time the muscle twirled around the sensitive buds. His mouth reached your neck as he sucked with a ferocity that would surely leave a mark. He licked the area of busted capillaries with a satisfied smile you could feel against your neck. Your arms lay on his shoulders, hands in his hair as his mouth lay on yours. You almost stopped him, not wanting to taste yourself, but you relented. His lips looked so kissable, and he actually wanted to kiss you.  You pulled him closer to you, feeling his bare dick on your equally bare core.

You gasped at the sensation. You both knew there was no way you could handle being penetrated again, but when his hips instinctively bucked, grinding his length along you, an alternative arrived. You nodded lightly, nibbling on his bottom lip. He grunted as his hips moved hesitantly again. He took your moan into his mouth and as a sign to keep going. He ground down hard and you almost threw your head back.

"Fuck." He growled as pressed himself against you, "You got me so fucking hard for you, princess." His lips moved against yours, "Can you feel how much I want you, baby?"

"Yes, yes!" You were being fucked into the bed and you loved the sensation of your body bouncing against him, his shaft against your clit making a delicious sensation for you, "I want you too, I-I-" You cut yourself off with a gasp of pleasure as your eyes rolled back. The very act of getting off by just grinding was so erotic, you could barely keep your tongue in your mouth, the heavy atmosphere too much for you not to taste.

"Oh, shit," He grunts as he rutted against you, "You what, baby, hm?" His hips moved expertly as you could feel yourself getting closer. You were losing your mind as he went to capture your lips again.

"I-fuck!" You moaned out as his thrusts became more desperate, "I love you so much, Kookie, fuck!" You lost your mind. You hadn't even thought of the words before they left your mouth with a moan.

Jungkook nearly saw white when he heard you say those words. Those wonderful little words. You were just like him, weren't you? So lonely, yet so sure of what you felt. You had to be, right? You were his, after all. You would continue to be.

He sped his movements up in the chase for his high and excitement at your confession, "Yeah? You love me?" You nodded weakly as the bed shook, "I love you so fucking much, baby." His lips moved against yours as he spoke, "Fuck, fuck-AH!" He cursed as he came, ropes of cum decorating your pelvis as you came, legs enclosing around his muscular body to keep him pressed against you. His hips moved ever so slightly as you both rode out your highs, chests heaving against one another.

When the morning came, Jungkook found empty sheets next to him, inciting another wave of panic as he sat up, checking the floor frantically. When you weren't there, he sprang up, ripping his bedroom door open, causing your form on the couch to jump, "Oh my!" You gasped, halting movements, needle and thread in hand along with a familiar flannel in your lap, "Never startle a seamstress." You placed your hand over your chest.

Jungkook was relieved, walking over to you wordlessly to plant a kiss on your lips and you smiled into it, "Never scare me into thinking you left." He mumbled against your mouth, stealing another kiss.

You nodded as he pulled away, "I'd never leave you, Kook." You smiled blissfully, "I may be a little crazy, but I'm not stupid."

Jungkook plopped on the sofa cushion next to you, "I know, baby." He was all too satisfied with your answer, "So what was so important I woke up alone?" He was still a bit pouty and you rolled your eyes.

"Well somebody, not gonna name any names," You glared at him, "Likes to rips things, such as buttons, off of a very lovely shirt." You gestured to the flannel in hand, "Ironically enough, you're a clothes ripper with a clothes fixer as a girlfriend who loves you enough to use said skills." You teased as he watched your hands expertly attach the buttons to the shirt.

"Well, I love you too, angel." He planted a kiss on your cheek as you reddened, "You don't have to fix the clothes, though." He pointed out and you shrugged, "Whatever I rip, I'll buy you an even better version of it." He breathed against your ear and you giggled. You almost forgot how unbelievably wealthy he was.

"Well, I like this shirt." You admired your work of the buttons, "It has sentimental value." You mused as you placed it and the sewing materials on the table.

Jungkook to the chance to pull you into his lap as you let out a squeak. He brushed his nose along your neck, admiring his markings before you laid your head against his chest, "You're so fucking cute." He sighed as you buried your head in his chest, "I hope you know I mean it." He breathed, "I love you."

You sighed dreamily, "I love you, Kook." You mused, "I never knew I did, but it feels like I always have."

He squeezed you a little tighter, "And always will." You nodded with a smile and your eyes closed, missing his serious expression.

Jungkook was not messing around anymore. You were his now. He had everything he needed, and he would go to the ends of the Earth to keep it that way. You would hardly leave his sight, and he would give you the world. All you had to do was love him, be with him, stay near him, and he could ensure your wildest dreams would come true. You were his wildest dream, after all, it's the least he could do to pay you back for spending the rest of your life with him, right?

#yandere bts #yandere jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #yandere smut #bts fanfic

[witharsenicsauce]

Two Hunters, Both Alike in Sympathy (SFTD/Chosen Stories Crossover)

(I know this is a couple days late, but happy belated anniversary to @grace-kohai and her wonderful story! Inspired by a year of happenings over at the SFTD Discord, thank you for giving my Gur-Rai an even bigger family!)

Content Warning: This story has mentions of relationship/parental abuse

Mordenna heard her footsteps before he saw her, and as the cloak melted away to reveal Kon-Mai Mordenna, he knew she had wanted him to find her.

He stepped away from his workbench and turned, smiling warmly until he saw her face: lined with worry. “Something troubling you, sister of mine?”

Kon-Mai nodded and stepped closer. “Mordenna…” She hesitated saying his name “-I’m sorry, it feels strange to use that to refer to someone else.”

“It’s a good name, I’m glad to share it with you.” He chuckled. “But I don’t think you’re here to discuss that.”

“No, I am here to discuss my brother...our brother. Gur-Rai.”

“Oh yeah?” Mordenna raised a brow, intrigued. “What about him?”

“You two have been spending a lot of time together.” She said, leaning on the bench. “Do you think he trusts you, Mordenna?”

Mordenna blinked. “I hope I haven’t given him any reason not to.” He said. Truthfully, he had been spending more time with Gur-Rai than the others, but that was only because the younger Hunter always seemed to seek him out, especially in the workshop. And Mordenna had to admit, Gur-Rai was a nice workshop buddy, and he wasn’t going to say no to a (particularly skilled) extra set of hands. True, Gur-Rai was also a bit more…intense than Mordenna was, but in him was a kindness that the Elders seemed not to have been able to stamp out. Mordenna found solace in that.

“I assume you have heard tell of his newest lover.” She curled her lip on the last word. “The Rookie, Emil.”

Mordenna thought for a moment. “...I haven’t been upstairs in a minute.”

“He was the one throwing a tantrum in the halls two days ago, because nobody could fix his Gewehr 98/40.”

“Oh. Oh.” Mordenna hissed. “That guy. Served him right for bringing a bolt-action to a plasma fight.” He then thought for a moment. “...Gur-Rai’s dating him?”

“Gur-Rai managed to fix the gun.” Kon-Mai elaborated. “And I suppose Emil whispered some sweet nothings into my brother’s ear that made him fall head over heels, like he does.”

“Is that why you look upset?” Mordenna asked.

“It’s why I am here to ask for help.” Kon-Mai replied. “I believe Emil is a liability to those of us on this ship, but more importantly I fear very much that he will lash out at my brother. That he’ll do something to hurt him.”

“So what do you need from me?” Mordenna leaned forward, both hands on the bench. “Because I’m not murdering someone over a tantrum. Trust me if I did, my blood trail would be thicker and stop much sooner.”

“I do not need him dead. Yet.” Kon-Mai hissed. “If it did come to that, I would not be calling on you. What I need help with is convincing my brother to let this rat of a man go before this relationship spirals into a sinkhole.”

Mordenna nodded. “And…why won’t he listen to you? He’s my brother too, but you’ve been around him longer than me.”

“That is why. I have developed a reputation for worrying about my brothers…” She brushed a strand of white hair behind her tiny ear. “...Perhaps to an excessive degree, I admit. If I confront him with this myself, I fear he will assume I’m being paranoid and disregard me, or worse: dig his heels in further.”

“And you actually think this guy is bad news?” Mordenna asked. “I’m not doubting your judgement, but if I’m stepping in, I need more proof than just ‘your sister thinks the guy is a prick.’”

“I would not trust him on a mission with any of our fellows.” Kon-Mai said. “He is volatile, he is argumentative and throws insults around like rice at a wedding. I would go so far as to say it seems like he is intentionally causing sabotage.”

Mordenna bit his lip. “Hearty claims, Kon-Mai.”

“I know they are. I have been staking him out myself but only recently, in case he truly does pose a threat. But in the meantime…” She clasped her hands. “I just want to be assured my brother is safe.”

“Well how about this, I’ll check up on Gur-Rai. If it seems like he needs help, I have ways of making sure nobody messes with him.” He shuffled forward. “But I can’t promise anything.”

“Just…as long as you try.” Kon-Mai bowed to him. “Thank you, Mordenna. I owe you so much.”

“You just owe me one thing.” He opened his arms. “Come on. Being siblings means you gotta pay your dues.”

Kon-Mai rolled her eyes and embraced him, giving him a squeeze almost as strong as Jax would.

.

.

Mordenna was originally going to find Gur-Rai when he was done with his project, but he didn’t need to. Behind him, the door slid open, and as he turned around, he saw Gur-Rai shamble inside, that stupid German rifle in his arms and eyes cast to the floor.

Mordenna’s heart dropped and his brows went up. “Hey, little brother.” He said, trying to sound casual so as not to scare him, but Gur-Rai still startled.

“Hey.” He gave Mordenna a quick, unsure smile and then took up one of the benches, quickly getting to work on the gun. Mordenna peeked over and caught a glimpse of a huge chunk of the wood splintered off, and the metal underneath was bent and peeling away.

“You still messing with that thing?” Mordenna murmured. “I’d just let it go. That gun is older than me.”

“Aw. You’re not old.” Gur-Rai muttered, his voice lacking it’s usual chirp.

“I’m older than you.” Mordenna put down his own project and slowly moved around the bench. “I just hit my fifties and am still going strong.”

Gur-Rai stopped and looked up. “...No way. You’re lying.”

“It’s true. I was in my thirties when the Elders nabbed me.”

“I think even I was younger than that.” Gur-Rai looked interested. “You must’ve been a great shot, for an old timer~”

“I would’ve taught you everything I knew.” Mordenna patted his hood, mindful not to pull it down at all. “I know your Volk is being an asshole and that’s his loss. I’d be proud of you, Gur-Rai. Even after all that, you haven’t lost that spark in your eye yet.”

Gur-Rai fell silent and stared down at the gun on the table. “...Really?”

“Yeah. You’re not as jaded as me, that’s for sure.” Mordenna chuckled. “Take my advice, now that the Elders aren’t holding your leash, hang onto that spark. It’s a wonderful thing you got there, and it makes people really happy to see.”

“What do you mean it makes them happy?” Gur-Rai grabbed some pliers and began pulling off the damaged wood. “And be straight with me, Mords. I don’t want jokes right now, and I really don’t want pity.”

Mordenna paused. “...Hey.” He put his hand closer to Gur-Rai’s arm, almost dangerously so. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t want anyone else telling me how good a person I am when clearly, that is not the case.” With a crack, the remaining wood broke into two pieces and flew across the table. “At best? I’m annoying and childish, and at worst I’m a psychopath who uses humor to forget the horrible things I’ve done, and the latter is probably the most accurate.” He tossed the pliers aside. “Nobody is getting joy from this ugly mug, Mords. Only the Elders do, when they hear me scream.”

Mordenna paused, knowing he’d just hit a huge nerve and would have to proceed slowly. Luckily though, it also seemed like he unearthed something. “Do you really think of yourself that way?” He said softly. “Or is that what someone told you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.” Mordenna put his hand on Gur-Rai’s shoulder. “Put down the tools for a minute. We gotta talk.”

“Talk? About what?” Gur-Rai turned to face Mordenna. “I already know where babies come from.”

“Well that’s good but that’s not what I mean.” Mordenna leaned against the bench beside him. “Does all this have to do with that broken gun at all?”

Gur-Rai sighed. “...It was my fault.”

“Doubt it. But continue.”

“Emil was trying to fix a chip in the wood, I couldn’t really tell what he was doing, and I reached around to kiss him and...I guess I knocked the gun, and something came loose…” He gestured to the table.

“And your giving him a kiss managed to bend the metal?” Mordenna sounded skeptical.

“No, just chip the wood. The rest--the huge gash on the side and the metal--he did himself when he threw it at me.”

“He what.” Mordenna suddenly, deeply understood Kon-Mai’s worry. In fact, he was beginning to see red himself. “Over a scratch on a gun that should have been decommissioned before he was born?”

“I guess it’s a super important gun.” Gur-Rai muttered. “More important than me. And…yeah. I believe the exact words were ‘I could get any Muton with a dick twice your size and less of an attitude to fuck me, it’d feel exactly the same and be a lot easier.’”

Mordenna paused. “And then you offered to...fix his gun?”

“I mean, I broke it.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “And I just…” He pulled away from Mordenna, moving toward the middle of the room and stopping. “I’m gonna bring it to him later with some wine or something, he’ll take it all back…he’s been a sweetheart before, he made me feel…” From the crack in his voice, Mordenna could tell he was holding back tears. “Special. Chosen. And I went and fucked it up just like I did before.”

Mordenna knew of Gur-Rai’s other relationships (and the details, thanks in part to Gur-Rai’s prolific storytelling), but something about the way he said that felt different. It rang in Mordenna’s ears, loud and familiar.

“It’s not your fault that Camazotz hurt you.” Was all he said.

That seemed to do it. Gur-Rai curled in on himself like a shriveled up leaf, and began to shake violently as he sobbed into his hands. Mordenna came up behind him and put a gentle hand on his back, which then turned into him taking Gur-Rai by the shoulders and pulling him into a loose hug. Gur-Rai froze for a moment, still shaking, and then wrapped his arms around Mordenna so tight it almost made the latter cough. He buried his face in Mordenna’s shoulder and let out a weak, quiet sob.

“You didn’t fuck anything up.” He assured him, speaking to him as he would a comforting child. “Camazotz…maybe he thought he loved you, but what he did isn’t love. And it’s not how you treat your children. You didn’t deserve to be hurt by him, and you didn’t deserve a gun chucked in your face today.”

Gur-Rai sounded like he was trying to speak, but it came out as sobbing once again. Mordenna guided him over to a sitting bench and the two collapsed onto it, With Gur-Rai retreating into himself again until Mordenna unwrapped him from that knot and brought him back into his arms.

“I know how you feel.” He said. “God, I spent so long trying to get Odin to be proud of me. And sometimes he’d shell out little bits of praise, bits of affection that kept me hanging on just that much longer, but that’s not enough. It’s not enough to occasionally say you love someone until they upset you, because people who really love you will love you even when they’re angry.”

Gur-Rai flinched at that. “God, please, no. I can’t…I don’t want anyone else to hate me.”

“Gur-Rai, this ship is full of people who love you.” Mordenna insisted. “Let's start with your siblings. Your sister loves you so, so much, you know that?”

“I make her worry.”

“She worries herself, which is her own problem. But she wants you to be safe and happy. Your brother too. And us.” Mordenna rubbed his back. “You’ve been spending so much time down here with me…I feel like we’ve been family forever.”

Gur-Rai hesitated…then he looked up and chuckled. “I mean, you are old enough to be my dad.”

Mordenna snorted, then smirked. “Okay, fine. As your new dad, I’m vetoing all of Camazotz’s previous rulings.”

“Wait.” Gur-Rai blinked. “...Mords. Mords you…” He shook his head. “You probably shouldn't…you know me, I’m a trainwreck on very long legs! I’ll give you a heart attack before you hit 55!”

“Do you realize who you’re talking to?” Mordenna chuckled. “If Odin had had hair, I like to think I’d have turned him grey years ago. I’m not intimidated by the concept of guiding a slightly younger, frankly more childlike version of myself.” His face softened. “If you want it.”

“I…” Gur-Rai swallowed. “I just never had a dad…like a real dad…what do I even do?”

“First off, you sit here and let me hold you while you cry.” Mordenna pulled Gur-Rai back into a hug. “And, when I tell you I love you…you believe me.”

“...Okay.” Gur-Rai squeezed Mordenna back, burying his face in the warmth of his father’s shoulder. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Good job. I…” Mordenna swallowed. “I love you, kiddo. Just as you are.”

As Gur-Rai settled in, and Mordenna gently rocked him back and forth, he began to plan out in his mind exactly what he would do to Emil when he was done down here. It had been a hot minute since Eliza had let him interrogate someone. 

And maybe he’d bring Kon-Mai along too. 

.

.

.

(I know SFTD will be reaching it’s final act sooner rather than later, let me just say again what an honor it has been to read it, to fully appreciate the Chosen and to get inspiration for my own story too! Hoping for more wonderful writings in the future!)

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom hunter #chosen hunter #mordenna is a good dad #gur-rai is just a boy

[septembercfawkes]

Tips on Writing a Great Short Story

Weeks ago I was asked to do an article on short stories, specifically. What makes a short story great? And how is it different from writing a novel?

To be honest, writing a novel and writing a short story are very similar in many ways, and most of the techniques I've written about on my blog apply: creating complex characters, writing great dialogue, utilizing subtext, including hooks . . .

Sure, there are some exceptions, as always. You can find famous short stories that don't really have complex characters, for example, but often such stories are really short stories--maybe by today's standard, considered flash fiction. Here is a famous flash fiction story:

For sale: baby shoes, never worn

Does that really tell us much about the complexity of the characters? Not really. But it does still have great subtext.

So keep in mind that there are always exceptions when it comes to writing, but they are just that, exceptions.

So let's got started.

Focus

One of the most important things about writing a short story is to keep it focused. Technically, novels should be focused too, but their focus has a broader range whereas short stories need to be narrower, like a flashlight beam compared to a laser beam. A common problem I've seen with newer writers is that they try to fit a novel-length concept into 50 pages. Problematic. Here are some ways to avoid that.

Limit Plotlines--In a novel, you will need a lot of plotlines to carry the story; if you don't have that, a novel will start to feel repetitious since it lacks variety for so many pages. But in a short story, you need to limit your plotlines.  Many short stories really have one plotline, with two components working closely together: the outer journey and the inner journey. Think about the premise or main concept of your short story, and keep a laser-beam focus on that. Aim to go deep into the concept, not broad on the topic.

Limit Your Characters--In a short story, you'll usually focus largely on one main character and that character's arc. The more focal characters you include, the more length you typically add. Sure, you can write a story with more than one focal character--you might be able to get away with maybe two. If you have more than that though, usually the focal characters--while individuals--have the same goals and function as a unit. As opposed to most novels, where each focal (or viewpoint) character may have somewhat different goals and more of their own, individualized journeys. (Again, keep in mind that everything in this post is generally speaking).

A good word of advice that gets pushed around in the industry, related to character and plot, is that in a short story, you should specifically write about the most important event that happened in that character's life. I don't know that I agree with this 100%, but it's a good thing to keep in mind when evaluating plot and character. Capture the most important event, which naturally means that it will be an event that changed the character.

Laser-Beam the Theme--Unfortunately, people still talk and treat theme like it's this elusive animal--something wild and beautiful, but dangerous if caged. In reality, the more you understand about theme, the more intentional you can be about it. It's only dangerous when you try to tame it improperly, because you don't understand it. For a recap on how theme actually works, check out this post, "How to Write Your Story's Theme"

Themes are fantastic for focusing stories (and especially in short stories that may seem to lack a feeling of . . . cohesion). And because a lot of people don't understand how to do them, you can really stand out if you master the theme in your story. Theme is what makes a story feel timeless. It sticks with us after we are done, so we aren't left closing the book and thinking, Well that was entertaining, time to get back to normal life! If you read five excellent stories, but only one of them has a powerful theme that changed you, guess which one you will think about long, long after you've finished it?

In a novel, you have room to explore a theme topic rather broadly. Consider all the ways the theme topics of mercy and justice are illustrated and explored in Les Mis. In a novel, you can also explore how the theme topic interacts with other theme topics, societies, and ideologies. In a short story, you are going to be more laser-focused. Take the classic fable of The Tortoise and The Hare--it stays laser-focused on really one illustration of the theme. It doesn't go into, say how in some situations in the real world, getting a head start can have benefits. So focus in on a particular rendition or two (but probably no more than three) of your thematic statement.

Often the most famous and powerful short stories are so great because they say something profound in a small amount of space. In a way, it's similar to poetry. Professional poetry isn't actually about using beautiful words (which is what a lot of people who have never legit studied it seem to think)--it's about capturing specific, significant ideas, concepts, and images, in a brief space, for maximum impact. Great short stories function in similar ways, except you have more room to develop a powerful thematic thread. It can be hard to impact a reader in such a short space with the characters and plot, but you can really hit them in the feels with the theme.

Significant Stakes

Like a novel, you need to make sure what you write in a short story holds significance--maybe even more so, since you have fewer words. Theme, as we touched on, lends significance to a story, but, in general, you'll want to make sure that what's happening in the plot, concretely, is significant as well.  Remember how I defined significance in my post on writing stakes (significance relates to stakes):

What makes something "significant"?

   1 - It has important personal consequences, or

   2 - It has far-reaching, broad consequences

In a short piece of fiction, my opinion is that you'll more likely be focusing more heavily on personal stakes/significance. Because it's a short length, it's difficult to properly and satisfyingly address very broad stakes/significance. Like anything, it has and can be done, but keep in mind that often in those cases, that means that, probably, the story opened with already rather broad stakes and a protagonist already involved in those--say the president of the United States. Unlike a novel, where you have hundreds of pages, it's difficult to really broaden the stakes in say 7k words and get the audience properly invested in the far-reaching consequences at the same time. Generally speaking.

So even if you are writing about the president making a key decision that will save people from the zombie apocalypse, in a short story, it will probably be more satisfying if it focused more on his personal stakes and experiences.

Exceptions to this would be a short story that is more focused on an intriguing idea or event or world, where the protagonist is what's called an "everyman" character, where it's the event and concept that is the real point. But today, in cases like that, I would say that the idea, event, or world must be quite exceptional to carry such weight. After all, the modern audience has consumed a lot of fantastical fiction already.

In broad stakes, because the audience doesn't have enough time to appreciate the build-up, they can't appreciate the outcome as much. They likely aren't as invested. In contrast, all of us are humans with relationships, personal hopes and fears, so we can become deeply invested in personal stakes much more quickly. The personal stakes, the inner journey, are what usually speak to our human experience.

However, with all this said, this is not to say you can't broaden stakes at all. All I'm saying is if you are relying on starting a short story with an ordinary, modern day and ending it with the entire world possibly being obliterated, and that's your main focus, it will be much harder to pull off, than a character with personal things at stake. But you can (and should) broaden smaller stakes to smaller degrees. And you can still broaden them quite a bit, but it will be more satisfying if you focus on the personal in those cases.

Wow, was that confusing? I hope not. Focus on going deep and personal more than broad and far-reaching.

Utilize Subtext

Subtext is vital for any good story (except, perhaps, stories for young children). But in short fiction (like poetry), it is particularly important, precisely because you are working with less space.

Subtext makes the story bigger than what's on the page. It also helps draw in the audience, inviting them to become a participator in the story. It can create a powerful impact, in less words. For an example, check back at that baby shoes flash fiction story. It says a lot, begs for interpretation, and has impact. Remember, one of the things that can make short stories memorable is how profound they can be in so little space.

But it's more than that. Unlike a novel, you won't have a lot of space in a short story for explanations. Sure, you should never have info-dumps, but in a novel, it's much easier to weave in information when you have more space to tell the story. In a short story, you need to explain and imply enough, and probably not much more than that.

For example, it's unlikely you will focus much on character backstories--unless, of course, the backstory directly affects what's unfolding (see my post on flashbacks), and that's the main plot of the story. But that doesn't mean you should scrap a sense of backstory completely, because we are still trying to give the impression that this world and its characters are real. So instead, you'll hint at the backstories through subtext.

In speculative fiction, something similar will happen with worldbuilding. Some elements don't merit much space, so you'll be using subtext, along with context, to help the audience understand enough. If the worldbuilding element is a main focus of the story, it will have more explanation. If it's more on the outskirts, it will have little. Use context and validation to limit confusion, and subtext to hint at a bigger world and deeper magic system.

In a novel, you may have more space to eventually bring more subtext content to the surface of the text to be explored and discussed. In a short piece of work, you will have less space and may never bring things to the surface--you need to let the reader get a sense or fill things in themselves, and be okay with that.

Generally, this means in short stories, the narrator will likely be doing less "hand-holding" of the audience, less guiding of the reader, and instead, leaving more room for them to come to their own conclusions.

Subtext also increases the story's re-read value, which may be particularly important to short fiction. Again, I'm relating this back to how poetry functions. It's short, but it's condensed. Poetry is meant to be read over and over again. Why? Because in good poetry, you will appreciate and understand it more each time. It has more in it, than the reader initially thought. Great subtext in stories creates a similar effect. Not only will most people not complain about reading "The Yellow Wallpaper" more than once, but by the end of the first reading, most people want to read it more than once, to see what other subtext they can pull out of it for new interpretations.

So in short fiction in particular, you need to rely and utilize subtext more.

Structure

An obvious way short stories are different from novels is in structure.

Or is it?

Novels are obviously longer, so they have longer and more complicated structures.

But really, when you look at the basics, the short story is usually rather similar, just a smaller scale.

In my post about scene vs. sequence vs. act, I showed how all of those segments actually have the same structure, and each one actually fits within a bigger structure:

And in reality, this shape permeates just about any small or large structure in anything (creatively) written successfully. It's like the equivalent of breaking down a number forever, into infinity: it's a whole story, it's an act, it's a sequence, it's a scene, it's a beat, it's a description. (More on that here.)

So yes, a short story works on a smaller scale, but it will, in some sense, almost always have this shape with these elements:

inciting incident

rising action (progressive complications)

climax

falling action/denouement

Decades ago, there was a school of thought that a great short story cuts off the beginning and the ending of the narrative and only gives the audience the middle, but really . . . on a smaller scale, the middle should still have this shape, if you are writing genre or commercial fiction. Think of it as the "Act II" in the plot image above. Sure, maybe there is more background (beginning) and more resolution (ending) in the big picture, but even the middle section should really still have an inciting incident, rising action, climax, and a falling action. So maybe it would be helpful for some to think of a short story as a single act, or a sequence.

