#all I’ve written for so far is persona

[gio-cosmo]

Yk I wasn’t originally planning to talk abt my ao3 account on here but I don’t really gaf anymore. Embarrassment is a concept. Embrace joy and whimsy.

..anyways! If you want to read some of my works my ao3 account is bittersweet_serendipity ^_^ I love to write and am always aiming to improve. I state this a lot in authors notes, but if you ever spot any major weak points or mistakes in my writing, feel free to point them out to me! Constructive criticism helps a ton.

Do be aware that my older works (aka the first 2 I published) are literally filled to the brim w grammar mistakes like it’s actually baffling 😭 we should all collectively ignore those for the sake of my mental sanity actually! <3 I need to go back and edit them but I keep pushing it off ughh…someday.

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

This is going to be very long and sound a little crazy at first, and maybe a little mean but please hear me out…

I’m convinced that Taylor sometimes purposefully includes one line or multiple lines of poorly written or clunky lyrics in specific songs to make a point.

We all have seen some version of this with bearding songs like London Boy, a simple bop whose lyrics were immediately detected as sounding disingenuous, even with the general population (the locations she was signing about were the most touristy and too far away from each other to visit on the same day, etc, basically implying that she doesn’t actually have a long term local bf there that she spends a bunch of time with exploring the city with, etc).

But just like everything else on the album, I think she’s doing maybe a more in your face version of that. No holds barred.

So High School is an obvious example of this, with all of the early 2000’s hs imagery, she seems pretty blatantly to be mocking the idea the public has of her “living out every American girl’s high school fantasy” of dating the tall popular football player. With lyrics like “touch me while your friends play grand theft auto” (barf), etc, shes being clear enough that this is not a serious song.

This is the possibly controversial part, but I’m so curious to see what others think about this - I think another iteration of this on this album is the title track, The Tortured Poets Department. Hear me out.

(First, I want to reassure you that there are lines in this song that I really like and think are well written, like: “you’re in self-sabotage mode/throwing spikes down on the road” and “but you awaken with dread/pounding nails in your head/but I’ve read this one/where you come undone/I chose this cyclone with you”. And I fully agree with the idea that these sentiments are from Karlie’s perspective. Basically, when you take out the chunks I’m about to talk about this song makes way more sense and has a beautiful sentiment of undying love behind it - which makes the following parts stick out that much more!)

The first time I listened through the album, and this was the second song, I got terrified because I didn’t understand its place in the whole narrative and when I heard the first clunky line “scratch your head like a tattooed golden retriever” I got the ick. Then the bridge with no structure and no wit and no clever turns of phrase, no metaphor, just “you put my ring on the finger people put wedding rings on” and “that was the closest I’ve ever been to my heart exploding”. So over simplified and cheesy, and doesn’t sound anything like her writing, especially the caliber of her recent lyrics

I know art is largely subjective, but I insist there is no way that the same person who wrote Cowboy Like Me wrote these lines into her title track if she didn’t have a reason and a point to make. To make it clear that this isn’t a matter of genre personal taste, because I know CLM is a very specific sound and a style that music snobs often take more seriously - I love SO many of her candy pop bangers, they are infinitely more clever, articulate, and overall works of art by a true wordsmith than this. Karma, The Very First Night, etc are all a master classes in clever words and tight writing being tucked into an “unserious” pop song.

The lyrics I cited above to me sound like what haters believe her writing sounds like, even fans who make little jokey TikTok’s about her and make up a spoofy something to sing while in character - that’s what these lyrics sound like.

Im worried im being too harsh, but please stay with me because the more I think about the more genius I think it actually is.

In the context of the themes of rest of the album, (her being trapped, miserable, manipulated, ready to burn it all down, screaming to be seen) this theory became clear to me. I think she’s leaning into her public persona (in more ways than one, we’ve already seen it with the stunting), in a way setting a “trap” for her fans and the public, that will essentially call them all out on how they ignored the real her in favor of her pr narrative, making the album about paternity tests, etc, all of which I’m guessing will become very clear in retrospect, possibly after she comes out? (Of course it’s already clear to us now, which is another purpose of the beard songs including clunky writing - to signal to us that these are not serious and that she knows that we know that she knows (like Phoebe on friends lol))

Ultimately, this is (along with So Highschool) a classic beard song. When she writes in this voice, she embodies the most extreme versions of her public persona, not just the one she has cultivated on purpose, but also the one that people have of her that don’t know her (as she did in Blank Space), including those that don’t take her seriously - because her identity as a boy crazy psycho ex girlfriend is directly tied to people dismissing her art as vapid because, they’ve only ever heard her singles, they don’t know the full her.

That voice is the straightest, the most boy crazy, the most one note, and sometimes the most unsophisticated writer version of her that people have in their minds, including her fans - the fans that refuse to see her as a whole person, the real, that believe she is head over heals for big football boy, that believe “he knows how to ball, I know Aristotle” is a romantic line about how opposites attract, the fans that say they don’t “get” some of her most beautiful and well-written songs, the fans that don’t see her and haven’t been seeing her.

They didn’t see giant Taylor on the eras tour, they refuse to see all of her queer signaling, etc, and I think she’s making the bearding songs obvious to underscore the difference between her Taylor(TM) and Taylor(person) personas.

She knows that despite the fact that the lyrics don’t even come close to measuring up to the rest of the album, the public, and many of her fans, will make this song one of the most listened to simply because they are looking for evidence of her relationships from the past year. We’ve all commented on how insane it is that this layered, complex, devastating album is being reduced to the usual paternity tests. This is currently one of the top songs precisely because it is “about Matty”. And of course, So High School is one of the tops songs along with it because it’s “about Travis”.

The juxtaposition of the bearding songs alongside her beautifully written poetry of Prophecy, Peter, Whose Afraid of Little Old Me, Cassandra, How did it end, The Albatross, etc mirrors the juxtaposition of her two selves during the Midnights era.

She has proven the point that if they think she wrote every line of this song completely in earnest, then they see her largely no differently than her haters do, as a subpar writer who writes absurdly cheesy love songs praising trashy to mediocre, problematic men. By eating it up they tell her that’s what she’s good for, for being the subject of tabloids and warring fans who make this entire album about two (purposefully) mediocre songs and the men who “inspired” them.

She has proven her point - that a subset of her fans will be distracted by a lesser song simply because they think it’s about one of the greasy men that’s she been seen holding hands with. That they will ignore once again all of her pleas to be seen, that she’s in pain and caged, and has been driven insane by their willful ignorance. That they don’t appreciate her full potential and talent, that they don’t even see it, and just want to be confirmed in their ideation of her.

This song is essentially the “forget him(her)” pill at the beginning of the fortnight mv, but it’s a sedative for the fans, who are addicted to her straight narrative. Similar to Willow’s 13 chants of “that’s my man” that started off evermore, casting a spell of heteronormativity over everyone who wanted it, so that they could choose to just completely ignore the following 14 gayest songs ever written. Don’t pay no mind to her singing directly about women with zero male perspective - she said “that’s my man!” We’re good! She’s still straight!

Taylor in the fortnight mv had to a take a sedative to be able to go into the next room and write her bearding songs - ie she self medicates to deal with keeping up the straight persona and to get through having to release dumbed down songs to feed the masses. (I also see the pill as something forced on her, I think it represents both layers)

From the first time I watched the music video I thought the writing Taylor looked so miserable and the bearding songs are why.

In this room she’s trapped, churning out the songs that her fans expect of her, the songs that make her team money, the songs that make her money, but that she has to compromise her truth to create.

But when she frees herself she’ll burn the stories that weren’t true, the filler that doesn’t represent her.

I’m curious to hear other’s thoughts on this - have you ever felt like Taylor purposefully inserts off-sounding lyrics that are written in a different voice to make a point?

I want to reiterate that it’s not the entirety of either song that I think is terrible, I genuinely love bopping along to both So High School and TTPD (track). Like I said above, when you remove the clunky lines from ttpd (track), the song has another layer and likely gives voice to some Karlie insight that is beautiful and tragically profound. It’s the red herrings, the pieces specifically meant to tie this song to a bearding narrative, that I’m dissing, and the only reason they are suspicious in the first place is because I know how gifted Taylor is with the written word.

Taylor is such a skilled writer that she can embody the voice of the bad writer that dismissive ignorant idiots believe her to be, just to make a point!

I even wonder if maybe there is a second version of this song locked away in one of those drawers in the fortnight writing room that leaves out the red herrings and is a thousand times better than the bearding version we got.

I hope one day we get to hear it.

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (part 3)

Part 1 // Part 2

After his work is done and Dream finds the time to retreat to his chambers, he pulls out Hob Gadling’s notebook and reads Hob's last journal entry in its entirety.

June 8th, 1989

Dearest stranger, my friend! 

I can't believe I am allowed to call you that! Let me tell you that I nearly fainted when I found your message in my notebook this morning. I've read the words you've written a hundred times by now and still I almost can't believe them to be real. I can’t believe I’m touching the pen you must have held, that I missed your presence in my room

As devastated as I was after you didn't come yesterday, as happy am I that you chose to contact me after at all.

I'm quite embarrassed about my drunken ramblings that you must have read. There's no lie in them, but I would try and put the truth into less desperate words if I could. I must seem like a fool, fixating on you like this, after all we've only met six times so far. Still, what I wrote, that you are my one constant in life, is nothing but the truth. Our meetings are fixed points in time that I measure this immortal life of mine by now. I try not to, but meeting with you has often felt like the start and finish of an era of Hob Gadling, despite it being probably more in the middle of several. Every centennial meeting with you was the most important appointment that I would plan and prepare for (as best as I could) for months, sometimes years. So if writing to you like this is the only way I get to speak to you then I will gladly take it, and thank you for it. 

But make no mistake, dear stranger - I would love to see you again and I hope you will be ready and willing to meet me in person again someday. Because

As we are sharing truths and have both admitted that we're lonely, I would like you to know that I have never been content with our schedule. If you're willing I would love to meet you a lot more frequently. A lot of things I'd like to tell you about are long forgotten again when we meet. I guess this book is a good way to share stories with you more often now, if a regular Friday night at the pub isn't your thing. I kept notebooks like this all my life, to be able to peruse them in preparation for our meetings and choose the best stories to tell you, because I knew I wouldn’t have enough time to share them all. We got cut short so often, I wonder how you appeared to know me so well without me telling you overly much. But then, that is what you do, isn’t it?

Like with Lushing Lou, you know everyone. And now you mentioned that you do not forget anyone. Do you truly know everything about me then? Is me telling you stories of my life more of an amusement than a necessity for you? Could you actually know it all with a glance instead of listening to me ramble for hours?

Please forgive me, my friend, I do not mean to sound offended. You wrote that you enjoy our meetings - and apparently my ramblings - and I know you would not lie to me.

You do enjoy stories, then. Is that it? Are you a collector of stories? Of histories? Or is your interest actually in my interpretation of these stories and events, in how a mere human experiences the things that are so easily visible to you? I remember the spark in your eyes when I told you about printing. I was such a dewy-eyed fool then, it almost makes me laugh to remember. Did you already know what Gutenberg’s machine would mean for the advancement of humanity? Did you see me finally shaking off my rough and bloody persona as a step in the right direction? Or were you simply interested, like you said, in my experience, and how I would change over the years?I admit, waiting for you to finally tell me who you are is hard for me. But I’ve waited this long and I will wait longer, and I won’t be offended if it takes you another hundred years to tell me. We have time, after all.

Much has happened in the last hundred years. Mostly war. Humans have reached new heights of cruelty. We have become even more ingenuous at killing ourselves. We have created weapons to wipe out all of humanity. We are one wrong phone call away from destroying all we’ve accomplished with the press of a button. People are overthrowing their regimes left and right and while that is generally a good thing, I am still looking over my shoulder, metaphorically, stashing money and valuables in uncanny places like a pirate of old, in preparation for what might yet turn into a true apocalypse.

It is stressful, and I admit that the new drugs are very tempting. I have not been able to resist trying most of them over the last two decades, either to be able to relax or to be able to feel something other than dread, to see some colours in all this grey.

I participated in both wars and it left me unable to sleep properly for decades. Not that sleep was anything to look forward to. If I tell you that I’ve not had a dream since before the first World War started you will surely think that I’m being silly. That I just don’t remember them. But let me tell you, about a week ago I had the first dream since, I think it must have been 1916 or 17. It wasn’t anything magical or special, (just something very simple, about lying in the grass on a hill, looking at the sky and watching bright blue birds fly overhead) but when I woke up I cried because I felt such a profound relief! Relief that I could dream again! 

I did dream of something strange soon after, though.I dreamed of a skeletal little man, mad and raving, chasing someone that looked like a weird bird man - and here I want to make clear that I do not intend to insult you, dear friend!, but this man that looked like a bird and at the same time was neither, he reminded me of you. I can’t really put my finger on it. Just something in the way he moved, maybe, or the tilt of his head-

Anyway, it was a strange dream, and I felt reminded of you, which is why I am mentioning it, I guess. I’m sorry for rambling about silly dreams. But their return (for I am certain dreams returned, I did not simply start remembering them again) has made me hopeful again.

Maybe times are a-changin’, who knows. They always are, and hopefully for the better this time.

I could tell you a lot more of the last century, of course, but I don’t know if you care to hear war stories. I do not necessarily want to drag all those unpleasant memories up, as it took me years of therapy to get over a lot of them, if you can forgive me for summing things up like I did.

I will think of better and brighter things to tell you and write to you again soon. I would be very happy if I found a reply from you in the meantime, but please use this book at your own leisure and don’t feel pressured to answer me every time I start rambling at you.

I hope to

Yours, Hob

Yours. Dream swallows and reads the word again, traces it with his finger. Yours.

Hob considers himself Dream’s. He knows it’s just an expression used when writing letters, but somehow Dream also knows that Hob means it to be more than just an empty phrase.

His.

Dream does not know if he wants Hob to consider himself Dream’s. Dream would not trust himself with another, not before and certainly not after his ordeal. Where before his imprisonment he had felt too sharp, too lonely, too easily enraged, he now feels brittle, too thin and too vulnerable. He cannot hold another’s heart and keep it safe. He cannot be trusted with the affections of another. He has learned that, over the last billion years. Every relationship he has ever had has ultimately failed. Because of him.

He does not want Hob’s and his relationship to fail. He intends to fix this friendship that he knows he does not deserve but cannot stop himself from clinging to. Few are truly loyal to him, Dream has learned, even fewer because they want to. Hob is singular in that regard, in his enthusiasm and friendliness when it comes to Dream, despite, or rather because he does not know him. And there Dream’s thoughts circle back to his predicament again.

He wants Hob to know him and like him, but Dream is terrified that introducing himself to Hob will leave their barely-mended friendship ready to break completely.

With a heavy sigh he stops moving, realising that he has been walking in circles in his chamber while his thoughts do the same.

Maybe it will be better to simply start writing.

Part 4

[onceonafullmoon]

Misunderstandings

Itoshi Sae x Reader

(No warnings (for once), just pure school fluff, takes place before Spain. Reader is GN but is described as being shorter than Sae and wearing ribbons in their hair. Reader is also an anxious mess, (wonder who they got that from *cough* me *cough*)

A really dumb letter. It all starts, with a stupid letter. And it pisses you off so much, because if you hadn’t written that dumbass confession letter, you wouldn’t have been in this scenario to begin with. But you, being you, a natural walking embarrassment, had to have done so, because the order of the universe was that you had to be a complete, stupidly sentimental dipshit who was born to clown themselves.

It starts off at lunch, your friends chattering away about something, you distantly listening to the bits and pieces that fell off the ends of the conversation, too lost in your own imagination.

“...I mean, it’s fine to say he’s cute, but other than that…” 

A princess lost in a labyrinth, searching for the key to let her leave the main gate, a torch in her hand dragging her palm along the damp, dark walls.

“...there’s more to it than that! Besides you of all people…”

Suddenly, she hears the creaking of the gate behind her, heart dropping to her stomach as a low growl emanates from behind her.

“...see! It’s not the same…”

Sweating, she picked up the pace, running for her life, hands searching for the key desperately, trying to find any way to escape!

“...and that's because you’re delusional…”

Finally, with no choice left, and a monster hot on her heels, no key in sight, she desperately swings around, torch gripped defensively, jaw dropping in horror only to see–

“...fine then! What do you think (Name)?!”

You snap out of your daydreams, eyes darting up to your clearly annoyed friends who were in the middle of what seemed like a heated argument with each other, eyes glaring into the other, while you desperately try to catch up with what happened.

“...uh, I think you both had some good points, but personally, this topic is pretty nuanced.” You blurt out, giving a true neutral politician like statement.

“You weren’t even listening.” Suki sighs, looking at you in annoyance albeit less annoyance than aimed at Naomi.

“...yeah, I’m sorry.” You apologize sheepishly. “Can you give me the Sparknotes version?”

“I was just saying that Suki’s taste in men is lacking and she–” Naomi starts, before getting cut off. 

“-And I’m saying she has no right to talk! Who the fuck finds Maruki from Persona 5 attractive?!” Suki exclaims.

“Who doesn’t?!” Naomi snaps back.

