#i understand drawing new body types can be hard

[sirsunnydays]

every time i see a skinny jevil, i grow a brain tumor

#i understand drawing new body types can be hard #but learn to draw pudgy characters if you want to draw a character whos pudgy #yeah thats it #just learn to draw them #at least TRY to draw them pudgy even if you cant

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

#cod #hcs #cod hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #platonic task force 141 #platonic taskforce141 #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #price #ghost #soap #gaz #mw2 #platonic task force 141 x reader #platonic cod #platonic price #platonic ghost #platonic soap #platonic gaz #hurt/comfort #heavy angst #whump #found family #request #oh my god this took so long #so so sorry #gender neutral reader

[st-danger]

Ooo that thing you just wrote for @/forlorn-crows is a sick idea, normally I like stuff so I can read it later but that was a READ NOW BITCH type deal.

Gives me the idea of Aether going into people’s minds and giving them wet dreams

The new kid's insatiable. It isn't like it's a problem for anyone- on the contrary, they're delighted by it. They're no strangers to sex and lust in the Pit, but here, in humanesque bodies, it's a foreign experience. Different in ways that are difficult to quantify, but different. The obsession with new sensations in new bodies is a universally known thing, something they all went through when first summoned. And who could blame them?

But what a treat getting to watch it from the outside. How nice to watch him sweat and tremble and take until it hurts to be touched.

Aeon is easy.

Pliable. Suggestible and willing to try whatever anyone suggests. He desires with a fierceness that sees him crawling into bed with Dew late at night, desperate for relief. Sees him staring at Swiss during mass with dark eyes, bouncing his leg, unable to sit still, and Swiss is more than happy to drag him out after and lend a helping hand. Or mouth.

So. Aether offers, and Aeon agrees, and that as they say, is that. It's never brought up again, and he knows Aeon wants to ask when, when can we, but part of the fun will be doing this when he doesn't expect. In the meantime, Aeon cums from all the attention he gets, and rubs his cock until it's red and sensitized, and even a little past that.

He's lovely when he's awake- crooked teeth revealed with every wide smile, constantly smoothing messy hair off his face. He's lovely when he's asleep, too, sprawled out on the couch or the bed, shirt riding up to expose a stripe of stomach, eyes closed. Long lashes. Of course Aether was going to offer. When someone wraps a present for you, sets in directly into your palms, it would be rude not to open it. Cruel, even.

He lies sleeping in his bed in loose boxers, a thin white shirt. Half under a blanket having kicked part of it off at some point. Aether flicks the table lamp on and carefully, so carefully, sits on the bed beside him. He's out like a light- it's possible he's worn himself out (or, more accurately, been worn out by someone else) to the point he's less asleep and more comatose. Lips parted, drooling a little on his pillow. Aether swallows hard. He tingles in Places. His fingers itch with want. He wishes he had more patience, that he could convince himself to undo the bow and carefully remove the wrapping paper, but he's never had much self control with this, to be honest. He tries, but here, now, with the way he looks... surely it's understandable to want to rip the paper open as quick as possible.

He reaches towards him, strokes his hair, playing with it. Twirling the shock of white that cuts through the brown at his hairline. Lets the smallest little bit of his magick drip from his fingertips and into his head so he can make sure Aeon doesn't wake before he wants him to. He drags his fingers down the side of his face, tracing the angle of a sharp jaw, stroking down his neck. With his other hand, he palms himself, working himself up just a little. Not too much because he has plans for Aeon that require him not to pop too early.

Down his neck, down his chest to find a nipple, to give it a soft rub until it's peeking through his shirt, obvious. Down further, to the hem, where he slides it under and caresses his stomach. Pets his navel, and then the barest hint of hair that disappears under his waistband.

The magick flows easy, then. Warms him from the inside out and Aether watches, ensorcelled by the gentle noise Aeon makes on his next exhale. The obvious twitch of his dick stirring to life. If he wasn't so eager to wake him up and ask him to run that pretty tongue over his balls, he'd draw the blood south slower. But not tonight. He squeezes himself, presses on Aeon's belly, and stares, hungrier than he's felt in a while as Aeon's cock fills out. Faster than is necessary, perhaps, but who cares. Certainly he doesn't. Certainly Aeon won't be complaining.

He's tenting in no time, and Aether supplies him with visions of being taken. Being loved gentle and raw, and finally, Aeon whimpers, hips shifting while he dreams about many hands peeling his clothes off, mouths sucking his neck, tongues licking at secret, hidden places. A little more phantom sensation on his cock, and Aether groans as a dribble of precum dots the fabric, stretched against a head that he cannot wait to make sticky and overly sensitive.

It goes on until Aether's working himself and hard to the point that he's dying to pull it out. His pants are tight, oppressive. It's making him ache, and all he can focus on is what the little kitten licks he's going to ask him for will feel like.

He turns the dial of quintessence up, and Aeon gasps, unconscious and pleasured, leaking fluid and staining his boxers with the pre because Aether wants him to.

They've kept his balls so empty there's been no possibility to cum in his sleep yet. His body hasn't had a chance, and maybe that's the reason Aeon was so quick to agree- something new.

He gets him nice and close, until Aeon is whimpering, shifting where he lays, and Aether gives up.

He forces too much pleasure into his mind, and Aeon throbs and moans and Aether's eyes go wide as he watches his cock start to bounce around and spit out shot after shot, soaking himself-

Aeon wakes up moaning and disoriented halfway through, barely has time to register what's happening when Aether decides to give him a little gift of his own, drag it out, make it last unnaturally long, until Aeon is crying out, thrashing, looking at Aether with surprise and shock while he defiles himself by Aether's suggestions.

When it's over, when it's finally over and Aeon lies exhausted, and panting, he gifts Aether with a disbelieving giggle.

"What," he breathes, weakly.

Aether is already standing, unzipping his pants.

#st-speaks #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost fic #ghost headcanons #aether ghoul #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #aether/aeon #aether/phantom #aether x aeon #aether x phantom #nameless ghouls

[5ummit]

HTP Fic Recs: Hidden Gems

Have you, like me, devoured everything in the Hydra Trash Party AO3 tag and are desperate for more? Well you may be in luck.

In honor of CATWS's 10th anniversary I’ve decided, yet again, to make a new rec list so that these gems don't get buried in my overwhelmingly extensive original rec list. This list features HTP and HTP-adjacent fics that are NOT tagged as HTP (either because the author didn't know the label existed or didn't believe it applied to their fic), making them particularly hard to find, and I think, deserving of more attention.

Many of these fics don’t have much, if any, explicit noncon, but noncon is often implied or referenced and they’re all rife with other types of dehumanization and abuse so the usual HTP warnings still apply. Read tags carefully etc.

The Making of the Winter Soldier [series] by CluckU & Mumble_Bee Relationship: Hydra Agents/WS, Zola/WS Words: 13,700

There are a small, precious collection of things he knows for certain each time he wakes in his chair: He is a weapon. A soldier. An asset. He is being molded into the Fist of Hydra. He must prove himself. Failure is not an option.

Muscle Memory by sparklingbinjuice Relationship: Rumlow & Bucky Words: 4500

It had taken five minutes of fumbling but he had eventually picked the lock. The soldier wouldn’t be back for hours. Coordinates provided by the remaining, somewhat rudimentary, tracking device installed in the titanium arm indicated that he wandered the streets on weekends – watching people, visiting libraries and museums, feeding the birds. It was all so horribly human.

Reconquer, regain, recover by werebird Relationship: Hydra Agents/WS (past) Words: 2300

Hydra had known his body better than he himself ever could. They had taken it, reshaped it, reprogrammed it. They had birthed the Winter Soldier although they had never given him life.

Taming Winter by Runlights Relationship: Rumlow & WS, Steve & Bucky Words: 91,000 Notes: terrifying bloodthirsty WS

Regardless of the intravenous set pumping warming fluids into those veins, regardless of the fact that a moment ago, the guy looked on the verge of death, the Winter Soldier was out of the chair and in front of him with two steps that happened so quickly he didn’t even have time to do more than inhale. He froze as he felt the press of his own combat knife against his throat, the bite of the blade causing blood to well and slip down his throat. This was the point where he suspected people felt fear, especially staring into those unfocused cold eyes. He only felt a twisted fascination.

The Soldier’s Kittens by exclamation Relationship: Sam & Bucky, Steve & Bucky Words: 11,300 Notes: animal abuse/death

"Sam's a really good guy," Steve said. "I think you'd like him if you spent more time with him." Bucky said nothing. He would not show any interest in Sam, just as he had not shown any interest when Steve had taken him to the animal shelter to try and get him to interact with the dogs there. He knew this trap and he wouldn't fall into it twice.

Flinching by Exorin Relationship: Steve/Bucky Words: 570

It might finally break what's left of him if Steve knew the way he's had to dig his nails into his palms hard enough to draw blood just to shape his breath into the sound of a moan.

I'm comin' up only to hold you under by anonymous Relationship: Hydra Agents/Bucky, Steve/Bucky (past) Words: 2100

They drag him out of his cell by his hair and toss him into a room full of identical guards. He lands hard on his knees, the force of the impact stuttering up his weak, tired body, and he glares up and them with all the hatred he can gather. He feels off-balance, like he does whenever he tries to carry himself now—the stump of his missing arm has a phantom weight he can't get used to, won't get used to.

Context is Everything by thedevilchicken Relationship: Hannibal/Bucky Words: 2600

"I don't understand," Bucky replied. "Recontextualize?" "Your memories of HYDRA seem…distant," Hannibal said. "The way you speak about them is as if they happened to someone else. In order to process your trauma, you must understand that they happened to you."

Never Letting the Blood Dry by BarrenPines Relationship: Rumlow & WS, Steve & Bucky Words: 2500 Notes: whipping

After the mission, there were pats on the back, expressions of congratulations and thanks, and a dozen other little niceties that made his skin crawl. He’d gotten lucky, that’s all. And he’d also defied orders, departed from his assigned task. Praise wasn’t what he deserved.

#quite a few of these have less than 1000 hits #it's such a tragedy because they're so good #please check them out and give them some love! #hydra trash party #winterbones #fic recs #bucky barnes #marvel #tenyearsoftrash #Happy CATWS Anniversary!