In a sense, I personally believe you can really shrink down any "story structure" to the small scale. It's just that the inciting incident might happen in a single sentence, the pinch points in single paragraphs, The Ordeal in a page, etc. It's just a shorter space, with smaller and more simplistic things.

Of course, you will find stories that break the rule, but personally, I don't think you can go wrong with following this. And usually those that deviate and are well done are breaking the rule to good effect.

In some short stories, you can cut off the denouement. I've seen this done very well on a few occasions--great for short stories that are posing a thematic choice or decision to the audience, where perhaps the protagonist is an everyman character--but almost always, a story needs some denouement to be satisfying, even if it's only a few lines. While most people will tell you that the point of a denouement is to wrap up loose ends, I would strongly argue the true, structural purpose is to validate what has (or hasn't) changed in the story.

Bring Something New to the Table

As we've been talking about, with short stories, you need to impact the audience in less space. It's harder to do this if you aren't bringing anything original to the narrative. If it's just a repeat of what we've seen before, what's the point, really? And since it's a repeat, it won't hold as much power as our first experience with the subject. Instead, we'll be reminded of the first time we read a similar story, rather than just enjoying the story. I mean, I can't read a story about a protagonist discovering he's been dead the whole time without automatically thinking of The Sixth Sense and comparing it to that.

But if it's something fresh, it's like a whole new experience, or a playful twist on a familiar one.

Work to bring something new to the table.

Now, the original aspect doesn't have to be mind-blowing, so don't kill yourself trying to figure it out. When we say "original," we often think of the plot, premise, or overall concept, especially for speculative fiction. We might feel like we need to come up with something as original as Phillip Pullman who asked what it would be like if our souls lived outside our bodies. But originality can come from less obvious elements. An unexpected type of character thrown into a role we've seen a million times, for example. What if we made an old woman into a superhero instead? That brings something new to the table. It can sometimes just be a unique perspective or character voice that breathes fresh air into a tired trope. It might be an unexpected theme paired with a setup we've seen before.

People tend to think that originality means we must come up with something entirely new, but often it means we twist, turn, flip, combine what audiences are familiar with in new ways to make it fresh again, like I talked about when I did that post on obligatory scenes and conventions. Often what feels most original, is a familiar concept that has been pushed to an extreme, new direction, one we never imagined.

Navigating Slush Piles

Once you have your short story written, polished, and ready to go, you might think it's time to submit it for publication or a contest. Remember, about 80% - 90% of submissions get rejected in the first 1 - 5 pages. It sounds brutal to outsiders, but now that I've worked in the industry for this long, it makes sense; I can usually tell what level a writer is at within the first pages and most of them aren't writing at a professional level yet. That's okay, they just need to keep working at it. A professional is just someone who stuck with it.

There are a few things you should keep in mind though, to help you stand out. Follow the submission guidelines and make sure the manuscript is properly formatted. You'd be surprised how many submissions don't do those two things.

By the end of the first page, and especially by the end of the second page, we should have a clear sense of who the character is, when and where the story takes place, and a sense of the conflict. Maybe even a whiff of the theme topic as well. Sure, there are sometimes exceptions to that, but they are just that, exceptions. (Also, don't forget the main conflict may be the inner, personal journey in a short story, more so than the outer one).

If you want to read more about standing out in slush piles, I did a post about that here.

I hope this article is helpful to anyone wanting to writing better short stories.

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #short story #writing advice #writing help #writing reference #fanfic

[lgbtqiahistoricalromance]

Finishing Out Summer 2020 TBR List! - Updated 7/31

Starting back in March, I was adding novel after novel for purposes of reading during social distancing and Summer 2020. I’m hoping you all found some great reads, even if you haven’t been able to read them all. *Here is another batch to round out Summer 2020, and I’m thrilled by the selection that includes sapphic, trans MCs, and more eras and locations than any list to date.

Leather and Lace by Rebel Carter (Good Sky series #5) - May 20th - sapphic

Mary Sophia James came to Gold Sky, Montana to find a husband at the insistence of her overbearing mother. Striking out in spectacular fashion after setting her eye on Julian Baptiste, her options are dwindling, and time is running out. She needs to find a man to marry before her condition becomes…obvious. Her mother’s prejudices and sharp tongue aren’t helping matters and Mary, to her shame, hasn’t behaved much better. But all her plans are derailed when she spots the most beautiful person she’s ever seen across the town square. Alex Pierce is strong, intriguing, looks stunning in a pair of trousers…and a woman.

Gold Sky is accepting of all types of love, and that between women is no different. Still, Alex didn’t expect to be so floored by the sight of the firey haired, yet fragile looking young woman. Mary needs to be married and Alex has a solution. Because in Gold Sky, Montana there are many ways to be married…and not all of them include a man.

Leather and Lace is a 35k word novella set at the same time as the events of book 2, Hearth and Home. It includes a passionate and romantic f/f love in a town where diversity, and love, reign supreme.

Note : Leather and Lace has a bit of mail-order, arranged married, kind of secret baby with some foreced proximity sprinkled on top!

The Sugared Game by KJ Charles (The Will Darling Adventures #2) - August 26th

It’s been two months since Will Darling saw Kim Secretan, and he doesn’t expect to see him again. What do a rough and ready soldier-turned-bookseller and a disgraced, shady aristocrat have to do with each other anyway? But when Will encounters a face from the past in a disreputable nightclub, Kim turns up, as shifty, unreliable, and irresistible as ever. And before Will knows it, he’s been dragged back into Kim’s shadowy world of secrets, criminal conspiracies, and underhand dealings. This time, though, things are underhanded even by Kim standards. This time, the danger is too close to home. And if Will and Kim can’t find common ground against unseen enemies, they risk losing everything.

The Revolutionary and the Rogue by Blake Ferre - August 24th

Perrin deVesey knows pain. As a member of Crimson Rose, a secret club for men who love men, he’s taken the vow “to stand and shield.” Standing together during these perilous times is the only thing keeping their necks from the guillotine. Now their leader is using the club to rescue wrongly accused traitors. After losing a past lover to an unjust execution, the decision to support this treasonous cause is easy…until a devastatingly handsome Committee Officer complicates Perrin’s whole world. Officer Henri Chevalier hates aristocrats. But the man he finds while investigating Crimson Rose is more than just wealthy and fancily clothed. He’s a rogue that could take him to the heart of the uprising and stop it before it starts. His plan to get close to Perrin and steal his secrets backfires, though, when Henri finds himself falling for the damned aristo and his dangerous smile. His heart is even more conflicted as he learns the truth behind their cause…and the truth his own people have been hiding. Together they must make the choice—to stand and shield at any cost—and their love might be the deadliest weapon in all of France.

Healing Lance by MD Grimm (A Warrior’s Redemption #1)- July 28th

A baby’s laughter. A mind uncaged. Lance is known as Scourge, the warrior in the black armor, the dog of the warlord Ulfr Blackwolf. He was just a boy when Ulfr found him and molded him into the perfect weapon. He slaughters and pillages on command, merciless and numb, devoid of emotions. Then a baby girl laughs at him during a raid. And everything changes. When Gust, a talented healer, is out deer hunting and stumbles across a magnificent horse bearing a mortally wounded rider, he has no idea that his life is about to change forever. Gust applies all his skills to his patient, determined to save the rider’s life, and is rewarded when the man opens his eyes. As friendship, and more, bloom between warrior and healer, so does the danger over the horizon. Ulfr has not forgotten, and Lance must take his first steps on the long road to redemption.     

The rest of the series is either out this Summer or finishes in Sept!

Unhallowed: A Novel of Widdershins (Rath & Rune Book #1) by Jordan L Hawk - July 17th

Monsters. Murder. Librarians. Librarian Sebastian Rath is the only one who believes his friend Kelly O’Neil disappeared due to foul play. But without any clues or outside assistance, there’s nothing he can do to prove it. When bookbinder Vesper Rune is hired to fill the vacancy left by O’Neil, he receives an ominous letter warning him to leave. After he saves Sebastian from a pair of threatening men, the two decide to join forces and get to the truth about what happened to O’Neil. But Vesper is hiding secrets of his own, ones he doesn’t dare let anyone learn. Secrets that grow ever more dangerous as his desire for Sebastian deepens. Because Kelly O’Neil was murdered. And if Sebastian and Ves don’t act quickly enough, they’ll be the next to die.

My Heart’s in the Highlands by Amy Hoff - July 17th - sapphic - time travel

The year is 1888. Brilliant and beautiful, Lady Jane Crichton has fought the constraints of her Victorian Edinburgh upbringing to become one of the first women to attend university for medicine. Denied a degree because of her gender, she decides to marry a closeted gay man, providing him with political and social cover and herself with the time and money to pursue her scientific interests—one of which is a time machine. Jane’s machine works…but not exactly as she expected, and soon she has crash-landed in the 13th-century Scottish Highlands. There she is rescued by a wild, red-haired warrior woman, Ainslie nic Dòmhnaill, next in line to the chiefship of the great Clan Donald, the rulers of the Sea Kingdom of the Isles. Despite the constant threat of attacks from enemy clans, harsh winters and a touch of homesickness, Jane finds herself bewitched by this land, this time and this magnificent woman. The rough and warlike Ainslie also feels the magic and revels in a passion and love neither she nor Jane had ever imagined. But Jane is hiding a dangerous secret—one that threatens to tragically transform their Highland fairy tale.

Kinship and Kindness by Kara Jorgensen (A Paranormal Society Romance #1) - releases July 29th -trans MC

Bennett Reynard needs one thing: to speak to the Rougarou about starting a union for shifters in New York City before the delegation arrives. When his dirigible finally lands in Louisiana, he finds the Rougarou is gone and in his stead is his handsome son, Theo, who seems to care for everyone but himself. Hoping he can still petition the Rougarou, Bennett stays only to find he is growing dangerously close to Theo Bisclavret. Theo Bisclavret thought he had finally come to terms with never being able to take his father’s place as the Rougarou, but with his father stuck in England and a delegation of werewolves arriving in town, Theo’s quiet life is thrown into chaos as he and his sister take over his duties. Assuming his father’s place has salted old wounds, but when a stranger arrives offering to help, Theo knows he can’t say no, even if Mr. Reynard makes him long for things he had sworn off years ago. As rivals arrive to challenge Theo for power and destroy the life Bennett has built, they know they must face their greatest fears or risk losing all they have fought for. With secrets threatening to topple their worlds, can Theo and Bennett let down their walls before it’s too late?

More under the cut...!!!!

My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book #5 by JL Langley - releases August 10th

Bannon Thompson, talented artist and youngest son of the Duke of Eversleigh, is hastily shipped off after his latest indiscretion. After crashing on rural Skye, leaving him and his valet the sole survivors of a diplomatic mission, Bannon must navigate the complexities of a primitive clan society and take up a role he never wanted: helping a sexy Highlander ensure the safety of both their planets.

Laird Ciaran MacKay wants nothing more than to keep his clan safe from the off-world intruders who killed his father. Suspecting complicity among his own people, he has no choice but to trust outsiders from a spaceship crash—and he can’t seem to fight his attraction to the stubborn redhead. Drawn to the handsome laird, Bannon risks a bold affair. But there is more at stake than reputations as they find two lost Regelens and uncover the Intergalactic Navy’s plot.

Artful Deception by Jackson Marsh (The Clearwater Myseries Book #5)

“Deception. The lie that tells the truth."

A damaged painting tempts Lord Clearwater to a final battle with his arch-enemy, and it's not a summons he can ignore.

Archer must free his homicidal brother from incarceration and reinstate him to the title. He will be left humiliated and penniless, but free to live his life with Silas with no threat of exposure. The alternative is death.

Drawing inspiration from a work of art, Clearwater manipulates a series of illusions to stay one step ahead of the endgame. While James, Tom and Silas race to solve clues and reach Archer before the fatal deadline, the assassin, Dorjan, remains hot on his heels ready to kill.

The sixth book in The Clearwater Mysteries series brings back popular characters from previous adventures in a fast-paced, twisting mystery that can have only one of two possible endings.

Or perhaps one of three. After all, deception is the lie that tells the truth.

Ten or Fifteen Miles by BL Maxwell - May 27th

Tim Latham had only been riding for the Pony Express for a week before he has to show the new guy the trail. Being raised on a farm in the Sacramento area, the Pony Express gave him an opportunity to see more of the country beyond his family’s little plot of land. He loves everything about the job: the adventure, the scenery, and the speed. Racing the wind on the back of a horse was as close to perfect as he could imagine.

Jeremiah Rollins grew up in San Francisco under the shadow of his father's successful shipping business. But Jeremiah craves the adventure he reads about in the dime novels he can’t get enough of. On a whim, and despite his father’s disapproval, he signs up for the Pony Express and leaves his old life behind for the steep, rocky trails that cross the Sierra Nevada. Both men are excited to begin their journey on their first ride together to Nevada Territory. They set out, making their way from station to station, racing as fast as their horses can carry them, and their friendship grows every mile. They both wanted adventure, but they may end up getting more than they dreamed of. Every ten or fifteen miles brings new experiences, and new feelings that grow with each mile they pass. 

People Like Us by Ruby Moone (Winsford Green #2) - July 21st

Arthur Fitch clawed his way out of the violence and poverty of the slums of London to become a valet to the aristocracy. His ambition to secure a higher position led him to a disastrous appointment with a cold, brutal man, and when things come to a head, Arthur is forced to flee into a snowstorm to find safety. Joseph Wilkinson is the Winsford Green blacksmith. He has a good life, good friends, owns a thriving business, but at the end of the day when he goes home, loneliness consumes him. When he stumbles upon a small man determinedly trudging through the snowstorm, he invites him into his home to shelter. Arthur Fitch is older, smart-mouthed, and as prickly as hell. But, as Joe peels back the layers, he discovers a warm, funny, vulnerable man whose tastes in the bedchamber leave Joe gasping and desperate for more. Trouble is, having found the real Arthur Fitch, how can he convince him that life in a small town can be infinitely better than working for an Earl? That love really is possible for people like them? Particularly when Arthur’s past catches up with him in horrifying fashion.

Seaworthy bu KL Noone (Character Bleed Book #1) - August 1st - bisexual MC - contemporary, but with a lot of historical touches

An epic motion picture! A gay Napoleonic War love story! Ballrooms and battles at sea! Romantic happy endings on the silver screen! And a film that’ll change everything for its stars ... Jason Mirelli can’t play adrenaline-fueled action heroes forever. He’s getting older, plus the action star parts have grown a little thinner since he came out as bisexual. This role could finally let him be seen as a serious dramatic actor, and he needs it to go well -- for his career, and because he’s fallen in love with the story and the chance to tell it. The first problem? He’ll be playing a ship’s captain ... and he hasn’t exactly mentioned his fear of water. The second problem? His co-star: award-winning, overly talkative, annoyingly adorable -- and openly gay – box office idol Colby Kent. Colby’s always loved the novel this film’s based on, and he leapt at the chance to adapt it, now that he has the money and reputation to make it happen. But scars and secrets from his past make filming a love story difficult ... until Jason takes his hand and wakes up all his buried desires. Jason could be everything Colby’s ever wanted: generous and kind, a fantastic partner on set, not to mention those heroic muscles. But Colby just can’t take that chance ... or can he? As their characters fall in love and fight a war, Colby and Jason find themselves falling, too ... and facing the return of their own past demons. But together they just might win ... and write their own love story.

The Engineer (Magic & Steam Book #1) by CS Poe - May 28th

1881—Special Agent Gillian Hamilton is a magic caster with the Federal Bureau of Magic and Steam. He’s sent to Shallow Grave, Arizona, to arrest a madman engineer known as Tinkerer, who’s responsible for blowing up half of Baltimore. Gillian has handled some of the worst criminals in the Bureau’s history, so this assignment shouldn’t be a problem. But even he’s taken aback by a run-in with the country’s most infamous outlaw, Gunner the Deadly. Gunner is also stalking Shallow Grave in search of Tinkerer, who will stop at nothing to take control of the town’s silver mines. Neither Gillian nor Gunner are willing to let Tinkerer hurt more innocent people, so they agree to a very temporary partnership. If facing illegal magic, Gatling gun contraptions, and a wild engineer in America’s frontier wasn’t enough trouble for a city boy, Gillian must also come to terms with the reality that he’s rather fond of his partner. But even if they live through this adventure, Gillian fears there’s no chance for love between a special agent and outlaw. Based on the short story, “Gunner the Deadly.” Entirely revised, newly expanded, and Book One in the exciting new steampunk series, Magic & Steam.

Pirate’s Promise (Pirate’s of Port Royal Book #1) by Jules Radcliffe - May 12th - the rest of the series is also out this Summer!

Press-ganged as a boy, Job Wright must learn how to live as a free man.

For years Job has been a captive, treated as a servant—and sometimes more—by a crooked merchant crew. Until the day his ship is attacked by pirates. English pirates, no less, and Brethren of the Coast, a brotherhood of free men who owe allegiance to no one but themselves. Job thinks he's been rescued at last, but he's badly mistaken. As an Englishman aboard a Spanish ship, the Brethren believe he's a traitor and an enemy. But just when pirate justice is about to be delivered, Garrett Dubh intervenes. He both saves Job's life and recruits him to the pirate ship Audacious.

Surrounded by a fearsome crew, Job finds protection under Garrett's wing. He's ready to do anything for the handsome pirate—things he'd never willingly do for another man. But Garrett ignores Job's shy overtures. He believes Job is too traumatised by his past. Too young to know what he wants. And nothing Job says will change his mind.

To show Garrett he can take care of himself, Job leaves the safety of the Audacious. He joins the most ruthless Brethren crew in the Caribbean, led by the enigmatic and cruel Rusé.

But in the French pirate haven of Tortuga, thoughtless actions can have fatal consequences, something Job is about to discover. And this time, Garrett isn't there to save him.

Chasing a Legacy by D. A Ravenscroft - May 2020

Against the tense political backdrop of the Second French Empire, siblings Camille and Marianne find themselves wrestling with personal demons both past and present. As Camille strives to keep family secrets buried and unveil a plot against them, Marianne becomes involved with the handsome Baron Auclair and his mysterious younger sister. Little do the siblings know that soon their very different lives will come crashing together…

-

The sequel to a sequel! In this follow up to the unofficial Les Mis sequel ‘Chasing a Ghost’, we follow Enjolras and Grantaire’s children, Camille and Marianne, through dangers untold and family strife. Set in 1866, towards the end of the Second Empire, this story has murder, mystery, romance, drama, comedy, and a pet lion. And yes, it’s very, very queer.

https://www.lulu.com/en/gb/shop/d-a-ravenscroft/chasing-a-legacy/paperback/product-y58wrq.html

Two Rogues Make a Right by Cat Sebastian (Seducing the Sedgwicks Book #3) - June 23rd

Will Sedgwick can’t believe that after months of searching for his oldest friend, Martin Easterbrook is found hiding in an attic like a gothic nightmare. Intent on nursing Martin back to health, Will kindly kidnaps him and takes him to the countryside to recover, well away from the world. Martin doesn’t much care where he is or even how he got there. He’s much more concerned that the man he’s loved his entire life is currently waiting on him hand and foot, feeding him soup and making him tea. Martin knows he’s a lost cause, one he doesn’t want Will to waste his life on. As a lifetime of love transforms into a tender passion both men always desired but neither expected, can they envision a life free from the restrictions of the past, a life with each other?

Best Laid Plaids by Ella Stainton (Kilty Pleasures #1)- August 31st

In 1920s Scotland, even ghosts wear plaid.

Welcome to a sexy, spooky new paranormal historical series from debut author Ella Stainton.

Scotland, 1928

Dr. Ainsley Graham is cultivating a reputation as an eccentric.

Two years ago, he catastrophically ended his academic career by publicly claiming to talk to ghosts. When Joachim Cockburn, a WWI veteran studying the power of delusional thinking, arrives at his door, Ainsley quickly catalogues him as yet another tiresome Englishman determined to mock his life’s work.

But Joachim is tenacious and openhearted, and Ainsley’s intrigued despite himself. He agrees to motor his handsome new friend around to Scotland’s most unmistakable hauntings. If he can convince Joachim, Ainsley might be able to win back his good name and then some. He knows he’s not crazy—he just needs someone else to know it, too.

Joachim is one thesis away from realizing his dream of becoming a psychology professor, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, not even an enchanting ginger with a penchant for tartan and lewd jokes. But as the two travel across Scotland’s lovely—and definitely, definitely haunted—landscape, Joachim’s resolve starts to melt. And he’s beginning to think that an empty teaching post without the charming Dr. Graham would make a very poor consolation prize indeed…

The Gentleman’s Thief by Isobel Starling (Resurrectionist Book #2)

Tuesday 28th December 1897. Mr. Benedict Hannan, the owner of Hannan’s Auction House in Fitzrovia, London, receives an unexpected visitor at his Bloomsbury home. The man on his stoop sends Benedict’s heart into a flutter, and on inviting the mysterious stranger into his house, he is inviting mystery, adventure, and volcanic desire.

Sebastian Cavell—master thief, gives the impression he has sought out Benedict for the sake of business, but the kind of business Sebastian has in mind has nothing to do with making money!

Cavell has been tasked with finding the whereabouts of a missing German aristocrat. With Benedict’s society connections, Sebastian gains access to his Gentleman’s Club and to men whose behavior is not so gentlemanly!

Benedict is pulled into the circle of a dangerous secret society and he not only learns the truth about the mysterious Sebastian Cavell, but learns the truth about himself and all he truly desires.

The Curse of the Mummy’s Heart by Julia Talbot - June 30th

Something is rising in the desert sand, and between two adventurous men.

Famous 1920s Hollywood actor Douglas Fitzhugh and his brother Donnie are headed for Egypt on a classic monster movie quest. Their mysterious benefactor, a man they call Grant, has sent them to find a stranded archaeologist, and all they have to go on is a handwritten journal. That's just the kind of adventure Douglas loves, and he never passes up the chance to get away from his studio-driven life.

Charles Angeloff is also on his way to Egypt with a special object his father has asked him to return to the tomb he ripped it from. Charles is just out of university, and when he meets Douglas, he falls hard for Douglas' charm and his worldly ways.

As they travel, more men of adventure join them: a cowboy, a rich seminary student, and a librarian. When they're all together, it's like magic happens, and the men all realize they're on a mission to stop the horror that stirs beneath the desert sands, even as that creature sets its sights on Charles. Will Douglas and Charles lose each other just when they've found what they both think is the man they want to be with forever?

Starcrossed: A Paranormal Historical Romance (Magic in Manhattan #2) by Allie Therin - May 18th

When everything they’ve built is threatened, only their bond remains… 1925 New York Psychometric Rory Brodigan’s life hasn’t been the same since the day he met Arthur Kenzie. Arthur’s continued quest to contain supernatural relics that pose a threat to the world has captured Rory’s imagination—and his heart. But Arthur’s upper-class upbringing still leaves Rory worried that he’ll never measure up, especially when Arthur’s aristocratic ex arrives in New York. For Arthur, there’s only Rory. But keeping the man he’s fallen for safe is another matter altogether. When a group of ruthless paranormals throw the city into chaos, the two men’s strained relationship leaves Rory vulnerable to a monster from Arthur’s past. With dark forces determined to tear them apart, Rory and Arthur will have to draw on every last bit of magic up their sleeves. And in the end, it’s the connection they’ve formed without magic that will be tested like never before.

Another Chance For Love by Ellie Thomas - July 4th

Former British Army Lieutenant Adam Merryweather survived the Western Front of WWI and has slowly recovered from his injuries. But can he heal from a broken heart? Torn between family duty and personal happiness, he sacrificed his love for Alf and has never ceased to regret it in the two years since the war ended. Adam is slowly putting his empty life back together, working for the family firm in the city centre of Bristol and trying to stop his mother’s meddling to find him the perfect socially acceptable bride. When he happens to meet Alf out of the blue, Adam is determined to try again. But convincing Alf to give him another chance may be too much to hope for. Can a chance meeting bring them back together? Or has Adam lost another chance for love forever?    

The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows by Olivia Waite - July 28th - sapphic

When Agatha Griffin finds a colony of bees in her warehouse, it’s the not-so-perfect ending to a not-so-perfect week. Busy trying to keep her printing business afloat amidst rising taxes and the suppression of radical printers like her son, the last thing the widow wants is to be the victim of a thousand bees. But when a beautiful beekeeper arrives to take care of the pests, Agatha may be in danger of being stung by something far more dangerous…

Penelope Flood exists between two worlds in her small seaside town, the society of rich landowners and the tradesfolk.  Soon, tensions boil over when the formerly exiled Queen arrives on England’s shores—and when Penelope’s long-absent husband returns to Melliton, she once again finds herself torn, between her burgeoning love for Agatha and her loyalty to the man who once gave her refuge.

As Penelope finally discovers her true place, Agatha must learn to accept the changing world in front of her. But will these longing hearts settle for a safe but stale existence or will they learn to fight for the future they most desire?

--

*If more come to my attention after this is posted, they will be added!!!

#lgbt romance #historical romance #sapphic #trans romance #f/f romance #m/m romance #books

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, MIMZ! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAPHAEL.

Admin Rosey: I never really thought that Raphael’s application would be so f u n to read. Macabre? Absolutely. Impassioned? Of course. But hilarious to the point where I was giggling? Definitely unexpected but that is what made this so enjoyable and it is ultimately why this application received a r e s o u n d i n g yes from each of us. There was a perspective that I always envisioned for Raphael but was never able to articulate it myself until you laid it out, word by word, with this application, Mimz. Raphael is such a multi-faceted and character that holds so much potential, and the way that you wove it into every aspect of the application made this so fun to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to produce such a wonderful application! Your faceclaim change to Kendrick Sampson has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias 

mimz

Age

21

Personal Pronouns

she/her

Activity Level

i’ll typically check the dash every day, and i try not to keep replies stewing for longer than a couple of days! that said i can be a little slow, especially around exam seasons.