“He is kinda hot–” 

“(Name)! Shut up!” Suki glares at you.

You hold your hands up in defense, not wanting to get into a pissing match with the girl, who in your opinion, was far too passionate about the topic.

“Okay, okay sure.” You placate. “But then who were you talking about Suki?”

“I was talking about a real person, who is appropriately aged and I actually have a conceivable chance with!”

Naomi rolls her eyes at that statement and laughs almost rudely. 

“There is no chance in hell you, or any human being for that matter, would end up with Itoshi Sae.”

“Really? Itoshi?” You ask, jolting in surprise at the name.

Well, you understood the hype around him, good looks, determination, talent at soccer and… uh… yeah… that was it actually… well that was a bit depressing, but hey, most people don’t even have the “good- looks” part, so he was doing pretty okay in your book.

“What’s wrong with that?” Suki snaps.

“He’s a dick!” Naomi snaps. “Right (Name)?”

“Eh? Uhh… well I don’t know exactly, I’ve never talked to him before.” You say, only really remembering the back of his jersey when you saw him playing, being forced to by Suki (and maybe because you secretly thought the game was cool)… which now you understand why.

You do distantly recall seeing the back of his familiar blush hair as he rejected yet another hopeful romantic, the poor girl running away crying, but you could hardly hold that against either of them. It wasn’t her fault she liked him, and it wasn’t his fault he didn’t like her.

Ah, teenage emotions, so complicated.

“Please, (Name), everyone says he’s a dick.” Naomi retorts, to which Suki distantly protests.

You simply just shrug. “It's none of my business either way.”

“Yeah, well it's about to be, this blockhead wants to confess.” Naomi says, gesturing to a slowly red flushing Suki.

“Oh, for Valentine’s day?” You ask, only remembering the date because you make it a point to change the ribbons in your hair for every holiday.

“Cringe.” Your brother said, when you left the house on October 31st, with orange ribbons.

You simply flipped him off.

“Yeah and she’s going to take the risk and be horribly humiliated by that prick, even though we all know she’s going to fall in love again with the next guy she sets eyes on.” 

“This is different, he’s been on my mind for like, three weeks!” Suki protests, earning a glare from Naomi and a laugh from you.

So that’s what this is about.

You can’t help but laugh at Naomi. “So, basically, you’re just worried about Suki, like a sweetheart.”

Suki can’t help but laugh even though she’s still flustered and angry, and Naomi takes her time to blush now.

“Oh fuck off.” She scoffs.

“No, it’s sweet!” You protest, a grin on your face. 

“Besides, it doesn’t have to be a disaster, all Suki has to do is confess through a letter.” You say, already formulating a plan. “I mean it’s gonna be Valentine’s day anyways, he’s gonna have so many letters in his locker, all she has to do is slip it in the envelope when no ones looking and it’ll be fine. Also, if he isn’t interested, like you’ve said, then he’ll probably just ignore it. Easy peasy.”

Naomi still looks unsure, but Suki brightens up visibly at the idea. 

“That’s a great idea (Name)!” She exclaims.

“...Good enough I suppose.” Naomi grumbles.

Suki nods, happy with your suggestion, until a sheepish smile breaks out on her face.

“...say uhh, (Name), what exactly should I write?”

Naomi groans and you sigh with a small smile on your face.

—

In the end, you end up being the one to write Suki’s love confession, not that you really wanted to, to your credit.

“If it’s a love letter from you, why am I writing it?” You frown disapprovingly at her, though she can’t see it through the phone.

“You’re just a better writer than me (Name), please?” She asks, no, more like whines at you.

“...Fine, but at least tell me a general idea of what you want me to say.” You concede, to which she eagerly starts speaking.

In the end you managed to put together a letter, cringy, but not overtly so, even though Suki’s call ended up being cut short, not that what she said had had been of much substance anyways… because Naomi was right when she said that Suki fell in and out of love very quickly, to the point that calling it love was almost an insult. You ended up gushing a tad about his football skills to fill the space that was lacking.

(Okay, maybe more than a tad of gushing, but you didn’t know what else to write about, so you went with fangirling.)

You end up running into Naomi after school who then informs you that Suki’s dumbass somehow got sick.

“Are you serious?” You ask, deadpan. “So I wrote this dumb ass letter for nothing?”

“You wrote it?” Naomi asks, surprised. 

“She told me what to write… kinda, I edited it a bit.” You wave her off, frowning, the expression looking out of place on your pink bow decorated face.

“A bit, huh? You’re too nice for your own good.” Naomi shakes her head. “Are you delivering it for her too?”

You sheepishly avert your eyes to which Naomi rolls her own to. 

“Good God (Name).”

“Well it's not her fault she’s sick!” You pout. “Besides it’s fine, it's basically just a pit stop before I go home.”

Naomi’s disapproving look shows on her face as you wave her goodbye, but you simply stick her tongue out at her, determined to finish this dumb task.

After all, your good friend depends on you… kinda, well it's not as dire as you make it out to be but that’s the fun of it.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you make your way over to the lockers.

You’re fairly sure practice is about to end, and you’re worried about someone else seeing you and misunderstanding, so you vow to make it quick, pulling out the cute pink envelope with the heart shaped sticker sealing it out of your bag as you make your way to the infamous Itoshi Sae’s locker.

As you hold up the envelope, ready to slide it through the crack of the locker, you pause, realizing with shame that you forgot to write Suki’s name on it.

“God, I’m stupid.” You think, pausing to fish a pen out of your backpack pocket, annoyed that you almost let yours, and Suki’s by default, hard work go to waste.

You click your pen, holding the note up against the locker to write on it, when someone behind you clears their throat and you feel your heart drop to your ass.

With fear in your heart, you freeze, before slowly moving to turn around, to see the tall male behind you, with red hair and unamused teal eyes.

Well, fuck me.

You can feel your entire body overheating in pure embarrassment as the infamous Itoshi Sae looks down at you with a critical eye, and suddenly you wish you never wore those stupid ribbons in your hair as you think about how cliche you must look with a stupid pink love confession in your hands.

Desperately, you part your mouth to speak, to say anything, but nothing comes out and you end up gaping at him like an idiot before you finally get the sense to close it.

“Kill me now.” Your thought’s echo in your head.

He either takes pity on you or is tired of you blocking his locker, (you’re leaning more towards the latter) so he decides to take the reins of the conversation for you.

“That for me?” He questions, raising a brow, nodding towards the envelope, and finding yourself wishing that he wasn’t conventionally attractive as you felt yourself wanting to melt.

Now logically, you could have said no, and that you were just planning to give it to someone else and used his locker to finish the details, and that you were very sorry for getting in his way. Or better yet, just the truth, that yes, it was a letter for him but that you were delivering this letter for a friend.

But you weren’t logical right now, you were a hot, flustered mess, and all your thoughts jumbled together.

So, although you wanted to say, “No, I’m sorry, it’s for someone else.” or “Yes, but I’m delivering this for my friend.” Instead you said:

“Yes! I’m sorry! Bye!” Thrusted the letter into his chest, and ran off like you were insane.

When you finally make it back home, you immediately text-scream into the collective group chat about the entire incident and flop onto your bed, before actually screaming into your pillow.

Your brother looks at you like you’ve grown two heads but you simply just raise your head from the pillow to give him a look that says “You don’t wanna know.” so he takes the hint and moves along.

When you finally open up the group chat again, you find Naomi and Suki have spammed you with laughing crying emojis like a couple of assholes.

After they tease you for a bit and Naomi tells you that, “this is why you should never help Suki” you apologize to Suki for accidentally stealing her confession, to which she assures you is okay, because apparently she’s found new love in the cute guy who delivered her her homework today.

If you could, you would strangle her, and you tell her so to which she replies with a kissy heart emoji.

Well, embarrassing experience aside, it’s not completely awful, after all, Sae will just ignore you like every other person who confessed to him and then you’ll be fine, all you have to do is avoid him for your own sake so you don’t die of embarrassment.

It also happened to be the weekend, so there was no possible way that he would even remember your face if what you heard about him was true… so really, you were completely fine.

And with that comforting thought, you slowly unwind, ready to make the most of the weekend.

—

But of course, it’s you, so everything isn’t completely fine and you find that out the hard way when school ends on Monday and you’re left alone in the classroom packing up.

You would have left around the same time as everyone else, but your homeroom teacher had asked you to quickly print off some sheets for her and leave them on her desk before you left, and being a pushover, a nice person, you agreed and did your task, quickly texting Naomi and Suki to leave before you as you were gonna run a bit late anyways.

But maybe if you hadn’t done any of that, then you would have been spared from the absolute bullshit that was motherfucking Itoshi Sae, walking into your goddamn classroom.

Suddenly, as you stare at him in confusion, embarrassment and dare you even say horror, you want to die again.

“Hey, maybe he just needs to talk to the teacher?” Your helpful mind supplies, giving you a smidgen of hope.

“(Last Name), (Name), right?” Sae almost responds in turn, walking over to you, crushing your dreams immediately.

Would it be rude of you to excuse yourself by throwing yourself out the window? You briefly consider it, but decide on nodding instead, feeling the familiar heat of mortification envelop you, as he stops in front of you.

Well, it’s not so bad to be rejected you suppose, especially if you don’t even really have feelings for the person you “confessed” to. Still, you can’t help but worry about the possible verbal ass whooping you might receive, Naomi’s warning now starting to worry you.

However, instead of brutally murdering you with words, when he opens his mouth something different comes out.

“I’ve seen you at my games sometimes.” He says, shocking you to your very core.

“You have?” You ask, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice, not realizing that Sae would have noticed anything outside of the game with the skill he played with, much less you of all people.

“It’s hard to miss you.” He replies, gesturing to your ribbons, and you make a quick mental note to burn every single ribbon in your possession after this.

“Ah, right.” You end up saying, laughing nervously. “Just didn’t think you’d notice me with everything going on.”

Awkward, awkward, awkward, you’d ask for someone to relieve you from this pain, but at the rate these few days are going you know you’re being silly.

As they say, if you want something done you have to do it yourself, so after taking a deep breath, you rip the metaphorical bandaid off.

“So.. uhm, is this the part where you reject me?” You ask, closing your eyes to shield yourself from his reaction.

“...”

“...”

The room falls silent again, at your words and you start to wish you hadn’t spoken until you hear him speak again.

“...I guess you were always like that.” He says, more to himself than you, and the strangeness of his words has you opening your eyes in confusion.

“Even when I read the letter, it was the same as seeing you in the stands.” He continues, eyes glinting some emotion you can’t quite make out, but honestly you’re more surprised that it isn’t one of annoyance, based on what you’ve seen. 

“...I’m sorry?” You ask, trying to figure out if you’re being subtly insulted.

He looks at you, directly in the eyes, his own teal ones piercing and sharp, and you prepare yourself a second time for a verbal smackdown.

Like last time, it doesn’t come, but funnily enough you still have the wind knocked out of you when he does decide to reply.

“You’re cute.” He states coolly, like it means nothing to him.

Meanwhile, you’ve ceased to function for a solid 5 seconds, trying to figure out where and why and how any of this happened, the heat of embarrassment now strong enough that if any particularly cruel person decided to egg you at your current state, they’d likely find themselves with a well cooked sunny side up.

“...huh?” You finally, rather intelligently, respond. 

He huffs out a breath, one you would have thought might be of annoyance had you not seen his eyes crinkle in amusement.

“‘Said you were cute.” He bluntly repeats again, knocking the wind out of you again, like it was nothing, and it probably was to him.

“That’s not what I was questioning!” You scream in your mind, but your mouth, stupidly says:

“Th-thanks, you too?”

If the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, you don’t think you’d be too terribly angry actually.

Despite the absolute cringe-fest you’re being, Sae seems to find it more amusing, (and apparently endearing?), rather than pathetic and rewards you with an unfairly attractive chuckle that makes you want to collapse on the spot from a heart attack.

“You're welcome.” He replies, humoring your flustered reply with an actual response, before continuing. “You know, there’s a pretty good ice cream shop close to the football field, we should go.”

“...Yeah?” You question weakly, so utterly confused by this interaction that you’ve given up on following the flow of it.

“Yeah.” He answers, with a small smile, that previously you wouldn’t have believed existed, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear in a move that has you freezing in place.

“I’ll see you at my next practice then, (Name).” He says, pulling his hand back and leaving no room for argument, and all you can do is dumbly nod back at him.

It’s only when he leaves, when you see his back retreating, the same one you stare at in games, that you can finally process what the hell just happened in the span of what seems like eternity but was actually just 3 minutes.

And when you finally do, you look over at your teacher, who finally has come back and seems confused that you’re still here, your face still flushed, and promptly pass out.

[skippiefritz]

reqs from @idanit and @beetle-goth (sorry for tags I'll untag if asked ^^;)

long rambly post ahead! Unlike what I normally post but its my account so I can do what I want lol

(This probably isn't the most historical thing I’ve ever written but! I will fix as I work on it more lol)

the implications of Bertie's bachelorhood if he were a bachelorette fascinate me endlessly

I read this post and it gave me brain worms and I've been designing an au around it ever since

In this au it's a complete genderswap with all characters, uncle Alistair (aunt Agatha) becomes more old fashioned sexist to Bertie, not thinking she can take care of herself. (sorry Agatha stans)

Which like. She can't. But it's nothing to do with her being a woman.

Bertie keeps her core character traits, but by merely being a woman living alone in 1920s London, she inherently becomes more independent and rebellious.

She's sneakier about her escapades, still stealing hats off bobby's and the like, but tries to be subtle about it. Emphasis on tries, she's still a Wooster at her core, and thus a very

big klutz.

Bertie is just completely and unapologetically her/himself regardless of gender, for better or for worse.

If humble pie is being served, she will surely go back for seconds every time.

I can picture her leaning very hard into the roaring twenties flapper persona, but still being a homebody at heart. Big of heart, dumb of ass.

The biggest issue of course is the engagements, it’s a lot harder for a woman (particularly one whose family wants her to get married) to get out of engagements. THIS is where the fun new plots come in

Obviously there’s the classic setting up her fiances with other women, so they call it off and marry their true loves. And the occasional making herself seem unsuitable to be married. (though, this would usually backfire, that would make it seem like she needed to be married more, so she had a man to take care of her and make her settle down)

Instead of focusing on making it seem she herself is un-weddable, she (and by she I mean Jeeves) concocts byzantine schemes to paint her potential suitors in the worst light possible, or to make them seem negligible so one family or the other would call it off.

I’ve been working on one such story, I haven't ironed out all the details but it ends with Gussie pushing Bertie into a lake. Of course. (I may make  a comic abt it when done)

Jeeves’ character is fascinating too, I see her being the classic “quiet competent woman who gets shit done”. She would be less respected than m!jeeves, but still far more respected than the average maidservant of her time.

I can see her need for fashion clashing with the maidservant outfits of the time, part of me is tempted to keep her design the exact same and make her a big beautiful butch, but…I know that's probably not how it would go.

Jeeves would wear the classic Maidservant outfit of the time, though I can see her styling it subtly to suit her more.

Her control over Bertie’s wardrobe, while still being “God this bitch has no fashion”, also has an undercurrent of internalized sexism. She’s discomforted by the more risque (by those times) outfits Bertie enjoys wearing, like her flashy flapper dresses and the like.

Of course, she’s also uncomfortable by how attractive she finds her in said risque clothes. (drama!!)

And they end up compromising !!! and Jeeves has a lil arc in learning to accept the new fashion wave and embracing bodies and whatnot.

Their dynamic would essentially be the same, homoeroticism, Jeeves being morosexual, Bertie being endlessly impressed by her.

also because of the ridiculous british nicknames most the characters are referred to the same, they just have diff first names, here's a quick cheat sheet

(I tried to keep them similar and also extremely english)

Reginald Jeeves = Regina Jeeves

Bertam "Bertie" Wooster = Bertha "Bertie" Wooster

Reginald Jeeves = Regina Jeeves

Aunt Agatha/Dahlia = uncle Alistor/Dahl

Augustus "Gussie" Fink-Nottle = August "Gussie" Fink-Nottle

Charles "Biffy" Biffen = Charlotte "Biffy" Biffen

Marmaduke "Chuffy" Chuffnell = Marigold "Chuffy" Chuffnell

Stephanie "Stiffy" Byng = Stewart "Stiffy" Byng (the implications of a man being named Stiffy are. different but Wodehouse had to know what he was doing with that name)

Richard "Bingo" little = Richenda "Bingo" Little

and so on and so forth!

Anyway uh, this went on for a while lol

I’m working on designs for them and will gladly share if asked! But they’re nowhere near done dhjdsh thanks for coming to my ted talk.

I don't know if any of this made sense, sorry if it doesn’t.

also for a bonus here's a quick messy collage I made of f!Bertie

[chilling-seavey]

hi emily!! hope you’re doing well recently! i came into your inbox for some tips and advice actually, because you’re the perfect person i could think of for this lol.

i have a few george blurbs coming up for my kinktober, and i’ve admittedly never written for him before! i was wondering if the #1 george writer herself had any tips or pointers for writing him, how he acts ect 😌

thank you in advance!! 🫶

Oh my goodness gracious catch me twirling my hair giggling right now 🤭

I was literally just stalking your kinktober list and literally let out a little squeal at the fact there are George things in the works omgomg we love the GR exposure! So excited!!