[areyougonnabe]

for the polar history recap posts, i’m dying to know more about lillie…deeply tragic and i’ve also heard something about the nickname ‘ooze’ and i desperately need to know more about that

LILLIE 😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

denis (also spelled dennis) gascoigne lillie was born in 1884, making him 26 when the terra nova set off for antarctica. he was trained in natural sciences at cambridge (although he didn't do too well on his exams) and was appointed as the ship's biologist—meaning he did not form part of the shore party in the hut in at cape evans, but remained on board the ship during the winter, studying antarctic marine biology including whales, plankton, and deep-sea creatures like sponges (like the one pictured above). his nickname "ooze" comes from his job as biologist—ooze refers to a specific kind of biological marine sediment that got pulled up in seabed dredges which lillie would then examine.

in silas's diary on the voyage south, he describes lillie:

Lilley—"Hercules'" or "Sequins" is rather a dreamer and asserts he can remember his former existences in this world. Much fun can be got from him if handled properly.

lillie was noted by other members of the expedition to be a bit of a crackpot, asserting that he was a persian and a roman in his past lives. and more than that, possibly:

Lillie had decided that he was not the marrying type, claiming that he had evolved beyond it. In later years Scott’s young Norwegian skiing expert Tryggve Gran recounted that as they crossed the Equator on the Terra Nova Lillie had revealed that he was a woman trapped in a man’s body. ‘When I see a naked man I blush,’ he allegedly said as the others sprawled shirtless on the deck in tropical sunshine, ‘I am split and I can’t help it. Luckily I understand myself and have the control to avoid doing anything wrong.’ Gran was a notoriously unreliable source, and it is hard to imagine anyone having the courage to say that under those circumstances; but perhaps Lillie did.

(from sara wheeler's cherry)

usually i would not recommend anyone trust anything that comes out of gran's mouth, but honestly i do buy this, because, well... vibes.

anyway, on the terra nova, lillie was notable for his talent at caricature, and several of his rather hilariously cruel drawings appeared (copied by wilson) in the south polar times, including this one of birdie:

while the shore party was in antarctica, lillie spent two winters in new zealand studying whales, fossils, and anthropology:

Lillie has been fossilizing & is off next month for 5 months whaling with the Norwegians. He is looking very well & very happy and is ‘a dear little chap’ to use Scott’s expression.

—pennell's diary, may 18 1911

after returning to england, taking the long way round on board the terra nova to continue his marine research, lillie took up residence at cambridge again, alongside deb, silas, priestley, and griff, to work up the scientific results from the expedition.

lillie also spent a lot of time with atch and pennell in 1913, frequently accompanying them to dine and see theater in london. he also drew (probably on board the ship) the caricature of them as the "antarctic lovebirds":

during the war, he was a conscientious objector—a "conchie," refusing to go to the front. it was an incredibly difficult position to maintain in the face of widespread societal opposition. he found solace in a continued and deepening relationship with cherry (who was also not at the front, though in his case for health reasons) as sara wheeler describes in her biography of cherry:

Currently working as a bacteriologist for the military, Lillie had been one of the few visitors at Lamer during the bad months in the middle of 1916. They became unusually intimate (‘I should love to see your chubby cheeks again’), and after one weekend Lillie scrawled with typical irreverence in his note of thanks that, ‘It was only my body which left you, for my ultimate Reality still walks behind your Bath chair and meditates about the many paths of your lovely garden. With love.’

and god i just need to copy these entire sections from the wheeler in here because they make me want to sob:

In September 1916 he had been transferred to the pathology lab of a military hospital in Bournemouth, which he loathed (‘no nice cliffs or sea birds, only sand banks and orange peel’), and was appalled to learn the next year that Cherry was poised to become engaged to Christine Davis (‘being unconventional and as near to nature as I can get, it seems all wrong to me that you should have to tie yourself up for the sake of Society’), but he strove, generally, to be optimistic, whereas Cherry was permanently resigned to his destiny. In August 1917 Lillie returned to Lamer for a week. Writing in advance with details of his train to Hatfield, he concluded that, ‘if a motor does not turn up the wings of joy will waft me those four-and-a-half miles bag included. So don’t worry.’ They had a wonderful time together. ‘I do hope,’ Lillie wrote when he was back in horrible Bournemouth, ‘your throat and the rest of you continues to get well and worthy of the sunny spirit which I see under the label ACG.'

though things seemed to be going as well as they could for lillie, shortly before the end of the war in early 1918, he suffered a nervous breakdown and landed in the notorious bethlem mental institution, known as bedlam. he was there for three years, and cherry was barred from visiting him.

he emerged for a short period of time in 1921, seemingly recovered, and took up lecturing in biology again at cambridge, but by the end of that year had relapsed and was institutionalized again.

frank debenham, writing to expedition agent j.j. kinsey in 1927 to solicit funding for SPRI, gave him an update:

Poor old Lillie is in less happy circumstances, the last I heard of him was that he was never likely to get out of Bedlam, a rather ghastly end up for poor old "Ooze's" brilliant promise.

lillie spent the rest of his life in institutions, and lived until the age of 78, dying in 1963. that was four years after the death of his friend cherry—who, despite constant attempts, was never allowed to visit him.

per UK law, lillie's medical records will be sealed until 2063, 100 years after his death, but a post on bethlem's official blog about lillie briefly notes that he was "depressed, delusional and suicidal."

the post also notes, importantly, that his breakdown had nothing whatsoever to do with his antarctic experiences:

The content of his medical notes suggests that the state of mind that brought him to hospital was entirely unrelated to his experiences of 1910-1913. Indeed, they report that “on the whole he felt better during this time”. 

OK, let's end on a nice note. here's a picture of him having a nice time at silas's wedding (i think) with his best friends. RIP lillie, i hope your next life is going well somewhere out there right now 🥲💓

(also another good writeup on lillie with some lovely art can be found on @worstjourney's patreon here!)

#denis lillie #terra nova #polar exploration #this marine biologist is TRANSGENDER !!!

[stelladess]

EDIT: I only now found there are more complete translations of the new lorebook, that may alter things here quite a bit depending on if it touches on relevant stuff. Ill probably write a more easy to follow and updated version of this post when I got less schoolwork anyway so yeah. Arknights Theory: The nature of the Lord of Fiends powers and the purpose of the black crown. IDK how to spoiler and non of what I find onlines helps with that so just know... spoilers ahead. I also wanna say that I havnt double checked a lot of this stuff, I did for some of it but id like to re-read a bunch of this when some of the CN only stuff has come to global anyway. So take with a grain of salt is all im saying that I remember right since I dont remember exactly where to find all of this info, altough I will mentioned where I thought I got it from for various evidence. So tl;dr here is that I think Amiya´s powers is actually about manipulating originium, the memory, emotion and energy blasts (also making a sword) is all extensions of that and NOT fully distinct powers like some believe, also the Lord of Fiends has to have oripathy. Also the black crown was made by Priestess to eventually facilitate her resurrection and the reason doctor convinced Theresa to transfer her powers to Amiya was part of that plan. Now, why do I think all this? Starting on Amiya´s powers. While dialogue indicates some skilled casters *can* learn multiple types of arts, Amiya is not a skilled caster. She is very powerful but not particularily skilled at it. Her powers are ALL derived from the originium arts her oripathy and Lord of Fiends nature grants her. She also had all these powers pretty much from moment 1 it seems so it seems unlikely she learned it trough practice to do many different things. So its likely one ability that is just very broad in its usage, similarily to how Rosmontis´s powers work (if I remember right Kal´tsit even says their powers are very similar in nature). Amiya can do energy blasts, view memories and sense emotions... according to Kal´tsit in chapter 7 the way sarkaz prophecies work is basically that thoughts are stored in originium allowing other sarkaz to tap into the memories in that originium to calculate a likely outcome with multiple people´s brains. So originium can store thoughts/minds. And by extension memory would be a part of that. There is also clearly stuff relating to the dead but ive heard several CN server events have gone into that more so I dont wanna speak about anything regarding dead souls until that comes to global because I do not wanna go reading very complicated lore stuff in a language I dont understand really, so ill adjust or drop this theory as nescesary based on future information of course. So, then the emotions and memory stuff is covered, making the sword is also simple, its just made of originium. So the energy blasts? Well the main way originium is used is as a power source and its required to cast arts for those without oripathy (who have originium inside them to channel arts anyway). Another piece of evidence here is that Manfred could disrupt Amiya´s arts with his own, which seem to revolve around detonating or manipulating the energy in originium, allowing him to harm Amiya when she tried to gather up energy from nearby originium. When she pushes herself extra hard she probably draws extra power from the originium in her own body, which is why it has such a negative effect on her physically even compared to other casters. This, and a bit from the new lorebook revealing the first Lord of Fiends was the first person with Oripathy, is why I think the Lord of Fiends HAS to have Oripathy.

So, with that established, why do I think the Black Crown is meant to resurrect Priestess? First of all, the Black Crown or Civilight Etherna, is tech from the advanced precursor civilization (it was not found by them but invented by them, its directly referenced as a different project to the AMa projects, which is part of what Kal´tsit is refered to by certain beings in the know about the previous civilization, the crown also resembles Mon3tr in appearance). Its stated in Amiya´s module that its purpose is to store information, memories and emotion. And we know for a fact that they were capable of brain uploading, as seen with Friston in Lonetrail. Its original purpose was as a historical record, but that doesnt mean it cant have been altered later. Priestess is stated by Friston to have created Originium, something we will likely learn more about in the Victoria arc on account of certain reveals in chapter 13. Since Originium is so closely linked to the crown, by virtue of the first infected being the first Lord of Fiends, originium was clearly created in relation to something to do with the Crown. And well.. when Priestess put the doctor into the sarcophagus she said they would be reunited and their love would outlast the stars. Despite her seeming convinced she would die.... Kal´tsit seems to have been either created or turned into what she is now by Priestess too, or well by their people at least. But for dramatic convenience I think Priestess makes the most sense. I think the crown getting linked to the sarkaz collective unconcious/dead souls (this is the part im most uncertain about because there is so little info on this on global especially) was NEVER part of the plan. Since it seems likely the previous civilization created the ancients (animal people) to drive the sarkaz away (and also be slave labour, this isnt like 100% confirmed but there is some hints for this) I suspect they saw the sarkaz as lower beings and had never considered the crown would link up with them. So I think the original purpose was that some sort of great calamity fell upon their people, Priestess tried to store her mind in the Black Crown in some process that led to the creation of Originium and because the first person to down the crown was a sarkaz made her unable to do what she originally intended, possessing a later wearer of the crown and reunite with the doctor. This part is of course pure speculation as well with very little evidence, but it does line up somewhat. And I think some of the concept trailers supports the idea the crown can let someone store their mind to take over a later host (altough not with Priestess specifically).