Timezone

pst

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

miss minnie bleubeard’s blog

IN CHARACTER

Character

raphael, with a fc change to kendrick sampson

What drew you to this character? 

short answer: divine amorality sexy HAHAHAHA

long answer: there was something i read a little while ago about some of the best surgeons being able to dehumanize their patients to a rather frightening degree. there’s a level of abstraction that you need in order to not let your empathy get in the way of the practice of medicine; ultimately, a body is a body is a body, right? and then there’s the moral quandary of healing - it is a doctor’s duty to heal, but what does that actually mean? to what extent is a doctor’s duty to relieve suffering? to obstinately prolong life? if the body heals but the mind still ails, is a person healed? what i’m getting at, here, is that in some ways the healer is the most dangerous character of all. 

when i read raphael’s bio, there was a quote in that article from a surgeon named david cheever that came to mind: “as a result of anaesthetics, the surgeon ‘need not hurry; he need not sympathise; he need not worry; he can calmly dissect, as on a dead body.’” to me, raphael is an explosion and expansion of this concept. raphael is, quite literally, a medical ethicist’s worst nightmare, and to me, that’s absolutely fascinating. without sympathy, what separates a healer from an educated control freak with a god complex? with raphael, we can extend this concept to its furthest extreme. raphael isn’t even human - how could he even begin to sympathize with an experience so foreign to him? why would he worry about something trivial as human suffering when it essentially exists as a theoretical concept to him? divine beings have no reason to play by human rules, and as a creature raised by god’s side raphael was so far removed from the concept of human suffering that it’s sort of a no-brainer that he developed a sick fascination with it, like a child who managed to con their parent into buying a grand theft auto game and is obsessed with running over pedestrians because the stakes never quite feel real. it’s a perspective i’d absolutely love to explore in a group rp setting because the nature of rp means that it’s kind of...completely unsustainable? like as writers we’re shoving these characters together, which means that raphael will have to be exposed to mortals. there’s room for a lot of character development there, and it seems like something extremely interesting to explore.

BUT HERE’S THE THING⁠—and this is where the character gets really fun, in my opinion. i’ve talked a fair bit about god complexes already, but when applied to raphael an interesting question is raised: how much is a complex, and how much of it is actually being divine? what really made me want to get my grubby little hands on the reins of raphael’s story was seeing the disconnect between the way his connections are written from raphael’s perspective versus the other character’s perspective. it’s a fun little hubristic shade that makes him an unreliable narrator and infinitely more interesting than a simple morality thought experiment. i think it’s easy to see raphael as this super cool, all-powerful master manipulator (i think that’s a pretty accurate take on his self-image, in fact), but he’s not the only player in this game. for every pawn he’s trying to move, there is someone else trying to use him in a similar way, and i don’t know that he truly understands the ramifications of that. see, i think it’s easy to reduce raphael to the points i discuss in the previous paragraphs because that’s what he wants you to think of him. but this is a world of gods and superpowers and magical political intrigue and game of thrones doesn’t exist so nobody can tell him that he’s on the path to becoming a cersei lannister (admittedly i haven’t watched got so this reference might not be right but i feel like it’s right so uh. yeah!). maybe i just like to see arrogant men getting knocked down a peg? this might be a projection of that. i dunno. i just know that there are quite a few mind games and mental gymnastics to untangle with raphael and that’s fun. he’s fun.

also. i would like to once again reiterate: divine amorality sexy. it’s not good, to be clear, and i don’t condone it, but i’m just saying.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

WHEN  THE  CITY  CRUMBLES  AROUND  YOU  AND  YOU  HOLD  ITS VESTIGES  IN  YOUR  HANDS,  WHOM  DO  YOU  BLAME?

i think Raphael’s big character arc revolves around a simple question: how far are you willing to go to achieve what you want? 

ostensibly, it’s an easy answer: very far. but when your desire is antithetical to your very purpose, when chasing it puts you at odds with the thing you’ve worked to build, do the goalposts move?

(the correct answer is that raphael did not build caelum. he simply destroyed god.)

let’s say, hypothetically, that raphael gets what he wants. the world is thrown into war and chaos and destruction, yadda yadda, raphael gets his blood and his suffering, great. he’s lived through this before (a couple times, actually), so you think he’d realize by now—eventually, the dust will settle. people will tire of suffering. and where will that leave raphael? how many times will you remake the world to watch it burn? can you ever be fulfilled chasing a temporary high? 

(the correct answer is no, but raphael is an immortal being. more importantly, he is a patient one. he will wait a million days for rome to be built, if only to witness the single day in which it will burn.)

i think raphael needs to reckon with these questions. i think he’s lived far too long with his mentality unquestioned and that has made him both insufferable and a major threat to society. this is a long and pretentious way to say that raphael honestly kind of needs a hobby whatever the thc-verse equivalent of therapy is, but i think any sort of positive character development is contingent upon a recontextualization of suffering and chaos and raphael’s masks.

of course, this isn’t to say that introspection will only lead to positive character development. perhaps a raphael who looks deeper into his psyche will come to understand that his desires outweigh his role; perhaps such thoughts will push raphael over the edge of propriety and into something more outwardly despicable. no matter what, though, i think that the direction of raphael’s character development will be largely shaped on how he decides to prioritize his⁠ roles and goals. 

FOR  WHOM  DO  THESE  HANDS  HEAL?

let’s discuss the archangels, shall we? despite it all, raphael genuinely loves his brothers. i would argue, even, that raphael believes that his scheming is in service to the other archangels; he’s not blind to the way complacency has softened the angels. at this point, the only true threat to the angels is themselves—if michael wants to to unlock a state of sanctifying grace, it will happen at the hand of one of his kin. 

i spoke earlier about raphael’s goals ultimately being futile. this is largely because they are diametrically opposed to michael and gabriel’s goals, and while raphael knows this intellectually, i don’t think he’s quite thought about what the long-term implications of that conflict entails. he’s so caught up in the conflict between michael and gabriel that he’s neglected to consider how he factors into the dynamic. could he be the common ground that brings michael and gabriel together? could he be the final straw that breaks them apart? he is excited for the fighting, the fallout; but has he stopped to consider what the long-reaching effects of such a rift may be?

raphael is breaking his family apart because he loves them. will that be enough, when he is sent to pick up the pieces? whose side will he fall on, if he is to pick a side at all? 

DID  PYGMALION  FALL  IN  LOVE  WITH  THE  BEAUTY  OF  HIS  CREATION,  OR  THE  BEAUTY  HE  CREATED?

i said this in the previous section but i’d like to reiterate it: i think a big reason raphael is Like That is because the stakes have never quite felt real to him. raphael’s a pot stirrer, but he’s not a creature of action. to this, i say give him real stakes. to be honest, i don’t know exactly what that entails, because i could see a number of ways in which tangible pressure manifests itself for raphael. perhaps his meddling with michael and gabriel steps too far, and his brothers  perhaps the angels become suspicious of his maneuvering, in which the spider is drawn into his own web of intrigue. maybe we apply positive pressure, where the ails of the world require a healer and raphael is tapped to higher purpose⁠—and higher power. maybe raphael will find himself tempted by the very demons he holds in contempt. 

the point is that raphael has largely been a character who acts through others. even now, we see this through his grooming of romilda, with his subtle manipulation of michael and gabriel. i want him to become a more active character, either by his own volition or by his hand being forced. 

similarly, i’m extremely interested in seeing how raphael navigates the political elements of this verse. i expect it stings a bit to be the only archangel not given a position of leadership; perhaps he holds lingering resentment toward zadkiel for being given a role raphael had expected to receive. does he subtly undermine zadkiel’s leadership? i want to watch him play up tensions with the vices, to hide a vicious war-hawk perspective under the guise of a concerned healer. i want him to smile in abaddon and samael’s faces and plot their suffering in his mind. i want to see the snake slither in the grass, to return to his original form as a spider spinning a web of intrigue across his court. yes, i want a more active raphael, but i think the political drama is ripe for development, as well.

WHEN  I  SPIT  UP  MY  SINS  AND  BEG  FOR  REPENTANCE,  WHAT  WILL COME  UP?

this one’s a long shot, but i could maybe...see...raphael……..falling. i can guarantee you that the idea has never even crossed raphael’s mind, and that he would literally rather be smited than be cast out of caelum, but i can see it. i think he might be happier, actually; if he fell, he could really lean into the chaos and suffering thing without any compunction.

of course, this is something infinitely easier said than done. were raphael to be cast out of caelum, he would have nowhere to go. infernum would never take him⁠—he’s made far too many enemies among their ranks. he could wander the holy land, but he’s far too proud to bind himself to its existing social systems. (he wouldn’t be able to look gabriel in the eye.)

raphael would have absolutely nothing. 

but he would also be free.

that’s right, i think that a horsemen-style liberation arc would be an absolute banger for raphael. again, i don’t think it’s feasible unless a very specific set of circumstances happen, but just imagine a raphael with nothing to lose, free to go absolutely apeshit. his only prerogative is to make sure you have a bad day. he is free to sow whatever chaos, whatever suffering he so wishes across the land. WHEW.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, but i don’t see him going down easily.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

entomological curiosity, in short. consider: why did god leave the apple in the garden of eden? why do humans keep animals in glass cases? why do children burn ants with magnifying glasses?

raphael wants to observe the world. a good healer must understand his patients at a fundamental level, and such truths are only revealed when the subject is broken down to its basest parts. you see, raphael was weaned on temperance and virtue; there is a lush decadence to emotional extremes that he finds most fascinating. they are debased. they are crass. they are wantonly sentimental, in a garishly beautiful way.

but this is not all. he wants to stave off boredom, and these are the tools he has to play with. for all of his machinations, raphael is a simple being. raphael has no grand ambitions, no lofty ideals, and that is what makes him so dangerous. he wants to be amused. he wants to be stimulated. he wants to observe a world in which things happen.

ostensibly, this is not as selfish a motivation as it may seem. as a healer, raphael knows something that many do not: serenity cannot exist in perpetuity. it is impossible for the world to remain unchanged⁠—even if the change is not evident, it is happening. an eternal peace is all but a stagnation of the kingdom; the only thing stagnation breeds is degradation. the angels are weakening because they are not being challenged. michael and the virtues may be doing extensive research to find an alternate explanation, but raphael knows this to be the truth. 

of course, the irony underlying the selfless explanation of raphael’s motivations reveals the truth of the matter: it is a farce. perhaps it is a lie that raphael has even convinced himself he believes, but it is farcical nonetheless. raphael claims he wants to invoke change because stagnation is dangerous, but riddle me this⁠—if this is true, why has raphael never changed? centuries upon centuries have passed, and the world has changed around him, but raphael himself has remained largely unchanged. he is the orchestrator of change, not its agent nor its subject, and that is just the way he would like things to stay.

Character Traits

CHARISMATIC - there’s a reason very few have cottoned on to raphael’s true nature, and it’s not (just) his pretty face and magical girl-esque aura. there’s something effortlessly captivating about raphael, a pace to his cadence that has you hanging on to his every word, a lightness to his smile that makes you want to coax it out whenever and however you can. everything about raphael puts people at ease, except for his eyes, which tend to put people on edge if he’s not careful. he’s not gregarious or the outgoing sort of charismatic by any means, but he does manage to exude an overwhelming charisma.

PATIENT - it’s important to remember that before raphael turned on god, he waited for him. raphael performed healings for centuries and never raised a hand against his father in that time. think of all the angels that fell, that rebelled; raphael was not among them. no, raphael played the dutiful son, allowing his resentment to fester and boil deep underneath his skin, but never to surface. for centuries he served loyally, biding his time. remember: lucifer fell. raphael did not. which one killed god? as i mentioned in the plot section, raphael will wait a million days for rome to be built to witness the single day it burns. prolonged suffering is perhaps the most beautiful of all. fortitude goes hand-and-hand with patience.

INTELLIGENT - in a few ways. raphael is well-studied, with extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry and history and politics. raphael is emotionally intelligent; he hides his true nature behind a veneer constructed to meet expectations. he may not be as talented as gabriel in this regard, but it is a skillful construction nonetheless.

MANIPULATIVE - i mean. yeah.

ARROGANT - he thinks he’s smarter than god???????????????? tbf god was a bit of a headass in this universe but we’ve all read enough tragedies to know where this kind of hubris ends up going.

CRUEL - there’s a bit to unpack here. i’d argue that there are two types of cruelty: malicious cruelty and callous cruelty. raphael is certainly capable of both, but i think he embodies the latter. with certain notable exceptions, raphael’s cruelty is rarely personal; it is a thoughtless sort of cruelty, the type inflicted upon beings considered expendable. raphael is selfish and petty and powerful, and these traits coalesce into a casual cruelty. 

In-Character Para Sample cw: light gore

Look at how they look at him. God’s good little lambs, lined up all in a row, passive and pliant and patiently awaiting benediction. Patiently waiting for Raphael. 

Raphael hates them.

No. This is false. It is difficult for Raphael to muster up stronger feelings toward mortals than a vague sort of amusement, the sort of affinity one might have for a particularly stupid kit when it does something surprisingly clever. In this regard, he understands that he differs from his kin. Gabriel, in particular, has developed a particular fondness for the mortals. Why anyone would wish to strip mortals of their most fascinating behavior⁠—to the point of openly defying their Father⁠—is beyond Raphael. He has given up on trying to reason with his brother on the matter. 

The first supplicant is beckoned forward. They pray to the Lord and Raphael touches their forehead with one palm, cups their chin with the other. His fingers splay carelessly around a throat all but bared to him and the ceremony is so mechanical Raphael allows his thoughts to wander⁠. 

How easy it would be to tighten his grip. How beautiful it would be, to watch the lamb’s naive adoration flash into fear, to watch fear darken into betrayal and resentment and the most beautiful emotion of all: despair. He can feel the pulse at his fingertips. It would quicken in a stress response, he knows. It would quicken, then it would pound, and then maybe it would stop.  It all falls to Raphael’s whim. In this moment, Raphael holds their life in his hands. They have all but laid on his sword for the promise of absolution and when they look up at Raphael with their dumb, trusting eyes he can see the sparkling tracks where tears once fell, down the hollow of a cheek into the pool of a collarbone. He finds himself overcome with the desire to trace the fall with his tongue. “Give me your pain,” he murmurs. Let me taste it. Let me understand. 

He takes it. He does not taste it. He does not understand.

He releases the mortal. Those beautiful tear tracks are already fading. “The Lord be with you,” he says, and perhaps he even means it. His Father’s gaze burns into his back, even from a world away. He’d laugh at the irony, were he free to. Is this the weight you so desire? he wants to ask the devotee. No, Raphael knows the truth: God’s love is a shackle. God’s love is a leash and it is holding Raphael back from his fullest potential.

“And also with you,” the lamb responds. Their head is bowed obediently in prayer and they shuffle away, appropriately awed. The next supplicant is beckoned forward.

The light of Raphael’s presence obfuscates the darkness in his eyes.

— 

Later, much later, Raphael finds himself studying his hands. He flexes them, balls them into fists, stretches his fingers as far as they will spread. 

How easy it would be to tighten his grip.

The hand is at once an individual unit and a summation of individual parts. The hand contains twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles connected by over a hundred ligaments and tendons. Wrists connect to metacarpals, which connect to carpals, which taper off into delicate phalanges. Individually, each of these parts are largely useless; were Raphael to take a scalpel and drag it through a tendon, across the joints, the strings would be cut and the puppetry would cease to dance. You would be left with a small pile of carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, loose strings of muscle and tendon. At times, it is difficult to fathom how such mundane component parts are the instruments of extraordinary acts.

Raphael flexes his hand, watches bone shift under skin. If he remembers correctly, mortals have an idiom about knowing your hands, or something along those lines. He will not pretend to be familiar with mortal culture. Did you know that, wings aside, mortals and angels all have the same bone structure? 

Of course you did. It is common knowledge that God made all beings in His image, or so the story goes. 

This is an easy answer, but one with interesting implications. Let us extrapolate. If mortals and angels are essentially biological mirrors, and each are made in the image of God, does that mean that God will bleed like His creations? Slide a scalpel across God’s knuckles—will His puppets cease to dance?

Raphael could find out. It would take only a single blade, sliced through a single tendon. 

Now, Raphael is not so arrogant to believe himself the blade. He would not even consider himself the hand. Such a role requires a particular kind of conviction—

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in bitter disillusionment⁠—the sort inflicted upon Michael. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s capriciousness and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in righteous anger⁠—the sort inflicted upon Gabriel. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s neglect and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in a whetted hunger⁠—the sort God gifted to each of His angels. Hunger breeds hunters and heaven is full— )

—that Raphael simply cannot embody. Rage has never been his forte. 

Consider, however, that the hand is controlled by nerve impulses. A spark is all the hand needs to transform from a collection of bone to an agent of action. Yes. He clenches his fists. Here are the bones, the veins, the tendons, the muscle. Angels and mortals all share the same bone structure.

Does God?

Extras

pinterest.

raphael has classically beautiful wings. i’m talking TEXTBOOK cherubic angel wings, with the sweeping white feathers and all. raphael kind of hates them, though he takes a great deal of pride in them.

raphael doesn’t have a signature weapon. he’s proficient with blades, yes, and fights with a surgeon’s precision, not the strongest nor the fastest but eerily efficient in his blows. but he is a healer—at the end of the day, his empty hands are all he needs. (his empty hands are what you should fear.)

raphael hates the heretics pro forma but. but. he cannot deny a certain...fondness for them. the heretics exhibited such dedication to a futile cause; they believed their suffering to be something noble. it’s a laughable notion, certainly, but a sentiment so distinctly human it’s almost charming. should they wish to return, to throw themselves on the knife over and over and over, well. raphael shall not complain. he shall smile beatifically, perhaps abate their suffering, even⁠—and watch them do it again. 

in a modern au, raphael is a reality tv producer. ok actually he’s probably a surgeon but i think he’d make a very good reality tv producer. alternately, there is a universe out there where raph fixated on like...baking, or k-pop, instead of suffering. those are good timelines, i think. maybe not the k-pop stan timeline.

raphael is the living embodiment of that dwight schrute “we need a new plague” meme.

#accepted #accepted: raphael

[fideleluc]

      introducing lucien montel, the graduate chair

“ for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard ” (2 peter 2:8)

hey hey! my name’s tays, i use she/her pronouns, and i live in melbourne, australia, and thus the aest (soon to be aedt) timezone. it’s been a little while since i’ve rped, but this group was just utterly irresistible so here we are! if you’re interested in plotting you can hit me up on here or discord (mightay morphin power ranger#9316) without any further ado, here’s luc montel!

stats.

full name: lucien henri montel known as: luc montel age: 25 dob: january 13, 1995 gender: cis male nationality: french religion: roman catholic course: currently studying a masters of social work, graduated a year prior with a bachelor of arts majoring in theology

bio.

( luc’s original bio ended up being i don’t even know how many words long so this is a very much summarised version, but if you have a bit more time on your hands you can read the full thing here! )

luc’s mother first learned she was pregnant not long after she graduated from highschool. she wasn’t sure exactly who the father was, but even if she did, she wouldn’t have told him - all of her friends, likely him included, had a pretty huge falling out near the end of their exams, and she was still too proud to turn to them for help, even after her own father kicked her out once he heard the news. she’d been working hard and saving up for years to get a shot at getting into a good school, something no one else from her area really saw as a likely prospect, but all her savings ended up getting funnelled into hotels and food while she tried to support herself on her own in the city.

the only way she could really pass time was to go for walks, and on these walks she ended up going past a church that seemed to be drawing her in - it was purely by chance that the priest, father pascal, was outside one time and was able to notice her hesitating, long enough for him to actually invite her inside. she had given up on religion after her mother left her and her dad, but still, when she was invited to their next mass, she ended up going - and she never really stopped. the congregation ended up being her entire support system while she was pregnant, getting her a well-paying job doing after school care for a catholic school and helping her find a cheap place to stay. 

luc was born on a chilly january morning, and got baptised a week later. there was no question of whether or not he’d be raised as part of the church - the only time he was able to sit still was when he was listening to father pascal’s sermons, and he took his first steps just outside in the garden. he was taught, essentially, to do good, to be accepting and generous and kind - and he never questioned it. his mother, who’d started on a teaching degree, was careful to teach him about other religions, and though his own devotion to catholicism never wavered, it still fascinated him. 

although he and his mother were better off than she had been only a few years earlier, they didn’t have a ton of money they could give - so they made good on their weekly promises to help the world with their time. luc was especially passionate about it - learning to cook so he could make things for bake sales, riding along with other members of his congregation to help out in food kitchens, doorknocking for any sort of donations people in his neighbourhood would want to give without hesitation or embarrassment. 

even when he got older and his friends had moved on to more entertaining hobbies, he continued on with attending mass and keeping up with his charity work, brushing off his friend’s accusations that he was being forced into it. truly, their own interests mostly bored him - he never really had a long enough attention span for tv or movies, and he couldn’t engage in video games like they could. one thing he could join in on, though, was football - if he wasn’t doing something for the church or indulging in his also newlyfound passion for cooking, he was out on the oval.

when his friends moved on further still to getting girlfriends and drinking, luc, again, couldn’t find himself as engaged in it as they were. though he’d happily drink with them, for the most part, he put his hand up to be the designated driver and was perfectly content staying their lookout when they got close to making scenes in public. he had a few girlfriends in highschool, but the relationships never lasted long - and again, he didn’t mind. at times he’d worry that he was missing out, but it was never a concern that lasted long, especially when he saw how desperately his friends needed someone to shepherd them at times. 

although he’d never been a hugely academic kid in the past, when it came time to think about university, he felt that, out of an obligation to his mother more than anything else, that he had to work just as hard as she had when she was his age to make up for the opportunity she’d missed for his sake. st margaret mary’s hadn’t been a realistic dream, but he’d figured he may as well apply - when he actually got in, with an offer of a scholarship on the side, he was almost tempted to throw it away thanks to his own doubts, but his mother quickly put an end to it. before he knew it, he was heading off across the city to the old building - a theology major. 

despite his devotion to the church, he hadn’t initially planned to join chastity club, if for no other reason that is just seemed a bit extreme for him - but when he came to a meeting out of a mix of boredom and curiosity only to find that something was distinctly wrong, he couldn’t stop it from becoming the major focus of his mind for the next few weeks until he could figure out what was really going on. when he was finally able to piece together the truth, he was conflicted - on the one hand, these were people using his faith to cover up criminal activity, bringing as much shame to the church as the people who twisted the lord’s words into messages of hatred, but on the other, it could be what these people depended on, and to have that taken away from them could be disastrous. instead of being angry like he knew he should’ve been, luc was overcome with a familiar urge to help - and so he did just that. 

he went to another meeting, and before they could say anything, he told them how easy it had been for him to find them out, how if he, someone with no connection to any of them, could discover the truth, then it wouldn’t be long before the staff would be following in his footsteps. he told them that, so long as a cut of any fundraiser went to an actual charity, he’d be happy to give them an actual, believable cover. 

he hadn’t actually thought they’d take him on. before he knew it, though, his actual studies were being pushed to the side in favour of planning, organisation, research - though he was sure to carve out a few hours a week to catch up on his actual work, most of his time was going towards the chastity club, and not just because he wanted to help them. even if it was just a cover to the rest of the club, to him, those cuts he got from the fundraisers were the only thing that mattered - he was doing what he was supposed to be doing, what he was taught to devote himself to all his life. helping people. 

as time went on, the idea of turning in the club became more and more impossible - not only was he actually able to make some wider good come out of it, but truly, the people he was surrounding himself with were like family, even if he had to turn a blind eye to half of what they got up to. he’d convinced himself that turning them in would be a far worse action than letting them stay running, and it’s a belief he’s held onto like a lifeline - but at the same time, he can’t ignore a worry that’s been growing louder and louder in the back of his mind. he never sees the consequences of the dealing. he doesn’t actually know if they’re doing more good than harm. he’s relying solely on faith, the same faith he has in god and that god, he believes, has in him. 

he can only pray it’s well placed.

personality. 

luc is nothing if not passionate. although it may take him a while to make up his mind about getting involved or starting a task, once he does, he’ll put his absolute all into it without turning back. no matter the exact motivation, whether it be his religion, his friends, or just a desire to do something, he works and believes with his entire heart, and once he’s dedicated to something, it’ll be almost impossible to tear him away from it.

since he was a kid, luc has always been generous. whether it’s with his possessions or even just his time, he’s one of those people who’ll throw their jacket around you if you mention it’s just a bit chilly and then refuse to ever take it back no matter how much you insist. the only way his mother eleanor was able to survive when she was pregnant and virtually homeless was through the generosity of what would end up being his parish’s churchgoers, so the first idea luc was ever taught to embrace was the idea of giving, something enforced by both her and the church itself.

part of what makes luc so convincing for the school board is that he’s an unfalteringly polite person. unless he has good reason to be angry at someone, he’ll try to greet everyone with a smile and see them off with a wish for them to have a good day, treating them like a friend even if they’re written in the first pages of his bad books. he’s always willing to listen to someone else chat and support them when they’re feeling down, no matter what mood he’s in or what’s at stake, and his consistently gentle, patient manner make essentially any lie he tells convincing.

although he was never known for his academic prowess, luc has never not been curious. once an idea intrigues him, he’ll do whatever he can to learn more, and rarely feels as if he ever has enough knowledge about the subjects that interest him, still willing to add more or take different perspectives.

luc has never been known for his spontaneity - though he’ll commit with his whole heart once he’d decided to do something, he’s very careful in making those decisions. he’ll often spend nights lying awake contemplating ideas, throwing himself different scenarios and seeing if they change his views, trying to look at things from every possible angle before making a call on something. though something he does may be stupid and may be risky, he’ll only take that risk if he’s absolutely sure it will pay off. his caution even comes through in the way he speaks, each word carefully chosen to keep things as civil as possible.

though luc is known to many as being gentle and polite, usually because he just is, that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of nothing less than being purely furious. though it usually comes from a place of love and devotion, often in response to some injustice or cruelty and rarely occurring at the drop of a hat, when something does anger him, he has no problem speaking his mind if he feels something could be done about whatever’s happened. he just can’t fathom the idea of people sitting by and letting bad things happen, and couldn’t live with himself if he just sat back and watched while someone got hurt. he has a lot of faith in people, and when people let him down, it cuts him deep.