In all honesty, the best tip I can give you, is watch interviews and videos! Don't listen to what he says as much as how he says it; how he says it with his mouth, with his hands, the movement of his eyes, his head. I've noticed he's really into eye contact. Even in interviews he'll just stare almost unblinking at the person talking and then generally look away when he starts to answer/is in thought (most often he looks to his left? See here. I'm not creepy, I swear). Recently I've noticed if he's surprised, he'll repeat what the person said in a bit of a higher tone (see here or here). Did I mention eye contact? Eye contact.

OH and he has very pronounced and expressive eyebrows. Eyebrow furrow is a must in situations that warrants it in writing him. Confusion, concern, focus - could be a good one. Little tongue between the lips in concentration, eyebrows furrowed in focus... ahem. Again, you can kind of extrapolate this information if you watch some interviews on mute and just watch his expressions. That's my best suggestion for body language and subtle actions that can really make his character.

I'm no professional at British terminology/dialects (I'm far too Canadian for that) so I kind of just wing it based on what I gather from videos of him talking. I often try to make his dialogue a bitttt more formal sounding because he seems to really enunciate sometimes which is better expressed in writing through the odd removal of a contraction (don't vs do not) but only very, very sparingly because he's also not from the 19th century LOL.

I know he has silly sayings sometimes which I use only once or twice in a piece of writing, often as a fleeting insight into his persona or as comedic relief just for the reader but definitely not too often and not as the focus (and tbh I just wrote him unironically saying "it's raining cats and dogs out there" in my current WIP which feels so on point for him imo lmao idioms are good ones).

I also see him very polite in public, watching his words, his swearing to a minimum if at all - but then in private I think he can swear like a fucking sailor but would never let the world know that of course. Take that as you will in regards to smut writing ahem.

And for smut more specifically, I definitely see him leaning into that auditory side, really into that low, rolling, husky dirty talk. Lots of sweet pet names, very soft dom if you're going dom (I'm very exited to see which way you take the body worship one-). As a reference, I think my best George smut for dirty talk etc. (based on my own bias as well as reader feedback) is this one. I don't really see him into hard kinks and things but sometimes that's fun to explore too so all the power to you if that's in your plan!! We put the fiction in fanfiction after all [and once I get an answer out of IRL him on where he stands on the BDSM scale, I'll get back to you. I mean what-]

I feel like I have so much more I could add but this was all off the top of my head...and took thirty minutes whoops...if I think of more, I'll add it to this ask LOL

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Pls write for shoto 😩😩😩

I gotchuuu (I wasn’t sure if this is asking for Shoto smut in particular but all I’ve written for Tumblr so far is smut so that’s what you’re getting. This was so rushed but I hope you enjoy!)

Pairing: Pro!Shoto Todoroki x reader

Summary: It's hard not to be jealous when your fiancé is loved by so many. Thankfully, he seems more than willing to prove that he's yours.

Warnings: smut, praise, language, the tiniest smidge of angst, also not proof read

Word Count: 1.8k

Jealously wasn't a word you would particularly use when describing yourself.

On the contrary, you were quite a laid-back individual, especially in light of the difficulties present whilst dating such a well-known hero.

While many saw it as a life of glamour and luxury, there were many hardships that came along with it, such as the multitude of fans that showered the pros with adoration and praise.

It was even worse when that pro was someone as strikingly handsome as Shoto Todoroki.

Beauty was effortless for him. With eyes that could melt hearts and jawline capable of grating cheese, it was no surprise to anyone that he was given the title of "Most Attractive Pro-Hero" two years in a row.

So while jealous wasn't exactly a very fitting adjective to characterized you as an individual, hot was definitely one that described Shoto, meaning that there was no shortage of fans sending their affectionate devotion in the direction of your partner.

You tried your best to stay off social media and ignore the masses of comments his pictures or videos warranted. At first, you were actually good at it, but as your relationship progressed, you realized how difficult it really was to turn a blind eye.

Self-consciousness was a nasty emotion. When mixed with a simmering coil of envy, it made for quite the unfavorable combination.

There were times when the duo honestly got the better of you, playing a cruel game of contrasting superiority with your own career and physical attractiveness as its pawns. You would often find yourself wondering why Shoto was still with you; he outranked you in so many arenas, making it increasingly difficult to ignore the praise he got when it came from people that might've been so much better than you.

And every so often, it would get to the point where curiosity overcame your usually unbothered persona, leading you down a rabbit hole of digital exploration that was most definitely not beneficial to your mental health.

So when your fiancé came through the door, he was met with your form sprawled on the couch, scrolling tirelessly on your phone.

"I'm back." He walked over, bending down to place a kiss on the top of your head. However, the displeasure evident in your face caused him to blink back in surprise. "Are you alright?"

"Hm?" You looked up, conjuring a hollow smile. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

Heterochromic eyes bore into yours as he leaned forward, forcing you back into the chair with the intensity of his stare.

"Uh... What are you doing?"

After standing up again, he gave your expression one more scan before folding his arms. "You're lying."

Although he had displayed a blatant lack of emotional awareness during high school, Shoto was peculiarly talented in reading you, a fact you found endearing and a bit problematic at the same time.

"I'm not lying." You sputtered, averting your line of sight from his.

"You're doing that face you make when you're upset."

"I don't make a face when I'm upset!"

Shoto's gaze trailed downward to the device clenched in your hand. With astounding speed, he effectively snatched it from you, allowing him to examine what was making his significant other so perturbed.

You made a lunge for the phone, but he was quicker, not to mention taller as well. He held it above his head for a few moments, far out of your reach as you grumbled in vexation. "Give it back!"

"One second, I'm not finished reading." He effortlessly pushed your feeble attempts back with an arm.

Taking a few more moments, he finally relinquished custody of the item. He offered you an inquisitive head tilt as he handed it back, almost like an animal who had yet to comprehend what command their owner had issued.

"You're mad about my PR Instagram page?" You watched as the gears in his head started to turn, train of thought trailing back to the actual part of the account you had been scrutinizing. "Are you jealous?"

Yes.

"What? No!" You waved his suspicions off, tossing the phone back on the couch before resuming your own position as well. "Like I said, I'm fine. Probably just tired from work today."

And while he might've once been insufficient in the realm of interpersonal talents, he was in no way, shape, or form dumb, especially not when it came to you.

Shoto knew perfectly well that his assumptions were correct and, in all honesty, found them to be quite endearing, despite your obvious vexation.

So when you caught wind of the tiny chuckle coming from his direction, your eyes shot up to meet his, narrowing. "Would you care to enlighten me as to what's so funny?"

For someone who wasn't the most skillful in expressing his emotions, the amusement was evident in his demeanor.

"Nothing." He offered you a gentle smile. "You're just cute."

You cocked an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I said you're cute." He repeated, a little louder this time.

"No, I heard what you said. I just don't know why you think me being jealous is cute." Letting out an embarrassed huff, you fell back into the sofa.

"Because it is." He placed an arm and leg on the inside of the couch, situating his own body so then it hovered directly over yours. "I think it's cute how blind you can be, that you might actually believe I would want someone else when I have you."

One of his hands traveled under the cloth of your shirt, ghosting over the skin of your stomach.

You shivered under the chill of his touch as it trailed upward, finding your chest and beginning to gently knead the flesh. "Sho..."

He placed a kiss on your lips, catching the soft gasp he drew from rolling your hardened nipple beneath his fingers.

Envy and indignation soon began to fizzle away under the pleasure his contact provided. It flooded across your mind, sweeping the negative emotions in its wake to leave pure desire behind.

Continuing to pepper his mouth against your neck, he took notice of the way you unknowingly began to shift your hips upward in search of his.

The hand that had been palming your breast moved to tug your shorts downward. It snuck beneath your underwear, pulling it away as well so he could effectively apply pressure to your clit.

A quiet moan broke from your throat at the feeling and he hummed in satisfaction. "I think it's cute that you can make such pretty sounds and still think I might want to hear them coming from someone else."

Shoto's thumb kept a constant stroke on the sensitive nub as pushed a finger into you. Your body melted into the increasing euphoria, thighs clenching around his hand as he used the other to undo the string of his own sweatpants.

Soon, he added another finger, pumping in and out of your slit that quickly had you dangerously close to the brink of ecstasy.

You were cruelly yanked back from the blissful seconds later when he pulled away completely. The loss had you whining in dissatisfaction until you looked up.

As previously stated, you were a firm believer that Shoto Todoroki was one of the most attractive individuals that had graced your line of sight.

However, without clothes, he was breathtaking.

Scars were scattered up his arms and torso. There had been a time when he had tried covering them up in front of you, uneasy about the imperfections painted upon his skin.

You, however, had thought they were pretty and had told him as such. Each mark was a physical reminder of the lives he had guarded, a symbol of some child who got to see their parents one more time, or maybe a killer who was behind bars now because of his heroic duties.

Shoto had stopped trying to hide them after that.

And maybe, if you weren't so concerned about your own personal shortcomings, you might've been able to see that you were the reason why.

As he looked down at you from above, bi-color hair perfectly framed every angle of his face, accentuating every detail that you had grown to adore.

Irises, while differently shaded, burned bright with desire and adoration.

And it was all for you.

Positioning himself in front of you, he teased his tip at your clit before slowly entering. "And I think it's just so cute that you actually think I would ever want to fuck anyone else when I have you, waiting for me to come home and sink my cock into."

And he did, thrusting his hips into yours in a way that had every nerve in your body on fire. Your previous turmoil had washed away, overpowered by the sweet bliss that Shoto provided with every movement.

"So, yeah, you're pretty fucking adorable if I'm being honest."

The sound of his voice and the praise lacing his callous words had you melting, a moaning puddle overflowing with need. Hot tears were brimming at the corner of your eyes, a mixture of pleasure and the bitter feeling of an unmet release.

Already close, every thrust tightened the coiled simmering in your stomach. With his thumb still trained on your clit, you could feel the subtle warmth that he had sparked blaze to life in your abdomen.

One final kiss to your cervix pulled you over with a snap, your walls offering one final convulsion that had him reaching his high as well.

The both of you took a moment, allowing the air to reenter your lungs. Your heart was still jumping in your chest, overworked but completely full.

Then he gently pulled out, pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm yours, just as much as you're mine. Do you understand?"

Mind still foggy, you were at least able to understand what he was asking of you. You offered a weary nod in breathless acceptance.

"Good girl." Shoto wiped a tear from your cheek, offering you a loving smile. "So, what do you want to do for dinner?"

Shoto's Instagram comments had been left untouched by you since then.

With every bit you held for him, he easily met the admiration tenfold, even if you failed to see it sometimes.

It didn't matter; he would always be there to remind you, in whichever way he deemed fitting.

[lilcatdraws]

How would Joker feel if Y/n died? Can you write something for this?

My Everything

Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, mention of suicide, violence

Summary: Y/n is killed by one of Joker’s many enemies and as we can all predict, J loses his everloving mind

Author’s Note: Thank you thank you thank you for this request beloved anon!!!! This has been my favorite thing I’ve ever written so far. And also the longest I’ve wrote in one sitting. I’m so proud of myself, I wrote almost 4000 words! I need to do that more often.

This is going to be an angsty one. But it’s not all bad. My oc Matilda makes her debut and there’s a ton of bromance going on between J and his right hand man. As always, enjoy! <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @unholiiness

“She’s gone…she’s…she’s…” Joker mumbled to himself.

The phone slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. He sat down on a chair and stared out into space, disassociating. 

Frost noticed his boss from across the room. He knew those distant eyes from anywhere. It only meant trouble.

“Boss! Boss! Snap out of it!” He shouted.

Joker jumped up out of the chair. He grabbed Frost by his shirt collar and shook him in anger.

“What the fuck happened, Frost?! How did they get to her?!” Joker thundered.

“I-I don’t know! There’s no way they could’ve gotten past the security we set up. I’m just as shocked as you are!” Frost pleaded his case.

Joker grumbled and released him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Frost was right. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The security and all the cameras J had set up for your apartment were all working fine that day.

Joker stormed into the control room with Frost tagging along right behind him. He scanned the footage from that day and stopped when he saw movement around 2 pm. No wonder the cameras didn’t catch anything. You had left the apartment.

He felt a sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. If he had been home or nearby he could’ve saved you. 

Frost’s phone dinged and he glanced at it. He looked up at Joker gravely.

“They found her body. She’s in the boardroom.”

Joker didn’t say a word and marched straight out of the control room into the boardroom. He pushed open the double doors and walked up to the table. His henchmen backed away in fear. 

Your body was placed carefully on the table. You looked so pale, your hair was a mess, and you were splattered with blood. Clearly you didn’t go down without a fight. Joker felt a lump form in his throat. He hated himself for letting this happen to you.

As Joker observed, Frost came into the room behind him and motioned for the goons to leave before things got ugly. The men cleared out and Frost walked up to Joker. 

“Um, boss, what do we do now?” He asked.

Joker turned and looked at him solemnly. “I don’t know…”

They stared at the table in silence for a while. Joker couldn’t stand it. A surge of rage swept over him and he slammed his fist on the table, causing Frost to jump.

“Keep her here. I’m going out. I’ll figure out what to do with her later and give her a proper burial and all…” Joker trailed off.

Frost nodded.

Joker grabbed his jacket off of a hook on the wall, threw it on, and rushed out the doors. He had no idea where he was going but he had to get away from this. He ran down the sidewalk, his brain moving a hundred miles an hour. His worst fear had come true. You were taken from him in cold blood. 

The crisp Gotham night air burned in his lungs as he ran. Long before he donned his Joker persona, running had always helped him clear his head. The adrenaline was a temporary relief from the pain.

It was dark, not many people lived in this area, and he was wearing casual clothes so he didn’t have to worry about being seen. Not that he cared. Nothing mattered anymore.

Joker gave one last burst of energy and stopped, panting. He ended up on the west side of Gotham harbor. A bridge was a few feet ahead. He walked up to the railing and gazed out over the water. The moon cast a shimmering reflection on top.

He sighed. Nights like this reminded him so much of you. You loved to go on walks through the park or other scenic spots in Gotham on cool, clear nights, holding his hand and skipping down the sidewalk without a care in the world.

You were his light in the dark places, his rock, his everything. You showed him real genuine love and compassion. You made him feel alive again. Now you were gone and he would never forgive himself. 

He breathed heavily as he felt the intense emotions weigh down on him. His first response to your death was shock and then fury but now the reality of the situation hit him and he broke down. He felt his breathing hitch and tears form. He blinked them away with a snarl of disgust. He would not succumb to such weakness!

But he underestimated the effect you had on him and felt the anguish come surging back. Then Joker did something he hadn’t in years. 

He began to cry. 

It started out soft but the more the tears fell, the louder he wept. These tears were long overdue. So much pain over the years but he could only think about you. 

“Oh God, why? Why her?” Joker sobbed.

He looked out over the water again, letting his misty eyes wander down to the base of the bridge. The waves crashed against the stone pillars holding the bridge up. Clusters of giant rocks lined the two banks. It was at least 30 feet down.

He felt the sudden urge to jump. He rejected it at first. He wasn’t done yet. He still had many years of causing chaos left but then he thought of how different his life was going to be. 

No more beautiful smiles to come home to after a gruesome day’s work. No more warm cozy mornings spent cuddling with you. No more late night strolls at the park. No more shared laughter. No more y/n…

A life without you wasn’t worth living. So he went for it. He turned his back to the water, spread his arms out wide, looked to the sky, and fell backwards. He closed his eyes as he went over the railing. 

The sound of the crashing waves got closer and closer until…silence.

…

Joker opened his eyes and looked around groggily. He was strapped to a bed and hooked up to several things in Arkham’s infirmary. At first he didn’t fully grasp what he was seeing. Then it hit him. He regained his senses and jolted as upright as the restraints would allow him. He wriggled around and struggled against them.

A nurse came running in and grabbed his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Joker recognized her as Matilda.

“J, relax. It’s alright.” His favorite nurse said gently as she eased him back. 

“No, no, no! It’s not alright! It’s…it’s…” He struggled to get his words out and panted.

Matilda rubbed his back in another attempt to calm him. 

“You have got to calm down, honey. You’re hooked up to a heart monitor. It starts going off and they’re all gonna come running in here like chickens with their heads cut off.” 

Joker breathed in and out and tried to think clearly. His head was spinning with a sensory and information overload.

“Why am I here? What happened?” He blurted out.

“They found you at the bottom of the bridge at the harbor last night. You jumped.” Matilda responded calmly. 

Joker groaned as the events from the previous day came back to him. He woke up thinking it was all just one horrible nightmare but once again reality came crashing down. 

“Why did you do it?” Matilda asked.

Joker looked up at her with sorrowful watery eyes. The older woman had never seen such a look on his scarred face before. 

“My sweet girl, my y/n, she’s…she’s dead.” He mumbled.

He was delirious with grief. Matilda could see that now. Under normal circumstances, he would never have shown such emotion. 