So, fast forward to Amiya... she was born in Rim Billiton a normal cautus girl, her family were miners and lived on a normal landship in Rim Billiton... but one day disaster struck and the ship got destroyed in a horrible disaster. This is all gone into more in To the Grinning Valley but was already implied beforehand. To the Grinning Valley is also interesting for several reasons to this theory, they explicitly call attention to how strange it is that the doctor would bring Amiya with them after finding her in the wreckage. Saving her is in line with their behavior, but why bring her along? Its common in Rim Billiton for miners to adopt other children. Why not leave here somewhere? Why bring her with them to Babel? And this isnt just Amiya wondering or an outside observer, we find out from Savage that Kal´tsit doesnt know why the doctor did what they did. And whats more, Kal´tsit believes the doctor convinced Theresa to transfer her powers to Amiya, and since no previous Lord of Fiends had done so directly, the crown picked a successor, I think the doctor also taught Theresa how she could directly move it, circumventing the dead souls of the sarkaz will being imposed on the crown´s choices. So, why Amiya? Kal´tsit either doesnt have any idea why or just didnt want to tell Savage, but it is clear that she NEVER agreed with the decision. We have some ideas why Theresa did it, Amiya not being a sarkaz would mean she would be less strongly influenced by the dead souls and the lords of kazdel would refuse to follow her. Or at least chapter 12 and 13 heavily implies this was her motive. But why did the doctor want that? In To the Grinning Valley the question of if the doctor always intended to use Amiya for that from the start and grew to care about her over time, or if they took her in with no ill intentions and then got the idea later out of desperation, is raised but left unanswered because the doctor cant remember, and no one else knows why.

I believe the doctor also wished to undermine the crown´s link to the sarkaz, and that the plan was to use Amiya as a vessel for resurrecting Priestess. And it is an interesting topic, its often brought up how much even pre amnesia doctor cared about Amiya... but in To the Grinning Valley we focus a bit on the insecurity and uncertainty Amiya and Savage have about *why*. Savage telling an anecdote about a friend who went bad after fame got to their head and admitting she doesnt know which is worse, if the doctor did love Amiya and their circumstances made them so willing to trample over what they loved that they would force the black crown on her, or if the doctor had always been intending to just use Amiya for that purpose. And Amiya admitting she never knew why doc would care for her so much. And here is an interesting thing... in anything post victoria arc, we have NEVER seen Amiya and the doctor interact so far. Amiya is in Arturia´s oprec but otherwise she hasnt been on screen post victoria arc. To the Grinning Valley is set before it. The doctor has been doing all manner of things all over Terra in that time period, but Amiya isnt there with them, she is still with Rhodes Island is clear though. So... does Amiya and the doctor still have a good relationship post Victoria arc? Doc clearly cares for Amiya still, when Rosmontis talks about missing Amiya in Lonetrail (she had been away for some weeks or months, unclear) doc agrees that they miss her too, but they dont really go into any detail and are talking about both Amiya and Logos. Depending on what we learn in the later chapters of the Victoria arc, I could see Amiya feeling rather betrayed by the doctor. Not to the point of completely cutting them out but that it might still make her a bit more distant to them. I think it would be interesting to see how Amiya would take it if she learned that the doctor had originally intended to use her for very selfish end goals. Surely the thought has crossed her mind and she just isnt willing to entertain it, but if she learns something in the climax of the Victoria arc that shakes her absolute confidence in the doctor? That could be a pretty big deal. We already know Amiya has a habit of rather then accepting people wronged her first try to look for excuses. What Theresa did to her Amiya refuses to admit is wrong even when directly pointed out to her how messed up it was (chapter 8 Rosmontis compares what Theresa did to Amiya with what Loken did to her). She isntead focuses on how she must be failing to live up to Theresa´s expectations, an idea NO ONE tried to put into her head as far as we can tell. Altough it is a little unclear because she gets VERY defensive about it when the Damazti Cluster suggests she was forced into her role at Rhodes and given too heavy responsibilities to carry. Will she do this this time as well? Look for excuses why what doctor did was "justified"? But in chapter 13 she also finds meaning in rejecting the legacy of the black crown and that she will use its powers purely for her own ideals and not worry about what its purpose is. With that in mind how would that color her perception of finding out an even older purpose for it that implicates the pre amnesia doctor?

#arknights #amiya arknights #doctor arknights #arknights priestess #theory #this bnuy really needs therapy #civilight etherna

[vitzi9]

Pretty gifts

Joker X GN!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's how life is in Gotham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of the devil...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some are fond of me, huh ?

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

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

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

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

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

This city is lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fucking hate chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why ? she asks.

-It's complicated." you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"D'you like them ?

-Sorry ? you blinked.

-My scars. Do you like them ?

-Uh, yeah, yeah.

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

-Do you want to know how I got them ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Liars.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck.

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

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

-You want me to come back ? How flattering.

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

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

-Do you want to play a game with me ?

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

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

Sean, move your ass over here, now.

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

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

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

No...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But wouldn't you be safer in a asylum ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But do you really have a choice ?

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

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

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

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

Did he say clown ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like a badly drawn smile.

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

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

And that's bad news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-What ?

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

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

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

Six fucking what ?

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

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

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

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

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

Judging by his eyes, he is not kidding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you hate this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Am I wanted ?

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

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

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

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

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

-What environment ...?

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

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

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

Damn.

-Why do you think that anyway ? he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

-Oh fuck.

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

He hung up.

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

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

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

What have you done ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did he get your address ?

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

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

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

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

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

-Why did you hang up ?

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

-And ?

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

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

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

-How are you so sure ?

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

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

-What do we do, now ?

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

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

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

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

-What's your plan ? you ask.

-It depends on what you want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What ?

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

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

-Jeez, calm down.

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

-You want my help or not ?

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

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

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

-Wow. No ?

He stops in his tracks as you block his way.

-What do you mean, 'no' ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

-That means I'm in danger, right ?

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

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

You don't bring it up, of course.

-Explain.

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

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

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

-His name was, uh, Korej I believe.

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

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

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

-Korej, you corrected.

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

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

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

-You don't believe me ?

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

-Please, leave my house.

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

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

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

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

-Shopping center.

-What ?

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

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

"Okay. You yield, once again.

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

And with these last words, he left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever... You rub your eyes."

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

But are you really leaving this place, though ? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, earlier's vandals. 

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

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

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

-What do they looked like ?

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

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

-Thank you, have a nice day sir.

-Yeah yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” you mumble, avoiding eye contact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Well, uh, it's complicated.

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

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

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

Why does he always seem so nervous talking about him ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

-The Joker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Shut the fuck up you whore !

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

Blood, there’s blood everywhere.

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

-I believe alive was written on the contract.

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

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

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

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

Who is he ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotham killed you.  

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

[romatique]

˚₊‧ ꒰ choi san's ideal type ꒱ ‧₊˚

gif by @bblsan

updated september 2023.

hello! i'm lina, your new ateez tarot reader. i decided to make my first post about san since i connect with him easily, so i hope you enjoy it and give me some feedback too <3

(this is tarot based and for entertainment purposes only. all alleged and shouldn't be taken as 100% truth).

am i allowed to share this? the fool; "sure, go ahead."

01┆physical appearance (the hanged man rx, the chariot, the emperor rx, king of wands rx)

when i tell you my cards literally FLEW. he's pretty much into anything and everything, just like he's said in the past. still, since this is the idealization of a person, here's what i got:

i'm getting a lot of mysterious vibes. like watery traits. san's very open minded and he likes people that dress differently. someone who stands out in the crowd. maybe an alternative style? could be even a person who dresses like they're from another decade. a LOT of presence. athletic slim shape but body positive towards everyone. uses strong and dark colors. red lipstick. deep eyes. he said "androgynous", so i believe someone who balances out what we, as a society, call "feminine" and "masculine" fashion. or maybe it's just the fact he doesn't mind what that person looks like at all. also very out there but still deep.

star signs energy: aquarius or capricorn venus and scorpio mars/moon.

02┆emotional traits (the moon, the empress, death, knight of pentacles rx)

you see, san's been going through a private time, so this is definitely an introverted person. it is important to understand how his energy also affects the type of person he's into.

emotional. mess. but this person is such a control freak, so as much intense as they can be, they won't let it show easily. they've had a pretty intense past and has a hard time letting go of it, even if they don't know it yet ("i can't let go of what happened"). worried about social status. money is an important subject here. mother-like nature: kind, giving and caring. but still demands so much respect. like they wanna be seen as someone bigger. as fragile as this person is, they wanna have a good and strong reputation.

also, we're definitely talking about an artist.

song i heard: butterfly - bts.

star signs energy: cancer sun/saturn, capricorn mars, scorpio mercury.

03┆career (king of wands, lovers, page of cups, page of wands rx)

proactive. "makes a lot of money". leader position. really controlling. could be a lead role actress/actor or a film director. artist. passionate about their job. "do what you love, love what you do". flies around a lot so probably someone with a big influence. busy life but definitely creative. i can also picture drawing as a hobby here.

is this person an idol? (page of cups rx).

no. "i don't wanna cause drama in the industry."

star signs energy: capricorn or pisces midheaven.

#ateez #tarot #ateez tarot #san tarot #choi san #san ateez #san #choi san tarot #tarot reading #ateez ideal type #Spotify

[icanseethefuture333]

hello, I'm your new follower, I saw your reading of Taeyong and Mark and I found it interesting because I already guessed it a long time ago, like your reading really accurate, I don't understand why many people don't agree with Mark's ideal type because it seems so obvious? Of course it's impossible for Mark to express his wild/dark desires openly, it's not like Mark wants someone completely innocent, can I ask you to read Johnny's? because from all of them I had a hard time guessing his because I think Johnny's placement is the type who looks like he likes something bold and pleasured but on the other hand is also safe and stable? if that makes sense. he looks picky but appreciates all the women around him and it becomes difficult to know the type of woman he really dreams of, thank you.

have a good day.

A reading on

Johnny from NCT's ideal type:

Qualities:

Johnny looks for someone who is able to rely on him during through the hard times, be tender and sincere, as well as being optimistic. He could like for his partner to be a bit clumsy and naive? Johnny finds this adorable. He could like for his partner to be able to cook or have traditional values such as wanting to have a family or fit the typical roles of a husband and wife. Someone with a warm presence and is naturally kind hearted by nature would win his heart. Johnny could be more reserved, so he would like for his partner to bring him out of his shell and be someone who is outgoing, friendly, and adventurous. He would like to travel or do fun, risky events with his partner (for example maybe bungee jumping or rock climbing?).