luc was always a restless child, and that’s something that’s continued into the present day. he doesn’t often make it known - but that’s just because he’s always desperate to find something to occupy his time. whether he’s keeping himself busy by studying, planning a fundraiser, cooking, or even just going for a walk, he can’t just sit still and do nothing. the only exception to this is when he’s learning or listening to something, such as when he’s in class or church, but if he has no interest, all he’ll be focused on is how badly he wants to get up and move around again. he simply can’t relax until something that needs to be done is done.

as sociable and polite he is when in church or running fundraisers, luc is truly independent. as much as he enjoys the company of others, he’s equally comfortable in his own company, and much prefers to go over problems in his own head rather than voice them to someone else. although he’ll passionately speak out to help others, he rarely voices a concern if something has to do with him alone - it’s not that he doesn’t want people to worry, but he just figures he has everything under control as far as he’s concerned. he has no problem working on his own, and despite his own insistence when he gets a chance to assist others, he often refuses help for himself, no matter how big or small the problem is.

headcanons.

luc isn’t too sure how he went from being lucien to just luc when he was a baby, but it’s still what he introduces himself as now.

luc has never once had a moment of doubt about god’s existence, but he doesn’t think he really has much say in what happens on earth - he was taught by his childhood parish’s priest father pascal that humans were given free will because god trusted them, specifically trusted them to do good and take care of one another, and that’s a trust luc has always tried to uphold. even so, he does still think he’s always watching and may be able to give some signs, but he mostly turns towards asking saints when he needs specific help with something.

he still follow’s his mother’s belief that all gods from all religions are just aspect of the same spiritual belief of there being something bigger, and learning about those other religions still fascinates him, hence why he majored in theology when he was still studying for his bachelors - he’s still happy to follow his own god, though.

although he would never force any of his atheist friends to come to church or believe what he does, the idea that anyone would choose to believe there’s nothing over believing there’s something does baffle him somewhat.

he still goes to mass every sunday, but he doesn’t hang around the church as long as he did when he was younger - it’s partly a matter of time, partly a matter of the congregation. they’re lovely people, don’t get him wrong - but even after so many years, it’s still not his parish.  

luc isn’t all that much of a tv or movies person - unless it’s about something he’s interested in, he struggles to sit down for long enough to care about what’s happening even for just an episode, let alone a whole series or film. he may have a comedy or just something light on in the background while he cooks, but he doesn’t go out of his way to watch much.

although he’s studying for a masters in social work and does want to do something to help disadvantaged people in his country, he has genuinely considered becoming a priest.

although he hasn’t played since he was in school, he does still love football - he doesn’t often watch it, but if he gets a chance to go out on the oval, he’ll take it without hesitation.

the only language he’s fluent in is french, but he does know enough english to get by and did try to learn some latin from father pascal for certain bible passages - it didn’t really stick.

even though much of his free time is spent studying or organising the chastity club’s cover, he will still try to take a few hours every so often to go and help out in some soup kitchen or another.

he’s deadly afraid of insects - moths especially freak him out

when he was young, he’d often fall asleep with the sound of his mother’s radio coming through the wall, and still now when he’s struggling to sleep he’ll find some radio stream on his phone and listen to it until he nods off.

as much as he tries, he can’t keep a plant alive - he’s made many attempts to grow his own herbs or fruit trees, but to absolutely no avail.

when he’s studying he’ll chew on the ends of his pens, and if he doesn’t have a pen, he’ll bite at his bottom lip - if one were to look closely, they’d notice a patch of it is faintly scarred.

luc has so, so much love in his heart, but despite his few brief relationships, he’s hardly been able to turn any of that love into romance - not yet, anyway.

as willing as he is to help cover up the chastity club’s true nature to the school board or anyone he feels should be hidden from the truth, he doesn’t go to any of the parties they sell at, and hasn’t ever tried any of the product. it’s just not his thing.

he stayed in student housing until he came back to get his masters, and now rents a small place a short walk from the school - when he was furnishing it, he made sure to get a pull-out couch instead of just a regular one, just in case anyone ever needed a place to crash.

he still has the same copy of the bible he poured over as a kid, though out of fear over how worn it’s gotten he mainly keeps it safely in a drawer of his bedside table.

luc is very optimistic and has a lot of faith in others - though he does think things through thoroughly just in case something can go wrong, and is constantly aware of that possibility, he has a lot of hope on his side.

misc.

pinterest starsign: capricorn sun, gemini moon myers-briggs type: isfj-t enneagram: type 2 (the helper) hogwarts house: hufflepuff alignment: neutral good aesthetics: sun coming through a stained-glass window, rainbow dappled on skin. a voice lost in a chorus. a borrowed coat on a chilly morning. the ever-present smell of something cooking, always making enough for plenty of leftovers. restless legs, restless mind. faith that keeps your heart beating, fury that boils your blood. a tongue bitten so frequently it bleeds. unwavering eye contact, no matter how elaborate the lie. burying your head in the sand. murmured passages from a book with worn pages. doing all you can, but still lying awake, wondering if you could be doing more.  

#st:intro #( about. ) #- took a genuine million years to find a decent gif for this which isn't a brilliant sign going forward #- turns out his fc is a lot more villainy than i'd first thought! ah well. probably too late for a change. we can live with it

[honeymoonjin]

day 11 & 12

With Festa in full swing last week, I feel like I didn’t have a chance to breathe let alone sit down long enough to articulate a review worthy of Day 11. I shall endeavor to do my very best to make up for that here. And, upon reading the start of Day 12, I am actually kinda glad I waited because I think that it gave me time to put both chapters into perspective. 

Day 11 was a very emotional one for Jungkook and I feel like we got to see those emotions coming to a head in this chapter. On the whole, Day 11 was such a fun, lowkey entry that I wasn’t really sure if I would have anything coherent to offer beyond high pitched squealing accompanied by the occasional swoon and cooing. But after seeing the tension and subsequent squabble that transpired at the breakfast table on Day 12, I see that perhaps there was more to ruminate concerning the feelings that Jungkook had experienced in the confessional booth. It’s so interesting from a writers perspective that you chose Jungkook to be the one to reiterate the whole point of the show; he’s younger, thus perhaps conventionally he’s a bit more emotionally immature than the rest of the guys. And yet, from the beginning, none of these guys have ever been portrayed as stereotypical or conventional; you have always expertly reminded the audience that each of the contestants (including our lady!) is more much complex than what meets the eye. It’s one of the things that I love so much about this series; none of the characters are ever “too perfect” and it’s those candid moments of vulnerability or weakness that truly makes this story stand out from a lot of other stories that I read. So to choose Jungkook as the person to make those “bold” comments and to have Namjoon be the one to call him out for being insensitive makes me feel like Jungkook’s response was much more complex than what it seems at glance. Like, it’s pretty obvious that Jungkook likes and respects our lady and perhaps he realized his indiscretion just a little to late but now he’s put on the spot, he’s been called out in front of everyone, and beyond the fact that he probably feels like shit for saying what he said and inadvertently hurting our lady in the process. He’s probably also hella embarrassed. I wonder too if maybe Jungkook is also ashamed that the person who called him out was Namjoon, someone who I want to believe, he respects and perhaps maybe admires a little. And despite the fact that I chuckled a little bit when our lady noticed that Jungkook was “staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames”, I realized that he might also be both angry and disappointed in himself for his behavior. *sigh* Boy, you were so right all those weeks ago when you said “emotions are messy”. Anyway, that’s my roundabout way of saying, I liked the breakfast scene. Haha! Drama is inevitable; I love that you don’t shy away from presenting conflict for them to overcome. It offers opportunities for character growth and character exploration and I really appreciate that! 

Speaking of character growth, Namjoon got a chance to really flex those skills he acquired from “Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess”. That scene left me melting! Melting, I say! I’m not sure if you noticed but I make it a point to not reveal who my actual bias is in these reviews because I feel like I want to give all of the guys a chance to win me over for fan favorite. What I will say though is that you kind of hit on a lot of my personal preferences with Namjoon’s scene. Beyond the fact that the scene was really, really hawt, it fulfilled me on an emotionally intimate level, so it made the scene extra special. Bravo! 

And I suppose Jimin also deserves a standing ovation for that amazing show he put on. Holy smokes that was so hot. From the light banter and quips at the beginning of that scene to Jimin actually owning that entire lounge! And as amazing as the show (plus subsequent private scene with our lady afterwards) was, my favorite bit might be the exchange between Jimin and Hoseok, another scene that filled with tension and new revelations! It might actually be the most fascinating scene because it gave a glimpse at something rather unexpected; something has transpired between Hoseok and Jimin. I might be reading too much into the exchange but it feels as though something has happened away from the cameras between them. Because it feels like there has been a shift from blatant hostility between these two to something more akin to a genuine understanding that this is now a battle for power and control. I could be reaching but I feel like, at the very least, there have been words exchanged between them! It made the scene all the more intriguing! I loved every moment of it. Oh! Speaking of which, what is up with Jin?! When Yoongi asked Jin to speak to Kookie about what had happened that morning, it seemed he was a bit apprehensive to take up the task. I know that there might not be anything more there than just the fact that Jin might not want to be the one to have to broach the subject with Kookie but I feel like there’s more there than what meets the eye as well… my theory is in it’s fetus stage though, so I feel like I’ll hold back on my thoughts concerning Jin for now. And Yoongi, for that matter! I feel like there is something more there as well. AH! Too many theories to juggle! I will let you know what my thoughts are about it once I have gathered more adequate information. 

I still feel guilty for not being able to give you a full length review of Day 11. It really was such a great, light day. Jungkook’s scene left me all hot and bothered to the point where I spent the entirety of the week, searching up Jungkook smut fics to fulfill my Jungkook fix that that chapter evoked in me! Not to mention that the boys getting up to antics for a whiteboard that in the end they didn’t really need just made me all the more baffled by their behavior. It was fun, hilarious and just what I would expect from the guys.

To make up for not having anything for last week, I would like to take the opportunity to tell you about me loving this amazing story so much I nearly force-fed my best friend to read it with me so that I would have someone to fangirl with. Let me tell you a little bit about her. See, she doesn’t consume fanfics with as much verocity as I do. She is a very casual fanfic reader and if she does (which is rare in it of itself) she only ever reads MxM. Period. So when I told her the premises of “The Gentlemen” she was curious enough to read the contestant profiles. But I must say, from Day 1, you had her HOOKED! She would text me screenshots and emoji filled fangirlings in the wee hours of the morning (the only time she had to read at all) every single thing she loved about each chapter and it brings me so much joy that she was really dissecting and appreciating all the little things that I too loved about your story! We would have long, deep discussions about her prompt theories, her favorite members, tiny details that you’ve so expertly woven into the story (like Jimin’s tattoo for example, which is something she is obsessed with, btw) all of her favorite traits that our lady of the house has. It’s been so blissfully fun having this to share with her especially since I have her to thank for getting me into BTS in the first place. So, please know that you have a secret fan of “The Gentlemen” who would like you to know that she has been enjoying herself thoroughly and that she looks forward to your updates just as much as I do now! 

Anyhoo, I think I’ve prattled on long enough. Thank you so much for your continued hard work and dedication to this series! This was such an amazing chapter I cannot wait to see how everything unfolds; it feel as though these last 2 chapters have planted some major seeds (no pun intended!!); I look forward to see what it sows in the coming days. 💜 Jan

Oh my gosh! In all of my ramblings, I forgot to say "shout out to Lady Mango! You go get that stake, girly!" Also, YAY Grandma Park!! Heck, that entire exchange in the bathtub made me uwu so hard my heart is just a pile of mush rn! Also, also!! Jin x Tae is lowkey underrated, so thank you for that! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆ I lub u so much!! kthnxbye

---

i’m not ashamed (okay, maybe a little) to admit that i kinda teared up and did a happy lil dance when i saw the email that you’d sent in a submission fksdjfkds i figured you’d probably been busy with life or with the mountainloads of content bighit is giving us these days so i was content to wait patiently, and it just made it that much more exciting when i saw this come in !

thank you, as always, for being so sweet and articulate and thoughtful in your reviews of the chapters. often you point out things that make so much sense that perhaps i hadn’t even noticed when writing. other times you hit an idea that i’d slipped in right on the nose. 

jungkook definitely is having a pretty tumultuous time on the show. for him, i imagine he feels like he’s the only one having a difficult time ironing out his feelings, or that if anyone else is struggling too, that they’re acting like nothing’s up. i also feel like jungkook’s competitive streak comes through in unexpected ways. of course he feels proud of his sexual prowess and kinda wants to showboat a little bit, but i think there’s an aspect too where he needs to be the one that’s always bolder than the others to assert his position. writing the namkook scene i kind of drew on that feeling where you’re fighting with someone you care about or think highly of, and even as you realise you’re wrong, you don’t want them to think badly of you and so you desperately scramble for a way to come out on top or prove you’re in the right. there’s also def a degree of him trying to convince himself the show is just about sex and that the rest doesn’t matter. he certainly doesn’t feel that way inside, but we see him vouching from that position so fiercely in d12. 

i’m glad you liked the namjoon scene !! one day i’ll figure out your bias fkdsjfksdjk you do such a good job at analysing and discussing everyone equally that it’s difficult >.<

it’s so fascinating to hear your jihope theory that they’ve spoken before. i must keep my silence on the details BUT there will be a very important scene between them coming up in the next few days of the show that i think will really change things between them and also how the readers see them. i’m super excited to write it ! 

beyond that, i’m happy you noticed something about jin in this chapter.... yn and jin still haven’t resolved their issues yet, plus here we are having jin not respond that well to being asked to counsel one of the members, something he always stated he was happy to do,,,,, hmmmm 0.0

i love hearing your theories so much !!! i eagerly await getting new content out so i can see how they shift and change from release to release

and also you really don’t need to feel bad ! there’s never any obligation to write out a long review for every chapter, but you do so anyway and that means a lot to me xx if you’re busy one week you don’t have to force yourself to make time for it. we have over 50 chapters, so we’re in for the long haul ! there’s really no rush

ahhhh that’s so cool to hear about your friend! it always warms my heart hearing stories of people that got their friends to begin reading and stuff, honestly even the thought that people think about tgm outside of reading it blows me away, it feels so special that it’s something y’all wanna share and discuss w your loved ones xx 

YES LADY MANGOOO i love adding little slips of her in the chapters, i know she doesn’t factor into the main story that much but everyone can rest assured that all of the members of the house (okay, and probably our three on-site producers too) spend a lot of time with her, walking her and cuddling her and playing with her. tae is probably currently trying to teach her some commands, but of course the only one she’s got the hang of is lie down jskfjsd

(finally YES taejin is such an underrated duo i love them)

[eternalcantarella]

Entropy - Chapter 2: Horseman of The Apocalypse - Joker/Reader

Entropy

  Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 17.9k

  A/N: Medical specifics - I know the rod of asclepius is more for professional healthcare usage and caduceus is for commercial usage, but I chose to use a hybridisation of both asclepius and caduceus rods instead because its symbolism was slightly more in line with what I want to portray. Sorry for the inconsistency with practical usage! This chapter took me a while to write, and I didn't expect it to turn out this long. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! 

  Inspirations: Trafalgar Law’s speech on the new era (One Piece), Amaya & Aiko no Akatsuki's Deisaku writing - Pinky Bruiser (Deisaku fans should totally check this out), Town of Salem's Plaguebearer role.

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

He sat in the long corridor, his legs crossed. His posture was laid back, with his tablet propped up on his lap. He tried to get used to the stiff teal plastic seat, secured to the wall behind him, but it was extremely uncomfortable and he kept readjusting his position. He tried to distract himself with the forthcoming plans for the week ahead with Gotham Press Holdings, refreshing his email to check for updates from his superiors. Unfortunately, he could not find the urge to open those mails. He leaned forward in his seat, his hand instinctively searching for the familiar spot on his chin.

  The thin and bitter smell of antiseptic and cleaning products was invasive, acrid and stinging as it caused him to look away and stare at his other hand, twisting and knotting it as if doing so would hold back the unrest threatening to break within him. A man was whisked on a hospital bed right past him down the narrow corridor, and he was greeted with the disturbance of coughing, hacking and wheezing in the Emergency Department waiting room. He found the closest antibacterial hand dispenser, which was fortunately right beside him, and started working it like a gambling addict hitting up a VLT machine.

  In a disorienting ambulance ride earlier, claustrophobia had closed in on him. He stood hovering over the stretcher, trying to rationally articulate the details surrounding your predicament, trying to discard feelings of his rising worries for you. However, with every bump the ambulance made, his unease peaked higher. As expected, the paramedics had briefed him that prompt delivery to the Emergency Department should be a priority, and had administered their prehospital care procedure onto you. 

  While otherwise appearing to be asymptomatic, the fact that you lost consciousness was alarming. They had secured the airway as required, delivering high-flow oxygen by cupping a respirator mask over your face, obtaining IV access simultaneously. There was a tenseness to his muscles, his head a violent whirl of confusion, trying to organise the newly found chaos in his life. They had also administered a beta-antagonist as a nebulised treatment for bronchoconstriction, a paramedic explained to him as she spritzed short bursts of liquid spray up your nostrils. 

  And here he was, waiting. A suspense ate at him internally while he awaited the ED doctor’s examination results.

  While he was willing himself to check on instructions from Gotham Press Holdings, his hands betrayed his line of thought, and he instead found himself looking through his archived emails. His eyes glossed over the subject title.

  ‘Application for Blake Accounting Consultancy - Junior Data Analyst Applicant; Resume Included’

  He crinkled his eye, his lips stretching against his index finger resting against it. He always found himself unknowingly going back to this fateful letter, at different, random times with no real reason connecting them with each other. He didn’t like to express it, both visually and verbally, to you that he had come to care for you deeply. And he was wondering if he was regretting ever holding back and hiding his actions to show that care. With the current uncertainty, and your life at stake, it’s always easy to see in hindsight that there were many things he could do differently. He clicked onto the email he archived, going through the motions that took him back to simpler and more pleasant times. He indulged himself in the light breeze of familiarity and nostalgia. He would always have a sentimental longing and affection for the past, especially when it came to you.

  He remembered looking at your application and how absurd he thought it was at first glance. He vaguely recalled the contents of his job listing on Craigslist, having clearly stated that a bachelor’s degree in Computing or Data related fields was a prerequisite and lowest qualification one must have at the very least. Yet your highest form of education was trade school and coding bootcamps.

  This was almost ludicrous in his eyes, that he found it to be amusing. He was about to dismiss your application to sift through the others, without even looking at your resume. However he felt compelled to click on it, probably out of some sick sense of curiosity and humour, he supposed. He wanted to see what laughs or kicks he could get out of this.

  A condescending sense of jest bubbled in his chest when he started reading it. Perhaps this was just a joke applicant, he thought. Well, humour me. However, he found that the more he read into it, the more his smile started to falter. Being a data analyst requires very specific skills. You had recorded a very all-encompassing list of individual qualifications from courses painstakingly taken and they were all relevant to the job scope. Technical, analytical, math and creative skills. This was impressive for a non-uni graduate. You had also taken the initiative to contribute to opensource projects, demonstrating a fire and drive for the role. Not to mention the attention to detail and the amount of work put into organising this resume, to frame and market yourself in the best way possible. You had done a lot of research into this, evidently.

  From this, he could sense that being a data analyst was something you wanted to be strongly at this point in time. And while strongly wanting to be one is often not enough for a data analyst, you had the puzzle pieces arranged and chops to back it up. Perhaps what sealed the deal to offer you an interview over coffee was the thing that set you apart from other applicants. Other candidates wrote about what they wanted from this job. No one cares what they want. No one cares that they want to “leverage their skills working with a highly effective team”. Yours was focused solely on the employer’s benefit, rather than for personal gain. And one thing in particular had caught his eyes to show you were perhaps a best fit for the company.

  ‘To build an ethical and positive culture for the company from the ground up and inspire change in Gotham.’

  Given the current legal and political climate in Gotham, especially with the battles between parties of power going on, no one would care to write statements like this. No one even knew if they were submitting applications to companies deep within the mob, entrenched in corruption, or held hostage after having had debts to repay them. The mob had an iron grip on affairs at every nook and cranny of Gotham City. These types of statements were too fluffy, too idealistic, and often were not considered on job offers. However, things were changing. In a world where caped and masked vigilantes were jumping off roofs and Falcone was locked up in Arkham, he had hope. Politics were becoming more transparent, as candidates like Harvey Dent stepped up to the plate. And he would stop at nothing to make the most of this hope for a better Gotham. He had to believe in a better Gotham. He clenched his wrists and swallowed. He wanted to realise this idealistic vision he had. 

  “This mask for the anger I’ve been hiding… It’s not enough.”

  “Then channel that anger to something good, I dunno. Frankly speaking, it’s not that hard.”

  You two were sitting around a mahogany coffee table, with two plush sofas clad in burgundy fabric offering you two the luxury of sinking back into the comfort of its softness. However, you two were on the edge of your seats, not allowing yourselves to be lulled into its false sense of security and let your guards down. Your eyes were trained on each other, the air electrifying. You took a sip from the mug of your macchiato, eyes never leaving his as you tilted your coffee mug. You looked at him through your lashes, hiding behind a coy smile. Intrigued by your boldness, he quirked a brow in amusement. He sighed and pushed his laptop away from him on the table, finding no real need for it.

  “Charming. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you tell me why you hadn’t attempted college?” 

  This definitely did not feel like a job interview. He leaned back, arms folded, a smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was challenging you. You sure as hell weren’t one to back down.

  “Well, maybe it’s because some of us aren’t so lucky to have our parents afford our college fees, just so we can chase our dreams.”

  In a saccharine voice, you leaned forward, tilting your head, no longer smiling. Your lips showed the hints of a pout. John Blake stared at you, slightly confused for a moment. Was this a personal attack or something?

  “That’s very valiant of you. However, Miss, if I had to remind you of something,”

  He maintained his composure, leaning forward with a slight tension in his jaw, his smirk not falling.

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, darling.”

  You remained neutral, staying in the same position.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.” 

  He had been the one to poke you first, you thought, slightly indignant. You bit your lip and spoke again, treading dangerously.

  “If I had to take a guess, I would say you feel threatened by me.”

  John Blake raised his brows at you, possibly in disbelief at your brazenness. He lightly clenched through his teeth. Were you perhaps right?

  “Far from it, kid.”

  You glared at him for this obvious condescension. If you were anyone else, the blatant disrespect you showed him earlier would have immediately gotten you rejected. But the chemistry between you two was palpable, even then. His eyes looked at the laptop in front of him. His eyes avoided yours. He looked away, and nonchalantly he asked you.

  “Don’t you think it’s impossible to really foster an ethical company in Gotham? I mean, it’s a pretty corrupt city.”

  He stirred his coffee to feign apathy. This question wasn’t important to him. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, your voice raising in tone. You felt your indignancy rise. Affronted and outraged. What kind of question is this…?

  “What? Gotham is full of people ready to believe in good and compassion.”

  You had his attention now. And he stared at you, his eyes hard.

  “Hey, don’t you think that’s pretty naive of you?”

  “You can say that all you want about me. I don’t gain much from being an idealist, but I have to do the best I can.”

  Your voice softened towards the end. This was perhaps the first time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in this… “Interview”. The man in front of you shifted his weight in his chair and stood up. This prompted you to stand up as well, befuddled and just mindlessly mirroring his body language.

  Satisfied with his find, he stared down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. He stuck his hand out towards you.

  “Well then kid, I believe we have a deal.”

  Dumbfounded, you took his hand hesitantly, and he gave your hand a firm squeeze, bobbing it lightly in the process. Your jaw was slightly ajar and you were confused. After all that, you were in a state of doubt. Did you really just pass this… interview?

  “Check your email for updates.”

  He picked up his coffee, downed the rest of it and held his cup up towards you, a last gesture signifying his leave. He set it down against the table with a clink and left swiftly with his laptop. 

  You will become my weapon. My tool. You will fight for me, and in exchange, I will ensure that you realise your vision, and sate your burning desires.

  He smirked. A diamond in the rough indeed.

  He was stirred out of his daze when he heard the sound of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. It revealed a doctor dressed in blue short-sleeved scrub top and pants, with a white lab coat. She held a clipboard and wore a surgical mask. The mask could not hide the sunkenness in her eyes, fatigued from being overworked during her residency. Blake stood up immediately seeing her, desperate to know the outcome of your medical evaluation.

  “Sir, I’ll cut to the chase. She will have to remain under our observation for the next forty-eight hours, and we will periodically image her with serial chest radiographs.”

  Taking a moment to take this news in, he nodded, signalling for the doctor to continue.

  “We seek your understanding, patients may develop significant signs and symptoms for as long as thirty-six hours after exposure. We checked for burns in the nasal cavity and tested for particles.”

  She sighed and stared at her clipboard, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her tennis shoes squeaked.

  “Burning was spotted, but minimal. Her airway functions are still relatively stable. Our test results revealed in her system a complex of zinc chloride and the fear gas toxin compound found in our water supply months back.”

  “I understand. Her condition is stable enough and she will recover, right?”

  He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs that would betray her jaded features.

  “I’m afraid nothing in this world is certain, sir.”

  Her voice was somber. His brows knitted. What was that supposed to mean? Realising what she uttered out, she quickly switched her expression to mask what she just said, to a more amicable one for professionalism.

  “But of course, nothing is likely to happen to her. We have databases storing synthesised antidotes and counteragents to the compounds we found.”

  He sank, his muscles losing their tension as he deflated. At least there was some solace in this situation.

  “You can check back around the same time after two days, if you’d like. She will be placed under our care til then.”

  He nodded and took that as a sign to take his leave. He grabbed the laptops from the seats and gave himself another couple of pumps of hand sanitiser solution. He sighed and felt the tension in his forehead subside a little. You always had to cause trouble for everyone involved, didn’t you? He turned his head and looked at you through the glass panes, lying unconscious on a hospital bed. He gave a snort and didn’t slow down his pace. 

  Luckily for you, you had someone who didn’t find you to be more trouble than you were worth.