And hold up, the Joker in love with someone? It seemed so unbelievable. Throughout all of his time in Arkham he’d never once mentioned this girl to Matilda. Most likely to keep her safe and hidden.

“Who was y/n? A lover? A girlfriend?” Matilda questioned him.

“She was my everything…my special treasure that made me feel again. She never hurt anybody. She didn’t deserve this.” 

“I’m so sorry, J. She sounded like a wonderful person. Listen, I know you’re still grieving but try not to think about it too much. You need to rest. You hit those rocks pretty hard. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. It feels like a part of me has been ripped out of my chest.” Joker whined.

“I know dear, but you mustn't dwell on it too much if you’re going to recover. Just lay here and rest. Your body will thank you for it.” 

“Okay…” Joker murmured as she pulled the blanket resting on his legs up over his chest and then left the room to finish her rounds. 

The rest of the day Joker laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could think about was you. Your absence felt like a gaping hole in his heart.

A few other nurses came by throughout to check on him. He didn’t speak a word to them. They didn’t either. He let them do their job and get out. Normally he would torment them by being difficult or teasing them but this time he just didn’t have the energy. 

That evening he grew restless. 

What am I doing here moping around? I should be out there getting even!

It had just occurred to him that by giving up he was letting your murderer go free. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He would not allow that. He was extremely glad he didn’t die. Even if he didn’t think of it when caught up in the moment, it would haunt him forever that your killer got away.

Sofia Falcone and her lackeys would pay. But first, Joker needed to escape.

He waited until a young nurse came in a little later to give him a sedative that would help him sleep. Before she could prepare the syringe, he looked up at her innocently. 

“Um, nurse, can you loosen these straps? They’re really botherin’ me.” He asked nicely.

The nurse laughed to herself. “Ha. You think I’m gonna loosen your restraints? No way. Nice try though.”

“Please? Just a little bit…” He said and stared her down with his big pleading brown eyes. This was when his handsomeness really came in handy. 

The nurse sighed. “Well, okay. But only a little bit.”

She bent down and loosened the buckles on his wrists a notch or two. When she came back up, Joker head butted her and she collapsed onto the ground. 

He slipped his hands free from the straps and unbuckled his feet. Then he unhooked himself from the different monitors and quickly took his IV out. He grabbed the nurse’s badge and keys and sprinted out the door. 

Luckily, the infirmary was close to the back entrance so he could get out much faster than if he was coming from his cell. He dashed down the stairs to the ground level and through the halls, shoving a few nurses out of the way as he went. He had a small limp in his leg but other than that he was able to run just fine.

How did I survive that fall? He thought as he ran. 

He made it to the double doors of the back entrance and used the nurse’s badge for the identification scanner that unlocked them. Regardless, someone must have reported him because the alarm went off anyway. So much for stealth.

“Screw this.” Joker muttered and ran into the parking lot. 

He used the nurse’s car keys to find which one was hers. A small white car flashed in response. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He hurried over to it, climbed in, started the engine, and took off. He made it to the gate and sped through just as another car came through the opening. The guard stationed there just sat there dumbfounded.

Joker flew across the bridge and into the mainland where the cops were waiting. He groaned loudly in frustration but kept going. He drove straight towards them as bullets whizzed past his head through the windshield and the windows. Then he made a sharp turn and went around the blockade of cars. 

The police hopped in their cars and sped after him. Joker weaved in and out of other cars as he drove into the city. He made turn after turn and took back alley after back alley, trying to lose them. Finally, he crashed into a dumpster in an alleyway, crawled out of the car, and hopped the fence before the cops could get there. 

He ran down the sidewalk, unsure of what to do now. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. There was a very high chance they were going to catch him and drag his ass back to Arkham. He couldn’t let that happen.

Suddenly a black car pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down the window and shouted, “Get in!” 

Joker breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in. It was Frost, there to save the day like always. Frost made a quick glance to the passenger seat as he sped off. Joker was wearing white scrubs, no makeup, his hair was everywhere, he was covered in bruises, his forehead had a bandaged gash on it, and his lip was busted.

Frost chuckled. “You look like shit.”

“I’m aware…” Joker grumbled.

“I saw the escape on the news so I figured you needed some help. And I also saw that you, uh, well…I’m just glad you’re still here, boss.”

“Aw, quit your blubbering and drive, Frost. I’m fine. I won’t try it again. Y/n wouldn’t want me to.”

Frost nodded and looked into the side mirror. The cops had gone in the other direction so he slowed down a bit. A few minutes later he made it to the hideout. He pulled into the garage and parked. 

Joker thrust the door open and made a beeline for his office/sometimes living space. He desperately wanted to get cleaned up and change his clothes. He shut his office door and flung the closet open. There were spare suits and casual clothes hanging in there. He grabbed his signature purple suit and laid it out on the desk to change into. 

He walked into the built-in bathroom in his office and locked the door. He ripped the bandage off his head and examined the gash. 

Yeesh. That’s nasty. He thought as he threw the gauze away. 

He turned on the shower and stripped off as he waited on the water to warm up. He looked at his body in the mirror. His body was dotted with bruises and small cuts. He still had no clue how he survived that fall.

Once the shower was ready, Joker hopped in and started washing himself off. He didn’t know why but Arkham always made him feel dirty. Whether it be the combined smell of bleach and vomit or those itchy patient scrubs. 

The hot water stung his wounds a little but Joker relished in it. The water comforted him and soothed his aching muscles. The last two days had been hell. This was a temporary escape from his current circumstances.

Joker finally returned to the real world and shut off the water. He staggered out and dried himself off. Then he secured a bandaid on the gash and slathered white paint over it, quickly reapplied his makeup, and dyed his hair green again. When he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into his office. He dressed himself, careful not to smudge his makeup too much.

He went to the lounge room, where Frost was sitting on the couch drinking some coffee. He looked up and waited for Joker to speak.

“Go call everyone together for a meeting. We’re nailing that bitch.” Joker ordered gruffly.

“Yes sir.” Frost replied and hopped to it. 

Not long after, the goons were all seated in the boardroom as Joker had requested. He walked in and the whole room fell silent. All eyes were on him. He cleared his throat.

“As some of you are already aware, something very important to me has been…taken. Sofia Falcone is responsible. And as you all know, we’ve been waging in a bit of a war for years now. I did a pretty good job eliminating Gotham’s mob but then she came along and rebuilt her father’s empire, encouraging others to rebuild and ruining all my hard work. This is the final straw. We’re going to storm her headquarters tonight and destroy it along with everyone inside.”

The men cheered but quickly silenced themselves when both Joker and Frost glared at them.

As Joker laid out the plans, Frost couldn’t help but feel a knot of fear turn his stomach. The Falcones were dangerous. It was a suicide mission. The majority of the goons were probably going to get killed. Joker knew that but it didn’t matter. He had to avenge y/n or die. Frost came to terms with it, deciding it was a noble cause.

Once everyone was armed and ready to go, they all piled into the four black cars lined up in the garage. Joker and Frost got in the last car in line and took off. To not draw attention to themselves by traveling as a group, the cars each headed out in different directions but were all going to the same place. When they reached the Falcone base of operations (an abandoned club), the cars pulled in towards the back of the building. They walked up to the door and waited for Joker’s instructions.

Joker stood up on the steps and looked over all of his men.

“Shoot to kill, boys. But Sofia is mine.” He growled.

Frost kicked in the door and stepped aside. The goons stormed in and began shooting at everything. Sofia’s men were caught off guard so many of them were killed instantly while others had a delayed reaction. Groups of Joker’s men moved into other rooms to attack. Blood and debris was strewn through the air. Men were dying left and right and more so of Sofia’s than Joker’s.

Joker stood back and watched the chaos ensue with satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of reddish brown hair stream down the hall adjacent to the back room. He made eye contact with Frost who caught on fast. They both went in different directions to seal off both ends of the hall.

Sofia and her bodyguard were trapped in the middle. Sofia dashed back into her office while the bodyguard blocked the doorway. He went to fire at Joker but Joker was too fast and killed the bodyguard with a quick flick of his pistol. 

Joker came inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. Frost stayed out and went back to overseeing the goons. Sofia crouched behind her desk in fear. 

“J-Joker, please! I’m sorry about having your girl killed, honest! Maybe we cut a deal- Aaaah!”

Joker didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close to his face. He unsheathed his knife and held it between her lips. Trembling with pure rage, he steadied his hand and bared the knife down on her cheek.

“You…took…EVERYTHING from me! She was innocent! She was not involved with any of this! How the hell did you even find her?!”

When Joker got this angry, he sounded demonic. Sofia’s eyes widened in fear. She gasped for air as Joker switched his other hand from her hair to her throat.

“ANSWER ME!”

Sofia cringed. “I…I have my s-sources.” She sputtered.

Joker took a deep breath to calm down and tightened his grip around her neck. 

“I’ve, uh, tolerated our little war over the years, taking hit after hit. You were a hated enemy but not my biggest concern. Now you’ve really gone and done it. I will not ignore you this time.” 

Sofia grunted and tried to wriggle free from his grip. Joker grinned sadistically. 

“You really need to smile more. Here…let me help!” 

He pressed his knife down and sliced upwards. Sofia cried out in pain. Joker laughed maniacally and loosened his grip on her. She kneed him in the groin and pushed him away. Joker brushed it off and shoved her to the ground. She grabbed his leg and pulled him down with her. They fought for what felt like forever. Punching, kicking, pulling hair, whatever they had to do to keep the other down. Sofia was a broad, muscular woman so she put up a good fight against Joker.

Finally Joker managed to gain the upper hand and pinned her down. He drew his pistol and pressed it to her temple. Sofia’s eyes widened in horror. Joker wasted no time and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the floor and her body went limp.

Joker stood up and decided this was enough. He left the office and went back to where the shootout was happening. There were still some of Sofia’s men left. Joker got in on the shooting and killed four of them. Frost took care of the rest. Joker gave him the signal for the next step of the plan. 

“Everybody out! Unless you wanna be burned to a crisp!” Frost shouted to the remaining goons.

They hurried out and piled back into the cars. Frost grabbed two gas cans sitting on the steps outside and handed one to Joker. They both poured them around the building, in every room. Joker purposely dumped some on Sofia’s body. 

He threw a few lit matches down on the ground to get the fire started. Then, once he and Frost were out on the steps, he took a grenade out of his coat, pulled the pin, and chucked it inside. 

Joker and Frost sprinted back to the car. Frost hopped in the driver seat and sped away. The others had already left. Joker looked over his shoulder at the burning building in the distance. It was completely engulfed in flames. He felt content with this outcome.

He successfully avenged you but he’d never be the same again.

[sunnybeewriting]

Finding Purpose

Hey guys! So this is actually only the second thing I have ever written. As well, I’ve only watched the first Avatar a few times and I’ve only seen the second Avatar once since it came to theaters, so I’m not going to pretend I have a lot of knowledge when it comes to Avatar or the culture, animals, or people in it. But I also tried my best to get things accurate, so if things are not then I am sorry! Anyways, if you like it, please leave a like or a comment!

WARNINGS: None

TAGS: Family feels, fluff

WORD COUNT: 5,055

As you prepare for your first solo hunt, you discover what really matters to you and how far you would go to protect it.

Your mind groggily awakens, and your senses slowly come back to you. You’re lying in your bedroll, waking up after a restless night of sleep. You can hear the soft breathing of your siblings still in the room. As you awaken, your thoughts become less like drifting clouds and more of something solid. There was a reason for your restlessness, you recall distantly, something that had made it difficult for you to find sleep. Something that made your body and mind both buzz with anticipation…

Your eyes pop open and you jolt upwards from your resting position.

The hunt is today!

The full force of your elation surges through your veins once more and you quickly bounce from your bedroll and onto your feet. Your siblings are all still asleep in their own sleeping pads, all sprawled with long limbs and soft snoring.

Neteyam has one of his arms thrown around Lo’ak’s neck, holding him tightly in a way that seems almost like a chokehold. On his left side, his other arm is splayed out palm side upwards across Kiri’s stomach, who is almost completely out of her own bedroll. Sweet Tuk lays sleeping closer to the bedroll of your parents; she claims it’s because they don’t toss and turn as much as your shared siblings, but you also think it may be because of how she just likes to be closer to her mom and dad.

Your sleeping pad is on the other side of Kiri, close to the entrance of the tent. Sometimes, when you find it hard to sleep, you like to listen to the sounds of the forest, the calls of the animals and the buzzing of the insects. It’s a calming lullaby that soothes your restless mind and helps you drift back to sleep.

 It’s visible through the fabric of your home tent that it is barely dawn, the morning light still climbing its way into High Camp. Early time of morning or not, it was still the day you had been eagerly waiting a very long time for.

Your parents are already up and out of the tent by this time, performing their duties. Mom was usually gathering fruits and seeds for your siblings to eat when they awakened from their slumber, while Dad was most likely either fishing or seeing to clan tasks. As Olo'eyktan, your father was often busy overseeing the safety of the clan and making sure everything was in order. There are some days when you don’t see him until the next morning when he’s exhausted and grumpy, but you couldn’t be prouder to have him as your dad.

You quietly push open the front flap of the family tent to step outside into the large, shared cave of your clan. The family tents of your people are spread out the entire length of the cave, and you can already see others moving around. The air is fresh and cool against your skin as you continue your path to find either one of your parents. You take a moment to tilt your head back and take a deep breath of cool air into your lungs. Your tail flicks behind you as you walk, and your sensitive ears twitch as you listen to the low murmurings of your people.

You try to remember that you are striving for a relaxed and wise persona as you walk, to show that you are indeed a responsible adult now. Instead of the over-excited and naïve child many of your people still thought you were, you wanted to be seen as an adult. Even with those thoughts at the front of your mind, you can’t stop the smile on your face or the thrilled spring in your step.

As you bound up the steps to a section closer to the entrance of High Camp, where the Omaticaya clan often cooks and eats their meals, you see the back of your mother. She wears her usual attire of leather and flora, her dark hair braided back with feathers and beads. Her tall, slender frame blocks your view of whatever she is working on with her hands.   

You bounce up to her, hands folded neatly behind your back and what you hope is a charming grin on full display. She turns her head around, takes one look at you, rolls her large, golden eyes, and turns back to her work. You would have taken insult to such a lackluster reaction to your arrival if it hadn’t been for the fond little smile that had appeared on her face when she saw you approaching.

“Hey, Mom! Guess what day it is?” you ask gleefully, hugging her around her waist from behind.

Your mother scoffs and gently pats one of the arms around her waist. You let go and move to the side of what she was working on and begin to help, hands quickly and efficiently pulling apart pieces of fruit and placing them on leaf plates.

“Hmmm. Is it perhaps the day of Lo’ak’s first hunt? Or perhaps, Neteyam’s?”

“Yes, yes, very funny.” You say, rolling your eyes in the same fashion she had done earlier. 

She grins back at you, wide golden eyes relaxed, and then sets down what she had been working on. She grabs your hands, curls her fingers around them, and then says, “Oh, Ayviiri, I am so pleased to be here to see your first solo hunt. I know you’ve been waiting for this for a long time, and I commend your patience, something you surely did not get from your father. It was not long ago when I feared I would never see this day. I thank the Great Mother for our blessings.”

Your grip on her hands becomes tight, and you can feel your eyes begin to sting. It wasn’t often either of you became overtly emotional, but on momentous occasions like this, it was a sure thing.

You had yet to be born when your clan’s ancestral Hometree and the Tree of Souls had been destroyed by the Sky People. Both places, sacred and thousands of years old, had been razed to nothing but ash in less than a day. Hundreds of your people had been slaughtered, along with an untold number of ikran and direhorses. Your own mother’s father had died in her arms.

The overwhelming and devastating loss of so many clan members, their home, and their sacred place had shaped your childhood. You grew up seeing what impact that kind of grief had on your mother, as well as The People. It had given you an early appreciation of the simple things, such as your own home and family members. Mom often praised the Great Mother, Ewya, for the health and well-being of her mate and children. She had made sure you and your siblings grew up aware and prepared for how quickly things could change.

“Thank you, Mother.”

She softly grips the back of your neck and presses your foreheads together briefly, eyes gazing into yours. You can see your own reflection in them; your own wide, golden eyes, shape and color matching hers.

Mom had been the one to teach you how to shoot a bow, and Dad had been the one to teach you how to handle a knife and throw a punch. One was to teach you how to hunt, and the other to teach you how to defend yourself and kill anyone who meant you or your family harm.

At your age, you had already completed your Iknimaya and claimed your ikran, as well as made your first kill under your mother’s close, protective observation. Now, it was your turn to prove yourself to the clan that you could provide for yourself, your clan, and your family on your own terms. It was another step closer to becoming recognized as an adult of the Omaticaya Clan. Soon enough, you would complete the Ulitaron and become one of The People. Then, you would choose a mate.

I’m not anywhere near ready for that, though, you thoughtfully acknowledge. Someday you would like a mate, but until that day comes and you met the right person, you are fine just on your own.

She pulls back from you and you both continue to prepare the food in comfortable silence. Once you are finished, she bids you to go back to the family tent and gather your siblings.