Personality:

What Johnny finds attractive in a partner is someone who is playful, smart, and open minded. He could find it attractive if his partner pretends to be innocent sexually or acts clueless like "omggg did I do that?🤭 I had no idea 👀😈" (channeled song: Oops! I Did It Again by Britney Spears) 👀😳. Johnny is more dominant by nature so he could like if his partner takes a more submissive role. Regardless, he still values his partner's thoughts and opinions, so someone who has good communication skills would be important to him as well. Johnny is turned off by someone who gets overly jealous and lacks trust, so he would want his partner to talk about their wants, needs, and fears with him. Emotional and intellectual intelligence is a big turn on for him (sapiosexual?). The desire to travel here is showing up again, he wants to see the world with his partner. Johnny would find it attractive if his partner tells him the stories of their life or anything about their culture.

Physical traits:

When I saw The Hanged Woman card I was shocked honestly because I was getting a vibe that Johnny wanted to say a few things sexually about his ideal type but was refraining himself from doing so and the cards said here is a confirmation 😂. For what he finds physically attractive is obviously someone with a nice figure or body. If they are curvy or have a "fertile" figure (Johnny did not like this term, I heard him say "ew", but thats what comes to mind when I think of this body type 💀), such as wider hips or hourglass frame, that would immediately draw his attention. Also a pretty ... um- (channeled song: Pussy Talk by City Girls ft. Doja Cat). He could also want to have a baby with someone and settle down soon.

Prefers someone who is feminine or identifies with those pronouns/gender

Athletic women (think of like girls who play volleyball, run track, etc)

Casual style or sporty chic

Toned muscles

Light or "no makeup" makeup looks

Natural beauty

Facial features that could be described as "elegant" or "sensual" (a mix of softness and sharpness in the bone structure. Rounder almond eyes and full lips)

Grown woman body (fully developed and done with puberty - curvy, wide hips being significant).

Nice backside (back, hips, and butt)

No preference regarding hair style, color, or texture ("What she decides to do with her hair is none my business, as long as she's happy, I just like when it's styled nicely." - Johnny)

No preference regarding skin color

"Fresh eyebrows"??? He likes when they're threaded or waxed.

Soft hands (this isn't so much about looks, but he likes the way they feel)

Pretty feet

Someone within his age group or slightly older.

Around his height or shorter

"I'm not picky as in when it comes to like what their racial background is and stuff, but more so how they keep up with their appearance and everything. I don't wanna sound shallow, but I prefer someone who's clean and dresses nice since I do the same. When can have our lazy days together at the house." (Channeled song: Best I Ever Had by Drake)

Celebrities/influencers who are similar to his ideal type: Cenit Nadir, Alisha Boe, Isabellemathersx, Jihyo, Lola Tung, Crystal Serrano, Marilyn Melo, Aisha Potter, Christy Turlington, & luna444

#johnny #nct #nct tarot #johnny suh #kpop #kpop readings #kpop reading #celebrity readings

[bonefall]

just read that briarlight from your rewrite doesn't only have her thing with Millie and her inappropriate behaviour (at least from what I got) BUT also has strained relationship with graystripe,which I think is interesting concept 👀 could we get more detail on that ?

Sure thing! I don't plan to completely eliminate Millie's inappropriate behavior, but her abelism is treated as abelism by the narrative.

Graystripe is not allowed to get off blameless here; he should have protected his daughter. But he didn't. Briarlight has complicated feelings towards the fact that her dad didn't help her when she really needed him.

I actually really like Graystripe as a character so this matters a lot to me; the narrative treats him like he's a perfect being when he's an extremely complex guy. Graystripe does what he wants to do, and is a passionate and loyal person, but how would he decide between telling his mate to back off, and protecting his daughter?

I don't think he can decide. Siding with one could mean losing the other, and after what he's lost, he can't do that. So instead he does nothing, trying to play 'Both Sides', and just ends up alienating both.

Briarlight

Around the time of Bramblestar's Storm, ThunderClan is working on a better mobility device for her that will allow her to get out of camp, on more types of uneven terrain. I plan for Jessie to actually be the one who finally figures this out, a proper kitty cat genius of engineering, using that blanket they salvaged to help prevent chafing.

Here is a mouse drawing in paint lmao, it is a modified version of @cryptidclaw's Briarlight design, which I asked for their permission to use!

[ID: A drawing of a paraplegic cat, Briarlight, from Warrior Cats. She has a furry 'mullet' mane and a mobility device in three colors. There are green rings around the neck, hips, tail and back legs labelled 1, a blue blanket stretched over the belly labelled 2, and a red bark sled under the immobile legs marked 3]

The rings are made of twine of some sort, with the blanket sewn into the ones on the neck and legs, with the ones on the hips looping around the sides of the bark sled

The blanket prevents thorns and rocks from scratching her body; very important because if they were caught under her legs, she would not feel the pain to know it needs to be removed else cause infection

The bark sled is the only part that touches the ground, to prevent wear to the blanket and prevent it from getting ripped up too quickly. (oops I drew it too short lmao it should reach as far back as the paw)

This version is an improved model of the one that Wildfur used and made the entire TNP journey with; his would look very similar to Cryptidclaw's initial design (For the record it is the best mobility device for a paraplegic warrior I'd ever seen and they deserve a ton of credit here, I just improved some technical aspects of their design!)

ANYWAY back to discussion of abelism

So around this time, Briarlight finally sets a hard boundary with Millie. Her mom can't respect her, makes her feel horrible about herself, can't appreciate this incredible new mobility device, so finally Briar says, "Do not talk to me until you understand that my life isn't a tragedy!"

I think this actually does make Millie reconsider what she's been saying and doing to her kids, but fixing the relationship from this point is slow and gradual. Graystripe also gets caught in this; I'm thinking it was a sort of, "honey please speak to your mother," "Dad if you keep that up you're getting cut off too" situation.

Thankfully there's going to be plenty of time to do it since I'm not letting Briarlight die in AVoS. She survives AT LEAST until TBC, where her outspokenness against Bramblefake is going to put her in danger.

#Abelism #TW abelism #Briarlight #Bonefall Rewrite #Bonefall OotS #Bonefall AVoS #art #design #mobility device #Millie #Graystripe

[fioras-resolve]

Playing Style Savvy for the first time has been pretty cool, delving into a kind of game we don't usually play and getting to experience the fashion world as trans women. (Incidentally, I say "we," we're a plural system. Please don't get mad, at least not in the replies. I'm Maya, I love fashion, and that's about all you need to know.) But playing it has also called attention to something that I just cannot ignore as a fat trans woman, which is the lack of body diversity. So, let's get into it.

So, I wanna start with a concept I'll call "the world of pretty." This is a fictional setting where just about every character is some kind of attractive. Style Savvy is obviously a world of pretty, but so is Final Fantasy, Hades, a lot of anime, and the portfolios of plenty of artists on this site. And this is a good, fun thing, you know? It gives the work a kind of appeal that's incredibly straightforward to understand, so I don't need to dwell on it for too long.

Here's the thing, though. I am, as I said, a fat trans woman. Not many worlds of pretty include someone with a body like mine, because trans bodies are so often forgotten, and fat bodies are simply excluded from a lot of people's idea of what an attractive person looks like. So when Style Savvy doesn't even let me be an XL, the implication is that my actual body is not worth having in your world. And that's not even to mention the limited or non-presence of people of color in many of these works. When I realize that my own body is excluded from a world of pretty, the illusion shatters.

Now, the fact I mentioned tumblr artists as an example of this might raise some eyebrows. After all, this kind of thinking can easily drive someone to hassle an indie artist about changing their style or preferences. I don't want to encourage that here, and if you've received grief about not drawing fat, trans or PoC characters, I'm sorry that happened, and it shouldn't have. I've been in the position of wanting to have this kind of conversation, but knowing it could easily get drowned out by people who do not fucking speak for me. I just want you to be mindful that, when you make attractive character art for a long time, you inevitably create a world of pretty, for good and ill. I can't tell you how to use that power, but I want you to know that it's there.

And, additionally, there are excuses, some better than others. Final Fantasy and Style Savvy are both inspired by high fashion and normal people fashion respectively, so it makes sense their characters all look like models. Worlds of pretty are very marketable, and it can be a hard sell to break from that mold. And it is genuinely hard to have diversity in your work, in a way I will explain right now.

Okay, look. To give Style Savvy its due... gamedev is hard. I would know, this body does it all the time. So like, if you're making a game with any kind of visual element, you need either sprites (2D drawings basically) or models (Basically 3D puppets with potentially hundreds of moving parts). And these models will almost always require a rig, like, a skeleton with bones and joints, that determines how the model can move.

From a production standpoint, you can crank out new characters from the same base model, much easier and faster than if you spent the time building another model with a unique rig. I can't speak for this exactly, because we've never done 3D dev before, but it's just way less of a headache and a hurdle if you're trying to get the most "content" out of your limited budget of staff and time. It just makes sense not spending the time to make different body types, especially in a game like Style Savvy where they'd also have to do a metric shitton of work modeling all the clothing for each distinct body type. I understand this. We sympathize. But what it means is that fat bodies are not in the games' world of pretty.

(hey, Angie here now) so like, i am not immune to the world of pretty. it's part of why i like the things i do, and it's part of why i picked up style savvy to begin with. even as the illusion shatters, i still like a lot of media and artists that don't really do body diversity. but at the same time, as i was playing style savvy i started imagining a version of it that actually did have what i wanted, and used that to create an even more positive experience. like, imagine playing one of these games, playing a clerk at a boutique, and then a trans woman comes through the door, bashful about her looks but desperately wanting to find something that suits her. i'm imagining a world of pretty that includes all body types, that finds beauty in every body. and i know i can't create this because i'm a lowly game designer... but i imagine it and i start to feel happy.

#game design #style savvy #maya speaks

[evanwritesgames]

Yaknow as a longtime itch.io lurker one thing that makes me sad is that there’s a lot of different takes on the same theme that don’t actually try to do anything new. Usually fantasy stuff. There are so so many fantasy packs that are nearly identical…

The art is fine and a lot of effort already, but it makes the assets not… stand out. Which is understandable! The point is to make something generic anyone can use! But it’s also a shame artistically because there’s little that’s unique to them, so they fade into the background easily… Plus if I need something specific I might have five packs to look through that just don’t do what I want, because they have the same take on the same theme, so I have 7 different Generic Unidentifiable Trees and Village House With Hay Roof but say no wooden cart an ox could pull. (I genuinely don’t remember seeing that as an asset before…)

Say, let’s continue on fantasy packs. I can name like one or two of them that I remember specifically because there was a variety of themes to them— going way beyond man with sword in European forest with some village and river tiles. That’s what makes me actually want to buy them! If there’s a variety in the type of characters and body types, or the kind of places you can lead your characters into (and I can repurpose this stuff even when it SOUNDS super specific! Don’t think I can’t! I grabbed underwater atlantis ruins and made it into an aquarium zoo with themed flooring… one time I made a greenhouse out of several recolored tilesets and the only thing I had to draw was glass tiles!)