###

He found the darkness strange. In the heart of Gotham city, he had grown used to having the warm, yellow-orange glow of streetlamps outside his window, light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains and seeing them whenever he walked down the street. It felt safe. Come to think of it, it was a privilege. When he took a first drive through the Narrows, there were no such safety blankets in the form of regularly spaced streetlamps. He continued staring up at the Bat-Signal, its rays projected an emblem. 

  It was shrouded in darkness. Gotham City is a bustling, urban metropolis. The signal was alone in the night sky, not a single star there to accompany it. Light pollution makes us unable to see stars in big cities. The bat was cursed to be alone in the dark. It was the only way he could exist, anyway. After all, most sightings of him caught on tape were filmed around the Narrows.

  He combed a hand through his honey blond hair, while the balmy breeze smeared against his face. He heard footsteps. Immediately, he whipped his form around, hands affixed tightly on his hips.

  “You’re a hard man to reach.”

  He walked forward, trying to seem cordial, as much as he could be. His posture was strained, however, his neck craned forward from waiting too long. He walked forward, closer to the figure and swung one arm loose, by his side. He sized him up. This was the first time he had seen him up close, and he simply remained silent. They regarded each other for a cold moment. He couldn’t expect much from him, even a response would be too much, not without Gordon around.

  He almost blended in with the darkness. His suit mirrored the plated armour of specialised jousters, but with a much more modern and practical design. He looked rigid and reminded him of a man from medieval times, a mounted warrior with ideals of chivalry and a code of conduct befitting for a nobleman. The difference was, he did not work with the state, and was in no way a perfect courtly Christian warrior.

  I believe in Harvey Dent. People needed to believe in something, just as he believed in the Batman.

  His presence, despite being mostly subdued and shadowed, did invoke a bearing to be idolised. If he weren’t Gotham’s District Attorney or the up-and-coming choice political candidate, he might have even been star-struck and giddy-headed at the sight of him. He scoffed at this. They were of the same standing in the city of Gotham, on equal footing, and they both knew it. He could feel it in his stare.

  They waited.

  The jarring sound of the door clicking open broke the uncomfortable silence. He studied Gordon, who looked just as miffed as he did. He tried to get Gordon’s attention.

  “Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong.”

  Gordon ignored him, storming forward to switch off the Bat-Signal. This rubbed Harvey Dent the wrong way. He was a little vexed.

  “You’d asked. I could’ve taken his passport―I told you to keep me in the loop.”

  Gordon was aggravated by his unpleasant overbearing insistence on being involved in the Gotham City Police Department’s investigations. He raised his voice.

  “All that was left in the vaults were marked bills. They knew we were coming, as soon as your office got involved-”

  Gordon was motioning with his hand. He waved it around temperamentally, emotion clearly clouding his judgement and choice of words. Dent felt his blood pressure rise and he definitely would not stand for these accusations against his team. He felt a vein jutting in his neck, tensing as he matched his voice level to reach Gordon’s.

  “My office? You’re sitting there with scum like Wuertz and Ramirez and you’re talking-”

  He jammed a strained finger at the ground as he stressed his words. He paused for a moment. Realisation in a recent finding gave him the upperhand. He sneered. This was turning into a full-blown argument.

  “Oh yeah Gordon. I almost had your rookie cold on a racketeering beat.”

  He jabbed more accusatory fingers directed at Gordon. God forbid his argumentative habits from the high court show through now. This was making things a lot worse.

  “Don’t try and cloud the fact that clearly Maroni’s got people in your office, Dent.”

  Gordon’s statement was final and harsh. They stared each other down. This was going nowhere. The night breeze blew against them. The Bat was silent. Quietly, he stood and analysed whether he could really trust both of these men to solve crime in Gotham together. The wariness and doubt was palpable. What makes them think they could make him trust them, when they couldn’t even trust each other?

  Dent didn’t know how to respond to this. He went silent. He couldn’t dispute or disprove this. The Maronis’ got their reigns deep within all walks of this city.

  Gordon sighed, giving up. If they couldn’t have transparency at this point, they could forget about asking for Batman’s help. He would not accept this if they were to only hinder his goal. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They would only appear to be a joke to the man. He had to relent, for starters.

  “We couldn’t detain him. He has too much power. We can’t conclusively accuse Lau at this point, and we were denied prior warrants on him. We have no data on him aside from pure speculation.”

  Looking down, Gordon bit on his bottom lip, his facial hair caught between his lip. He tugged at his pocket with exaggerated movements, looking like a jovial dad who thrived on telling dad jokes, pulling out a scrap of notes. He skimmed through it. Harvey Dent’s hands were still on his hips, gripping at his hipbone. He turned to look at the man in the dark suit.

  The three of them stood in formation, on the rooftop of the Major Crimes Unit, circling each other. They formed the three pillars of justice in Gotham. All unyielding in their beliefs of their methods of crime fighting, and their ideals. Coming to a compromise seemed near impossible moments ago.

“We need Lau back. The Chinese won’t extradite a national under any circumstances. Not that we even have the right documents to prove his involvement with the mob.”

  Batman took this chance to respond, for the first time.

  “I have no jurisdiction. I believe I personally have enough proof to track that rat down.”

  Harvey Dent raised his brows a fraction. The gall of him to talk about legal power or authority having no control over him, right in front of the DA no less. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was boasting about operating outside the law. Even if he was a vigilante, that was a bold statement. He liked that.

  “If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

  Batman’s voice was deep and raspy. Dent did not expect his voice to be like this. The corner of his mouths tugged a bit. This was his area of expertise.

  “I’ll get him to sing.”

  Nodding for further assertion and poise in confidence, he said so knowingly. Gordon unfolded the scrap of notes handed to him by his officers. They had brute-forced their way into the systems of the recent bank heist at Gotham National Bank. Apparently, they had digital tracks of code and graphs as potential sources of evidence for this case from a foreign system. The department, however, was not specialised enough to interpret this data definitively.

  “The GCPD only recently uncovered leads to prove Lau’s dirty work in the mob, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

  This caught Harvey Dent’s attention. He signalled for him to elaborate.

  “We traced the source to be devices registered under the Blake Accounting Consultancy company.”

  Bringing a finger to his lip, Dent bit against it lightly. He pondered

  “We can do this concurrently while Batman forcefully extradites Lau. We need to do this fast, however. Set up an interrogation with this company, as soon as possible.”

  Dent and Gordon looked at each other. For once, they saw each other eye to eye. Gordon took in a deep breath, and nodded, this time with a lot less hesitation than before. The Bat looked at them, his focus flitting between the two, and pressed his lips together. Maybe there was hope in this after all.

  “We’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.”

  Gordon inclined his head, indicating the urgency of this harsh truth. Gordon gave Dent a hard stare, a direct warning to the man. A pretty-boy working high up in the office, who had never gotten his hands dirty like that in the life of a city cop. He had to know what was in store for him, and Gordon wanted to see if he really was all that serious about this, rather than being purely concerned with racking political points.

  “I knew the risk when I took this job, lieutenant.”

  Harvey Dent leaned back, seeming a tad bit offended by his warning. As if he didn’t know already. Hell, someone had even pulled a gun on him in the courtroom. In Rachel’s words, as Gotham’s DA, if you’re not getting shot at, you’re not doing your job right. He decided to let it go.

  “How are you getting back in-”

  He directed his attention back onto Batman. He vanished into thin air. Dent was at a loss for words. How dysfunctional this agreement between the three of them seemed. He dared Gordon to give him an explanation. Do I really want to know, he scoffed. Gordon cocked his head derisively, a wry smile in place.  

  “He does that.”

  Pretty crude sense of humour, even for someone flying from building to building with a cape. He relaxed his upper body, hands still on his hips. He looked at the ground. He gave an audible groan. He was going to need a cold shower after all this―This absolutely baffling and absurd confrontation. It almost seemed comical. Well, he couldn’t complain. After all, he did ask for it.

###

It had been a while since you’ve woken up from your blackout. You could only see darkness. 

  Distant static noises from the television muffled in and out through your ears. When you cracked open your eyes, they still felt raw and fluttered back shut repeatedly from your drugged up state. You had no idea where you were.

  “-according to eyewitnesses, each man wore a clown mask.”

  You gripped the bed sheets. This news was… unsettlingly familiar. You felt a mild stinging pain on top of your hand with the restricted movement. It felt like plastic taped against your hand.

  “-used grenades to intimidate the hostages into submission.”

  Suddenly everything came flooding back, the feeling of fear re-imagined. You tore your eyes which were sealed shut open. You remembered the clowns. And the clown beneath the clown mask. And the sight of a live grenade beside you. You stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed, the whirring sound of a ventilator a droning hum beside your ear. You reached up to your face and touched the plastic sterile respirator cupping over your nose and mouth.

  Oh. You were in a hospital. It took a while for you to register this.

  You looked at the television and saw Gotham Tonight News. Your thoughts immediately shifted to John Blake. He had saved your life. Your eyes desperately searched the room, darting around all corners. You only saw other patients as you were in a public ward, and in your movement you unknowingly hit a button on your hospital bed with your elbow. Distant beeping noises of machines could be heard, with the occasional coughing and hacking. The feeling of grogginess was slowly subsiding. You heard footsteps coming.

  In your silent hope, you half-expected it to be John Blake. But much to your dismay, it was a doctor. She held a clipboard and wore a mask that was tucked under her chin, and a white clinical lab coat. She offered you a warm, hospitable smile, despite the tiredness that dragged down her sunken eyes.

  “Miss, I see you have woken up. We can let you rest for a while before we discharge you, you slept for longer than we have expected.”

  Longer than they had expected? How long were you out? You needed answers. You resisted and slowly tried to sit up. You gestured towards your respirator and flailed your hand around slightly. She seemed to understand you.

  “Ah, I understand. Eager to get out?”

  She continued smiling tiredly. She dislodged the mask from behind your head and took it off your face. You felt a drastic change in pressure as you tried to adjust to the current atmosphere, taking even deeper breaths and sputtering slightly. You suddenly felt breathless. She let you take a while to get used to this before working on the tube that went up your nose and down your throat. She pulled it straight from your nose, much to your horror, and you felt the friction of it sliding against your pharynx. You could have sworn you felt blood trickling down your throat. Excruciatingly, you let out a prolonged sob the more she pulled onto it. When she was done, you panted, using the back of a hand to wipe against the saliva that dribbled around your mouth.

  She took your other hand in hers and tore off the IV access, effortlessly and with little pain around that area. You stared at her behind tearful eyes. Nurses and doctors were so amicable yet did actions like this with that much intention and precision. It was daring, courageous and you guessed it took a lot for them to not be squeamish. You licked your chapped lips and proceeded to thank her.

  You looked at the golden badge pinned on her breast pocket. It was the Caduceus symbol. The omnipotent Staff of Hermes. A staff once carried by Hermes in Greek mythology, slender and splendid, entwined by a serpent coiling around the body of the staff in a downward spiral. The wand of healing. It was beautiful, magnificent, if not a bit eerie and otherworldly. You sucked in a breath. You were lost in thought. Must we really fall prey to the deceptive trickster of Eden in order to achieve greatness? Medicine is a holy tome, the all-encompassing, for the most glorious knowledge in the world. 

  Break the rules.

  To achieve greatness, you must know the truth, and to know the truth, you must take the forbidden fruit for the knowledge of all things good and evil.

  And that means walking away from the lies you were told your whole life.

  Your eyes glazed over, starry-eyed over the dreams of a past life. You stared at the healthcare worker with eyes of green. 

  No, that dream simply isn’t possible.

  Disillusionment tore at your eyes. No, it really wasn’t.

  She returned you your set of clothes from before and you changed out of the hospital gown. You were given a brief rundown of your condition, as well as pictures and radiographs of chest scans. You had suffered minor burns down your air passages and suffered from acute zinc chloride and fear gas poisoning, but the counter-agents had already been administered. Luckily for you, the actions taken against the fear gas were swift and that prevented long-term effects from creeping into your system. You would hate to be plagued with images of that darned clown for life. Soon, you found yourself at the counter, ready to be discharged. You groaned inwardly at the hospital bills this stay would rack up. You would experience mild discomfort and difficulty breathing for a while, but it wouldn’t be anything serious. You guessed that you really did owe Blake one for this time.

  Speaking of whom, you would have expected him to at least pay you a visit this one time, seeing as it was in fact a weekend. If you hadn’t gone through that terror that previous day, you would have felt a petty disappointment in him, for you felt that you were important enough for him to do that much for you. But this time, you felt a bit worried. You chewed at your cracked lips, hoping that nothing bad had happened to him while you were out. 

  You signed the relevant documents and walked towards the entrance, ready to head out when you suddenly saw a head of familiar, clean cut chestnut hair walking towards you. He wore a navy suit with a cool-toned pink tie. You felt a warmth bubble inside of you when you smiled at him. Boy were you glad to see him, and he had made it to visit you after all. You were about to reach out to him and say something, but he stopped you in your tracks only to turn you around and walk you in the same direction as him.

  “Hey kid, glad to see you’re out and all, but we have no time right now. You’ll understand when we get there.” 

  His jaw had a greater tension to it than it did normally, and his dark features were serious and silent. He didn’t really have a smile gracing his lips, but his eyes showed a hint of relief seeing you well and recovered. You were confused by this and felt a slight dejection constricting at your chest. What was with him and wouldn’t he be happy seeing you? You furrowed your brows for a moment and avoided his gaze. He handed you your laptop he stowed hastily by thrusting it into your hands. You fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. You felt your blood boil slowly, you thought to yourself, oh no you’d better not expect me to work overtime like this. You stopped in your tracks.

  “Hey―You really think I’m going to work for you at this hour, under these circumstances? You’re out of your mind.”

  He simply continued walking, not slowing down his pace. He only turned his head behind indifferently, regarding you coldly, then returned his gaze in front of him.

  “You’re not working for me today.”

  Your jaw agape, you stared at his back that was getting smaller by the second, incredulous. You’ve had it with this caginess, he was tight-lipped. Why couldn’t he just tell you anything at all? You pulled at your hair and ran ahead to catch up with him, the heels of your pumps clacking against the hospital floor. At this, you felt a fiery burst pulsating down your throat and windpipe. You ran out of oxygen very quickly and sputtered for more, the friction of air against the burn marks up your nostrils raked mercilessly through your nerves. It was obvious you couldn’t do much physically for a while. Your footsteps slowed down, but Blake’s did not. You guys had perfect communication most of the time and today was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You pleaded again, between agonising hacks, clearly vexxed.

  “Could you... at LEAST tell me what’s going on-”

  He stopped suddenly, at the west-wing entrance of Gotham General Hospital. You caught up to him, about to lose your mind at him. You gawked, your gaze landing on the sight in front of him. Your brain stutters for a moment and your eyes seem to betray you. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You wanted to turn to Blake to confirm that you were indeed working for these people, but you couldn’t find it in you. There stood two of the most authoritative men in Gotham, hands on their hips, feet tapping impatiently. They weren’t facing each other. The vibe felt a little off. Gotham’s White Knight, Harvey Dent, and Lieutenant James Gordon. 

  “This is your Junior Data Analyst, Consultant Blake? I hope you had a speedy recovery, Miss.”

  Jim Gordon adjusted his spectacles and nodded at you, his brows frowning, a sorry expression written on his face.

  “We uh, apologise for bothering you on such short notice, but we hope you can understand.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Harvey Dent. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,”

  Harvey Dent stuck a warm hand out, smiling affably as you took it to give it a firm shake, shifting his eyes onto Blake at the last sentence. He was charming, just like the clips of him you’ve seen on television. You expected no less, but this level of charisma was unprecedented. You introduced yourself and smiled hesitantly, unsure, before you turned to look at Blake, hoping for an explanation. He looked at you and nodded reassuringly, the first time he had shown any real emotion to you this whole time. That made you feel slightly more relieved. The two men still didn’t exactly look at each other. Did they have some kind of beef with each other…?

  “We’re not going to waste your time and get to the point,”

  Gordon ushered you out of the hospital and into a cop car. This was your first time in one, and you were sure that you weren’t in it for illicit reasons, after seeing how John nodded at you earlier. It still unsettled you a little bit, you couldn’t be too sure. You had a read on the atmosphere after your initial shock subsided, and it was grim and urgent. You did not like this energy, no one says anything unnecessarily, probably to save time. It’s no wonder Blake was acting so unusually secretive, and uncommunicative. You felt bad now for blaming him. Blake and Harvey Dent sat to your left. Gordon took the front passenger’s seat.

  You looked up outside the windows. It was dark outside much like the way the cop car’s leather seats and roof were painted black. A return back into the concrete jungle was imminent.

  “We need your combined efforts in decoding whatever work you had on Gotham National Bank.”

  You loosened your grip on your laptop. At least you weren’t in trouble for anything. You tried to maintain eye contact with Jim Gordon through the rear-view mirror, his kind yet profound looking eyes looking deep into yours. You could almost feel his burdens undoing into you. He had a weight on his shoulders and immense responsibilities you could not even dream of imagining. Gordon was the open-book type of person, evidently.

  “Oh, is it the one proving Lau-”

  “Yes, Lau’s fraudulence and involvement with the mob. He’s still in Hong Kong. Your data could really help us with his case and get him to talk. We need to take out the big dogs.”

  Harvey Dent interjected. You turned your head towards him, and you saw his profile with his strong nose and golden hair. The golden boy of Gotham. Normally, you would be rather bothered by someone who cuts you off like that, but it felt different with Dent. Even you would defer to such absolute authority and apparent righteousness at a pressing time like this. From all his campaigns and court hearings, you could tell he was sincere in his pursuit of goodness in Gotham, he just overflowed with integrity and honour. He embodied that All-American charm, handsome, deep blue eyes monumental with some form of knightly honour. A heroic presence, almost like the kind Robert Redford sort of had. He shifted his cleft chin in thought, a hand to his temple, before he looked at you.

  “Can you present us a full analysis of your findings and write out a report by tonight?”

  He raised his brows a fraction, looking at you pleadingly with his blue eyes, lips stretched slightly with a gentle half-smile. 

  How could you say no when he had asked you with such sincerity? While he appeared to be brash at times, it was a quality that came with the job of being the city’s persecutor. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed.

  After all, wasn’t this a dream of yours? To serve in the movement for change in Gotham.

  This city is dying. It’s rotting.

  No, it was rich land for the seeds in the car sitting right beside you. And you had a part to play too, a golden opportunity had presented itself.

  “I already planned to expose that little rat, I didn’t need to be told.” 

  You looked away, snorting. You felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you cursed at the breathing difficulties caused by the smoke bomb. Blake eyed you from the corner of his eyes, trying to hide that twinkle, and his cheeks aching from holding down the pull of the sides. Harvey Dent paused, lightly taken aback by your statement, quirked his lips downwards in an arc, nodding his head unexpectedly.

  “Well then, the youth these days never fail to surprise me. Welcome aboard, Miss.”

  “Listen Mr. Dent, you’re still considered a spring chicken compared to those insufferable old farts we tolerate on a daily basis.”

  You smiled. Harvey Dent let out a hearty laugh within his chest at this joke you cracked. It did well to ease the tension for critical times like these. You did consider him to be part of your generation, at the forefront leading this revolution. John Blake looked over at Dent, adding onto your statement.

  “She’s right, you’re cut from the same cloth as us, you’re our peer. And you are the cream of the crop, the very best of us. Gotham is changing because of you.”

  “Well, I feel very flattered, but I’m not the only one. It’s all thanks to the Batman.”

  You grunted, a rumble through your chest, ignoring the pain. You’d agree to a certain extent, Batman was just the beginning. However, Harvey Dent was the culmination of all this. He was the hero with the face, the hero grounded in reality and tangible change. Batman can only go so far without the help of Harvey Dent.

  “This is inspiring stuff and all, but are we forgetting something? Or someone? Or an entire generation above you?”

  All of you turned your heads to Jim Gordon in the front seat. On the rear view mirror, Gordon had an expectant look on his face, his lips underneath that mustache pressed together in a thin line. The three of you in the backseat felt a light feather ticking your insides, threatening to break free at your throats. You all chuckled weakly, subdued laughter as you all darted your gazes, looking away at all absent corners of the cop car. You hid the humour in your voice with a stinging cough. Heaven forbid you all make light of the situation at a time like this.

###

You cleared your throat, feeling the lingering effects of the smoke on your system, the noise resounding off the washed out concrete brick walls, frosted white with an almost steely-blue. The small room made you feel sick and oppressed, with its air-conditioner temperature set to an isolating sixty degrees fahrenheit. You stepped back, the soft clicks of your heels hitting the concrete, non-tiled floor as you brought up a finger. It shuddered slightly, and you raised it up to point to the projector screen fabric hoisted on the wall, the shadow of your hand looming over the makeshift light projector setup the GCPD had provided, sending ripples through the fabric.

  The room felt like a prison cell, almost deliberately designed to make you feel alienated and scrutinised. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, a fluorescent lighting irradiating through the room with a cool toned jarring brightness that made you squint a little, yet not completely illuminating the dark shadowy corners of the squarish room. A grey rectangular table sat in front of you, with Harvey Dent and Lieutenant Jim Gordon sitting back cross legged in their foldable plastic chairs, while John Blake sat hunched over on the other end of the table, furiously typing out a report on his laptop. You guessed you couldn’t expect anything too fancy from the Major Crimes Unit of Gotham. You needed to push through this presentation, despite the building physical discomfort following your predicament from the day before.

  You made eye contact with Jim Gordon, with a little bit of difficulty, but you still pressed on to make your point. He had his hands clasped together, sitting between his thighs, and avoided your gaze to favour studying the data presented on the screen. Harvey Dent had a hand wrapped around one side of his cheek, and an elbow propped on the table, resting his head against it and listening intently. You had been given unreasonable demands to give impromptu presentations rather frequently at work, but definitely not within an hour of getting discharged from the hospital. Your nerves fired off a little bit and you tried your best not to let your voice betray you. You tugged your blazer tighter around your waist, blaming the cold for this action.

  “I think we have a pretty strong case here. This is all the information you need, reallyㅡto charge Lau, especially with the insights from Mr. Blake. He was a forensic accountant.”

  Gordon and Dent shared a pointed look at each other, expressions unreadable, before Gordon turned back to you to nod a gentle ‘thank you’. You took this as a sign to give them ample space for their own discussion and consolidation, and you let out a huge sigh, walking swiftly over to John Blake after being granted the permission to be dismissed. You dragged another foldable chair and scooched over to sit beside him. You leaned over to look at his laptop, then at him expectantly. He ignored this and continued looking at his screen.

  “Little nervous there, weren’t you kid?”

  You puffed your cheeks and let a stream of air out. You were punished for this motion as you felt searing pain up your larynx and flaring at your nostrils. You were about to lose your mind on him but you remembered the presence of the other two justice hounds in the room. Blake snickered inwardly. You supposed two compliments in two consecutive days was unheard of from the man. You hadn’t been silly enough to hope for that. Yesterday, what he said to you at the bank was possibly the most acknowledgement you had ever gotten from him for your worth as his partner, and you will take that to your chest and run away with it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you try giving a presentation after literally being discharged from the hospital?”

  He decided to let it go and brush this off, his smile still not withholding however. He scrolled down the document he had impressively typed out. It seemed he had been working on it while you were out. It was way too detailed to have been put together in the short amount of time you were here, while you gave the presentation. You raised your brows, he was on his A game tonight, more so than usual. Working behind the scenes, after hours. You wondered what sparked this escalation in work ethic and quality. This little rivalry between you two felt slightly more visceral.

  Covertly, you stared over at Gordon and Dent, who looked cold and calculative under the subtle hue of blue-toned lighting. They seemed to be in some kind of disagreement, brows furrowed and stubborn towards each other. Did this happen often? You chewed your lips and tapped lightly at the table. You could see Blake at the corner of your eyes rubbing his chin again. While you two were confidently secure in your abilities as analysts and consultants, working with public servants required a different form of rigour. It required a different kind of convincing. Not one that was only concerned with profits and risk-bearings, like your previous clients, but something that held ethical weight and certainty. You two had done something that could be classified as immoral, and you weren’t sure if this level of convincing was enough to gloss over that fact. Judging from John Blake’s body language, he shared the same sentiments. You took in a deep breath, despite the pain, desperately needing the extra air to catch up on your shortness of breath.

  Gordon and Dent signaled for the two of you to come over and show them the written report. You could feel your heart beating quickly, hammering against your chest. The desire to please the authorities made your senses go wild, and it would only serve as a testament to your abilities if you could help the highest forms of justice in the city in these respects. Blake took this chance to explain briefly the navigation of the report, and to bring focus to the more important details of your presentation highlighted in the report. This would allow them to utilise the information more effectively and constructively should they ever need to take this to court. This once was his area of expertise, after all. Gordon and Dent gave each other another look and they looked pleased. Well, at least they came to a consensus on something. They had their attention on you again after the mutual confirmation.

  “Astounding work you two,”

  Harvey Dent smiled politely at you. Your erratic heartbeat calmed as you felt heat radiate off your face like a hot pan. Slowly the high of authoritative validation crept within your system. His words definitely felt like honey.

  “I’m gonna need you to come with me to County tomorrow, after hours, to account for certain data and ledgers regarding Lau’s case. Could you spare me some of your time, Miss?”

  You gulped. It was extremely hard to say no to this man. You weren’t going to turn down a request like this anyway, if it meant one step closer to saving Gotham City. A little sacrifice for something you love was nothing. You nodded tentatively at first, charting a rough impression of your weekly schedule in your head. You had work the next day and it would be very hectic for you. Blake looked impassive. You couldn’t get a read on him. Harvey Dent leaned back in his chair, threw the documents on his lap back onto the table and stood up to be eye level with you.

  “Well, that would be all for today. I need to rush back, so I thank you all for your hard work.”

  After Harvey Dent promptly left the room, Gordon shifted the laptop in front of him and stood up. The room felt significantly emptier with Dent gone, he had quite the presence. You looked around the room again, eyes scanning the white brick walls, squinting as your gaze briefly landed on the bare LED light bulb. You silently waited for Gordon to collect his thoughts.