You walk back and toss open the front flap of the tent once more. By this time the light coming into High Camp was bright and fierce, and the opening of the flap caused the inside of the tent to light up. A beam speared itself across the faces of Neteyam and Lo’ak, who both flinched and groaned at the disturbance. Kiri, on the other hand, slept on peacefully. Waking Kiri up was often as effective as successfully waking the dead. It seemed like she could sleep through anything, any noise or physical commotion. With the sensitive hearing of your species, this was a rare and impressive thing for one of your people to be able to do.

Little Tuk was still curled up in her bedroll further into the tent, face smushed into the thin blankets and eyes hiding away from the light. You decide to get her up first before you even try to deal with Kiri. Neteyam and Lo’ak are mostly up already, though their flailing limbs as they struggle to rearrange their position both away from one another and away from the light never fails to make you laugh. Their grumpy complaining, mussed braids, and bleary eyes were hilarious to you.

You approach Tuk and gently lay a hand on her shoulder, rocking her back and forth softly as you rouse her from her sleep.

“Hey Little Tuk, it’s time to wake up. It’s morning already, Mom has food ready for us and everything.”

Tuk whines but lets you pull her from her blankets by her armpits. You heft her up and onto the side of your hip, where she hides her face into the curve of your shoulder to rest a little bit longer. By this time, Neteyam is standing and rolling up his sleeping pad, hair still messy and eyes squinting. Lo’ak, though, is simply sitting up in his bedroll and staring around the tent blankly, clearly still very tired.

“Come on Lo’ak, aren’t you hungry? Mom found some fruit and lionberry seeds, I know those are your favorite.” You say enticingly. “I think Dad might be fishing, too.”

He gives you a roll of his eyes, but he also seems to pep up a little bit at that, finally standing tall and stretching with a loud groan. He bends down to also put away his bedroll. By the time you turn to Kiri, he and Neteyam are already heading outside. They’re also already shoving and teasing each other, which would have made you roll your eyes in fond exasperation if you weren’t already used to it.

You’re still holding onto Tuk when you squat and put a hand on Kiri’s shoulder. This close to her you can hear her soft snoring. You tighten your grip and shake her, gently at first, and then firmer as her snores continued.

“Come on, Kiri! You sleep like the dead. Come on, time to get up, time to rise and shine, let’s go!”

Her grumbling becomes louder as she is rudely roused from her deep sleep, and a pair of bright green eyes blearily glare at you from behind her thin blanket. You smile at her in turn. You’re not usually so happy in the mornings, but it’s a special day.

“There you are! Alright, Mom has food ready at our usual spot. We’ll meet you there!”

It always takes her a few extra minutes to finally rise completely out of her dreams, so you leave the tent and head back to the entrance where your mother and now brothers would be.

Tuk stays on your hip all the while, but her head is now risen and her eyes are alert as she takes in the fresh air around the cave. You can hear her humming a tune just beneath her breath. It reminds you of your mother’s singing, and you smile. You nudge her head with the side of your face, her soft braids tickling your neck. She looks up at you, grins, and continues humming. Usually, she was a talkative little girl, but it was probably too early to expect much enthusiasm.

You reach your family members just as your stomach starts growling. Tuk reaches out for Mom before you even sit down, and you gladly shift your grip and hand her over, hungry and eager to eat. Mom tuts softly before shifting Tuk to her side and sitting down, legs crossed.

Neteyam and Lo’ak are already digging into the leaf plates you had prepared, and you do the same. You savor the sweet taste of the fruit and seeds, juice spilling around your fingers and mouth before you use the back of your hand to wipe it away. You eat until you are full. Mom takes her time eating, pulling apart small pieces of fruit and handing them to Tuk, who eats them just as eagerly as the rest of her siblings.

You turn your head just in time to catch the devious look Lo’ak gives you. You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows in confusion, curious to see what sort of prank is about to follow. Before you can blink, he starts flicking seeds at Neteyam and then at yourself.  Neteyam and you take the abuse for the first few seeds, before you share a look and team up against your brother, pelting him with seeds from both sides. You both laugh loudly as he squeals, shouting abuse. You only stop when your mother looks up from Tuk to give all three of you a stern look, and all three of you immediately sit back down. You share a guilty look with your brothers, but your mother’s potential disapproval doesn’t stop any of you from slyly smacking each other on the legs outside of her view, just for the fun of it.

So much for being more mature, you think.

You’re almost done with your plate by the time Kiri finally makes it out of the tent and down to your group. She grabs a plate of her own and starts eating before striking up a conversation with your mother.

You sit and listen to the talking of your family members. Mom wipes fruit juice off Tuk’s face and replies to Kiri’s question, while Lo’ak and Neteyam have long since finished their food and are having their own discussion. Usually you would participate, but today your thoughts are elsewhere, already out in the forest. You are still excited, but now that the initial thrill has faded with the early morning, nerves are beginning to fight their way in. You take in deep, full breaths to keep them at bay. You’ve been preparing for this for years, and you are sure you know what you are doing.

There’s no way you’re going to let such a little thing as nerves ruin this for you. Besides, if you weren’t ready, your parents would never allow you to do this. Their confidence in you means everything, and it speaks for itself. If they think you are ready, then you are ready, as simple as that.

That being resolved, you sit up straighter and nod your head firmly, confidence restored. 

Lo’ak is saying something to Neteyam before remembrance appears on his face and he turns to you, interrupting himself mid-sentence to speak with you.

“Ayviiri! I had almost forgotten, today is your first hunt! Are you nervous, are you excited? Have you prepared your weapons? Have you picked your prey?”

Just like you, Lo’ak and Neteyam are eagerly awaiting their first solo hunt. While they have just completed their Iknimaya and claimed their ikran both, they have yet to make their first kill. Neteyam is only a year younger than you, Lo’ak two years, so it won’t be long before they are following in your footsteps and going on their own hunt alone.

Still, you are the eldest sibling, and it feels good to be doing something they have yet to accomplish. You laugh at your younger brother’s charming enthusiasm and say,

“Yes Lo’ak, my bow and arrows are prepared and waiting for me by the tent. As for my prey, Mom and Dad have suggested I choose something on the easier side, so I have chosen to hunt yerik for my first hunt.”

Choosing yerik, an animal certainly not known for its ferocity hadn’t been your initial pick, but you did so to relieve the stress put on your parents. Besides, a hunt was a hunt, and easy prey or not, there were always things that could go wrong. You didn’t mind being cautious, for now; you would have time to prove yourself a capable hunter and warrior in your own right to your siblings, your clan, but most importantly, to your parents.

As well, at least yerik wasn’t as easy of prey as fwampop would be, so there’s that. Yerik’s hearing is exceptionally good, and the scent organs on either side of its head help it smell the presence of a predator. While it wouldn’t be the hardest of hunts, it also wouldn’t be the easiest.

“Yerik. That’s awesome, Ayviiri! I can’t wait until I can go on my own hunt. I bet I’d take down three yerik on my own by the time I get to your age. Or, or talioang, all on my own. Yeah, I bet I’ll even be able to hunt palulukan – ow!” Lo’ak narrowly dodges Neteyam’s second hand that comes swinging over to smack him upside the head again.

“By the time you’re Ayviiri’s age, the only thing you’ll be able to hunt is fwampop, and even then, you’ll probably miss your first shot!” Neteyam throws his head back and laughs heartily at his own joke and his brother’s expense. You can’t help but giggle at the enraged look on Lo’ak’s face, upset at being insulted and having his dreams crushed in one swift blow. Even Mom has a smile on her face as she shakes her head fondly, Tuk giggling at her side as she always does when your brothers play fight.

“Anyways, as I was saying, that’s what I’ll be hunting.”

Mother lifts Tuk from her lap and stands up, resting her hands upon Tuks shoulders. “Well, my children, it is time to begin the day. We will complete our chores, and later today we will see our Marali off to her first hunt.”

And just like that, the excitement of the hunt makes you giddy once again. You leap to your feet, ready to get started. The faster you complete your duties, the faster your hunt begins.

-------

It took you a lot less time than normal to do everything you needed to do. By the time you and your siblings were done, you were all ready for another meal. You sat down beside your mom while Kiri, Neteyam, and Tuk sat nearby. Tuk sat in Neteyam’s lap, laughing at whatever Kiri was saying. You ate your food, careful not to scarf it down and choke in your eagerness.  

“So, what’s Dad doing today?” You ask, picking up a slice of fruit and eating it whole.

“Your father had some issues to resolve within the clan today. Once those are taken care of, he will meet us at the entrance to see you off.”

You nod your head, picking at your plate once more.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, my child?”

“Were you nervous when you went on your first hunt?”

You keep your eyes on your plate, chewing slowly. Your mother stills from where she had been picking up her own food, and then she sets it back down carefully.

“When I went on my first hunt, I wanted to be brave, to bring honor and to provide for my clan. But, I will admit, I was nervous when it came time to leave. I wasn’t so much worried about the kill than I was worried I would somehow make a mistake and come back with nothing, after all that fuss. It has happened before, with much less capable hunters who learned they have better skills in other places. In the end, I stopped thinking with my mind and started trusting my instincts and my skills, and that way I was successful in my first hunt.”

You nod slowly, finally looking up at your mother. She stares back at you, eyes caring and calm, before nodding herself and turning back to her meal.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, my child.”

-------

You stand at the entrance of High Camp side by side with Neteyam. Mom, Tuk, Kiri, and Lo’ak stand to the side, having their own conversations as you wait patiently for the arrival of your father. Well, they might be waiting patiently. In your case, you are doing your best to remain relaxed, practically bouncing on your feet. The sincere discussion you had with your mother just a few hours ago had helped immensely with your nerves, but you still felt a little uneasy. Which was probably for the best, really; you should never go on a hunt completely calm. That’s a good way to lower your guard and get yourself killed. As your dad likes to say, a little fear is always healthy.

You snap out of your thoughts and realize you had been staring blankly at the ground. You blink a few times and straighten your back, and then realize Neteyam is staring at you expectantly, as though waiting for an answer to a question.

Whoops.

“Uh, what did you say?” You ask guiltily, grinning apologetically.

He stares at you, face serious, before reaching out and placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

“You know you’re going to be fine, right? I’ve been watching you since we were kids. You’re a good hunter, and a good fighter. You’ll do great.”

You look back at him for a few seconds, taking in the kind, sweet face of your little brother before smiling gratefully and placing your own hand on the one resting on your shoulder.

This kid. Sometimes it feels like he’s the older sibling and you are the younger.

“Thanks, Neteyam.”

He smiles back at you gladly before bringing his hand back to his side. He looks behind you, and his smile grows even bigger, transforming into a happy grin.

You’re about to turn to look behind yourself when a firm but gentle hand lands on the curve of your shoulder, and you know who it is without even having to turn around. It’s a familiar and loving weight, one that you’ve known since the day you were born.

You turn around quickly and met the proud eyes of your father, already smiling.

“Dad!” You shout and leap up to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. You’d never say it out loud simply to save your pride, but you are very relieved to see him.

He laughs and wraps his own arms around your slender body, and it’s a sound that you feel deep in your bones. You bury your face into his hair, and suddenly everything feels like it’s going to be alright. How could it not, with such a father looking out for you?

“Hey, I saw you last night, you know!” He says, still laughing.

You let go of his shoulders and he drops you down to your normal height. He clasps his hands onto your shoulders and takes you in, all the way from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Your hair is in loose braids like your mother, about the same length too, if a bit longer. In honor of such an occasion, your mother had gifted you new wrist and forearm covers she had made herself. Your dad gave you a pendant made from a rare metal he carved himself, to wear around your neck. You wear both items proudly today. What little attire you have on you is that of your people, leather and flora, mostly, with a few wrappings around your limbs and beads and feathers in your hair. You have the eyes and face shape of your mother, with the same smile as your father. The same heart, too, your mother once said. Strong. Protective. Kind.

It was the greatest compliment she could have ever given you.

“Look at you.” The words are said with pride. “My firstborn, my daughter, already onto her first hunt. There is no one I would rather have as one of my children. I know that you will make wise choices and will bring honor to our family and our clan. I am proud of all you have accomplished, daughter, and I know you will accomplish even more.”

For a moment you are struck silent, before your eyes well up. You’re barely able to make out a small, choked, “Thanks, Dad”, before he is pulling you in for another hug. When he releases you, he grasps your face and presses his forehead against yours in the same way your mother had earlier that day.

He looks into your eyes, you look into his, and you see him. Everything that he is, that he once was, that he one day will be. His strength, his ferocity, his love. And he sees you. You know this, deep in your very heart, your very soul. Your father sees you. Your determination, your love, your own ferocity that echoes both his and your mother’s.

You are seen, you try to say, I see you, Dad. But the words remain choked in your throat.

From the soft look on his face, though, you know he knows what you are trying to convey.

He lifts his forehead from yours, hand still on your face and neck, and says to your mother, “We have raised good children, Neytiri.”

Your mother approaches you and strokes a knuckle down your cheek. She looks her mate in the eyes, voice soft and quiet, and says, “Yes, my Jake, we have.”

Your father smiles gently and lets go of you to take your mother’s hand. Then he turns his attention to the rest of his children, and gestures for them all to come together. Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and Neteyam all step forward into the circle of your parents and yourself, and you wrap one arm around the shoulders of Lo’ak and the other around Kiri, bringing them in closer.

Dad picks Tuk up quickly into the air, grinning when she lets loose a shrieking giggle. He uses the other hand not supporting her weight on his side to wrap an arm around Neteyam’s shoulder and bring him in close, hugging him to his chest and whispering words into his ear before repeating the process with Lo’ak and Kiri.

You’re glad to see you’re not the only one from the Sully family with watery eyes after your father speaks with them. Once Kiri is released, she steps back and pretends like she’s not wiping at her eyes with the corner of her shawl. Neteyam has to blink a few times to clear away his tears, and poor, sweet Lo’ak was the worst of us when faced with his father’s praise, swallowing a few times and blinking furiously.

You love your family.

It’s a fierce feeling, but not at all sudden or new. It’s a feeling you have every time your mother sits you down to carefully braid your hair, every time Lo’ak brings you in for a hug. You feel it every time Tuk snuggles into your side while you sit around a fire, listening to your father tell stories of his past.

It’s there when Neteyam laughs, or when he comforts you or your siblings. It’s there when an ever-curious Kiri asks a question or tells you a fact you had never known before. You felt it when your father taught you how to throw a punch, and it was there when you were thirteen and he taught you how to curse in his first language, far away from the ears of your mother.

This is your family, and you will do anything you have to do to protect it.

Suddenly, you have found your purpose in this world. This is it; nothing more, nothing less. You will protect those you love with everything you have, or you will die trying.

Your realization reignites your determination, and you shift into a more relaxed position. You know who you are and what you can do. All that’s left is to get out there and do it.  

Your father turns back to you, and if he notices the change in your eyes, he doesn’t mention it. He simply takes the large bow from your mother’s hands, the bow your mother and father had helped you make, looks you in the eye, and presses it into your hands.

“Be strong. Be wise. Be safe. And remember, no matter what happens, Sully’s stick together.”

You return his gaze and nod.

He nods and takes a step backward, leaving you with your bow in your hands. You fix it over your back, double-check you have your knife and quiver of arrows, and look back at your family.

They stare back at you. Dad is still holding Tuk, his other arm wrapped around Neteyam’s shoulders. Mom has one arm wrapped around Kiri, her other holding Lo’ak to her.

You take one last moment to look at your loved ones, and then you turn and leave High Camp without a backward glance.

Once you reach the edge of the line that leads into the thicker part of the forest that contains your prey, you turn back around and raise your bow. You call out a warrior’s cry, and in the distance, you can hear and see your family do the same, arms raised above their own heads as they cried out.

You turn back around, and with the cries of your family echoing in your ears and your heart, you begin your hunt.

[littlemisssquiggles]

In today’s episode, Jaune revealed that Lewis and Alyx were actually residents of Vacuo Kingdom (surprise, surprise) during a time before the Great War. And since we know that Lewis actually returned from the Ever After, it make wonder something curious.

If Lewis was the author of the Girl Who Fell Through the World fairy-tale then it would make perfect sense as to why he omitted himself from the written adventures in the Ever After and chose to make Alyx the protagonist. It makes sense since, unlike Lewis, Alyx never returned home and basically “died” in the Ever After.

So my assumption is that Lewis must’ve maintained his sister’s story through his story about her. That way Alyx’s legacy was able to live on in some shape or form despite the real Alyx practically ceasing to exist after never returning home.

Since Jaune was shown to still be have some qualms over his time in the Ever After, it got me thinking.

What if…Jaune were to (somehow) discover the original journal of Lewis which he had used to record his experience in the Ever After in the Vacuo archives?

What if…Jaune were to meet someone closely connected to Lewis and Alyx while in Vacuo? Like a surviving member of their family bloodline still thriving in modern Remnant.

What if… Headmaster Theodore was that surviving member? I know the main popular theory is that Lewis was one of Ozma’s reincarnations but imagine if Lewis wasn’t an Ozma reincarnation but Theo’s ancestor instead?

I haven’t read either of the RWBY After the Fall books so I’m not familiar with Headmaster Theodore in terms of characterization or like what his backstory is.