I’m not here to complain. See if I want to do something unique, I CAN draw it myself… the thing is, my art is passable, but I don’t like drawing as much as coding so it’s not a great incentive. I’d rather grab something an actual artist made! Genuinely! That’s mutual benefit! So I’m not here to complain I’m just… kinda sad tbh!

When I go look at what’s new a lot of it doesn’t do anything to stand out! It’s just more trees and villages and oh this one has a slime enemy. Well. Like 2 out of 5 I saw in the past month. And they’re all blue. Rimuru come back here

Part of it is of course because I’ve been there a while, but you’d be surprised how some stuff is actually hard to find. A 16x16 4 directions dragon, for instance? I’ve only found one. Why’s no one drawing that when there’s so many 16x16 fantasy packs? (I think it’s because they’re hard to draw, which… fair. but there’s a niche there!)

One time years ago I went looking for a giant beehive environment for a part of a game I was making, and I could not for the life of me find anything, paid or not, so I drew it myself and put it out there. Recently, I noticed someone else did it too (much better than my own lol, more detail, cleaner art, they did a great job)

But like. There’s plenty of other themes that probably never see the light of day. Say, a flesh environment like you’re inside a monster, I’ve only seen a couple float by too, and at least one of them was precisely in a fantasy pack that went out its way to cover a dozen of themes. Most folks stop at the base fantasy stuff as a starting kit. There might be some here and there but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pack intended to be set in a real city, so you can’t really make a historical game without custom assets— wouldn’t there be a lot of games you could make if you could make it look like you’re strolling in Paris in particular? There’s plenty of photo references for this stuff, but people will mostly draw something generic instead (understandably! being too specific risks not selling!). There’s a lot of gaps when everyone does the same stuff over and over, especially if it’s in almost the same way they’ve seen before.

Coz that’s what happens when you try and be generic. You match the generally accepted feel. Look at the current state of anime, you could put half a dozen isekais in the same world and the characters wouldn’t notice anything changed. The tropes barely ever vary from how they’re established. Elves are thin, pale pretty blondes with light eyes and long ears (have you ever seen a fat elf in mainstream media??). Magic is cast with mana and if you go too hard you cough blood (no one remembers tuberculosis is the origin of this trope). Young nobles all go to a magical academy (this is such a funny parody of what europe was like that it’s completely detached from reality at this point).

I find this fascinating. Not bad. Really interesting in its own way. People end up concentrating on details to be creative about and it has its own value. But it does not help anyone be super creative in the broader settings. Even the sceneries are the same, and it ends up reflecting on what you find on itch— because stories that have already been made are what artists draw inspiration from, right? It’s a cycle.

(It’s a cycle in more ways than one, the other day I saw someone compile a bunch of webtoons that re-use the same 3d model of a castle to trace in their story, because they all used the same resources to draw…!)

So, I think going out your way to do something specific makes you stand out lately, if only because there’s so much generic stuff floating around. Specific themes in a huge pack ARE often the appeal. A city isn’t just streets and doors and windows. What about bus stops and railways? Shops with their big letters out front? Parks? And every one in the real world has its own quirks too. If you draw a specific train, it’ll feel homely to someone, and like a faded vacation for someone else. A train you draw as you think about what trains look like from movies and films, or referenced as a midway point between four others, will not evoke a particularly strong feeling, it’s just the idea of a train.

Oh wow this is getting away from me. Apologies. You don’t have to post all that. Let me get back on track.

Lately on itch I noticed one artist who’s been doing a fantasy pack BUT having a fun time doing less realistic colors, and see, that makes them stand out! I actually remember them! But that’s an exception. Most don’t do that. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and winter packs (when they exist) are all white snow over forests with frozen lakes.

From my personal experience the stand out criteria for asset packs are often sheer variety/volume (not super healthy for artists but I think that’s the biggest appeal, which encourages generic takes on stuff… since you want big numbers. Still huge respect for those who actually go through with it, it’s a ton of work, especially if they do take the time to explore themes!) or personal taste (can’t actually control your audience, but say, I’ll pick up characters if I think their faces look particularly cute over more crunched up ones).

TLDR I really respect all the artists on itch but I’m sad “generic” seems to be believed to be the way to go to sell something. I’m not even sure it’s actually true. It feels like christmas whenever I find something I’ve never seen before on itch! (ouch my wallet. yes i have an asset hoarding problem.)

All that to say: I really like your art! It stood out to me from how expressive and diverse it feels! I’ll be looking at your future works~ Sorry about the ramble hahaha I spent like… an hour more on this than I intended o-O No need to post it if you don’t wanna…

Hey, don't worry about the length. I write long ass rambles, rants, and essays all the time. On letterbox'd you can see me write 10k words for movies 5 people saw. I appreciate a person who can speak at length about things and isn't afraid to follow sidebars and tangents and can and does circle back to the point effectively. Underrated skills.

This was really fascinating to read and could EASILY be reshaped into a convincing "state of the union" style essay about where things are at for this aspect of Itch. Itch does not receive much coverage the way other big internet things do, not that I know of. I have to admit though that I'm not in "the community" of itch very much. I have a weird disconnect where it's hard for me to see how and where to "join" stuff and I often find myself on the margins wondering why I can't get closer. I kinda hope the weird meta-discourse on things like Youtube never really happens to itch but if it did, I suspect reflective essays like yours here would be the higher quality material.

Anyways. It's nice to know that you appreciate what I try to do with my assets. You're bang on that "generic" seems to sell better but also comes with major caveats. I noticed there were almost no unofficial cyberpunk/scifi/future assets for RPG Maker and similar all the way back in 2001 when I first started playing with RM2K. It hasn't got much better since then and I suppose part of that may be a lack of standout, big deal indie games (particularly RPG maker games) that use these aesthetics. There is ALWAYS time for fantasy, even the generic Western Europe shit that you always see. There is also an entire subgenre of "Stardew-like" assets and games. I myself am making a take on the lifesim genre, The Hedge Wizard, but the art style is probably closer to Earthbound, Roots of Pacha, etc than to Stardew. You can see some of the material from that on my tumblr if you're keen.

My personal fantasy theme, The Nine Realms, on itch, is Norse inspired and does feature diverse characters for the exact reasons you highlight. I think the fantasy genre and JRPGs have a long history of racism, some of it very mild and some of it not at all. The kind of person who looks at my Nine Realms stuff and goes "black vikings? wtf" is a person I don't want anywhere near me or my work. They're not only factually incorrect assuming Europe was some kind of white fortress, but they're missing the point. I'm glad you get it because it means someone does. You may be interested to know that Nine Realms basically does not sell. I periodically work on it still because I have a big plan for it (including a take on elves I think you'll like) but it's a passion project. I think it would sell better if I was more holistic in my approach to what assets to include (one piece of advice I got was that it should include "farmsim" stuff and I see why but haven't been especially moved to get into that). In the very cynical and depressed part of my brain, I assume racism and "anti-woke" sentiment is part of the reason it doesn't sell too. I deliberately drew a line in the sand, a thing I do often on principle, and I can handle the consequences. Like you, I am often fascinated by these things, especially how tropes work.

At the end of the day, artists are on itch for different reasons. There's a small community of pixel artists who specifically do itch stuff and there's a split between those who buy into the hustle mindset, the personal brand, all that shit, and people who do not. I do not. I know it means I'm "less successful" but the far end of the more hustle-oriented artists are people who analyze Youtube metrics and exploit children for money (people don't like to admit or consider that the internet's demographics have fundamentally changed) creep me the fuck out and I won't be part of that.

Would love a link to the fantasy artist you mention. Always looking for people to follow on itch. I also tend to like unorthodox color choices. I played a game a while back that was basically a top down Soulslike made out of scribbles. Can't remember the title and google is of no help as usual. Haha. Anyway, that one was cool.

Last thing I'll say for now is that I do have something new coming, a new theme, that is all in b&w or grayscale. I've teased it a bit but let me know if you want the full pitch and I can lay it out. It's the thing called Retro Dead City. Might be a big enough hint right there. Haha.

Thank you for showing so much interest in me and my work. I really appreciate it and enjoy conversations like this.

[catt-leya]

Request @slut4kai: Hey, i saw ur post about the smutty may, so how about something for jealous rick? 👀 Preferably the cute kind of jealous, rick being possessive over her yes but no name calling, just lots of dirty talk. I've thought about this for a while and omfg jealous rick would be so hot!

Smutty May 12.05.

All Mine (18+) || Rick Grimes

Guys!!! I think this story is my favorite of the fics posted so far, as far as the spice is concerned 💅🏼

I hope I can make you happy with it too and thank you so much for the request 💗

Trigger: masturbation, possessive Rick, dirty talk and the usual stuff

It's been a long time since we've welcomed anyone new to Alexandria, so I'm even more excited to see what man Rick and Daryl have brought here.

During their run yesterday, they happened to run into a stranger named Jesus and from what I understand, it actually didn't go so well. They ended up taking him as a prisoner, only this Jesus somehow managed to get himself tires here in Alexandria.

That's why Daryl shipped him off to our supply room and Rick immediately joined him.

Now others have joined them and I'm almost at the door, too, when I hear a strange voice that must be Jesus'.

I straighten up a bit more and then step around the corner to be present at the meeting.

Immediately Jesus' gaze falls on me and for a moment I am transfixed. His eyes are so crazy intense that I can't help but stare at him.

I'm not sure how much time passes where we just stare at each other, then my boyfriend Rick clears his throat and draws my eyes that way.

His jaw is clenched tight and his whole body looks tense. He's probably completely stressed and under pressure about what to do with Jesus now that he's freed himself without any problems, and I can imagine his brain is on overdrive.

So, I try to loosen up the situation and stand next to Rick who is sitting on a chair to shake hands with Jesus.

The moment he touches my hand is strangely intense and my voice all raspy as I say, "Hey, I'm..."

I'm abruptly interrupted by Rick, who wraps his arm tightly around my waist and pulls me onto his lap with a jerk, making me let go of Jesus' hand, and Rick nags with a threatening undertone, "My girlfriend."

Jesus' incredible eyes dance to Rick's briefly before he looks at me with amusement and leans forward slightly, murmuring, "Hello, Rick's girlfriend. I'm Jesus."