  “Consultant Blake, you're not going off the hook so easily, I’m afraid. The GCPD needs your help in tracing the mob’s money while it is being stowed away indefinitely.”

  Blake pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single nod of understanding. Gordon shifted his weight to his other foot, pondering. He cast his eyes downwards, then back onto Blake and you.

  “You know, you two enjoy fighting against crime, right? I see something very special in you youngsters. Well, I have a proposition for you... So, here’s some food for thought.”

  Gordon looked a little more intently at you two.

  “We really could use your skill sets for our ongoing and future investigations for our fight against organised crime. We-uh, don’t receive nearly as much funding as we need from the state… So our financial forensics department is not as developed as it should be.”

  He paused. You saw those worn down eyes again, beaten down by the world around him. He was an old soul, and he made no effort to mask the worry in his eyes, his forehead grazed with permanent crease lines, perhaps from constant frowning. You could see however, the silver lining behind his dark irises. The one thing not jaded, remaining pure and undiluted, was his hope in enforcing justice for Gotham City. That is where his true passion lies.

  “We don’t have enough people with the relevant technological or knowledge based capabilities. I know this is too much to ask of you… But the offer is always open―I could negotiate a permanent spot for you two on the team, if you were to change your mind in future. That is, if you want to, of course-”

  Gordon fumbled a little with his words, his hand waving about slightly. John Blake held a hand out, saving Gordon from his apparent awkwardness as he felt it unbecoming. Cops should at least have some pride. It would not do well for a lieutenant to be appealing to two private sector workers for help like this, it was almost completely undignified. Had the cops really been pressed thin to the brink? Pushed into a corner? Here, he had thought that the state of Gotham was improving immensely. Evidently, the fine balance of all powers in Gotham has been knocked over. Something was brewing. There was a storm coming. 

  You interjected.

  “We’re, uh, very flattered! Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon. We will definitely keep your words in our hearts, and keep your offer in consideration.”

  You all regarded each other for a moment, unspeaking―completely aware of the implications of all this. This whole agreement, and Gordon’s open proposal to you. John Blake stared hard, his jaws fixed in position. You sensed the energy in this room and it held an excruciating weight. You didn’t even know what you all were waiting for. You clenched your fingers at the hem of your blazer. You looked discreetly at John Blake, not really knowing what to expect. As if you didn’t want him to catch you staring.

  “It’s been nine months since the first appearance of Batman. Since Falcone’s incarceration.”

  Blake started, his voice sure and certain.

  “Did anyone actually accomplish anything?”

  His voice echoed through the room, piercing through everyone that stood. He stepped forward slightly. His gaze flitting down to the laptop in his hand.

  “All Batman did was end Falcone’s era. The Police Headquarters rounded up new forces. The mob replaced the figurehead at the top. Dent’s attempts to take down the top dogs have been, to no avail. The big-timers didn’t take any action.”

  You adjusted your collar, uncomfortable and unable to stare at him for any longer.

  “Sure, petty crimes have been reduced, one by one. Things have changed. But at the root of it all… Nothing’s been fixed.”

  He pondered wistfully.

  “It was like… everybody was just preparing for something.”

  Blake adjusted his tie.

  “...And now you’re here, Lieutenant Gordon―You and Harvey Dent. Asking us for help, knowing very well that this-”

  He waved his laptop around in his hand.

  “-data right here, was gained unscrupulously. And it’s not too far-fetched to believe you two are corroborating closely with the Bat, despite that official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.”

  John Blake tilted his chin downwards, looking up at Gordon, a purse evident on his lips. You flinched a little.

  “You are resorting to outlawed measures to fight the outlaws. And you’re telling me.”

  Gordon could not find the right words to this. He responded carefully. He would have to humble himself and swallow his pride for the sake of Gotham’s future, and he had in fact pitched you all a rather unreasonable request. He hoped to be able to earnestly appeal to the parts of your hearts, no matter how small, that cared deeply for the city of Gotham. It had to be there, he assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t have aided in the investigations as readily as you did, at the drop of a hat.

  “The mob had… squeezed us to the point of desperation, as much as I hate to admit it. I realise the first step to having a successful collusion with all parties involved is to drop the act and acknowledge this.”

   You gulped, and finally said something. At this point, the tension in the room had made you forget the slightly debilitating pain in your trachea.

  “Frankly speaking, we crossed the line first. We aren’t the only ones, and soon they’ll be hammered to the point of desperation, Lieutenant Gordon.”

  Gordon grunted, a hum low in his chest.

  “I know very well.”

  John Blake, for the first time in this confrontation, allowed a smirk to grace his lips. He looked over at you.

  “You always told me, kid…”

  His gaze on you was unnerving, and compelling.

  “...that the new era of the daring ones is coming along with an unstoppable swell. Batman is just the beginning. He... broke the gear. And we’re not going to be the only side taking up arms, fighting back.”

  He shifted his gaze back onto Gordon.

  “Expect a storm. Expect escalation. Expect a resistance like we’ve never seen before. There’s no turning back.”

  You watched as their eyes locked, their hard expressions unyielding. Gordon was obviously not new to this line of thought, but perhaps no one had been courteous enough to engage with him in discussing the implications of such. He was at a loss for words, but not caught by surprise. His deeply emotive eyes stirred, and he spoke quietly.

  “I am well aware of all this Consultant Blake. It’s not anything new to me. But I am prepared for anything and will stop at nothing. I do the best I can with what I have.”

  Blake’s eyes softened a little, but still retaining their edge, knowing fully well what all of you had gotten yourselves into. The very moment you had engaged in these investigations and accepted the request in lending your contributions, you had placed all of your lives at stake. He stuck a palm to him out of habit, always one for the conditioned nicety. 

  “We have a deal, then. We will lend you our tentative aid. ”

###

Your teeth gnawed slightly at your lips as you made your rounds around the main office room in the MCU. The administrative office had been closed long since you arrived here. You reorganised your datasets you gathered from Gotham National Bank, and printed out the required evidence for your visit to County the next day. It occurred to you, with the impromptu presentation you delivered earlier, that you needed to revise the formatting of your work before it was court-ready. You stood by the printer, listening to the squeaking of ink running across paper and the whir and buzz of the mechanism inside. 

  You exhaled, the first time this night since being discharged that you could take a brief moment of respite. You had a newfound respect for crime fighters in Gotham, if this was what their lifestyles consisted of. Gordon hadn’t even left the MCU, he resolved to return to his private workspace at the top floor of this building. Justice never sleeps, you supposed. You looked out the window, groaning then pinching the bridge of your nose. It was a special kind of blackness out there, one you would probably only see during the witching hours. You wouldn’t be able to get the rest you needed to recover properly, since you probably only had a couple hours of sleep at best before you had to wake up to head for work. Then, when you were done for the day, you would have to rush over to County, grab a bite on the go for dinner if you were lucky, and turn in late again.

  Never would you have thought that you would find yourself working on the side of justice in this way, having a direct hand in adjusting things in Gotham for good. Although, it did seem like a sort of calling to you, in a way. Things were a little bit too convenient, and pieces fell into place together too easily. It was like a feasible chemical reaction in a way that was bound to happen at any given point in time, so long as time had stretched on. You tapped your fingers against your chapped lips, deliberating for a while.

  You did always wish you had a reliable way of measuring what was guaranteed and what wasn’t. It would provide you with a greater control over your life than what you had over the past few years, one that you sought after.

  Serendipity.

  You weren’t exactly too sure if you could call it that.

  Your thoughts wandered back to your coworker and boss, John Blake. He was pretty much done for the night and didn’t have much else to wrap up on. He would wait for you at the porch of the MCU. He had been acting rather strange. Ever since you first saw him, he had been pretty cold to you. But now, it was currently walking along a fine line of coldness and slight, dare you say, hostility. You supposed that he had always been pretty insufferable to you. God, since the start, he had been pretty provocative even when you were sitting round the coffee table at that one boujee cafe. But it had, well, mostly always been in playful jest, or friendly banter. You supposed you always did feel the strife of competition with him, always needing to prove something to him.

  You groaned again, feeling a pinch behind your eyes. You had to save all this thinking for later when you weren’t exactly sleep deprived. You ran a final check through all your printouts, languidly flipping through them with an index finger. Satisfied, you tapped the width of the entire stack a couple times against the surface of the wooden table, aligning the sheets within. You slotted it in an empty file supplied by the GCPD, and headed to the entrance with the large front doors.

  Harvey Dent and Gordon sure made the impression on you, though you did have your doubts towards them. Their relationship seemed… unnatural, kind of strained. You could even describe it as seeming dysfunctional. And it was obvious to you. You couldn’t really blame them, though. With corruption levels so high in this city, you wouldn’t know who to trust either. You would love to have faith in the system, but if they were so good, they wouldn’t be turning to you and Blake.

  You stepped out into lights cast upon the porch by the warm streetlamps, lost in your thoughts.

  John Blake.

  You squinted upon the intrusion of the flaring streetlamps. You saw two streetlamps in the spot where there should only be one.

  What the hell?

  You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. You couldn’t hear anything.

  Where is he… anyway?

  You strained your eyes open again.

  The streetlamps were like a desert mirage. You saw the two balls of light separate slightly, then start to converge.

  Your hair stood on ends, from the back of your neck to the entirety of your arms. Something scraped along the inside of your ears, a high-pitched screeching that bounced within your ear canal.

  You blinked, your shoulders tensing up. You took a step forward, your breath faltering.

  Your feet wobbled slightly as you made your first descent down a step. You gripped onto your laptop and file even tighter. 

  No…

  You broke into an all out sprint, almost nose diving down the long flight of stairs, the sensation pulling at your lungs disorientating.

  Does it depress you? To know that your reality is based on comforting lies?

  Poor little girl... You think a safe space will actually help.

  You felt something black and long, emaciated fingertips reaching into your ear and scratching lightly. They were charred and felt like the bark of scorched trees. They were lanky and skinny like tree branches, about a foot long and grazed at the walls of your ear canals.

  If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.

  It was a creature of the underworld. One of the most fearsome apparitions, not from the corporal realm. Then… What was he doing here? You bristled.

  Judgement had been passed, and the final fight between good and evil awaits.

  He was the plaguebearer, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was the harbinger of the pestilence. When the time was right, he will besiege the world with pure pandemonium.

  Flesh thudded against stone tiled floors. A strangled scream tore gutturally through the streets. These sounds were incredibly muffled to you.

  He barely turned his head to give a brief, uninterested, side glance.

  And all of a sudden, all your senses returned to you in one compounding moment, everything came crashing down dramatically upon you like a surging, symphonic orchestral blare, and you were met with your fears. The scratchy fingertips stabbed and pierced into your eardrums, and a sharp, debilitating throb pounded through your head. No amount of alcohol could make you forget the sight of his gruesome face.

  Here he stood, in the corporeal world, insidious and spectral. The time had come, and his presence heralded the arrival of world’s end, the armageddon before Judgement Day.

  You were unfortunate enough to be caught, dead in the center of this maelstrom.

  You looked death in the eye, watching carefully as you anticipated his next course of action. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Ah, uninvited guests―Always a, uh, welcome surprise.”

  He slurred the last word. You tried your hardest to react, to at least do something, anything at all really would do at this moment. Ounce by ounce, he filled every space and cavity your physical being had to offer, and then those your spiritual and mental being as well, for there seemed to not be enough space for this surreal and... grotesque thing. You couldn’t breathe, it felt as if his mere presence was asphyxiating. You wanted to move, you wanted to run, you wanted to curl up into a ball, you wanted to move at least one goddamned muscle in your body.

  But you can’t.

  Sighing exaggeratedly, as if the world owed him a living, he trudged forward slowly and expectantly towards you. He put both his palms up, facing you, stretching and spacing out all his gloved fingers, perhaps in mock concession, a friendly gesture showing that he had nothing to hide. He raised his brows at you with his lips in a sulk, derisive in his condolences. All at once, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and your torso was constricted. You could barely comprehend what was happening, and he seized you by warping behind you as quickly as his stature allowed for. You bit into your lips, tears pricking at your eyes that you could allow such a thing to happen without having the guts to put up a fight. You thrashed your head around, struggling against his grasp, his leather gloved hands muffling a yelp that escaped your lips.

  He grumbled about something related to people minding their own businesses, but you were far too busy trying to pry away at his iron clasp around your figure to comprehend what he was really saying.  

  You couldn’t breathe properly. You sucked in as much air as you could through your scalded nostrils. Your lungs burned. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his face, that you could muster the courage required for this display of resistance to his restraints. Your laptop and files were left forgotten, dropped by the pavement and driven into the soil.

  “Kid, it’s fine, just relax and don’t―urgh! Don’t...don’t do anything rash.”

  You peered down as he rasped, the side of his face pressed mercilessly down into the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Your shaky pupils searched the scene in front of you. The darkness was illuminated by the mellow streetlamps. John Blake was pushed, head first into the ground with a big, pale, brown-haired man kneeling against his form, restraining his arm behind his back. He was armed. That put you slightly more on edge, and slightly more willing to comply. The wraith behind you removed his hand from your mouth, and just as you were about to let out an ear-curdling scream, you felt a cold smoothness of the point of a knife tickle you lightly at your neck, drawing circles around your pulse point gently. Stubbornly, you slackened your arms a little, but still maintained a hold on his forearms.

  Let… Let go of John.

  You saw another man a couple feet beside him, frightened out of his wits, held at gunpoint by another goon, this one wearing a clown mask. He was quivering slightly, both his arms behind his head, clad in a grey suit, a piece of paper duct-taped at its front with words scribbled sloppily―‘Please deliver to Lieutenant Gordon.’ You scrunch your nose a little, tracing your eyes up to look into his panic-stricken, beady eyes.

  “Lau?”

  You spit out in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the compromising position you were in. The phantom circled his arms around you tighter like a python, a ritual they performed before they devoured their prey. It was no use, your arms were wedged by your sides at this point. You tried one last time to fight it, but it was met with a mere chuckle.

  “I see we’re all, uh, acquainted here?”

  He gestured in sardonic formality with his fingers that weren’t latched onto the trigger. He had an incredibly erratic cadence to his voice. His intonations and inflections were completely irregular, he stressed words in a pattern that seemed completely… random. This made even the way he spoke instinctually threatening, for you didn’t know what to expect from him, a sort of jagged edge that laced his words. It granted him a heightened sense of unpredictability, and a malicious air of danger that felt even more tangible. You felt this, it was all too real.

  “You’re working with the police to sell me out, is that how it is? You would betray your own company’s affiliate.”

  Lau, with as much disdain he could gather within him in his sorry state, glared daggers at you. His hands shook more violently, unable to control the trepidation of fear and anger mixed together in a deadly concoction. The ghoulish man who held you shifted you in his grasp a little, pressing your head closer to his cheek, and you felt the stickiness of his greasepaint latch onto your hair. You cringed and recoiled, lips contorting in disgust. He swiped his tongue against the ridges along his bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t be so ah... concerned with that, if I were you. Seeing that our boy-o over here so valiantly jumped in to save your little-ol life.”

  You snarled at this implication, how dare he mock John? You clawed at his forearm, digging your nails into the velvety textile of his purple sleeve, and jerked yourself against his grasp. Roughly, he tensed his arm against your body. He shifted his lips closer to your ear, his slimy breath stroking the shell of your ear, smearing some hot waxy face paint against your cheek.

  “Ah-tatta… Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

  He growled that last bit menacingly into your ear, pushing the slender tapered point of his blade deeper into your neck, sashaying side to side ominously as he adjusted his hold on you to expertly elude his arm from your long nails. He played around with the butt of the knife, tapping it and twisting it around absentmindedly. The blade slid against the delicate skin of your throat carelessly, with varying pressure. You froze. Just because you couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. As a grim reminder of his presence, he knowingly did this, intruding all boundaries of your personal space. Your blood ran cold, frosted by the chilling metal digging into your neck, and your sight remained trained on John Blake.

  Events that happened at the bank flipped through your mind like the pages of a comic book.

  Terrorist. Master-manipulator. Criminal. What the hell are you?

  You weren’t sure if you should be more afraid of this more talkative version of the clown, or the dead silent dirt green-haired man under the frowning mask.

  If there was one thing they had in common, you couldn’t fully understand either of them.

  Your life was in the hands of a madman who treated it all like a game.

  You saw John looking straight into you, seething underneath all that pressure. You tried to seek solace in him and calm him down at the same time, trying to convey your emotions through your eyes.

  Tongue in cheek, the man behind you was clearly watching this interaction, unamused.

  “For a couple of party crashers-ah? You guys sure are bor―ing.”

  With a low rumble in his chest, he shoved you forward and seized your hands behind you, pressing the knife against the back of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips, not used to the crassness of which you were being handled.

  “Ooh, I have an idea, something real fun. It wouldn’t do to do this at our, uh, current venue however…”

  He gestured his goons towards the abandoned building in front of you.

  Catching your breath, you twisted your head to the side to look at John Blake, your eyes widening and searching his face desperately. You had no choice but to be subjected to this… sick game of his.

  “It’ll be okay, John. We’ll be okay.”

  You only managed to catch a glimpse of his jaw clenching and his hard eyes looking back at you, before the clown in the purple suit pushed you forward again. The clown smacked his lips together.

  “Make it fast, lovebirds.”

###

Your head spun feverishly. You were sleep-deprived, couldn’t breathe well, and in a… sticky situation. You were just slammed forcefully, thrown head first into a fiberboard office desk. Through a teary-eyed vision, for a moment it was pitchblack, with the dim light of the city at night filtering through the window. Then, you were blinded by the sting of office-grade LED strip lights arranged neatly on the ceilings above you. Your trachea was already burning from being forced to climb up a flight of stairs. You had just about enough. This debilitation and lightheadedness gave you a newfound strength, ironically.

  You thought back on the 9/11 attacks, and on every other occasion you felt this similar genuine terror strike up in your heart. You vaguely remember some quote, to never negotiate with terrorists, or something like that. Terrible advice really, to anyone who was actually in a terror situation where it was life or death, but to hell with it. You were at your limit for the amount of bullshit you could tolerate. Being absolutely manhandled was not in your itinerary this night. You thought back on every good thing you’ve tried to do for Gotham, sickeningly undone by thugs like these. Your hunched form felt an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing and extremely potent. And luck has it, you’re trying to stop me again.

  Your forehead was propped against the desk for support. Your hands were free, but your world was spinning too much for you to do anything with them. You bared your teeth, and you swear you could feel fangs growing where your canines were rooted.

  Violently, you hurled your voice against the desk.

  “Haven’t you done enough to us at the bank?”

  You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth, clenching your fists tightly. Your blood was hot, and you could no longer feel the coolness of the blade against your neck.

  “I’m not afraid of you terrorists. Frankly speaking, I am absolutely sick of you little bastards.”

  Venomously, you spit the excess saliva in your mouth against the desk, overwhelmed with emotion.

  You felt him tugging at your white blazer sleeves, and an excruciating force wrenched at the crown of your head by the hair, lifting your body up slightly, with it still looming over the desk. You felt a suppressed rage as you ran out of ways to express your anger in this awkward position, and you prepared to resort to launching a spit at him to resolve this compulsion.

  But the moment you were face to face with him, the hairs on the nape of your neck bristled. Trapped in your own psychosis, you were wheedled into a living nightmare tailor made for your own brain to play on your deepest fears. Two holes gouged out for eyes, and a bloodied smile carved in place of lips, all splotched onto a chalky white canvas. He looked like a corpse, and you felt the urge to puke. You felt your stomach lurch, and you clutched at your mouth to coax the acidic feeling back down your throat.

  He studied you, frowning deeply and narrowing his eyes, straining his head sideways to get a better look at you. God, when he narrowed those eyes, his sclera disappeared and they looked like the eye sockets embedded within a skull. His greasy hair frayed around framing his head stiffly, lifeless with its strands starched and stiffened together with muck, as if it were dipped in formaldehyde, its proteins coagulated rigidly like it belonged to a cadaver that had long been embalmed. They were bleached off of their natural colour and a faded wash of pallid, acid pale green remained. The fact that he smelled strongly of a queasy mixture of many different chemicals definitely did nothing to help.

  “Ah, so you are that little doctor girl back there. I remember you... Who else on earth wears a, uh, white blazer?”

  He snorted at the end, pinched at your sleeve at the same time, causing your forearm to be lifted, before he let it go. Your wrist bone landed, smacking against the table with a loud snap. The bite was sharp and pointed. You quickly grabbed your hand and held it to your chest, rubbing over it soothingly. You had no idea why you felt offended by this.

  “Glad you made it, little girl-”

  “Doctor... What? And says you! You’re-you’re dressed in a purple trench-”

  You cut him off. He regarded you with a slow lick of his lips, gliding languidly over the fringes of his scars. He gets even closer, up in your face. He stares down at you, looking directly into your very being. You try to look away, but you could only see ink black. You could even smell the greasepaint in this enclosed space. You felt the world spinning.

  “C’mere―Hey. Look at me.”

  He rasped, dragging the clipped point of the dagger against your cheek, pressing it against the corner of your lips.

  “Y'know, whenever people say they’re... not afraid of me,”

  He looked away, inflecting his voice. Then he pointed at his face with his gloved hands, gesturing at the distance between you two, etching even closer. You felt an internal score rising in pitch.

  “I do this. I get all up in their face.”

  He nodded at you. To this you sealed your eyes back together. You dared not look. The world had not stopped circling around you. He yanked your head.

  “Hey―come on…”

  Cooing, he sticks the blade in your mouth. It took all your strength in order to keep your eyes open, just to stare helplessly into back his cavernous ones. The straining notes were reaching an unbearable dissonance, tearing jarringly into your eardrums. It was excruciating. Your ears ached and bled. They reached a frequency that was no longer audible to you.

  “And guess what? They’re always silent. Like you, right now.”

  He smiled, patronisingly, with a sympathetic look on his face, shaking his head slightly.

  “People that, uh, put on a show… are spineless, more often, than no-t.”

  He patted your face gently with his leather finger tips, then rubbed loose patterns around. He had you in his trap. You were his prey, no more than a little mouse to a cold-blooded viper. He flicked his tongue rapidly out of his mouth, then retracts it. What he said wasn’t… false. You couldn’t take it any longer. The revolutions around you were excessive.  

  “Hey―Freakshow. Does it feel good intimidating someone smaller than you? Behind a mask?”

  You saw his eyeballs shift to the side with the weight of a boulder, this time jarringly wide, and you could only see the white of his eyes. He really did not look amused. He shifted his bottom lips in a restrained tick, almost like a controlled form of madness. He leaned back slightly, his grip still firm on your hair, wobbling it around slightly. His body bent a little backwards from the hips, and he dramatically gesticulated his hand holding the knife into an open palm.

  “Very well, your dashing knight in ah, shining armour has given us a great suggestion.”

  Your body was pulled towards him and he faced it towards the center of the room, with that familiar careless grace you witnessed days ago. His arm was hooked suffocatingly around your neck, and you were face to face with the setting of an abandoned office room. The only furniture was the shabby office desk before you, and floorboards were uncovered, revealing nails sticking out of the ground. The wallpaper was partially torn, a pale beige staining at the edges with a rusted brown. A few slider windows were spruced along the walls surrounding the room.

  John Blake and Lau were pushed all the way to the windows, both of them still held captive by the two goons, edging dangerously close to the borders. Lau stood on the left, and Blake on the right.

  “Let’s extend this little… game between us,”

  The grisly clown tongued along the scars on his inner cheek.

  “To our guests here with us.”

  He reached around beneath his coat, into his back pocket.

  “You deranged fuck, what you’re doing here is sick-”

  Bones cracked. A fist connected with John Blake’s skull.

  Lau just stared on agitatedly, his tongue curling against his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply, his breathing rate increasing. His hands were still behind his head.

  “Between one life or the other,”

  The clown craned his head into your line of sight, to check if you were still listening. Your chest constricted, and your breathing picked up. The pain escalated.

  “You’ll get to choose…”

  Reaching around you, he presented a gun, glinting silver. You stared at it, horrified. He cackled scratchily, the sound of his voice grating to your ears like sandpaper. From behind, he wrapped his hands around yours as gingerly as he could at first, as if he were handling a delicate little child, teaching them a valuable life skill, such as tying their shoe laces. Soon he gave up on this idea and thrust it in your hand, then unceremoniously clasped his hands tightly around yours, fumbling slightly with the butt of the gun. He made a throaty noise. His varnished gloves rubbed mercilessly against the skin on your knuckles.

  No, no, no, no....

  You squeezed your eyes, an epileptic meditation amidst the prelude of a panic attack. He hunched over, jutting a sharp chin into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. You squirmed, and felt purple walls around you constricting further as his arms enclosed around you, your heart sinking further down and squished into a box. You did not like him pushing past your personal boundaries at all.

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  Your voice was barely a crack above a whisper, croaking silently.

  He lifted his chin and pushed back down on your shoulder to get a closer look at your face, making a nasally grunt as he did so.

  “You do know what’s gonna happen to you if ya don’t play along now, don’tcha?”

  He bobbed your hand around slightly, the gleaming danger of the pistol hypnotic. You stay rooted to the spot, coercing your hands into relaxation. You were being lured into its spell, it was like a siren that serenaded, and the barrel of the gun looked like that of a deformed pipe. His arms were caged around you, you were locked in place.

  You followed the sound of the pipe.

  Your eyes were steely.

  He turned his cheek a little, nudging the side of his cheek against yours to direct your attention to the left side. More wax was smeared on your face. You felt stifled.

  “Your… corrupt boss who cares about nothing but money,”

  Your gun was still pointed to the middle of Blake and Lau. But you were bewitched to keep your gaze on Lau, and he stared at you with the same flecks of red in his eyes as he did a couple days ago at the office.

  “You know, my car is worth more than both of your entire life savings combined-”

  “Or…”

  He jerked his head slightly to the right and made another nasal sound to redirect you, along with the disgusting lick of his lips. The walls were slowly caving in.

  “Your tall, dark and handsome squeeze over here.”

  He crooned suggestively.

  “Y’know, he is pretty gallant―Maybe he wouldn’t mind sacrificing his life so that little squealing rat could live.”