That being said, I do, however like the idea of the final maiden being connected to Theo in some shape or form.

For me, I like the prospect of the Summer Maiden being either Theo’s daughter or younger sister or cousin or niece or some important person to him as she’s probably the only family he has left.

Again, I don’t know anything about Theo but thus far, none of the other headmasters of the huntsmen academies have had any reason to be protective of their respective maiden outside of a moral obligation as per Ozpin’s instructions.

To make Theo stand out more, I think it would be a nice change of pace if Theo, the final headmaster, were to share an actual connection to the final  maiden as she is a beloved relative of his.

Why bring this up? Well I like the idea of Jaune forming a close relationship with another Maiden candidate. Maybe he could even fall in love with the Summer Maiden.

Technically, Jaune hasn’t had a legit love interest since Pyrhha and I don’t know about ya’ll but…after six seasons (and half a movie), I’m kind of tired of being reminded of Arkos, ya’ll.

It was the Ship that was meant to be that never got to be because Writers decided to kill it off early.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Arkos. Arkos was a great ship that was gone too soon.

To (finally) close the chapter on Jaune moving on from Pyrhha (since even after all of his growth, I still don't think he's over her as the show keeps constantly bringing up whenever they can)...

I think it actually might be cute if Jaune does end up being romantically involved with the Summer Maiden who he actually succeeds in protecting from Cinder when she comes to steal her powers.

I’ve grown tired of new maidens showing up in the story just to die for the sake of the powers being passed onto a main character.

Since Summer is the last maiden, it would be nice if Summer is the one to stop the cycle of original maiden deaths and she actually gets to live on even after opening the vault.

As much as I like WhiteKnight as a ship, I honestly gave up on it becoming canon after V5 dropped and nothing else was done to further develop Weiss and Jaune’s relationship as a prospective romance.

Yeah sure, V9 tossed us a crumb of Weiss being attracted to Jaune in his more mature Rusted Knight persona.

But after further deliberation, I’ve concluded that that little nugget of hope isn’t enough to get me back on the horse of hoping for a romance between these two.

Do you know what would actually be pretty wild?

If Jaune fell in love with the Summer Maiden who is not only a red-head (like Pyrhha) but is also a descendent of Lewis who is the author of the Girl Who Fell Through the World and thus a relative of Alyx.

And unlike Alyx and Pyrhha who Jaune failed to protect/help/save, Jaune is able to do just that with the Summer Maiden by protecting her from Cinder and thus, the two are able to live happily ever after.

That would actually be wild.

Not saying this would become true in the canon. I'm just tossing it out into the RWBY FNDM ether as a food for thought.

~LMS (2024)

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found: The Missing Pieces

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake x Esme Drummond (OFC)

Summary: A collection of requested one and two shots that cover the CANON events mentioned in the original "I Found" story. It's not a necessity to have read it, but it might help.

Author's Note:

This is a companion piece to "I Found". When I first wrote the story four years ago, I had every intention of including 'flashback' chapters that weaved Esme into the events of Extraction. Sadly, I lost my confidence at the time and ended the fic before I was one hundred percent ready to do so. Which I deeply regret. In the time that has passed, readers have requested both 'movie canon-centric' pieces and those that cover events between Tyler and Esme that were merely mentioned.

Please keep in mind that the pieces are NOT in chronological order according to the movie timeline or Tyler and Esme's persona timeline. Instead, they are written and posted in the order in which the readers submit their requests.

Thank you! I hope you enjoy.

Love, Chickens

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @watermeezer @munstysmind

@asirensrage @residentdormouse @karimac @alisbackalleybbq @kmc1989

@arrthurpendragon @occommunity @ocappreciationtag @ninjasawakenedmystar @themaradwrites

@fanficanatic-tw-

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57016363/chapters/144997636

My tag list is OPEN. Please just let me know if you'd like to be added

****

Chapter One: The Bar

Where: outside Dhaka city limits

When: six days before Ovi's rescue and extraction

  “You have a really nice smile, you know that?”

Giving a small, embarrassed chuckle, he takes a large swallow of beer.

“What? You’ve never heard that before? No one has ever told you?”

“Once. A very long time ago.”

“I find that hard to believe.  What’s the deal with that? People just too blind to notice? Or do you just not do it much? Smile.”

“Someone needs a reason to, yeah? I haven’t had one of those in quite a while.”

“You’re doing it now.  What’s the explanation for it?  The whiskey, beer, or tequila?”

“I’m thinking  it has less to do with the booze and more to do with the company.”

She feels the heat that rises in her cheeks and quickly spreads to her ears; a mixture of embarrassment and the handful of tequila shots and glasses of beer that have already been consumed. “Did you just bust out your game on me, Tyler Rake? Because THAT was smooth.”

“Game? What game? I don’t have any game. That’s just me telling it like it is. What’s the saying?”  Reaching for one of two remaining full shot glasses on the tray in the middle of the table, he sets it in front of her, then takes the final one for himself. “Drunk minds speak sober thoughts? Or some shit like that.”

“Well, it certainly makes you chatty, that’s for sure.”  She picks up her shot and leans across the table; tapping the tiny glass against his before downing the liquor. Wincing and then rapidly patting her chest -in vain- to relieve it of the near-painful burn the tequila leaves behind.  “I don’t mind, though.” She sets the empty glass upside down on the tray. “I like it.”

“What?”

“This side of you.”

“Yeah?” Tyler nods his thanks to the waiter who arrives to retrieve the tray of empty shot glasses and deposit a platter of various appetizers in the middle of the table.   Waiting until the man departs before addressing Esme once more. “What side is that?”

“The non-mercenary side.  It’s… nice .”

“Nice, huh?” (Chuckling, he takes a swig of beer. “Something tells me you won’t  find it that nice once you get to know me better.”

“What is there that could possibly scare me off?  I’m stuck in this shitty-ass life too, you know. I think it’s safe to say there’s nothing I haven’t seen or heard.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“All I know is that I’m pleasantly surprised. With what I’ve seen so far, anyway.   Away from the bullshit, you’re a normal guy.  You’re not constantly bragging about the number of people you’ve killed and all the gory ways you’ve done it.  It’s… refreshing .”

“Refreshing.  I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“Something tells me you’re not the total hardass everyone thinks you are.  All they know is mercenary Tyler. That’s all that exists to them.”

“Maybe there’s nothing more to it. Maybe that’s all I am.”

“You’re too different.   You’re not like everyone else.  You hide yourself away from the rest of the world. You’re not out there bragging about what you do.  You’re not hanging out  in  bars talking about your kill sheet or telling stories of all the gory ways you can kill a man with your bare hands.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“People talk, especially in this circle. No one knows anything about you outside of the job.  It’s like you don’t even exist; you get in and out and barely leave anything behind. Sometimes, it’s like you were never even there.  Some people wonder if you’re even real; if you’re nothing more than an urban legend that’s just evolved over time.  If the stories are just that. Stories.”

“Well,  now you can go back and let them know that I’m real. That I actually do exist.”

“Believe it or not, like you, I try to keep my distance, too.  Put that world behind me when I finish a job.  A form of self-perseverance, you know? I can’t live in that world twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  I need time away;  just disconnect from it and pretend that I’m a normal person, living a normal life.  Whatever normal is, anyway.”

He nods in understanding.  “What I want to know is how you’ve heard all this stuff about me.  How you seem to know more than anyone else.”

“It’s not that I know more than they do.  It’s just that I SEE more.  I look at you differently, I guess.  I see things they don’t.  Or maybe they’ve just never bothered to look for them.”

“Something tells me there’s a little more to it than that.”

“Well, what can I say?”  Reaching for her bottle of beer, she finishes it in one long pull.  “You’re not the only one that’s really good at their job.”

****

They engage in small talk as they indulge in the appetizers and start in on the new round of shots and a pitcher of beer. Both aware of the physical closeness that has developed between them; neither experiencing discomfort or attempting to shy away from it. The toes of their shoes touching under the table while their fingertips often brush together;  staying in contact as their forearms rest on top of it.   

Whether it’s merely the booze making him feel at ease, Tyler finds himself enjoying her company;  liking the sound of her voice and the way she smiles and laughs.  She possesses a layer of confidence that often thins to the point of revealing something else entirely: a shy and awkward child who while in need of attention, acceptance,  and adoration, worries about how she’s being perceived.   And there’s a sexiness under that youthful, girl next door persona that had initially attracted him;  something unique and appealing about the handful of piercings and the sneak peeks of ink that the slight shift of her clothing gives him. Numerous colourful and intricate tattoos that grace soft and supple flesh.

“Tell me more about yourself, Tyler Rake.”

“I don’t know how much more there is to know. You seem to have a pretty good handle on things. Your spying has served you well.”

“I’m hardly a spy.   It’s not like I’m some female James Bond running all over God’s creation.   I just know where to go for information.  What places to look, what people to talk to. I’m an intel specialist.”

“Which is a fancy name for a spy.”

“Potato, po-ta-toe. Seriously, though…” Reaching for the pitcher of beer, she tops off both their glasses. “...tell me.”

“Probably easier if you tell me what you DO know. That way I can just fill in the gaps. If there are any.”

Her eyes sparkle as she lifts her glass to her mouth; rim pressed against her lips she grins at him from across the table. “You’re difficult.”

“I can be.”

“Lucky for you, I love a challenge.”

“Something tells me that or a little thing, you put up a hell of a good one yourself.”

“Well, maybe if you play your cards right, you’ll find that out firsthand.”  She immediately becomes embarrassed; noisily setting her glass down on the tabletop and then covering her face with both hands. “Oh God…” She laughs into her palms. “...that was just so wrong. So, so, so wrong.”

“I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“That was just way out of line. I’m sorry. I never should have said that. I…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

“I  know better than to drink this much.  And I  normally don’t .  Because of shit like this.  I get a little too…I don’t know…bold.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is.  I didn’t see anything wrong with what you said.  Believe me, it takes a lot to embarrass me.”

“Sometimes it takes very little to embarrass me.  And saying what I did…”

“Hey…”  He lays a hand on her forearm, emboldened when she doesn’t question the touch or pull away from it; proceeding to repeatedly graze the pad of his thumb along her skin.  “...it’s no big deal.  There’s no reason to get worked up. Not with me, anyway.”

She gives a smile of appreciation. “Word of warning.  I can be a little…neurotic…at times.”

“I’ve noticed. You know how you mentioned what was lucky for me? Well, I guess it’s lucky for you that I don’t scare easily, either.”

Her eyes widen. The heat in her cheeks and the tips of her ears increasing.

“There. Feel better? Now you’re not alone.  We’re BOTH embarrassed.”

She laughs in response and he reaches for his beer; the fingertips of his free keeping that small, innocent contact with the side of her forearm.

“So what DO you know? About me?”

“More than you realize.”

“Like?”

“You were born in  Port Douglas.  A little town in Queensland. You were an only child; your father worked in construction and your mother was a homemaker.  But she taught right up until shortly before you were born;  home economics and sociology were her specialties.  She even won Queensland Teacher of the Year.  Twice in a row.”

“How do you know all of this? How…?”

“Come on now…”  Her eyes sparkle mischievously.  “...a woman has to have some secrets.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

“You don’t get to be this good at my job without knowing where to look and who to go for information.  And without learning how to hack  into a government computer or two.”

“I’m almost afraid to find out what else you know about me.”

“There were no skeletons in the closets I looked into. Well, nothing major, anyway.”

“If you know about my mum, you know what happened to her.  You read about the accident.”

“I did”  Sighing, she chews pensively on her bottom lip. “And I’m sorry. That you lost her.  Especially as a little boy.  It’s hard enough to lose someone you love at any age, but that?  That’s just...horrific.  I wasn’t going to bring it up, by the way.  If you hadn’t mentioned it…”

“It’s alright.  It’s a long time ago.  Almost thirty years.”

“It still bothers you, doesn’t it. Losing your mom. Especially the WAY you lost her.”

He nods. “Yeah, it does.”

“You don’t need to say anything else. And I definitely won’t push you on it.  But if you ever WANT to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener, and I wouldn’t mind hearing about her. Or about what you were like when you were a kid.  It’s kinda hard to imagine you like that, you know? What you were like before all of this.”

“I was just a normal kid, I guess.  Did normal kid shit. What else do you know? Or should I be scared to ask that?”

“Like I said, I didn’t find anything major.  Nothing I’d  consider even remotely alarming.”

“Humour me.”

“I know that you joined the military straight out of high school.  And that you’d only served a few years and completed a couple of tours before they approached you about joining special ops.   That’s a pretty huge deal, you know. The fact they came to you.  Usually, it’s the other way around.”

“I guess something I did impressed them.”

“You had three medals for outstanding bravery.  And you were only twenty-three.  I’d say that’s pretty damn impressive.  You were practically a kid still and you passed the training for SASR. With flying colours. Do you know more people have died in training than they have in war? While working special ops?”

“You really are into doing your research, aren’t you.”

“Well, if I’m going to be pretend married to someone, I think it’s only fair that I find out if he’s an axe murderer or not. I don’t want to be sharing a hotel room with a serial killer.”

“How do I know you’re not one?  Isn’t it the ones you least expect?”

“I guess you’ll have to hope and pray for the best.  Or at the very least, sleep with one eye open.”

“You know what I have a hard time wrapping my head around? You being caught up in this shit.   Someone like you in this kind of life? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“ Nothing about this world does, Tyler. For any of us.”

“Makes less sense for you. You’re not the kind of person who should be doing this.  You’re way too smart for this shit. You could be out there doing something that actually matters.   Helping people.  Fixing things. Making the world a better place.  But this? This life?  Someone like you shouldn’t be here.  You deserve better than this.  Way better.”

Tilting her head to the side, she regards him intently, fingernails drumming against her glass. “You don’t think any of this matters? What we do?”

“Honestly? Not really, no.”-

“You don’t think we make things better?  You don’t think we help people? Fix things?”

“Not in a way that really makes a difference.”

“It makes a difference to the people that hire us.   They wouldn’t need us if they didn’t need to fix things.”

“You know just as well as I do that not everyone calls us to  ‘fix things’.  Most of the people that hire us? They’re just as big of a dirtbag as the person they want us to get rid of. When was the last time you did a job where the client had a solid reason to ‘off’ someone?  I’m talking about an abused wife who can’t escape her husband,  someone who wants the guy who molested his kid to suffer, a grieving husband that wants revenge on whoever raped or killed his wife. I’m talking about people who actually need help.  Not just hiring us out of spite. or to send a message, or to put the fear of God into someone.  Do you even remember the last time that happened?”

“To be honest, no.”

“You can’t tell me that doesn’t bother you.  Being out there, doing what you do, for absolute fucking dickheads.  You don’t belong here.  And I’m not just talking HERE. In Dhaka. I mean in this life.  You deserve so much better than this.”

“And you don’t?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe that.  You’re not like everyone else, Tyler.  I’ve been around a lot of mercenaries.    I’ve heard the things they talk about;  they gloat about the lives they’ve taken and the ways they’ve taken them. They’re proud of themselves.  They wear other peoples’ blood like badges of honour.   And they expect everyone to be so impressed. To just bow down to them. Idolize them.”

“A lot of people DO.   That’s the problem..”

“It’s gross.  Being like that.  They even use it to try and pick up women. Believe me, I know firsthand. More than one has tried.”

“I bet they learned the hard way that you’re not the type to put up with that shit.”

“Everyone expects me to be so meek and mild.  They take one look at me and think I’m going to be a huge pushover.  And they don’t like when ANY woman sticks up for themselves.  Never mind someone that looks like me.”

“Something tells me a lot of people underestimate you. I know I did.  I’ll admit it.”

“It’s why I’m so good at my job. No one ever expects me to be up to no good. Or be able to hold my own.  It’s not a bad thing.  I mean, it’s kept me alive this long, hasn’t it? Flying under the radar.”

“You’re tough for a little thing, that’s for sure.”

 “I’ve had to be.   I grew up with five older brothers. Only the strong survived in that house.”

“Jesus Christ.  That many brothers? Did they wait on the front porch while you were out on dates?  Threaten to bury the bodies somewhere they’d never be found if guys even thought of messing with you?”

“Dates?” Laughing, she sips at her beer.  “What dates? Like guys even knew I existed.”

“Yeah, right.  I’m sure all the boys knew you existed.”

A blush once more creeps into her cheeks,  eyes sparkling as a grin stretches from ear to ear. “And you say you have no game.”

****

It’s shortly after midnight when they begin their stroll of the hotel grounds; not ready to retire for the night.  And while he sips at a bottle of water in hopes of softening the effects of the booze and warding off the potential hangover,  she eats chocolate ice cream out of a paper cup; purchased from a street cart just metres from the front entrance.   

She feels warm and giddy; a mixture of the alcohol consumed and the immense attraction to the tall, strong, blue-eyed Australian who walks alongside her.    Finding herself consumed by a powerful combination of intrigue and lust; eighteen months without experiencing the touch of another human has her responding to even the simplest and most innocent of touches.   Vividly aware of the weight of his hand as it rested on the small of her back; safely and protectively leading her through the crowded bar and towards the exit.   She enjoys how he places a hand on her hip and gently pulls her closer to make way for other hotel guests on the winding path.  And it’s almost uncomfortable; that familiar, intense ache that builds deep within the pit of her stomach. Immensely attracted to not only the rich, deep tone of his voice and his much larger and stronger presence but also the smell of perspiration and cologne or body wash that clings to his skin and clothes.