Something about him is unusually flirty without seeming suggestive, and I've never seen anything like it.

I've never seen Jesus' charisma before, and even Rick doesn't have that kind of aura. In general, Rick is tougher and maybe a bit stiffer than Jesus, who seems playful and light. In short, Jesus is a pure charm to me.

But yes, I realize that I have a boyfriend who I love above all else and who loves me above all else, but the situation excites me so much that I don't even care that there are others in the room with us.

That's why I lean into him a bit, ignoring Rick's fingers digging firmly into my skin, and shrug, "Jesus, then? Where did you come from?"

Again, his eyes twitch briefly to Rick, who has pulled my ass so far against him that I can feel his belt hard against my ass.

Then Jesus looks at me again and props his chin on his hands, "From far away. I've been everywhere, my love."

I mirror his position and whisper softly, "Hmmm, you can sure tell me."

His eyes move to my lips and I get hot for a moment.

I squirm briefly in Rick's arms, and he stands up with me swinging and hisses, "Okay, that's enough. We'll continue this later."

Still his arms are wrapped convulsively around me and he practically tugs and shoves me out of the room.

Of course, I can imagine that Rick didn't particularly like hearing me talk to someone else like that, but never had Rick been the jealous type. He's actually more than aware of himself, and that's why I've hardly given it much thought. Until now.

I can barely brace myself against him as he drags me into a small room in the same building and rams the door shut behind us, pushing me against it.

The room doesn't have a window, so I can barely see him and only feel him pressing me against the door with his hips and his arms propped up next to my head before he hisses, "What was that about?"

I've seen Rick angry many times, but never has the anger been directed at me.

I slowly realize that maybe I did take it a little too far and try to salvage what can be salvaged, "I'm sorry. It's just that we so rarely have new people here."

He's so close to me that I can feel his breath on my cheek as he growls, "Now you're sorry? Two minutes ago, you undressed the dumbass with your eyes while sitting on my lap and now you're sorry?!"

A side note in my brain: Rick is the jealous type of man after all and incredibly possessive.

Unfortunately, his anger turns me on beyond belief and unconsciously I begin to grind against him.

A low growl escapes his throat and he grabs my chin to push my head up towards him, "Is this turning you on?"

I notice him getting hard under my movements and whimper softly, "Yes."

His hand slides feather lightly from my chin down my neck and I stretch out to meet him.

While Rick doesn't have the charisma that Jesus has, he's incredibly attractive and so incredibly hot when he acts like this. God, I love him so much.

It's incredible how much I need him now, and I moan as he takes one of my breasts in his hand without warning.

I slowly melt under his hand as my breast is slowly but steadily massaged.

I squirm under his touch and as I moan again, he lets go of my breast and slides over my stomach and reaches between my legs.

Silently I cry out and let my forehead fall powerlessly on his and concentrate completely on his hand between my legs.

I need him so badly that I continue to rub myself on his hand, begging him over and over for more.

My pants bother me incredibly because I desperately want to feel his fingers inside me and already want to ask him to take off my pants, when he lets go of me and takes a step back.

Completely disoriented, I stare at him and gasp, "Why do you stop?"

My eyes have become used to the darkness and I dimly see a table standing behind him, against which he leans with crossed arms and looks at me cockily, tilting his head slightly: "You don't really need me. Surely you can make it yourself, can't you?"

My mind goes blank and I squeak out, "What?"

Still not moving an inch, he purrs, "If you can hit on others, then you can do it yourself."

I'm so horny I shake slightly as I reach out for him and he pushes my hand to the side so I can't touch him and I whimper, "You're not going to touch me?"

Slowly he shakes his head and his blue eyes glow in the darkness, "You'll fuck your fingers or you won't cum at all today."

I know there's no point in getting upset about it because I know he's not going to change his mind.

So, with shaky legs, I pull off my pants and panties and kick them to the side.

Rick's eyes follow my every move as I also take off my top under which I'm not even wearing a bra.

Completely naked, I stand in front of him in the dark and notice how my thighs stick together because I'm already so wet from actually barely being touched by Rick.

I don't take my eyes off him as I reach between my legs to my pulsing heat and groan loudly at the first contact with my cold fingers.

I notice Rick unfastening his crossed arms and holding onto the table behind him.

Slowly, I slide a finger inside me, imagining it's Rick's finger deep inside me, and I gasp, "Rick."

As I look uncoordinatedly at his crotch, everything inside me tightens, that's how much I want his cock inside me. That's how much I want to feel him all the way in my belly.

As he has asked me to do, I fuck my own fingers while moaning his name over and over again, just looking at him and taking a sharp intake of breath myself every now and then.

When I look him in the face, his eyes are fixed on my hand and his knuckles stand out white, so tightly does he clutch the edge of the table.

But as hard as I try, I can't bring myself to come.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've made myself come and Rick manages to get me pulsing around his fingers every single time.

Frustrated, I look at him pleadingly and gasp, "You know I can't do it myself like you can."

I could swear he almost caves in but then regains his composure and replies, "You should have thought of that earlier."

Still with my hand between my legs, I stumble forward two steps and out of reflex Rick catches me. Just his touch on my upper arms makes me tremble and I press my lips frantically to his, but as expected he breaks away from me and looks me firmly in the eyes, "Beg for it."

I have no shame as I yip, "I'm begging you. I'll never do anything like I did before again. Please, please Rick. Fuck me. Touch me."

Slowly, a hand slides down my arm to my wrist, bringing his hand so close to my twitching and begging pussy that I barely notice his words, "Whose are you?"

Breathlessly I breathe, "I'm yours Rick. Only yours. You can do whatever you want to me."

Softly, he murmurs, "That's right. You're all mine."

But instead of replacing my hand with his, he puts his lips to my neck and licks lasciviously over my pulse: "I meant what I said. You have to make yourself come. But since you're so nice and submissive now, I'll help you a little. Deal?"

In response, I drop my forehead against his shoulder and he takes it as a 'yes'.

His warm lips slide over my neck and he slides his hand down so that his hand is on top of mine, which immediately makes me tremble and brings me closer to my release.

He expertly places his other hand on my chest and I sink my teeth into his skin as I stifle a moan.

My climax is so close and yet I'm just missing that last bit that Rick does so much better than I do.

I push against him as best I can and give a muffled moan, "More. Please more."

Actually, I don't think he'd give me what I'm begging for, but apparently, he does take pity on me in my lousy situation and nods as he whispers harshly, "Okay."

I could howl with relief as he spins us around that I'm leaning against the table and slides his leg between mine, making me totally soak his denim with even the most minimal contact.

Gently he takes my hands away and murmurs in my ear, "Come on, show me how much you need me. That you can't even come without me."

That's all it takes for me to wrap my arms around his neck and move my hips needy on his leg.

He's not actively touching me, but using his body to satisfy myself is perfectly enough for me, especially because every time I move, I'm bumping against his hard cock, which is twitching hugely inside his jeans.

All too soon a knot forms in my stomach and I gasp his name over and over as he puts his hands on my hips and whispers, "Good girl. Show me what only I can give you."

Then when he kisses me softly on my lips, I'm done for and my legs give out from under me as I come pulsing to nothing, moaning, "I want you. Rick, I need you. Please fuck me."

Rick bites my bottom lip and whispers, "Shhh, relax. I know you want me."

My fingers are tangled in his dark curls as his voice comes harshly to my ear, "I'm going to fuck you so hard you can only scream my name so everyone can hear how good I am at giving it to you."

Hard I kiss him on the lips and his beard scratches over my already sensitive skin.

The kiss grows more passionate and I want to pull his shirt off, but he pulls my hands away and spins me around once to push me down on the small table and rub his cock against my ass.

His hand slides over my bare back I feel the cool metal on my hot skin and push myself even further towards him.

It's been ages since his wife was still in this world, but still, he wears the wedding ring.

At first it hurt to watch him barely take it off, so he explained to me that he no longer sees the ring as a sign of his marriage, but as a reminder of who he once was.

He wants it to remind him of his humanity.

The small room is quiet except for our erratic breathing and the soft sound as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants including boxers just barely over his butt to free his cock.

I look back over my shoulder at him expectantly and have to swallow hard when I see his broad figure towering over my small body.

The thought that he could force anything from me without me being able to fight him makes me gasp softly and he looks from my ass to my face to ask, "Ready?"

I nod and that's all he needs to thrust into me.

He pushes my whole body forward with his strength and I grab the edge of the table to somehow hold myself in place as he keeps pulling me toward him by the waist and fucking me like it's the last time. I realize he wants to mark me as his own and fuck, I like it.

As I said before, I'm not a woman who comes easily, but the feeling of having him inside me to the hilt makes me see stars.

Panting, he pulls me higher by the hips to penetrate me even deeper and I'm practically hanging in the air while he holds me alone. His cock twitches inside me and I close my eyes as I barely bring anything but his name past my lips.

My heart hammers way too fast in my chest as I hear him gasp, "Mine...I'm the only one who will ever fuck you."

Whimpering, I rest my cheek on the table and yip, "Harder. Rick, take me harder."

I barely recognize his voice as he growls, "Shit, you're so fucking tight."

And sure enough, it doesn't take me any more to come on his cock without warning, taking him with me after a short while.

He thrusts into me a few more times before, breathing frantically, he lets go of my hips and sighs, "I can't live without you."

This sudden change of subject makes me look at him faster than I planned and I smile softly at him, "I know."

His features are so incredibly soft and vulnerable that I immediately regret how I acted towards Jesus.

Gently, I place my hands on his warm chest and he takes my face in his hands and kisses me on the forehead, "I won't survive if you leave me."

I tremble under his touch as I whisper softly, "I would never leave you and I'm sorry I made you feel that way earlier."

Slowly he nods and then reaches out his hand to help me get dressed before we go back to the others and Jesus.

Immediately Jesus looks back at me and then back at Rick and I'm sure we both look like we've just been fucked as he chuckles, "Looks like you guys have it all figured out."

@positive-squid @hail-yourselves @mrsxreeves

#smutty may #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes smut #twd #twd x reader #the walking dead #request

[fr-wiwiw]

I have no art to post— actually I do. It's my studies and sketches, sfw & nsfw, things like that. But I haven't been deliberately drawing something. Mainly I've just been focusing on sharpening my art skills to gain commissions as I'm a freelance human artist, in the midst of AI chaos, I'm trying my very best to keep up while not draining myself.

So I just want to give you some updates of my life, idk if this is important or not. I'm still a bit constipatedly (is this even a fucking word lol) awkward with communicating with my followers or advertising myself. Ironic, really, bcs I majored in design & advertisement.