  You watched John Blake as he was being jostled roughly by the brown-haired man. You didn’t know how to react, and you couldn’t find the right words to say. For some reason, that statement made you feel somehow… sorrowful. Why?

  “He… We’re not attached.”

  You silently blurted out. You felt a low rumble vibrating against your back, before the clown behind you burst into a fit of light, high-pitched giggles, incredulous. On top of his voice, even his nasal laughter sounded like a cynical, washed out clown who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, who put on a red nose and laughed derisively at childrens’ misery at their own birthday parties.

  This was something you felt the need to clarify? Right before all of your untimely deaths? Oh, how entertaining this was to him. You were beyond foolish to the clown.

  “Talk about ice cold, little girl.” 

  The clown scoffed in disbelief.

  “My brother over there, I’m so sorry. Trust me, I feel for ya-”

  He jeered, wiping a fake tear away from his eyes, letting the last waves of his laughter tide through. You frowned, puzzled and bewildered. You caught John Blake’s gaze, helplessly searching for answers from him. He tensed his jaw further, collecting his thoughts. Clearly, the clown’s antics were getting to him. You couldn’t blame him. You fared no better. He took a deep breath and calmed.

  “It’s fine, just relax. Don’t fall for his twisted mind games.”

  The clown pouted at him. He was pushed even further against the edge of the window, the brown-haired man pointing his gun underneath his chin and painstakingly shoved him further backward. His lower body was the only thing anchoring him to the floorboard. The corpse clown's hands clasped over yours tapped it impatiently a couple of times.

  “We don’t have all day, y’know.”

  He deadpanned. You inhaled slightly and closed your eyes. Your mind sifted through many memories, sharp and bright, of all your interactions with Lau. Of all the conversations you’ve had with John over Lau.

  That man is nothing but scum. He has contributed to the steady crumble of Gotham, peddling drugs, perpetuating murders, and ensuring that the mob ruled the city with an iron fist.

  It was scary how you were able to rationalise this. 

  No hard feelings Lau. An eye for an eye. That’s all it really is.

  You slowly felt anger and vengeance bubbling in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with the savagery of the beast. You sought retribution, reprisal and revenge. This… was you. And you had all the power in the world to take the law into your hands, to play your own judge. You slowly traced the line of the sight of the gun to your left. The music of the pipe resounded melodically. It’s dangerous. But it was so… incredibly sweet. You looked up from the barrel to the man its sight landed on. Your eyes were glazed over. The clown behind you hummed in assent, pleased with the results. Your fingers hooked at the trigger, hesitating.

  “Excellent choice, little girl.”

  He licked his lips. He toyed around with the gun, playing and fiddling with its hammer, flicking it and letting go absentmindedly.

  “If only it weren’t so, ah… pre-dictable.”

  He rested his fingers atop of yours. Your hands shook a little. 

  “Is it because it goes ‘according to plan’? I mean, he’s the obvious baddie over here, and all you… do-gooders. You clearly deserve to live. To bring him to justice.”

  He purred into your ear, his breath fanning you hotly. John Blake struggled further against the man holding him back. He had no hands to grip onto the frames of the window. His fall was imminent. He had to speak up now. There was no better time. Desperately, he wheezed.

  “You know kid,”

  He sputtered slightly.

  “I always told you that you were like a… like a siege engine. I’m only saying this now because it’s a matter of life or death,”

  His words were initially spat out at a fast pace, his voice was very strained from his extreme and awkward position, and his breath was laboured. Eventually, he slowed down to get his point across more clearly.

  “You’re a fine weapon. A valuable asset to my company, and your work is remarkable. I’ve always entrusted you to make the right decisions as my junior analyst… But I’ve come to realise you’re so much more. ”

  He tried to peer down at you from his obstructed view, toiling as his voice was weak from holding this position. For so long you worked so hard for him, and you barely got rewarded with words of confirmation. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked at him, they were glossy and large like a puppy dog. Your heart squeezed gut wrenchingly, for months you pined for this truth. You yearned so deeply to now what he truly thought of you and everything you’ve done for him.

  “You’re always by my… my side. It’s two of us against the world. You’re the only person I want to do this job with. You’re a bright girl, with so much flair for what you do. And that’s not the only part,”

  You felt yourself drift higher and higher, and you were now a lightweight. Drunk on his words, you’ve never heard him speak so personally about you before. It was always sparse little words of affirmation sprinkled around sparingly. He was an incredibly stingy man. He was so ungenerous with praise. It was always snarky jabs at you. He always made you feel the need to prove yourself. But he was the first one who gave you the chance to.

  “That’s not what makes you special. I want you to remember our vision-”

  He implored earnestly. 

  “Our vision… has been tainted. But that doesn’t make it any more invalid. Sometimes... we do have to get our hands dirty, for-for the greater good.”

  He breathed, in between jagged gasps. If this was what he truly thought of you...

  “I’ll trust you again. To do the right thing.”

  Intently, you listened to his words, your eyes watering slightly. You tried internalising the wealth of what he said to you. It was a lot to take in, it all happened so fast. This conversation was happening prematurely. You had no idea who was playing the pipe at this point. Where was the sound coming from…? The alluring music converged from all corners, all directing to the source of the instrument in your hand.

  The clown behind you went uncharacteristically silent. He licked his lips slowly, studying the exchange between the two of you. Siege engine, huh? What a funny word to describe you with. Siege engines were colossal battering rams, castle forged and an exalted war machine that delivered victories to the warring states for centuries. Monumental goliaths, they were the front lines, the fortress breakers, the castle crashers, leading the furious charge on battlefields when zero hour arrived. They were medieval trebuchets of acclaim, a necessity for triumph in war. As glorious as they were, they could only be as great as their role allowed them to be. At the end of the day, they were nothing but a mere pawn of war.

  You slowly looked at Lau, and he no longer looked at you with that malice from before. It was replaced by a look that was… strikingly familiar. He reminded you of the mob bank teller days prior. Pleading, frightened, like a cornered animal, desperate and fighting to survive. His gaze pierced right through to your heart. This struck a chord within you. You observed how his eyebrows knitted into the shape of a mountain, quivering lightly. His lips downturned and parted slightly. His eyes were large. The look of a man whose life flashed before his life.

  Yes, he did cause you a lot of trouble at the office. He did utterly degrade and humiliate you. He made your job hard. The moment he stepped in, he made you hate your job. No actually, that’s the understatement of the century. He made you loathe your job, detest it, abhor it. Pretty much anything to do with a severe hateful feeling you felt for this job, where you used to feel joy or any small amount of excitement, he had killed it for you. But did he really deserve to die for this?

  “I-”

  A croak filed through your dry throat. It felt like a type of flesh eating insect was festering within your insides. Starting at your heart, they feasted at the tissue down into your stomach, and they were coming up through your gullet. The moral conscience weighed inside of you like a heavy pendulum, one swing away from breaking off from its support and crashing through to your very center. You couldn’t bear the moral weight of such a decision. This was not a burden you could carry for the rest of your life.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  John Blake looked at you while he sucked in a breath, unreadable. Lau fell to his knees, a wash of relief coming over him. He continued being kicked and kneed in the face by the goon wearing a clown mask.

  “Ah... you’ve already chosen unfortunate-ly. And you’re not backing out of this one, sweetheart.”

  You flinched hearing the voice that you had forgotten was there. This stirred something within you, and you refused to give into his demands. You would rather die than make a choice like this.

  “No, I am not giving into your stupid, twisted pseudo-social experiment-”

  You twisted the gun barrel to face yourself, and for once, you heard no more music.

  “It wouldn’t even matter who I chose anyway… would it?”

  Shakily, you looked into the head of the barrel, and you felt… grief. It was cold and empty looking. For the second time that night, it felt like you were looking death in the eye. A knot twisted in your stomach. Your tears spilled over your cheeks, flowing hotly. You wept silently. You were stubborn, you would go to this extent just to prove something. Your ego knew no bounds. Your hearing blanked out for a moment, and you vaguely heard Blake shouting at you. You suddenly plunged into purgatory, existing solely on the plane between life and death. You teetered on the edge. Lau looked on from the ground, body tense and deeply perturbed. This turn of events was greeted by silence from the clown.

  The clown stared, wide eyed. His face twitched. His lips quirked into a frown. Why… would you do something like that? His eyes narrowed a fraction. He couldn’t comprehend this. It wasn’t exactly easy to render him speechless. Why on earth would you throw your life away for another’s? This he could not understand. Humans are... selfish creatures. At the core of it, they were all rotten and purely motivated by self-interest. Then… then why?  Why hadn’t he been able to predict this? This ate at him. Got under his skin. It grinded his gears. His arms wrung around you tighter. He observed the pistol pointed at your forehead. This was pathetic. Absolutely ridiculous. Confusion quickly dissipated in his chest and boiled into a seething, frothy rage. His jaw jutted forth and tensed, trembling slightly, his lips pursing together. He cackled through his nostrils, sounding a little manic. If you really wanted death, he wasn’t going to just give it to you, no. Ah, ah, ah… I’m not letting you get your satisfaction out of this. He couldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

  “Well then, little girl. You can’t be a… a sore loser and quit playing our game now.”

  His lilt sounded crazed. He gripped your hands tighter, you felt the leather skirting against your skin.

  “I suppose-ah, I’ll have to finish your job for you.”

  He spat, his words practically dripping with pure spite and malice. He wrenched your wrist to aim the gun away from you. Alarmed, your senses were heightened and you let out a sharp bark. At a speed you’ve never seen yourself move at before, you bent forward and locked your jaw around his fingers, chomping down forcefully. Your teeth sunk into his leather glove, and clamped down straight into his last finger. Squawking, he was caught off-guard. You heaved your foot and aimed a kick at his crotch. He let out a muffled noise of pain, and you tried your damndest to take advantage of this and get out of this situation.

  You struggled in his grasp, elbowing around at the sides, hoping to worm your way out of it. Unfortunately, he was unrelenting. Your hands were still on the gun, your fingers idling at the trigger. He doubled over, sickling an arm around your neck and gripped tightly onto the pistol, a finger slotted between the gun hammer and the rear sight, pulling it back. While he was in his position bent over, he was looming over you, laughing slightly. You were choking, beyond freaked out at this point, not exactly getting the reaction you wanted from him, and now you were completely unsure as to what he would do. The feeling of confinement was too much and you were at your breaking point.

  “Y’know, forget being a siege engine,”

  He grabbed your jaw, forcefully burrowing his fingers into your cheek.

  “I think she’s more of a, uh, pinky bruiser.”

  He tore your head upwards, and latched his hands back onto yours. He yanked at them, and aimed the gun at Lau. Ready, aim... He fastened his index fingers around yours. You widen your eyes, panicked with alarm bells shrilling through your head. Fire!

  “No!”

  He pulled at the trigger. You jerked your arms violently to the left, frantic. Recoiling, you were sent careening further back into the clown. The sound of the gun shot pierced through the air like a firecracker. You saw the goon with the mask fallen to the ground, his denim jeans getting soaked through with a fresh, gurgling red dampness around his thigh.

  Before anything else could be registered in your mind, the brown-haired man on the right side of the room displaced John Blake’s leg, and grabbed his lower torso, flinging him over the ledge of the window sill. You tried to lunge forward, demented and crazed, you were quickly becoming hysterical.

  “Ohmygod John-”

  Completely out of control, a scream tore through with your whole body like a shard of glass, you took no notice of the pain in your lungs as you were rapidly turning unhinged. The man who flipped John over like he was a light, airy pancake, faced you and you heard the click of a gun.

  You saw the sight of a gun cocked in your direction. You felt tears well up in your eyes at this very fraction of time.

  Bang!

  You screwed your eyes shut, expecting the most intense agony you would ever feel in your life. But the pain never came. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you saw the goon drop unconscious like a fly zapped through an electric swatter, most likely dead.

  “Did I tell you to shoot her…”

  The clown behind you muttered to himself, the smell of gunpowder burning your nostrils and you saw streaks of smoke smouldering and rising from the gun barrel in his hands. You tensed your shoulders, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. You mouthed something soundlessly, but words could not form. What are you doing-

  The crackle of wood being busted through splintered at your ears, the noise tearing through the room sickeningly. You didn’t even have time to decide whether you should feel relieved or not.

  “Drop the weapon, now!”

  Lieutenant Gordon came bursting through with a team of policemen, their pistols aiming at every figure present in the room. He looked at you and the clown, and kept his gun trained in your direction. He dared not edge closer, in case you got harmed.

  The clown, with his hold still vice-like on you, stumbled backwards pulling you along ungracefully. He still kept you imprisoned under his reign for one final moment in time. You were at his mercy.

  “Drop it now!”

  A pair of lips pressed intimately into your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

  “You know pinky bruiser, you were a lot of fun today. Sorry for, uh, calling you a party pooper.”

  He rasped. A chuckle rumbled lowly in his chest.

  “I think... you and I both know―Fate wouldn’t have it if this was our last time together.”

  He murmured and you were about to pass out from this lightheadedness and claustrophobia. You were constricted for far too long. You were way past your breaking point. A huge force tipped you backwards. You grabbed onto the ledge of the window sills, your veins popping from exerting such a strong force on your arms. 

  All of a sudden, the clown’s hold on you was relinquished.

  Your lungs overflowed with air, and your body was dramatically jerked forward, pain flooding your systems as you dry-heaved. Gordon hurried over by your side, extending a tender hand to rest on your arm. Realisation dawned upon you, and you swiftly spun around, bending over the ledge, looking out the window. You craned your neck as far down as you could see, hunting down and examining the perimeter.

  Gone.

  Gordon was pulling you back, preventing you from falling out the window. He was trying to talk some sense into you, but quickly gave up when he realised your current, panicked state of mind. Your strength was fading, and you allowed Gordon to reel you back into safety. Why didn’t you just… kill me? You thumped, falling to your knees, grabbing your hands to your head, sobbing and whimpering your sorrows away. You finally allowed all the pent up emotions to crash, not that you could control it now, anyway. It felt like a mallet crashing through from behind your eyes and nose, the twinging sensation unbearable as you wailed. It should have been me, goddamn it.

  Gordon knelt down, sighing and furrowing his brows in sympathy. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed his mouth. He felt useless in this situation, clearly unable to help clear your head of any type of trauma that resulted from this unfortunate event. He was aware of this. He hated feeling this powerless, he hated not being able to help. He had perhaps felt this way his entire career, with a town like Gotham so rotten, the GCPD was basically made a mockery at this point.

  Lau was about to be taken by the other cops back into custody. He ambled past you, and looked over you and your pathetic form. For once, his expression was not one of scorn. It wasn’t one of anything really, he just looked a shell of the person he was just moments ago. You were pushing it if you said he looked like he felt bad for you, and that he held a thankful expression at the same time. You weren’t sure if you believed him to be capable of that.

  You were escorted out the abandoned office building, swaying and staggering around. You went to pick up the devices strewn all over the soil, with some help from Gordon. When you saw a glowing cop car with shattered windows and John Blake being supported by two cops, relieving pressure off his shoulders, you quickly rubbed at your tear stained face and hobbled over as quick as you could, relief pumping through your chest as you were hopeful that he survived the fall.

  The paramedics were on their way, and from the looks of it, John had a mildly serious shoulder injury and got extremely lucky. He had fallen from a height of 1 story from the ground, but as luck would have it, his fall was broken by the cop car stationed coincidentally below the window. He also fell on his side, which allowed for the best chance of survival and led to the least immobilising injuries.

  You couldn’t help yourself and gave John a quick hug and squeezed him lightly, after hearing him speak about what you were to him, and after experiencing the fright and grief of losing him. You were met with an involuntary wince. That probably felt soul-crushing to him, taking into account that he just fell out of a building. The ambulance finally arrived and they proceeded to bring down a stretcher. You were glad it was over. But something told you this was not the last of the clown you’d see. You thought, I mean… he practically promised you that you’d be seeing him again soon enough.

  “I’ll be fine. Just go get some rest.”

  He assured you, idling around, not really wanting to leave. He tried prolonging his stay with you before they eventually persuaded him to get onto the stretcher.

  “Heh. This time you’re the one sending me off.”

  You smiled, wanting to follow but he refused. You weren’t really sure why he wouldn’t allow that, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. He quickly convinced you that it was too late and you had your own injuries to recover from, not wanting to disrupt the healing process. You were doubtful, but you shrugged away this nagging feeling and tried to take his word for it, mustering a final warm smile on your wary face. Your eyelids were starting to droop. You bid him farewell for the time being and watched as he was whisked away. 

  You hated to admit it, but your mind was still plagued by that sadistic clown. Your mind raced with questions, and you wanted answers. What did he mean by his parting speech?

  You were disturbed from your thoughts as Gordon offered to send you home, but you couldn’t reject his sincere offer. You didn’t want to disappoint him any further. As much as you didn’t like to leech off his kindness, it was the least you could do to repay him with the validation of being able to do something right. You sat in the front seat of the car, preparing to be saddled with desultory conversations on the ride home. However, you realised perhaps things would be different with Lieutenant Gordon. He had a type of heartfelt presence within, and was incredibly perceptive. You rested assured in your car seat. Yeah, he was different.

  You heard the revving of the engine after Gordon slammed his front door shut. You stared out the window. The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. The thought of the clown flashed through your mind once again. You closed your eyes, dispelling the cursed imagery. The blast of the air conditioner was adjusted to a pleasant breeze brushing lightly against your neck. Gordon placed his hand on the gear and recalibrated it. He breathed in, turned his head and landed his gaze uncomfortably on you.

  “So, you uh, from this town?”

  You felt something pleasant blossoming inside of you, being humoured by this awkward attempt at starting a conversation from Gordon. You chuckled lightly. You appreciated the effort.

  “Yes, yes I am. What about you?”

  You looked back and smiled politely. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated the vehicle.

  “Well, no. I moved here some decades ago with my wife…”

  You guessed it would do well to get to know more about your partners in crime fighting. You hummed, patiently listening. 

  Yeah, this wasn’t too bad, you supposed.

  Now, if only you could stop yourself from feeling like passing out in the front seat. 

  That would be great.

###

#joker #Heath Ledger Joker #ledger joker #ledger!joker x reader #the dark knight

[ranger-report]

Review: THE WITCHER 2: ASSASSINS OF KINGS (2011)

With the first Witcher game under my belt, I decided to plunge straightaway into the second game in the series: The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings. Expecting little beyond improvements in graphics and controls, I was very curious to see how the game delivered on the cliffhanger ending of the first game, in which Geralt of Rivia defended King Foltest of Temeria from a would-be assassin, only to reveal that the killer was also a witcher. I’d had a decent time with The Witcher: Enhanced Edition, particularly in the storytelling aspects and the choose- your-own-adventure narrative, but had found myself frustrated by dated game design and graphics and lackluster combat. Still, it was, by the end, an arresting experience that had captured my intrigue enough to make me want to go back and replay it to see what paths I could have chosen. Choice is truly the number one aspect of The Witcher, in that Geralt generally chooses not to choose sides, but is often found forced into doing so. Choice is also the highlight of The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, so much so that by the end of the game I was nearly horrified with how all of my decisions, ambient though some of them were, had stacked into a neat pile of awful fuckery. If you want to feel good about what you’ve done by the end of a game, The Witcher series might not be for you. But if moral ambiguity and robust, branching paths are what you seek, then read on dear reader, because things are about to get immediately messy in what is some ways a vastly superior sequel to the first game, but in other ways falls short of the narrative potential established by its predecessor.

From the start, Witcher 2 is once again a big game of Choose Your Own Adventure. Opening with a prologue establishing Geralt’s involvement in a political assassination, the player is continually given agency over where Geralt is going, what he wants to do, and how he is going to do it. This is at once the game’s biggest strength. Just as in the first game, Geralt’s choices have domino effects that tumble down the slippery slope of lesser evil decision making, affecting what characters do and whether or not they might appear elsewhere in the game. And, furthering the CYOA aspects, certain portions of the grander story are hidden from sight should Geralt choose to go down a different path. Maybe some characters will have happier endings than we see them get if Geralt decides to help them instead of quest elsewhere -- maybe not. Perhaps the biggest departure from the previous game’s style is that the entire second chapter of Witcher 2 is different depending on which side of a conflict you choose to enable. This, of course, is also all based on whom you’ve sided with previously, with deft moments of quick situational judgements, some of them timed. Give the elven rebel his sword so he can defend himself, or push him to the side so you can leap into the fray yourself? Not every decision is placed in front of the player as a monumental choice; some of them are as simple and clean as whether or not you pick up an object in front of you, knowingly saving someone’s life. This makes the world -- and the story -- feel surprisingly alive, vibrant, always on edge as though the lightest touch in any direction will spell consequences for some and reward for others. This does, however, create a shorter gameplay experience overall. Where my full playthrough of the first game was close to fifty hours, I clocked in just over thirty hours here, but this is partially because the full content of the game cannot be seen in only one playthrough. There’s a massive amount of game to be held, but the unfortunate reality is that it can only be seen piecemeal. It’s like getting to the end of an actual Choose Your Own Adventure novel, only to realize there’s a vast amount of pages left unread because you didn’t take the roads less traveled...or simply traveled differently. For better or for worse, the first time through this game will leave the player with the sensation that there is a lot that they didn’t get to see, despite the freedom of branching paths being thrilling and adventurous. And the story itself isn’t nearly as investing as the previous game. Geralt’s adventure in clearing his name of wrongdoing and tracking down his memories are at the forefront of his story, but in the background is a complex, political plot that simultaneously is and isn’t important to follow. Decisions made by Geralt heavily affect what’s going on, even as Geralt himself is constantly growling about how he wants to track the kingslayer and a missing friend. But the game and the characters populating it continually drag him back to the fray because they need him, dammit, and if he wants the means to his ends then he’ll have to endure everyone else’s shit. Perhaps that’s the point: Geralt’s actions continually change the entire world around him, whether he wants to be a part of it or not. That said, the straightforward narrative is defiantly strong here, partly because the branching system demands it need be. This is a Story with a Purpose, the Purpose being to establish a series of unfortunate events happening around Geralt, if not to Geralt. But when it’s as bland as it is -- save for the bits where Geralt is trying to clear his name -- it can be difficult at times to maintain a steady pace. And the entire third act takes place in a ruined elven city which is a chore to navigate, nearly ruining the momentum and the whole of the game’s experience; there’s two disasterously difficult combat engagements to wade through as well as a grating boss battle with a large beast, not to mention a magical puzzle which demands navigating the labyrinthine ruins if you want to discover what it is. And yet, by the end, the house of cards comes tumbling down into the awful realization that everything behind the scenes has been doing its utmost to raise the stakes high enough to win the whole pot, and depending on Geralt’s actions, it does so to varying degrees. I sincerely doubt there is anything close to a happy ending in one of the alleged 16 conclusions the game contains; if anything, it can only go from shitfucked to fucked-with-hope-on-the-horizon. And, despite the sometimes slog, that’s effective.

Gameplay has seen a heavy upgrade. Gone are the original title’s point and click controls, replaced with a more intuitive interface that relies heavily on action and exploration. Similar to Arkham Asylum’s Detective Vision, Geralt can use his medallion to scan the world around him for interactive elements or objects to search through. Neat in concept, but oftentimes the execution is lacking; it can be incredibly difficult to find objects on the ground left by corpses without always using the medallion, as they can get lost in the surrounding scenery. Upgraded, too, is the combat, which is thankfully no long a boring fucking exercise in clicking at the right time to string together combos. Geralt rolls, swings, magics at the click of a button, using the WASD and mouse camera to keep an eye on the action. The triple division of combat styles -- fast, strong, and group -- are replaced with a fast and strong attack bound to the two mouse keys, and upgrades can make it so Geralt’s attacks can hit multiple people. Blocking is integral, but Geralt needs vitality for a block to be effective, or it will chip away his health. I both enjoyed and did not enjoy the new combat system. It’s functional, but I couldn’t help but feel out of control in tense moments, attempting to roll or dodge or block or use signs between sword strikes. Geralt only swings at whoever he is targeting, not simply in front of him, so if you accidentally turn the camera to the wrong angle while trying to attack he will swiftly turn and swing at someone else entirely, leaving him open to devastating counterattacks from behind. Frustration can mount quickly, as it seems that Geralt is a whole hell of a lot squishier this time around than in the first game. Sure, the first Witcher had plenty of moments where getting overwhelmed could happen in the blink of an eye and Geralt would turn into fresh meat, but Witcher 2 makes every sword fight feel like an exercise in dodging just to stay alive. Maybe I wasn’t playing with enough patience, but it felt like I spent more time rolling and running to regain health than I did connecting with satisfying blows. Sometimes, quicktime events pop up during major boss encounters, which are devastatingly difficult in needless ways. Just like in the first game, Witcher 2 will absolutely dial up the volume on the difficulty knob without warning and around an unseen corner, to an extent where I found myself pained by exhaustion and anger at yet another GAME OVER scene. This is compounded by the strenuous camera, which is awkward at best in outdoors environments, frustratingly awful in close quarters hallways. Making things even worse is the game’s departure from the previous healing methods in The Witcher: where potions could be downed on the fly, and food eaten to regain mild portions of health, now the only way to heal is potions while meditating, or simply by meditating. Without the ability to heal in the middle of combat the thoroughly aggressive enemies will stymie even seasoned players as they watch their health bar helpless disappear with no respite.

Graphically speaking, this is leaps and bounds better than the original. High-detail, crisp textures, far draw distances, I very rarely had any stuttering or framerate issues. At worst, there was minor pop-in and fade in, some seams showing where textures were laid out, and jittery models here and there. Also, motion blur and bloom were turned on by default. Never fun. It was an absolute job to take in the world on hand, with the variety of monsters and humanoid characters to encounter, lovingly rendered with tons of color and flair. Outside of the story, this is where the game truly shines. Before there had been low-res models being reused left and right, but here nearly every character model (outside of factory-line soldiers) feels unique enough to recognize in and out of combat. It’s really a fucking wonder to behold. It felt the same as the graphical leap between Uncharted and Uncharted 2, with nearly an overwhelming amount of detail in the world to take in, dizzingly put together in a way that is breathing and living.