“So what else do you know?” Tyler asks.   “Just how deep did you dig?”

“I kept it pretty superficial.   Once I saw you didn’t have an extensive criminal record…”

“Drunk and disorderly.  I was nineteen.   And stupid.”

“...I figured I didn’t need to turn over too many stones.  I know that when you weren’t on active duty, you were stationed all over Europe;  mostly doing diplomatic security jobs.  Prague,  Lucerne, Vienna, Brussels,  Berlin.    All of those are a pretty long way from Australia.”

“You find out any personal stuff? Other than my drunken brush with the law?”

“Just what DID you do to get arrested?  Or is that top secret? Will you have to kill me if you tell me?”

“Not if you promise never to tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“And it’s not top secret.  Just embarrassing.”

Esme stares up at him in wait, spoon poised against her lips)

“I pissed on the side of a cop car. Then threw up in it after they cuffed me and tossed me in the back.”

“Oh…” Eyes widening, she pops the serving of ice cream in her mouth. “...yeah…that is a little…embarrassing.”

“If you laugh, I just may have to kill you.”

“I’d be laughing with you, not at you.”

“Yeah…”  He chuckles. “... sure you would.”

“I guess you were kind of a lightweight back then, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve had my own humiliating experiences. That involve  alcohol and vomit.”

“Is that one of the things I get to find out if I behave myself?  Play my cards right?”

“Maybe,” she sing-songs, then offers him the cup of ice cream,  to which he refuses with a shake of his head.  “I have a confession to make.  I DID try and dig a bit deeper. When it comes to personal stuff.  The SASR keeps  that shit locked up tight, though;  even my spying and hacking skills couldn’t get past them.”

“You know, you could have just waited to ask me. I would have told you whatever you wanted to know.”

“I wasn’t sure how well received being nosy straight to your face would be.  I thought it would just be easier;  save me a lot of humiliation when you got all bent out of shape and told me to ‘fuck off’.”

“That never would have happened. I probably would tell other people that, but you…”

“So it’s okay, then? To ask? Personal stuff?”

“What’s the worst that could happen? I just won’t answer. “

“There ARE a couple of things I’m curious about,” she admits, and briefly steps away; tossing her spoon and container into a nearby garbage bin before returning to his side.  “PERSONAL things.”

“Alright…”

“And if I’m totally overstepping, just tell me.  You don’t have to spare my feelings. If I’m  being too much of a nosey bitch, just say it.”

“Well, I might be a little nicer than that,” he teases.  “What do you want to know?”

“Why were you honourably discharged?  You’d served ten years;  you were well-decorated and respected, you’d taken part in almost a dozen tours, your superior officers had nothing but amazing things to say on all your performance reviews.  And then things just went bad. So suddenly.   What…?”

“Life just fell apart. During my last trip to Kandahar.  I fucked up my back pretty bad and instead of having it taken care of when I got home, I started drinking all the time and taking way too many Oxy’s.  I was a mess.  I became a liability instead of an asset.  So they cut me loose before things got worse.”

“They didn’t even give you a chance?  To turn things around? Clean yourself up?”

“I was pretty much a lost cause.  There were other things;  shit going on at home that was pretty messy.”

“Family stuff, you mean? I’m assuming you had one. A family.”

“I did. I had a wife.”

“Things just didn’t work out or…?”

“We’d been having problems.  For a few years.  We’d talked about getting divorced more than once;  just cutting ties and moving on with our lives.   We jumped into things;   we were both lonely and looking for a quick fix.   Neither of us was getting any younger; we both wanted a family and were  tired of looking around for ‘the one’.”

“You know, I stumbled upon a quote once. About how  ‘it’s easier to think  you’re in love than it is to accept that you’re alone’.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“I don’t remember.  I probably read it somewhere.  Or heard it on a TV show. But it’s true.  I’ve been there.  Sounds like you have too.”

He nods.

“Did you end up having a family?  Any kids?”

“I had a son.”

“Past tense? HAD? What…?”

“He died a few years ago.”

“Oh god…shit…fuck. I am sorry. I didn’t…”

“There’s no reason to feel bad. And you definitely don’t need to apologize.  You didn’t know any of that happened.”

“Still, it makes me feel like a shitty person.  Being as nosy as I am.  I didn’t mean anything by it; I was prying with the best intentions, not the worst ones. Had I known that you went through something like that, I never would have gotten so personal.”

“I told you it was okay. To ask personal shit. I kinda saw this coming.”

“You should have just said no; when it came to answering personal stuff.  Or just told me to mind my own goddamn business. You wouldn’t have hurt my feelings. Well, maybe a little bit, but…”  She playfully digs an elbow into his side. “...I would have gotten over it.”

“I already said it’s okay.  I’m fine with it; you asking me shit like that and answering it.  There’s nothing for you to feel bad about. Or sorry for. If there were, I’d let you know.”

“Nik warned me; that you could be brutally honest at times. And that you tended to be a little…prickly.”

“She said that?”

“Well, she wasn’t as nice about it.  I guess she just wanted me to be prepared.  She said you weren’t always the easiest person to be around.  That you’re used to working alone.  So you might not be so open to the idea of me tagging along.”

“I wasn’t,” he admits.  “At first, anyway.”

“And now?”

“Now I think I can at least tolerate you.”

She laughs at that. Liking the way his hand finds the small of her back when she gives a small, drunken stumble; offering no objection when his palm slides to her hip. And stays there.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry.  About your little boy. It’s a horrible thing to go through; losing a child. Probably every parent’s worst nightmare.”

“You’re a parent?  You’ve got kids?”

“No.  I have a lot of nieces and nephews, though.  And I did come close. Sort of. To having a baby.  I was barely into the second trimester when things went wrong.”

“Now it’s my turn to apologize. And feel like an asshole.”

“Oh, god. Don’t.” She places a hand on the middle of his back, rubbing in slow, reassuring circles.  “It was a hell of a thing to go through and the entire experience nearly broke me, but in hindsight? Considering just how evil my ex-husband ended up being? Losing that baby really was for the best.  I know that probably makes me sound like a horrible person.”

“No. It makes you sound like an honest one.”

“It would have been a disaster; having a baby with him.   Not to mention totally unfair;  no kid should ever have to live in a house like that.”

“He was that bad, huh?”

“There are no words to describe just how bad.  And because I’d rather not ruin our night, it’s probably best I don’t get any further with this.  Or he’ll end up being the next name on your hit list. I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Sounds like he’d deserve it.”

“I won’t lie; it would give me a sense of satisfaction…and closure…if someone handed him his ass.”

“Well, I’ve got nothing lined up after this job.  If you’ve got his address, we can head there right away.  I don’t mind putting my foot up his ass. Or in his teeth.  Or both.”

“As much as I appreciate you wanting to defend my honour, I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.  He’s someone else’s problem now.  Which means for the first time in a long time, I get to live.  How I want. I’m finally able to just…breathe.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m willing to teach him a lesson. Free of charge.”

“Don’t tempt me. I just may take you up on that one day.”

“I’d ask for details…about your ex and the shit he did…but something tells me I really would fly into a homicidal rage.”

“You seem like the protective type. Not that that’s a bad thing, believe.  Some of us have never had someone like that in our lives.  And I’d tell you. About him and the things he did.  If I was ready for that kind of thing. And believe me, that’s not a slight against you. In any way.  I’m just not there yet.  Mentally.  I haven’t quite reached that kind of head space yet.  I will, though.  Eventually.”

“You know where to find me.  When you’re ready.”

“Is that permission to just show up on your porch? A second time? Just walk right up to your front door, totally unannounced?”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t turn you away, that’s for sure.”

A furious blush creeps into her cheeks, rapidly spreading to her ears and the back of her neck. And she grins up at him as her hand moves to his hip, playfully squeezing  “Be careful what you wish for, Tyler Rake.”

*****

Instead of retiring to their rooms,  they sit on the edge of the hotel pool.  He can’t remember the last time he’d just ‘hung out’ with someone of the opposite sex; his relatively non-existent social life consisting of camping and hunting trips with old military buddies and the occasional one-night stand.  

He finds it easy being with her;  she’s refreshingly optimistic and bubbly,  and unapologetically assertive;  confident in her skills and abilities, the mercenary world somehow not destroying her view of the world and the people that inhabit it.   Her honesty and openness encourage him to follow suit;   allowing him to carry on with light-hearted and intense conversations, and feel completely comfortable in his skin while doing so. 

 It’s a mixture of that comfort, the booze he’d consumed, and his immense physical attraction to her that had him unable to resist; not arguing when she’d grabbed his hand and began dragging him towards the pool. Nor when she kicked off her shoes, rolled up her pants, put her feet in the water and invited him to do the same.

“So is it my turn now?” Tyler inquires. “To ask the personal stuff?”

“I’ve already told you my deepest and darkest secrets.  About my ex-husband and his bullshit,  how I lost a baby.  How much more personal can you get?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of normal, everyday stuff.  Whatever makes you, you .”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly had the most exciting life.  I was born and raised in Colorado; a little sparrow fart town named Snowmass, about half an hour from Aspen.  I’m the baby of the family and the only girl. I came as a complete surprise. And believe me, my mother has never let me forget it.”

“You think she’d be happy; having a little girl after all those boys.”

“You’d think.  But I was an ‘oops’ and she reminds me every chance she gets.  Needless to say, we don’t exactly get along.  I avoid her like the plague.”

“What about your dad? He still around?”

“He died when I was seventeen.  I do have a step-father though; he and my mom got married less than a year after my father died. Which I wouldn’t have been too pressed about, had he not been a friend of my dad’s for over forty years.”

“That’s kind of fucked up.  Your mum stooping that low.”

“Her bullshit knows no bounds.  My stepdad isn’t a bad guy; he was good to me and supported me through the last year of high school and was the only one cheering me on through university and when I joined the corps. And he did give me a sister.    Riley.  She just turned nineteen.  She’s the only one I do miss. Out of the entire family.”

“You’re not close to your brothers?”

“Not really.  They’re all a lot older than I am.  Except for Kyle.  He’s a firefighter. In Denver.  We have a love/hate relationship.  One minute we’re best of friends, the next we want to strangle each other.  He does my mother’s bidding; spies on me every chance he gets,  always gets on my ass about something, and reports every little detail about my personal life back to the wicked witch of the midwest. It’s why I fly under the radar;  use a phone that can’t be traced, change my IP address every time I email someone back home, use a post office box instead of giving my address.”

“Your mum’s that bad, huh?”

“That’s putting it lightly.  She’s an acquired taste.  And that’s putting it nicely.”

“Sounds like your mum and my old man would get along great.”

“I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy. Unless your dad is a gigantic piece of shit just like her.”

“That’s something else I’ll have to tell you about. When I’m ready.”

“Already thinking about the future, are you?” Esme teases, playfully nudging his arm with her elbow. “Are these heart-to-hearts going to happen the next time I just randomly show up on your doorstep?”

“Maybe I’ll just randomly show up at yours. If Nik will give my address away, yours isn’t safe either.”

“You don’t have to go that extreme.  You can have my address.  Something tells me you’re one of the few people I can trust with that kind of info.”

“Where do you live? Where is home?”

“Prague.  I have a little apartment not far from The Vltava River.  I spend a lot of time down there;  reading, writing, meditating. Sometimes I even go running. When I’m not being lazy.   It’s my happy place; being near the water.   I always feel so calm. Relaxed. Grounded.”

“How’d you go from Colorado to the Czech Republic? There’s a lot of miles in between.”

“I ended up in New York City first.  After my marriage fell apart.  I ended up doing some freelance work.  I wasn’t tied to just one handler; I  could do whatever job I wanted, with whoever I wanted.  And the money was good.  Very good, actually.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Why do any of us leave?”

“Usually ‘cause we cross the wrong people.”

“One too many bridges burned,” she laments. “ I had worn out my welcome in The Big Apple, so I decided to just take off. Start a new life somewhere else.  And I’d always been fascinated by Prague. Since I did a project on it in grade eight geography.  I’d fallen in love with the people, the scenery, the architecture.  I didn’t have anything holding me back, so I just left.  Found a little place there and that was that.”

“How the hell did you end up crossing paths with Nik?  If you’d left the life behind when you took off from the States…”

“G got the ball rolling.  He’s married to my cousin; one of the only family members who knows what I actually do for a living. I was getting bored sitting around doing nothing and I knew I wouldn’t be happy in a normal nine-to-five, so I put the word out.  That I was looking for work.  G mentioned his boss needed an intel person and he arranged the time and date for Nik and I to meet. And that was that. She had a job for me in forty-eight hours and I’ve been working for her ever since.”

“I still don’t understand how the fuck someone like you gets caught up in a world like this.”

“How did you get caught up in it?”

“I asked you first.”

“Well, technically you didn’t actually ask. Not this time anyway.”

Tyler smirks.

“I warned  you I can be a bit much.”

“And I already told you:  I  enjoy a challenge.”

“I’ve scared away many a man in my time. Most can’t handle me.”

“What can I say?” He shrugs. “ I’m not most men.”

“No.  You certainly aren’t.  You’re a breath of fresh air, that’s for sure. Especially in this circle.”

“You probably won’t be saying that in a couple of months. If you last that long. I tend to scare people away too.”

“Intentionally, or..?”

“Sometimes.”

“You haven’t scared me away.”

“I’ve been making an effort not to.”

“Just so you know,  I don’t get intimidated. And I don’t frighten easily.  I’ve gone up against a lot of bad people. Who have done some pretty terrible things.  And lived to tell about it.”

“Everybody meets their match eventually.”

“I don’t think you’re it.  Not in a bad way, anyway.”

“You’re pretty straightforward, aren’t you.”

“I may look meek and mild, but you’ll learn pretty quick that I’m anything but.”

“Remember earlier? When you told me to be careful what I wish for? I think you should be taking your own advice.”

“You know what I think?” Leaning into him, she rests her chin upon his shoulder, then reaches out to place her hand on his cheek. The pressure and slight bite of her fingernails encouraging him to turn his face into hers. “I think you need to learn that I don’t listen to any man.”

*****

When they finally decide to retire for the night, the amount of alcohol consumed and its lingering effects have peaked.  For him it’s a calm and warmth that encompasses his entire body yet still manages to loosen his lips; sharing stories of childhood surfing lessons,  his love for playing the guitar, and a talent for drawing that he hasn’t explored in over twenty years.  For her it’s an amplified giddiness;  excitedly talking about snowboarding in Aspen, her love for New York City, Central Park,  the loft apartment she’d once owned in Queens, and her childhood dream of owning a bookstore. 

Instead of being annoyed by her incessant chattering,  he finds himself completely enthralled by her; captivated by her infectious, bubbly personality, and the deep-rooted intelligence that always lingers just under the surface.   It’s a two-fold attraction that he hasn’t experienced in over a decade, and certainly not to the depths that he currently finds himself submersed in; enamoured not only by her zest and enthusiasm for life despite the darkness of the world surrounding them, but also the physical attributes she brings to the table. Her petite, seemingly fragile stature, the striking contrast between smooth, pale skin and shimmering dark hair, and a smile that crinkles the bridge of her nose.  And the sound of her voice and her laugh.  Filling him with amusement and contentment.

They linger in front of her hotel room door; Esme leaning back against it, facing him.

“Thanks for not telling me to fuck off earlier,” she says, as they linger in front of her hotel room door.  “When I found you in the bar. ‘Cause I had a pretty good time.  It was a lot of fun.”

“It was.  Surprisingly.”

“I hope pleasantly, at least.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it.”  It’s a statement, not a question.  “Since you just kicked back and relaxed.”

“I do have friends you know.”

“War buddies?”

“In more ways than one.”

“And there’s Nik,” she points out. “And Yaz.”

“They’re colleagues.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Nik sees me as a commodity. And a nuisance.”

“For what’s worth, she worries about you.”

“She told you that?”

“Not in so many words.  I’m just really good at reading people.  I’ve needed to be; my job doesn’t leave any room for misjudgement. Or error.   That’s why I realize that tonight is probably a rarity for you;  just hanging out and chatting. With someone other than your military friends and work buddies.”

“Aren’t we work buddies?”

“Technically in less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be your wife. Your fake one mind you, but still.”

“Do I need to get you a ring?”

“I think we can forgo that formality. Knowing Nik, she has all that covered. All the little details needed to sell things.  Honestly though…”  Leaning back against the door, Esme crosses her arms over her chest. “...this isn’t like you, is it.  The way you were tonight. So friendly and chatty. Especially with a woman.”

“When I want company…when it comes to women…I know where to get it.”

“I’m not talking about sex.  I’m talking about.. this .   The way you were in the bar. And afterwards.  It’s different for you.  I’m different.”

“Just  a bit.”

“Life hasn’t been kind to you. And you definitely haven’t been kind to yourself.”