Hi there, my lovelies—I hope you don't mind me calling you all that. I've been trying to do healthy habits and diligently fulfill my needs in 3 aspects. Mentally, spiritually and physically. For the past 7± years, I was not really in a great place mentally. I will not expose it in this post, don't worry it doesn't have anything to do with drugs or whatnot. Just that I've been constantly working and working, controlled by fear and my anxieties and I got depressed I think.

I didn't really understand how to actually 'heal' back then. But now I do now. Starting from January I've been trying to bounce back to have a healthy mindset again— trust me when I say I'm an overthinker & problem solver, it's such a nightmare to live in this body sometimes. Fellow overthinker, problem-solver & feeler type will relate to this perhaps hahah.. I'm a turbulence type too, fucking yay. Luckily, my prayers are answered. I can't write it down one by one here, you would be reading a 10k+ fanfiction and I'm sure you'd rather have me draw or write a real fanfic, smut would be preferable won't it? lol

I have many things change, become my better self (bcs I was, still am obsessed becoming better than my past self and I'm tired of living in such dark headspace). I do feel the changes, it helps that I have better friends, filtered out some that affects me negatively. This journey going into my 30s really is such a roller coaster, I never liked my 20s bcs of all the trauma and pain. But I wouldn't be able to reach this point if it wasn't for it.

So.. I'm grateful. Trying to always be grateful too, no matter how hard my circumstances are. I have faith that I will get what I've always envisioned and dream of

I'm also grateful that in 2022, a friend encouraged me to post my Gahan fanart. Now this may seem like biased and dedicated post for my Gahan moots & followers, in some way yes, I cannot deny that. But mostly this is too all of you, who come here and follow me bcs you like my arts & fanfics, supports me however you can despite having our own hardships that we may or may not share here. Your responses to my creations really feeds me and help me boost my confidence to keep drawing & keep creating, keep hoping. I always read your hashtags here, a lot of you are really such a hilarious individuals. I'm grateful my art can find you or you find my art and take delight in it. Because I do take delight in your reactions. In some ways, I never realized it, but you guys feel like penpals. It still feel one-way communication most of the time, idk if it's because of my awkwardness to respond to such responses. Feeling like, ah this too will pass or just bask in the reactions and sit then do nothing productive. I'm kinda scared I will be satisfied with one post and then not post anymore. You get it.. Yea you can probably tell by now I'm up in my head thinking too much. Posting that first Gahan fanart on twitter really was the best decision. It feels like I gained a special community, that's surprisingly still active and alive till this very day, I'm always waiting for new fics to drop gosh. I get to see tweets & tumblr posts that are deranged, detailed analysis, fan edits, those gifs, aus, fellow artists & authors! I get to know little bits of your daily lives too and what kind of person you are online haha, just so fun.

And then my freelancing journey.. My decision to become a freelancer has always been one of my dreams but boy oh boy isn't it fucking hard to start from 0 and exist in confusion haha. Money doesn't come easy too bcs I help feed my family along with my siblings. I've been swallowing all my jealousy seeing ppl my age can go out and watch concerts (even tho I don't like crowded & noisy places like that). Going on vacation, be in a romantic relationship, marry, so on and so forth. Idk if this is tmi posting my feelings like this out in the world, but it is what it is.

So.. TLDR:

Hi, I'm alive. I haven't post or updated much bcs I've been focusing on my well being. Honing my art skills, trying to get art commissions to put food on my table and simultaneously enjoying life as much as I could wisely. Thankyou to all of you who are still following me and keep supporting me, I will have to say, If you follow me for only Gahan posts, I have to disappoint you bcs I won't always post Gahan bcs I draw other things too. For my enjoyment, yours, others and mostly for me to gain market for commission too. This is norm, I'm sure most of you realized that too. But I still want to address things to you, I like interacting with all of you. I won't be surprised if one day you leave/unfollow, but let me be grateful to you while you're still here supporting me ^^

That's all for my update. I try my best to make this post as short but effective as possible so I don't bore you with my long ass writing, per usual lol. I cannot seem to write in shorts, I have accepted my faith lmao.

I wish you all well, wherever you are. I hope we can all be happy and well in this dark and uncertain place. Don't hesitate to give comments or drop questions here, I'm cooking my skills and art taste so I can give more to you and be satisfied with what I will achieve along with the progress.

See you in the next post!🌟

#artists on tumblr #fris #letters #somewhat #an update of my life #because I've been away #and just improve my life to be healthy and better overall #for my #mental health

[valeriesarkive]

Hard to forget, pt.2

✿ Sypnosis: What would happen if you realize that you’ve been drawing him for months without knowing him at all? What if you suddenly get flashbacks from a different life? 

It’s you, yet it’s not at the same time… But how could that be possible?

✿ Pairing: Female reader x Taehyung

✿ Genre: Romance, twin flames, karmic lifes

✿ AU: New Orleans, brothel, jazz 

✿ Warnings: mature, explicit language, rough and unprotected sex 

✿ Word count: 2.2k

a/n: Feedback is important to me <3

⇠ previously

New Orleans, 1948 

The strong smell of tobacco filled the small room, creating a thick cloud of smoke. I gently get out of bed to approach the only window of my room and open it, letting the cold air wash away the stench inside.

I sit on the padded bench in front of my dressing table, vainly retouching my smudged makeup that hides my pale skin. I apply perfume and rearrange the few clothes on my body. 

Where was my dignity? I don’t know, people made sure to take it from me violently. 

I notice by the reflection of the mirror the naked silhouette of that man who lay calmly on the bed. I felt repudiated, as well as with every man who passed through those same sheets. 

  "Are you going to sit there all night, doll?"

I shake my head, avoiding any kind of eye contact with him. I knew from his growl that he was also watching my reflection.

  “Come closer then.”

  “Yes, daddy.” I try to say it seductively. 

And without hesitation, I got up from the seat just to get closer to the obese man, who was already waiting for me sitting on the edge of the bed with a noticeable erection. I remain static in front of his figure and with my head bowed and my hands crossed behind my back, I wait for it to start. He runs his chubby hands over every corner of my body.

When his fingers invade my intimacy, I feign excitement and pleasure, while I exaggerate the sounds that come out of my throat, knowing how hard that put him on.

  “Good girl. Now lie down with your ass high for me, okay?”

I instantly positioned myself on the bed as he requested. I clench my fists on the sheets. My legs tremble visibly from exhaustion, yet it could easily be camouflaged with other type of reaction due to the moment. I close my eyes, ignoring the reflection of our bodies on the mirror that was on the side of the bed, set exclusively for some clients.

  “Do not close your eyes, baby.” He says in a growl as he thrusts inside of me.

My gaze is fixed again on the mirror, since I could not allow myself to disobey his requests. My face, accompanied by bright fine lines that ran down my cheeks, asking in muted screams for this torture to end.

Three more thrusts were enough for his heavy body to fall exhausted beside me. I collapse on the bed after faking a loud scream. 

❊

    "Nina, would you do it for me?" I ask my friend once again.

    “Hm, I don't know. Don't you think it's too risky?” She asks back.

I put on some more lip stick, before straightening the delicate fabric that adorns my burgundy hat. I turned around to see my friend's face, who’s sitting on the bed. I could notice the worry on her face ‘cause of the favor I was asking.

I let out a breath before kneeling in front of her, placing my hands on top of hers.

  “Please. It’ll be only for this afternoon, okay?”

  “No.” 

  "Nina, please! The boss is not here right now, he won’t notice that I’m gone for a little while.”

 "I don't care, ___! Even if he's not around, we're still being watched.” Even though the anger was visible on her face, she still called me by my nickname. “Besides, I don't understand your outburst of wanting to go out now!” Nina shakes her head, crossing her arms to reject my idea.

 "Because I don't want to wait another month to do so! I can do it today!" The first tears began to pool around the corner of my eyes.

 "And what is it that can't wait? How important is it to take this risk, ___?” 

 "Anything is much more important than this shitty place we're in."

 “But, ___... you know very well that it's your life that would be in danger.”

 "Nina, please! I already told you how wonderful it is! That place is everything I could dream of. The music was beautiful and people sang from their seats with a calmness that I envy. There was also a woman singing on the stage. A woman, Nina!”

The first drops trace a wet path down my cheeks. I knew that if I was caught escaping from this place, they wouldn’t doubt a second  to pierce my skull with one of his precious bullets.

 “Okay, but only for today” My friend pointed a finger at me as a warning.

  “Thanks girl!” I jump to give her a warm hug. “I promise I'll be as discreet as possible.”

  “You better.”

I give her one last smile before grabbing my coat to head out of the door, being totally careful of the noise my high heels might make against the wooden floor. I look both ways before taking my first steps out of the small shared room.

I had a big advantage on my side: the brothel was too big, so the guards wouldn't notice everything. They already have a lot to take responsibility for when the boss isn't around. They had to be careful with the customers who try to get away without paying or the ones who start a fight over a girl. Clearly, a cheap whore trying to get away was the least worries of all of their occupations.

I walk down the long and dark corridor, while hearing the murmurs from the floor above disappearing as I continue walking. My hands shake a little once I reach for the doorknob that I was looking for, the one that led me  to an external exit. When I open it and finally feel the cool afternoon air against my red face, my body finally relaxes.

No matter how far I got from the neighborhood, I still felt they were watching every step I took. Don’t get me wrong, I was really relieved to go away for a little while from that place, but the feeling of being followed couldn’t let me breath. 

I cover my arms with a thin cloth no matter how hot it is outside. The fear of not only being found out, but also being recognized by someone was something that didn't leave me in peace every time I went out.

The lights of the bars were already on, reflecting on the walls and on the stone floor. I could hear people chatting from the open balconies with an incredible view of the sunset. And, the music that I have been looking for, sounded closer and closer to me.

I sigh slowly, wanting to keep every space of that place inside me. After all, it was what kept me sane in the midst of so much darkness.

The memory of the melancholic melody of the saxophone accompanied by the piano, the hardness with which its musicians touch the strings of the guitar and bass... and that voice; every time I heard her sing, I was transported to an imaginary world in which I occupied that part of the stage and not her.

In those dreams that I see as impossible, I am the center of attention, where the focus of the lights and the interest of the people sitting there who were enjoying those ballads were on me. 

They looked at her with a romantic gaze, almost as if they were praising her in silence and they also knew and appreciated her talent beyond her body. I would love to live in that reality in which I sell myself for who I truly am and not my body.

My body stops moving when my eyes meet with the woman that’s on stage. I was amazed at her beauty and talent. She was the woman who I wanted to be. 