That said, is the game actually an improvement over the first title? Well, yes and no. Graphically, interactively, yes, to an extent. The branching narrative is bold, but feels like there is so much you’re missing out on once you’ve chosen a particular path. For example, there’s a dragon that exists in the game, and its origins are shrouded in mystery. I only discovered them based on a trophy I got at the end of the game, which felt like a huge cheat to learn that way. If the game had told me something about the dragon’s nature, even down the path I took which actively led me away from the dragon, then I wouldn’t have felt disappointed, but it didn’t. I learned the answer through a trophy. And in many ways, while this game does things better than the first game, it’s only to slight degrees, and while I do want to go back and play this again, it’s difficult to do so after a somewhat disappointing first run. Geralt’s story was excellent, and kept me on the edge of my seat whenever it came around, but everything else that happened felt largely disconnected from what was driving Geralt this time around, and ultimately only served as setup for the third game in the series. Again, perhaps that’s the point: perhaps Geralt will have to face the weight of his decisions, that which defines the world at large whilst he maintains a selfish lean towards his personal goals. Geralt of Rivia both is and is not the most important person in this story -- he is but one man who is forging a path towards his wants and needs, but maybe he’s crumbling kingdoms along the way, intentionally or no. While I’ve heard nothing but Game Of The Year praise for The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, I’m keeping my expectations tempered based on this sequel, which is fun and daunting and clever, but the drawbacks are hefty, saved only by the draw of the lead character and the living story itself.

Final Score: 7.5/10

#the witcher #the witcher 2 #assassins of kings #cd projekt red #andrzej sapkowski #geralt of rivia #triss merigold #yennefer of vengerberg #dandelion #zoltan chivay #ck burch #review #rubyranger #steam #enhanced edition #long post #ranger report

[misssophiachase]

Beautiful Distraction

Thanks to the lovely Julie aka @supremeuppityone for her plethora of prompts she sent. I decided to split them up and do one now and hopefully the others at a later stage. For Klaroline Rewind (I’m late but I’ll be doing these prompts all weekend given how many I have). This is set in the TVD world, but not anything in canon.

(3) No amount of sorry was going to fix her idiot friend Enzo breaking Rebekah’s heart...but her first priority was to hide him before Klaus found out.

“Caroline,” he murmured, looking up from his easel, paintbrush in hand. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Caroline shivered inwardly as his eyes wandered below her creamy neck and golden waves. The fitted, black dress she wore had done its job obviously.

“Klaus,” she nodded, realising she hadn’t practiced what she was going to say but given his effect on her, as usual, Caroline was sure she would have forgotten anyway. 

Why the hell did he have to wear those henleys anyway? It gave her far too much access to those necklaces around his bare skin. 

“Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah,” she lied, thinking this whole distraction attempt wasn’t going to plan. If only her stupid ass friend hadn’t stuffed up Caroline would be on her couch with a glass of wine and watching the Notebook for the millionth time. “Just fine.”

Three hours earlier

“You did what?”

“Caroline, not so loud,” he growled, holding his head. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” she drawled. “Is my talking interfering with your hangover?”

“Well, now that you mention it...”

“How could you be so damn stupid Enzo!” 

“Well, I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“You were drunk off your ass, hardly a good excuse for possibly cheating on your girlfriend, Lorenzo.”

“Now, we don’t know that I did actually do that,” he reasoned. 

“Oh, so you walk around with ladies panties in your pocket usually, do you?”

“I was drowning my sorrows because Rebekah broke up with me.”

“Rebekah always breaks up with you because you’re always doing stupid things,” she chided. “It doesn’t give you an excuse to hook up with some random from the Mystic Grill.”

“I still dispute that anything happened,” he argued. “I love Rebekah, even if she scares me like ninety-nine percent of the time.”

“Well, nice work Romeo,” she shot back. “If Rebekah doesn’t stake you in the heart, her brother most certainly will.”

“Which one?”

“You make a good point, lucky for you Finn, Elijah and Kol are all out of town this weekend, Klaus on the other hand.”

“And to think the hangover was my biggest concern,” he muttered. “I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this. I just need to find the underwear’s owner.”

“Because that worked out so well for you the last time. Mystic Falls is a small town, if Rebekah doesn’t know about it now she will soon enough.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Yes. Hide.”

“Forever?”

“No, not forever you idiot. I’m going to get Katherine to track down the mystery woman, she has a good eye for lingerie.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“A little distraction 101,” she groaned. “Trust me, I’ve had more than enough practice when it comes to diverting Klaus’ attention elsewhere.”

+++++++

“Okay,” Klaus replied unconvincingly. “Not that I’m complaining about you being here, but why exactly are you?”

“Do I need a reason?” 

“Of course not,” he replied. “But you do realise that I’m well aware this is just another distraction attempt by you and your little friends.”

“This isn’t a distraction,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I happen to need something from you.” His eyebrow shot up curiously, that damn dimple in his left cheek making an unwanted appearance. 

“Oh really?” He smirked. “Well, I’m all ears, sweetheart.”

“I need your help.”

“Now, this is intriguing,” he mused, stepping out from behind his easel and making Caroline notice just how toned his legs looked in those dark jeans. She closed her eyes momentarily before continuing. She was supposed to hate Klaus Mikaelson but she couldn’t get her stupid body to behave. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve uh,” she stumbled, noticing the paintbrush in his hand. “Decided to make the Sheriff a birthday gift this year.”

“And?”

“I decided to paint her something but I don’t know anyone who paints as well as you,” she complimented, hoping it would get a reaction. 

“I seem to recall your comments about my snowflake,” he pressed, edging a little closer. 

“Well, it was a snowflake,” she argued then remembered she was trying to distract him. “But I thought maybe you could teach me.”

“And you thought that was fitting attire to paint?”

“I didn’t think there were any steadfast rules,” she scoffed.  

“Here,” he offered, pulling the paint-stained henley over his head.

“Why, uh, why are you doing that?”

“We don’t want your dress to get paint splatters on it now, do we?” Before she could respond, he was placing it over her head half-naked. 

Oh, God. What was she supposed to do now?

“Are you okay, love?”

“Just, uh, fine, thank you,” she replied primly, not expecting him to take her hand, the shock she felt from his touch was enough to start a fire. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you how to paint,” he grinned, taking her over to the easel and replacing his brilliant beginnings of a landscape with a nearby blank canvas. “Now take this,” he instructed giving her a clean brush. 

What she wasn’t expecting was for him to stand behind her. 

Closely.

Really closely. 

So close his spicy aftershave was assaulting her nostrils. 

“Now, I want you to start with some slow strokes,” he commanded, his hand finding hers and grasping the brush with his fingers. As he dipped the brush in paint, it took every last shred of willpower to speak.

“Um, why are you doing that?”

“I’m teaching you to paint, Caroline,” Klaus whispered, his lips practically touching her ear lobe. “Just relax.”

“That’s not really my thing,” she managed to bite out. 

“That’s your problem right there,” he offered. “Painting is supposed to be one of the best outlets for stress relief.” 

Caroline could think of something else that would be good for stress relief and it didn’t involve painting and required a lot less clothing. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore just how good his toned chest felt against her back. 

“Niklaus!” Caroline broke out of her reverie, she’d know that shrill voice and demanding tone anywhere. Enzo St John was as good as dead. “Well, well. What exactly is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Caroline replied guiltily, taking her hands off the brush. “We are just painting.”

“Half dressed? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t need any more visuals.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Rebekah?” Klaus emitted a low growl, the werewolf inside him threatening to emerge.

“I’m sure she’s just paying a nice visit to her brother,” Caroline interrupted before Rebekah could explain. “Not, coming here to tell you anything about what someone may or may not have done and asking you to kill said person.”

“If I wanted to kill someone, I’d want the pleasure of doing it myself, Forbes,” Rebekah scowled. “What is up with you today? You’re being higher strung than usual.”

“She has a point, love,” Klaus agreed, not making any attempts to distance himself from her. Caroline was actually surprised the siblings agreed on something. “You’re definitely more anxious than usual, want to share something?”

“Hello! Anyone home?” 

Caroline really did love her best friend but was an absolute idiot sometimes. Why in the hell he was walking into the lion’s den she’d never understand. 

“And here I thought it was going to be a quiet evening at home,” Klaus shared. “What are you doing here, St John?”

“Can’t I come visit my favourite brother-in-law without the third degree?” 

“You’re going to marry this knucklehead?” Klaus demanded. “I entertained him because I thought you’d get sick of him but I did not sign up for a life term.”

“It was just a figure of speech, bro,” Enzo insisted. “No need to get your panties in a twist, Niklaus.”

“Panties, Enzo, really?” Caroline groaned. 

“Speaking of panties, can I have mine back?” Rebekah asked her boyfriend. “They are my favourite pair.”

“Are you serious?” Caroline shouted. “What in the hell, Enzo?”

“Well, Rebekah decided we should do a little matchmaking, apparently Niklaus is nicer when he’s getting some.”

“Hey,” Klaus muttered. 

“So, I came over here to help you out so this idiot doesn’t kill you and it was all one of Rebekah’s ridiculous schemes?”

“Basically, yes,” Rebekah offered. “I knew you’d run over here to protect Enzo but I had no idea just how well we’d do.”

“You did not,” she replied childishly. 

“Well, he is half-naked,” Enzo pointed out. 

“What the hell is going on here? And just so you know killing Enzo isn’t off the table right now,” Klaus said for his sister’s benefit.

“I pretended to be unfaithful to your sister so Caroline would come over to distract you from killing me.”

“Not bad, St John,” Klaus grinned. “Maybe I do like you. But just so you know she wasn’t distracting me, I was already onto her plan.” 

“Are you serious?” Caroline baulked. “Please kill him before I do.” 

“Looks like the distracter has become the distractee,” Klaus murmured, those sinful, crimson lips curving into a knowing smile. 

“Unbelievable,” she growled, turning to leave the room. “You all deserve each other.”

“Until next time we meet, love,” Klaus called out after her. 

Caroline was already nervous about when that would be and what it would entail. Klaus Mikaelson was becoming increasingly more difficult to resist and that’s what she was afraid of.

#klarolinerewind #klaroline fanfiction #beautiful distraction #hope you like it supremeuppityone #klaroline #klarolineinfinity #klaroline drabbles

[mymostimaginaryfriend]

Yesterday you mentioned that you can objectively see what the writers are trying to do. Can you fill me in lol. I’ll watch and enjoy episodes but overall I can’t really tell what’s the point? I feel like it all falls apart or goes nowhere. It’s a damn shame. Thanks in advance!

Hey anon!  Thanks for the ask. (sidenote: anon is referencing this post)

This mid-season is really testing us, huh?  It’s like the season has been spinning its wheels just when it should be shifting into a higher gear. (To be fair, I know you wrote this before 4x08 which finally had some forward momentum so your opinion may have changed?)

As for your question, based on the show runner’s interviews and some educated guesses, I think I can see what they’ve been trying to do.  Here’s my (full warning) long-winded opinion of what I think they were going for, why some of it isn’t working and why it feels so different than previous seasons:

1) Teresa’s Transformation to Queenpin - as stated in an interview, this season is supposed to be about Teresa’s arc to the Woman in White.  

The Goal: Teresa moves to a new city to distance herself from the criminal aspects of her life and tries to enact a path toward legitimizing her businesses and income. In the meantime she’s determined to do the cartel thing HER way (including a personal life) but the old way of violence and subterfuge refuses to let her go that easy.  Her last chance at a normal life slips through her hands as impossible choice after impossible choice blurs her moral code and the series-long question is finally answered: Can she both hold onto her humanity and succeed in this business? And if forced to choose between the two, which would win? Enter Queenpin.

Execution: Rather than Teresa’s transformation to Queenpin developing through a deeply personal examination of herself and her choices (ie: her history with Kelly Anne, endangering innocent bystander Eddie through her lifestyle, actively exploring her trust issues by bringing Javier into the fold, etc.) she’s barely had any moral quandaries or tests of conscience yet this season.  Eight episodes in and she hasn’t had to concede any of her ethics to succeed.  If the Queenpin transformation is inevitable, shouldn’t this season be one big slippery slope for Teresa?  

2) A More Character than Plot Based Story- as stated in that same interview.

The Goal: Plots will develop through Teresa’s relationships.  Her attempts to build a Familia and establish trusting personal bonds will be tested by her romantic relationship with a civilian, Kelly Anne’s return and new associate Javier being torn between his old and new allegiances.  Meanwhile her professional relationships will test her resolve to do business her way by introducing Raul (with all of his unethically complicated strings attached) and Marcel as a representative of what Teresa thinks she can be (a family centered criminal enterprise) culminating in a final showdown with the Judge.

Execution:  With a few exceptions (Birdie, *s i g h* and to varying degrees of success Oksana, Marcel and Raul), Teresa has not established personal connections with new characters like she has in previous seasons. The show THINKS they successfully accomplished this with Teresa and Javier/Eddie, but by having the foundation of those relationships built off screen and the specter of dishonesty hanging over their scenes it has kept their bonds from landing with viewers (at least it has for me). The emotional stakes can’t build without the proper groundwork. They keep telling us Teresa loves and/or trusts these characters without showing us why resulting in no personal investment for characters or viewers.

Instead of letting built-in character conflict propel the plot, at midseason the show is relying on miscommunication, withholding pertinent information and physically separating characters from interacting to control the story.  The pacing is feeling the strain.

3)  Pacing

The Goal:  Conflicts of the week will balance season long arcs.  

Execution:  By mid-season the balance has become extremely lopsided and a lot of it has to do with the mishandling of the above (#2) and a disproportionate focus on characters that aren’t driving the story forward.  Almost every story line this season has been a full-season arc, whereas in previous seasons conflicts would be introduced and resolved in three eps or less and lead into a related or larger conflict. Mid-season has been bogged down by stagnant plot progression.

Characters and story lines have been introduced just to disappear for episodes at a time (Oksana, Kelly Anne) or stuck in a holding pattern of repetitive scenes (Javier, Eddie, Tony).  Think back to everything set up in the first four episodes:  Kelly Anne/Teresa, the death of Rene, Javier lying to Teresa, Javier lying to Boaz, the Judge discovering Tony’s existence, the Judge’s son in general…it’s four episodes later and these plots are not only unresolved but have hardly progressed at all.   

And to be totally contradictory, the plot they did contain to three episodes (Teresa and Marcel’s “war”) is the one that IMO had the material for a longer arc if they’d have built it up more but oh well.

In Summary: I think the creators had all the building blocks needed for a great season—talented actors, a clear arc, intriguing conflicts and characters on paper–but haven’t successfully translated their blueprint to the screen so far. 

Don’t get me wrong, QOTS is still appointment viewing for me even if my investment isn’t as obsessive as it’s been in previous seasons.  It’s because of my love for the show that I hold it to a higher standard.  And although it’s a bit of a bummer thinking of what might have been, the first third of the season and last week’s episode all show what the show can do with a tighter focus on characters and plot progression. 

Here’s hoping they get it back in gear for the homestretch!

#qots #qots meta #qots season 4 #qots spoilers #txt post #qots asks #asks & replies #anons #in hindsight the nature of the analysis makes this seem more negative than i intended #sorry for that--i still enjoy the show!!

[rivetgoth]

Okay, the verdict is out, I finally got to watch THREE FROM HELL after anticipating it for ages and I got some thoughtz.

First, some full disclosure, so y’all know where my biases are:

1. I genuinely adore House of 1000 Corpses and I consider The Devil’s Rejects one of my favorite movies of all time. In general I really adore a lot of Rob Zombie’s work — I also loved 31. That being said, he’s been hit or miss in the past and there’s some stuff of his I really detested too, but overall he’s not only impressed me but stood out as the creator of some of my absolutely favorite films. I wanna clarify this because I’ve seen a lot of people write up scathing reviews for this film that literally start with “I HATE ROB ZOMBIE’S MOVIES!!!!!” and that just seems like a really unfair way to approach a review specifically for a sequel. Idk what you’re expecting to get out of it.

2. Speaking of that, I love good horror sequels and some of my favorite movies of all time are specifically sequels. I fall in love with characters and concepts and I love seeing them expanded on in fun ways. I have no inherent negative feelings towards sequels at all.

I say all this to point out that I was genuinely looking forward to this movie without any unfair biases, it didn’t have to change my mind on anything larger than itself, like “convince me that Rob Zombie is a capable film director after all” or “convince me that sequels have artistic merit” or anything like that.

My overall thought, before I explain anything else, is pretty much that I feel like the first half of the film is extremely promising and fun, and the second half of the movie is so bad that I more or less wish I’d just turned it off halfway through and pretended that was the whole film. And, given the fact that so many of the developmental issues with the film that led to its shakiness came from Sid Haig’s declining health, I almost feel like this wasn’t a movie that had to be made at all — at least in this form.

I read one review that pretty much said that for Rob Zombie to revive this series he needed a damn good reason, and he never managed to make that reason clear. And I feel like that’s exactly what my overall takeaway was here. The ending of Devil’s Rejects is pretty much perfect. In order for that to be retconned and expanded upon, something really mind blowing had to happen. In general, even when you’re not taking the risk of retconning an ending of such epic proportions, if a sequel is made to something I want to see it do something new and uniquely memorable in its own right. Devil’s Rejects itself is a perfect example of this; one of the things I completely adore about it is the fact that it expanded upon the very classic retro slasher feel of 1000 Corpses to center the attention on the killers and recreate them as antiheroes with an entirely different tone. Similarly, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 stands out to me as one of the great horror sequels, partly in the way it so fearlessly completely shifts it’s tone away from the total frenzied isolation horror of TCM 1 and does something entirely different. Other series try less for “perspective/atmosphere shift” and more for “just go bigger” and that can work too — I think the increasing extremity of gore and complexity of the traps in the Saw series (which I love) is a good example, especially through the first three films which are by far the best as a coherent trilogy.

The WEIRD thing about Three From Hell is that Rob Zombie has clearly proven that he 1) understands the idea of sequels that build upon original films in unique new ways 2) has no qualms being increasingly and shamelessly extreme and shocking and horrific. But instead, I felt like Three From Hell is... jarringly tame, actually, compared to what we got from Rejects. And I mean, in some ways that’s fine, I didn’t necessarily miss the way-too-long graphic rape scene in Rejects, which is a miserable chore to get through in just how sickening it is. But there’s no moment where I felt that we get anything more extreme or intense than what’s seen in Rejects. It all feels like it’s been toned way down, which is bizarre to me. The victims aren’t people we’re sympathetic towards like the traveling musicians we meet in Rejects, and their deaths aren’t particularly gruesome - The majority of the deaths in this movie are “shot in the head” or “stabbed.” That’s it. The climax of the film is extremely similar to the opening shootout of Rejects, with significantly lower stakes and less memorable artistic direction, meaning that one film’s introductory scene is able to create a more intense moment than this one’s entire two hour duration.

The thing is, I feel like the first half of the movie really has potential. There are things I could nitpick — for example I love Richard Brake and I feel like Foxy is fun but flat — but the majority of my complaints would be things that, if the movie had a stronger second half, could easily have been further developed and solved. In fact, the first half of the movie feels like it’s gearing up to pretty much be exactly what I’d want out of a Rejects sequel. It’s weird and engaging and markedly different from its predecessors. It focuses on Otis, Spaulding, and Baby’s survival and arrest after the ending of Rejects, the subsequent trial, and then Otis’ escape and attempt to save Baby (after Spaulding is given the death penalty; more on that later). There’s a ton I love here, mostly Otis and Baby’s relationship being given more time in a really interesting way. The stakes are high and Otis clearly cares about his sister to a degree that feels like a fitting continuation of Rejects’ attempts at showing sympathetic or relatable aspects to these characters that makes them very three dimensional and complex. Bill Moseley is the fucking greatest and his ability to make Otis so completely depraved and unrestrained while also clearly caring about his family is one of my favorite things about the series and this played it up really well. You get the feeling that Otis is genuinely concerned for Baby, even after she’s freed, although it mostly comes out in yelling and deadpan snarking. Baby, meanwhile, gets the beginning of a completely fascinating character arc that included my favorite dialogue and scenes through the entire film as we’re shown that after a decade in prison she’s gone completely off the deep end. She rambles on about being Snow White and saving kittens and cries while hallucinating ballerinas with cat heads. By the time she’s free even Otis is expressing vocal concern for her. We get to meet the first half of the film’s main antagonist, Warden Virgil Harper, who was memorable and fun and felt right at home in the Rejects canon. We got the chance to see him developed into a character you almost start to feel sorry for; he’s cocky, but he clearly has no idea how in over his head he really is. On top of this, the scene when the clown shows up at Harper’s house while Otis and Foxy are torturing him and his friends and family is the best torture scene in the film in the complete absurd awfulness of the clown trying to put on a funny show while everyone is sobbing and a man is bleeding out.

At this point, the movie is going in a direction I totally dig. By the time Baby is finally free and able to reunite with Otis and he’s picking up on how fucked up she’s become, I’m genuinely excited to see how things will develop. It feels like Rob Zombie was setting up a film where we get to explore the siblings’ dynamic in a way that’s new and intriguing but developing from the things people loved in Rejects, which is that perfect blend of “utterly irredeemably despicable people” and “genuinely likable, oddly human characters.” Baby and Otis only really have each other at this point (Foxy is there, but even in the movie itself they allude to the fact that he really barely matters — a bit of a copout of a running gag, but whatever), and Baby actually voices this. It hit me at that moment how all of their family has died, and considering how much family has been a driving force for these characters, they were literally initially introduced in 1000 Corpses as the classic murder family and that’s all been taken from them, it’s genuinely sad. Spaulding’s death feels like it could be the final catalyst for... something to come from this, as that was Baby’s father and such a hugely important member of the Firefly family. We have Otis and Baby, alone (well, accompanied by Foxy) in the late 1980s (also a COMPLETELY not utilized detail), on the run as the country’s most wanted serial killers and trying to cope with the weird scenario of being merciless murderers who’ve had their entire family taken from them.

But we don’t get any of that in the second half. At all. Instead, we have Baby suggesting they all run away to Mexico. They do, winding up in a little hotel in the middle of nowhere full of prostitutes and alcohol. Baby wins a knife throwing contest against some big misogynistic guys. Then Danny Trejo’s character’s unmentioned son shows up (oh yeah; Danny Trejo was here for about 5 seconds, he died early on), has about 3 lines of dialogue, sends in 20 masked luchadors to kill Baby and Otis, they have an extremely long low stakes shootout, and with the help of the second half’s most interesting but still underdeveloped and shockingly unironically sympathetic character they burn Danny Trejo’s son alive and the movie ends. And that’s it. The characters regress even further backwards than their Rejects counterparts. They don’t really do... anything, actually. Otis fucks some women and then lays in bed flirting with them until the luchadors show up with their machine guns. My favorite moment was Otis’ attempts at saving Baby’s life by telling Aquarius (Danny Trejo’s character’s son) to let her go because he was the only one responsible for his father’s death, and they share a brief exchange about family. But that was one interesting moment amidst an extremely stale and low stakes plot separate from anything I care about after the intensity and high stakes present in the previous movie’s climax, and even this movie’s first half. A lot of things are recycled here, like the revenge plot driving the antagonist, but Sheriff Wydell’s descent into righteous insanity in Rejects was given way more time to develop, or a character betraying the Fireflys’ trust, but instead of the extremely memorably shocking, selfish betrayal from Charlie who was a longtime acquaintance clearly considered family (plus he actually attempts to “redeem” himself in the end), this is betrayal from a random hotel owner we do not know or care about. When the credits roll and we see Otis and Baby and Foxy driving away to... somewhere, I don’t even know where they’re going, I’m not even really sure what I’m supposed to feel. I chuckled a little at Baby being allowed to drive after an earlier argument where Otis asserted she shouldn’t, but that was it.

I hadn’t read anything about this movie before watching it, because I didn’t want anything to be spoiled for me. I was really excited for it! I learned that Sid Haig, who of course passed on only very recently (RIP), was dealing with very serious health issues that made him unable to film the movie, when originally the film had been written with the original infamous three - Otis, Baby, Spaulding - as the leads for the whole thing. Rob Zombie wanted to honor him with at least a cameo, knowing that the movie wouldn’t be the same without the Captain, but aside from a brief few minutes of screen time he had to rewrite the whole rest of the film with Spaulding removed. I feel like that’s where a majority of the problems with the movie lie. It’s why Foxy is as flat as he is and it’s why there’s an awkward uncertainty in how to deal with the loss of the Captain as the patriarch and why the whole idea of Otis and Baby’s aloneness is so awkwardly glossed over, like Mr. Zombie noticed the elephant in the room enough to address the turmoil but didn’t want to rewrite the entire movie from scratch to account for one of the most important characters in the franchise (maybe THE most important) being unexpectedly killed off.

Now, I LOVE some films that have been to developmental hell and back and came out as solid movies. In fact, there’s an extremely special place in my heart for films that fought tooth and nail to be made. It inspires me as a creator myself and it’s why indie low budget horror is my favorite genre of movie. I absolutely love seeing creators fight to bring their artistic visions to life against the odds. There are fantastic sequels out there where major actors either died or refused to/were unable to return and the stories were reworked or the actors replaced. I feel like something went wrong here. The moment he realized that Sid Haig would be unable to return, Rob Zombie should have set the whole thing aside and done a total rewrite. Right now, the knowledge of what was going on with Sid Haig behind the scenes makes the movie’s shortcomings go from “poor writing and storytelling decisions” to “genuinely extremely sad.”

One of the things I totally love about the writing of Devil’s Rejects is the way Rob Zombie inserts seemingly random moments that do nothing but add to the overall atmosphere and tone of his world. Random arguments, random character quirks, random shots of random things that simultaneously add a gritty “anything goes” realism as well as a surreal absurd humor. I’m also ALL for disjointed, nonlinear, or otherwise experimental and strange plots with a lot going on in them, I don’t think a big genre shift halfway through a movie is inherently bad. In the past, it’s been Rob Zombie’s fearlessness with experimenting with strange, often shameless storytelling decisions that have made his films so memorable and enjoyable and even inspiring to me. But in Three From Hell, there’s just a sense that everything feels kind of... disconnected and unfinished. It feels like two different movies were trying to be made and neither were fully developed. It just ends up sort of feeling like a kind of sad mess.