The bar was crowded with elegant people, but I could barely see their faces because of the dim lighting. I stand by the door, not expecting to stay for too long, yet… 

  "Miss?" A man whispers in my ear. 

The panic runs through my body as I feel how my doubts are flooding my thoughts once again. I hug myself tightly and inhale repeatedly, clearly ignoring the man's voice calling me.

Was he one of my clients? Did he recognize me?

 “Yes?” My voice trembles.

  “Would you like to sit down?” He asks once again.

I finally look at him and my breath fails me when our gazes collide. 

I look at his brown eyes, as well as his marked Asian features. His eyes are sharp, and his eyelids are uneven. I was speechless at how handsome he is.Even small things like that mole on the tip of his nose made him rarely beautiful. His posture radiates confidence as well as calmness. He’s taller than me, which surprisingly doesn't make me feel intimidated at all. 

 “Sorry?”

  “I was asking you if you wanted to sit down.” He sat down while pointing to the empty seat beside him. “I wouldn't mind a little company for this evening. Surely, as long as you want to.”

Suddenly, my shoes looked prettier than the gorgeous man beside me. Not letting him wait longer for a response, I returned my gaze to him.

"Y-yes…" I whisper as I brush a strand of hair off my face. “Thank you.”

"There's nothing to be thankful for," he kindly answers, and then takes the glass of whisky to his lips and takes a short sip before speaking again. “Is it the first time you come to the bar? I don't remember ever seeing you.”

“N-no, I mean, kind of. It was only once a long time ago.”

"Hm, I understand.”

He murmurs in a low tone while closing his eyes, delighted at the music. That was how we spent the rest of the evening. The woman on the stage had a beautiful red dress accompanied by a fur scarf. She sways her hips provocatively while her voice expresses melancholy. I look sideways at the man next to me. We enjoyed each other's silent company, along with music as the protagonist.

My eyes sparkled under the soft lights, knowing that I was about to cry. I subtly wipe my tears before ruining my makeup.

"Are you alright, miss?"

 "Y-yes, don't you worry ‘bout me." I say while giving him a smile, although forced. “It's just that music makes me sentimental.”

 “I understand… I also tend to get sentimental, especially when I'm there playing my saxophone.”

 "Wait, are you part of that band?" I ask, obviously surprised, seeing a lively sparkle in his eyes.

 "Not this one exactly. Let's say we take turns to play at the bar,” he gives me a friendly smile. “You should come to see us sometime. We play every Thursday.”

 “I'd love to…”

But before I can even continue speaking, I stand abruptly from the chair, seeing the time on my little wristwatch. I take a few steps back apologizing for the unexpected interruption and turn on my heels to leave the bar, but a hand gently grabbing my hand stops me from stepping outside.

 “You mind telling me your name?”

 "Please, excuse me." My voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. “I’m running late. Sorry, but I've to go now…”

By the tone of my voice, he could notice how desperate I was. He let go of my arm, while I apologize once again and run away from the bar. My tears fall freely, smearing the mascara on my face. I was just hoping that my boss hadn't arrived yet and noticed my absence. I don’t want any consequences for my stupid decision to run away.

I enter through the external door of the brothel again, being careful along the noise it could make. I stepped inside when I couldn’t see a soul in the corridors. I release all the air retained in my lungs and go into my room, dressing "properly" for the night.

As I was finishing retouching my makeup, the door opened abruptly.

"Where the hell have you been all this time, huh?!" My only friend asks me, closing the door behind her.

Her voice and face dripped with anger, as well as concern. I understood her, she would be just as angry if I had to cover for any of the girls.

“I already told you, at the bar.”

“I fucking know! What I meant is why did you take so long! The boss has been looking for you all this time on the top floor. When he saw me, he asked ‘bout you, I mentioned that you were indisposed to go up.” In the midst of her nervousness, she looks through a small space the door towards the outside. “I told him that I would come down to check on you, so he won't be taking long to come down as well.” 

And just as Nina said it, seconds later they opened the only privacy barrier in this place. My boss enters the room accompanied by his bodyguards.

 "Mia, are you ready?" He calls me by my fake name. The boss crosses his arms as he looks me up and down, smirking after seeing me ready to leave.

A shiver crosses my spine when I hear him calling me by that name. The same name he gave me when I first put a foot in this place. 

 “Yes, Boss.”

"Okay, then go ahead. We don't want to make our customers wait any longer, right?”

"No, boss.”

I finish tightening the strings of my heels around my ankles to finally get ready to go out.

#ficswithluv #bts fanfic #kim taehyung #tae bts #taehyung fic #bts au fic #bts #taehyung x reader #bts au #taehyung #taehyung x fanfic #valeriesarkive

[lunam-flore]

ALAS, THEY ARE FINISHED. Meet Strikeon, Cirreon, Eereon, and Burreon!

More art and info on these fake eeveelutions can be found under the cut! IDs have been written for each one.

[ID: An illustration + info card on my fake eeveelution, Cirreon. It is classified as the cloud dancing pokemon, and is Dragon/Flying. Cirreon stands in profile wih one forepaw lifted as it turns its head to face the viewer. It has a long slender body with an equally long fluffy tail, and short legs with feathering at the wrists. Cirreon's eyes are a bright cereulean blue with near-white pupils. It has large ears with small tufts at the tip, and a pair of small rounded horns growing near the base of its ears. A long pair of whiskers hang from its muzzle and stream along the ground. The coat, horns, and feathering are all the same cool toned white. The pokedex entry reads: "It twists and soars through the wind currents, using its elevation as a vantage point on its opponent." The notes below read: Based off of eastern dragons. Lowkey a little inspired by Falkor. The blurb underneath that reads: "Upon its online reveal, the seeds of civil war are sewn. Traditionalists yell at traditionalists who are pro flying type tradition and traditionalists yell at traditionalists who are pro single-typed eeveelution tradition. Some like the fluffy cloud boy. Others lament that they could not have both-- one sickass scaley dragon eevee and maybe a majestically winged eevee. Oh, if only..." End ID.]

[ID: An illustration + info card on the Ghost/Rock type eeveelution, Eereon. It is classified as the soul stone pokemon. It is a tall and lithe creature with pale white eyes that lack a pupil. Its body is a dark dull purple which darkens at the ear tips and its paws. In the center of its chest is a diamond-shaped stone from which Eereon's mane manifests as ghostly pink and lavender swirls around its neck. The same substance manifests its large 'fluffy' tail and the flickering feathering at their wrists and hind legs. It stands semi frontways, head tipped downward as it regards the viewer. The pokedex entry reads: "It held onto this plane of existence by its sheer will to remain at its trainer's side." The notes below read: Evolves when an eevee faints in battle while holding a hard stone, which its soul then possesses. Its weight is 14.3 lbs or 6.5 kg, no heavier than it once was in life. The blurb underneath that reads: "It is here that the line begins to draw between gamers. Has Gamefreak gone mad?! The dragon flying fiasco was barely understandable, but THIS... this crosses a line. As one side recoils at the sight of this wretched creature, the other cries out 'Well at least they're trying something NEW!' The rest can only pray that fate does not befall the remaining types. Amidst the drums of war, some dub Eereon as discount Sableye. Others delight in all the Thanos memes they can fit in this lad. A rising icon." End ID.]

[ID: Card on the Fighting/Poison type, Strikeon. It is classified as the steadfast pokemon. It has a stout and sturdy build; with heavy brows, somewhat smaller ears, and a thick two-toned mane. Its eyes are a dark gentle violet. It has a long thin tail with a club structure at the end, the spikes tinted with purple. Three smaller, rounded spikes can be seen along Strikeon's spine. The pokedex entry reads: "Poison coats the spikes on this pokemon's club tail, which it keeps dutifully out of children's reach." The notes below read: He is a friend! Big heavy brows that don't get used much aside from really expressive moments. Very good with kids and you would likely see it with an NPC family in the overworld or keeping an eye on preschoolers. I think I was subconsciously inspired by Clifford. The blurb underneath that reads: "Gamefreak's fandom is on the verge of going FERAL. Alas, it's true! Those vile heathens are foregoing all sense of creativity in favor of tossing an eevee and two random types into a blender. DAMN THEM ALL! But there is still hope. There are 3 types left. An odd number..." End ID.]

[ID: Card on the Ground/Bug type, Burreon. It is classified as the cozy den pokemon. It's more similar in shape to the unevolved eevee than its brethren, but its fur has grown curlier and it wears a dark brown mane. Curly antennae sprout from the tips of its ears and have fluffy ends. Its hind legs are longer than the front ones. Its rear end boasts a thick fluffy striped tail that rivals the size of its body. Its little round wings are a pale gold. There are three bright gold points on Burreon's dark brown eyes. The pokedex entry reads: "It cohabitates with vespiquen, who will tuck combees against Burreon's fur to keep their offspring warm." The notes below read: Three shine spots on the eyes to resemble insect eyes! They are based off of ground bees which are generally harmless; only the females have stingers. The smallest eeveelution by far, though still larger than eevee. Body shape in profile made to resemble a bee! With the tail as its false abdomen. Longer hind legs help accentuate that shape. The blurb underneath that reads: "The fans scream with abject horror. 'ARE YOU KIDDING ME? What is a GROUND bug doing with WINGS! A loathsome oversight, the hack frauds!' 'Well dear, because ground bees really do have wi--' 'THIS IS DIFFERENT, PADME. It's a matter of PRINCIPLE!" End ID.]

[ID: A fake regional variant of Jolteon that is Steel/Electric. It is crouched with a battle-eager open mouthed grin. While it maintains original Jolteon's spikey fur texture, it lacks the white mane and instead has a somewhat scruffier neck with more fur-spikes along its spine. It is a reddish brown with darker toned paws, ear tips, and spine fur. It has a light gray underbelly. Its tail is a group of thick entwining growths that resemble copper wire but fade gradually to silver toward the ends, which have untangled and flick about with electricity sparking around them. Jolteon's eyes are a bright cyan blue, as is the tongue and inside of its mouth. A set of three inlaid orbs glowing with that same blue can be found both on the jolteon's shoulders and its haunches. The words on the sheet read: "... Okay. Alright. Whatever. SURE. Everyone calms down and goes home once jolteon's steel/electric regional variant is unveiled to the public. New and old fans alike delight in their boy's makeover. The Gen 1 Guard returns to their lair, saving their strength for another day. Another battle." End ID]

Oh my god these all took FOREVER to get done but I'm very proud of each of them! Finally, I can share them with the world.

#my art #pokemonart #pokemon eevee #fake eeveelution #fakemon #jolteon #regional variant #cirreon #eereon #strikeon #burreon