“I’m starting to wonder if you’re a shrink and this is all just a bunch of bullshit.  This job.  Maybe there’s some kind of intervention about to happen. Nik brought you on to talk some sense into me.”

“I’m not a shrink. Or a therapist.  I’m just someone who takes the time to see other people. Really see them.  And I see you.”

“I’m almost scared to ask.”

“You’ve isolated yourself.   You keep your distance.  You don’t like to get close to people.”

“Everyone who gets close to me gets hurt. One way or another.”

“Not intentionally. On your part.”

“It’s just easier this way; not letting anyone get too close. I don’t get a chance to fuck things up. And they don’t get a chance to see how big of a mess I really am.”

“I think I’ve figured that part out.  I think I figured it out the second I met you.  It was in your eyes.  There’s a lot of hurt there.  You carry a lot.”

“I’ve got broad shoulders.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to do it all by yourself.”

“Remember what I told you? About being careful what you wish for?”

“I’m not some meek and mild little girl. I have dealt with messier than you, trust me.   You’re not the monster you think you are, Tyler.”  Placing her hands on his chest, she perches herself on her tiptoes; bravely brushing her lips against his jaw).“ Thank you.  For walking me here. Making sure I got back safe and sound.”

“I know I’m an asshole, but not I’m not that big of one.”

“Well, for an asshole, you were a perfect gentleman.  Maybe when all this is over and we’re far away from here, we can do it again.”

“I’d like that.” 

His response surprises him; knowing it’s against his better judgement.  The rational side of his brain is screaming at him to walk away;  eager to spare her weeks or months -maybe even years- of wasting her time on him.   But the attraction is too great;  he’s crippled by those enormous dark eyes,  that soft, playful smile,  and that flirtatious tilt to her head as she peers up at him.  It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to want this profoundly and deeply. Years spent filling his nights with random hookups he felt no real connection to; just warm bodies used for physical satisfaction.   But this is different;  going far beyond the basics of lust and hunger and need.  And it both confuses and scares the shit out of him.

Reaching up, she trails a fingertip across his cheek.  “Goodnight, Tyler.”

“‘Night, Esme.” 

 While she turns towards her room, he waits;  wanting to make sure she’s safe inside with the door bolted before leaving.  Suddenly hyper-aware of the things occurring around him;  the smell of coconut and honey that lingers on her skin,  the oppressive humidity that causes droplets of sweat that bead at her temples and glisten on her shoulders, and the tendrils of hair that flutter in the breeze and brush against the nape of her neck.  He’s unable to resist;  reaching out to brush away those loose strands,  his calloused fingertips gliding across soft, smooth skin.   And he feels the way she shivers under his touch,  hears her sharp intake of breath followed by a long, airy sigh, and sees the goosebumps that invade her flesh.

She again turns to face him, her back pressed against the door. “Look, I don’t normally do this kind of thing. I’m not the type to form connections, either.  Especially with people I work with.  And I just want you to know that I  don’t make it a practice to hook up with mercenaries.   I didn’t want you thinking that…”

“I was thinking anything .  Nothing bad, anyway.”

“And I know this is going to come across as really bold and I hope what I’m about to say won’t make you think of less of me.”

“Esme…”

“But do you want to come in for a little while? Or a long while? I mean, that’s entirely up to you.  How long you last for.  Oh… fuck…”   Her eyes widen in embarrassment; a blush creeping into her cheeks and spreading to the tips of her ears. “...that is not what I meant.   What I meant was ‘stay for’.  How long you want to stay for.”

He chuckles. “I know what you meant. And yeah, I’d like that.  I’d like that a lot .”

She gives a sigh of relief and an awkward laugh. “I was really nervous there for a second.  Like I said, I don’t normally do things like this; pick up guys in bars, or mess around with people I work with. Not to mention I do not handle rejection well.”

“I have a hard time believing anyone would turn you down.”

She continues her nervous rambling. “Honestly, had you told me to go and get fucked and not in the sexy, fun way? I probably would have gone inside and cried myself to sleep. And then totally disappeared off the face of the earth.  Not even Nik would have been able to track me down; I would have gone completely off the grid and..”

Laying a hand on the nape of her neck, he pulls her into him,  effectively silencing her with a kiss.  Desperate and needy; his fingers pressing into soft, delicate flesh as his tongue hastily pushes its way into her mouth.  Both hearing and feeling the sigh that she releases;  her body leaning into his as her arms wrap around her torso and she eagerly responds.  

She’s breathless when it’s over; her eyes remaining closed as her head falls upon his chest and the world seems to spin around her. Her feet are numb; her knees impossibly weak as her body relies on his to keep her on her feet.  It’s been a long time since she’s been kissed like that.  If she ever really has.  Both finding and losing herself at the hands of a strong and confident man; someone who knows exactly what…and who he wants.  Possessing a skill and finesse despite the hunger and urgency;  his mouth a fervent captor, hers a willing and submissive prisoner.  A kiss so intense and demanding that it felt like she was being claimed.  Yet somehow still possessing a remarkable tenderness that lingers under the bruising aggression.  

As her eyes flicker open, her hands find her chest; palms flat against solid muscle.   “That was…” She lets loose a long, shaky breath; a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she peers up at him.  “... nice .”

“Yeah…”  His hand slips from the nape of her neck;  his eye fixated on her full, moist lips as his knuckles graze along the smooth curve of her jaw. And he’s unsure what exactly causes the change of heart;  the aching and longing that suddenly surpasses the simple need for sexual gratification or the way her eyes -influenced by both alcohol and lust- sparkle up at him.    There’s so much caught up in how she looks at him;  a mixture of hunger, want, and unwavering trust.   

It’s been a long time since anyone had displayed that kind of faith in him. And he’d single-handedly destroyed both it and them .   

“Let’s go inside.” Her hands slide slowly down his chest and sides, lingering at the bottom of his simple black t-shirt before turning towards the door. “We can…”

“Wait…” His fingers curl around a slender wrist before she can fish the keycard from her pocket..  “…Esme…”

“Wait?” She laughs as she turns to face him.  “Are we capable of waiting? After a kiss like that? ”

“I can’t do this.  I can’t…”

Cocking her head to the side, she frowns up at him.  “What do you mean you can’t? Less than thirty seconds ago, you were more than ready, willing, and able.  So…”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. Or that I don’t want you .  This just isn’t a good idea; mixing business with pleasure. Things will get messy; we won’t concentrate on what we’re supposed to be doing and shit will go wrong and the kid will suffer ‘cause of it.”

“That’s bullshit.  And both you and I know it.”

“Things will go wrong. Eventually.  They might be good at first…”

“I’m not asking for a commitment here.  I’m not expecting you to put a ring on it; marry me and father my children and spend always and forever with me. I just thought that we…”

“I  can’t do it.  I’m sorry.  I want to. Believe me, I do. But I just can’t .”

“Tyler…” She reaches for him; fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt before he backs away. 

“You deserve better than this.  Better than me .” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t…”

“ I didn’t mean for it to get this far.  And normally I wouldn’t run away. I’d take you up on things and…”

“Then just do it. Ignore whatever’s going on in your head. Just…”

“Goodnight, Esme.”  Skimming his knuckles along her cheek, he hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face towards him; lips grazing hers before backing away.  “I really am sorry.”

“Tyler, you don’t have to go. You can stay.  We don’t have to do anything.  We can just hang out. Talk.  You can even sleep in the extra bed. We don’t have to…”

“I’ll see you when I see you.”

With a heavy, disappointed sigh, she leans back against the door; her arms crossed over her chest as she’s relegated to watching him walk away.  His chin tucked into his chest and his shoulders slumped;  hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he limps off into the night.

[rosy-crow]

Yeah, after watching the teaser, I’m really starting to think Square is doing the Arcane thing.

I’ve been talking about it with @altocat for a while now, and I feel like it’s starting to get real. So, this is just gonna be my final theory for the story until proven otherwise.

Spoilers for Arcane: League of Legends, but for anyone that doesn’t know, basically Arcane adapted LOL and developed one of their most iconic villains, Jinx, into a very well-written character with a story that showed you exactly who she was and why she eventually lost her mind. Before this show, she was probably about as developed as Seph was in the OG.

Even though Jinx is more flamboyant and emotionally chaotic, she and Seph are weirdly similar villains from what I’ve seen. Seph reminds me a LOT of Jinx and vice-versa. I’ve even drawn them together and compared their designs—it’s funny how mad villains in video games tend to have key similar design points, even down to hair-styles and clothing, but I’ll save that for another post lol.

Anyway, from the FS teaser it looks like we have a big climax in that ultimately leads to this scene with Seph and Rosen, who have been set up to be mirrors of each other.

All I know is that the trailer showed Rosen telling Seph to make a choice about which life he wanted to save (Japanese version made this a bit clearer), and the other lives in danger are Team Glenn. Seph is gonna have to choose between them, and….well, since we know Team Glenn lives….uhh…and also….

Rosen’s dog is trying to alert the others of something. Seph made a choice or did SOMETHING, and I thiiiink it’s gonna result in Rosen’s death. Whether it was intentional or an accident, we don’t know, but it’s clear this is when sane Seph when was still good and caring, even if a little psychologically stunted and conditioned because of Shinra. He’s been consistently this way throughout the First Soldier and doesn’t change until Nibelheim.

But I get the feeling everything went wrong with Rosen. That’s why Glenn is at odds with Seph years later.

This is also why we’re getting Arcane vibes. If it’s a misunderstanding or rift caused by Seph’s intentions to save his friends…well, that’s very familiar to this notorious Arcane scene:

Basically, Jinx…or Powder, as she’s known here, makes a drastic decision to save her friends and sister from genuine danger. However, her own talents are her worst enemy, and she causes twice as much destruction as the enemies her friends were struggling with. Almost everyone ends up dead, except for Powder’s sister. It was a horrific mistake and creates a massive rift between Powder and Vi (that’s the sister).

Vi also cements the idea in Powder’s mind that she’s a “jinx” or a curse of sorts. A complex that Powder had already been struggling with, and one she later embraces as her persona.

Glenn and young Sephiroth have been established to have a bit of a brotherly relationship so far, with Glenn being the down-to-earth and honest older source of influence. There was also the whole arc between these two revolving around Glenn initially calling Sephiroth a “cyborg” as an insult to say the kid was modified and different, not a “normal human.” This lowkey came off like a deliberate reference to Sephiroth’s later meltdown over not being human, yeah?

So you guys see what I mean, the themes here are similar to Arcane and Jinx’s psychology. If Seph makes some fatal mistake or a bad choice to save his team, and they walk in on this? Or get the wrong idea? Yeah, it’s gonna turn what was supposed to be an act of heroism into something much worse. It’s also gonna be the perfect reference to Seph’s later big moment in canon…errr, Nibelheim itself, where he just embraces inhumanity and finally goes berserk against everyone’s expectations, traumatizing the main protagonist and his eventual rival in the process.

Again, the theme of “tragic mistake paralleling or foreshadowing a villain’s first deliberate act of cruelty and evil” would be VERY similar to what happens with Jinx in Arcane.

I’m not saying SE is doing this on purpose, really, but the shared themes of identity collapse and “monsters you created” between Arcane and FF7’s main “mad villains” are interesting. Their stories obviously will play out differently, but it wouldn’t surprise me if The First Soldier ultimately culminates in a life-altering decision that Sephiroth makes, one that does NOT end well and births that conflict between him and Glenn.

That’s my theory for now. These teasers are convincing me more and more. We’ll see.

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 3

Alright so I’ve been toying with this mafia!au fic idea for a long while and I guess it’s time to give it a whirl. I already have about ten chapters written out (I’m expecting it to be at least 20 chapters), but I want to test out the waters first. I’ll start posting more if some of you are interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: um, tf is going on??? Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Chapter 2

Masterlist

YN lay sprawled across the plush bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she counted the tiles for the umpteenth time. For the past few hours, boredom had been her constant companion, proving far more excruciating than distress.

A soft ding interrupted her silent count—the distant sound of the elevator door sliding open. Her ears perked up, straining against the quiet that followed. The scrape of porcelain against silver floated through the air, and her heart quickened.

Someone was coming.

YN rolled off the bed, her movements swift and silent. She was on guard; every new sound or presence was a potential threat—or opportunity. Peeking through the slight gap in her bedroom door, her eyes narrowed on a figure maneuvering a trolley into the living area.

The visitor was a woman, short and stout, moving with an efficiency that belied her old age. She was quiet, her feet barely making a sound on the lush carpet as she pushed the laden trolley towards the table. The woman seemed unarmed and alone, an ID badge swinging gently at the side of her uniform.

There was something almost laughable about the situation. An old lady, really? YN thought wryly. You’d think Namjoon would at least have the decency to throw an actual challenge her way.

Still, here was an opportunity. The woman looked harmless, her back turned, fumbling slightly with something on the trolley. YN felt a pang of something akin to guilt—she didn’t particularly enjoy the thoughts crossing her mind, but survival in this world rarely came with the luxury of choice.

Meh, YN reasoned, she must’ve had a long-enough life, anyway.

Shaking off the hesitation with a cold snap of resolve, she slipped back towards her bed and grabbed a pillowcase. Simple, effective. It would have to do. Clutching it tightly, she stepped out of the bedroom, her presence as discreet as a shadow trailing across the moonlit floor, her movements honed by years of training to leave no trace.

The old woman’s back was still turned, her attention focused on arranging the items on her trolley with meticulous care.

Creeping closer, YN's hands tightened around the fabric, her every sense heightened. The soft rustling of the woman's uniform was like thunder in YN's hyperaware ears. Just a few more steps and she could reach out, seize control of the situation, and who knows, perhaps even secure her escape.

Just as she was about to make her move, a steady voice broke through the silence.

"Young lady,” the old woman spoke without turning around, “I would advise against whatever it is you’re planning on doing with that thing."

Stunned, YN halted in her tracks, her grip on the pillowcase loosening. "How d—"

“I’ve been weaving through the shadows of this house since before you drew your first breath, my dear,” the woman said, finally turning to face YN. Her eyes, a sharp contrast to her gentle demeanor, bore into YN’s. "And I have seen more than my share of young folks convinced they could outmaneuver their fate."

Once thing was clear: this was no ordinary maid.

“But you’re smarter than that, I’m sure.” The woman's eyes flickered to something behind YN. Following her line of sight, YN glanced at the security cameras mounted on the walls.

“You must be Mrs. Shin,” YN remarked with a resigned sigh.

“And you,” she replied, lifting the silver cloche to reveal a steaming plate of food, “must be famished”. YN's stomach betrayed her with a timely growl. She couldn't quite remember the last time she had eaten. Still, she remained rooted in place while the older woman arranged the tray meticulously on the table.

“It’s not poisoned,” Mrs. shin commented, catching YN’s hesitant glance, «if that’s what you’re wondering.”

YN maintained her silence, her eyes lingering on the food.

“In any case,” Mrs. Shin added, a twinkle of humor in her eyes, "I can assure you, wasting away from hunger is a far duller end. Still, the choice is yours."

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills. Finally, YN's resolve softened, her survival instincts kicking in. She seated herself slowly, her movements measured.

“Wise decision,” Mrs. Shin noted with a nod, her lips curling into a faint smile.

YN's eyes scrutinized the tray, noting the absence of any cutlery except for a single spoon. It seemed impractical, almost mocking in its simplicity. She met Mrs. Shin's gaze, an unspoken question hanging between them.

“Well, you couldn’t expect a knife and fork,” the woman said, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “And while we do usually allow chopsticks, Namjoon insisted on something less- pointy for now.”

“Usually?” YN echoed, her tone sharpening with curiosity, as she started digging into the food. “How often do the Kims bring outsiders into the family estate?”

Mrs. Shin looked back at her, amusement painting her features. "Who said anything about a family estate?" She sat down across from YN.

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” YN remarked, her mind flicking back to the meticulous arrangement of personal artifacts she had glimpsed in her brief walk through the house—distinctive heirlooms and portraits that seemed too imbued with sentimental value for a mere operational base.

“Still observant as ever, I see,” Mrs. Shin commented.

YN’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Still?” she asked.

“Ah,” Mrs. Shin paused, a knowing smile creeping across her face. "The eye of the raven with the memory of the goldfish—quite the combo you’ve been given."

YN’s response was an irritated scoff. She wasn’t accustomed to being on the less informed end of conversations, and Mrs. Shin’s insinuation chafed at her pride.

"I don’t blame you, really" Mrs. Shin continued gently, a thoughtful pause punctuating her words. "You must’ve been… 9 or 10, that day, always hiding behind your older brother," she added, her tone softening. A flicker of irritation crossed her features as she recalled, "That rascal," she muttered under her breath, "kept scraping his teeth on the silverware like a wild thing."

As YN processed her words, she absently glanced at the silver spoon in her hand, its tiger motif strikingly familiar. Mrs. Shin watched with a knowing expression as YN carefully traced the spoon's design with her thumb.

"I believe it was black sesame pudding," The old woman said nonchalantly.

Her words seemed to trigger a cascade of half-buried memories, recognition slowly dawning on YN’s features.

She finally spoke. "It was here," her voice barely more than a whisper. "wasn’t it?" she paused, looking up to meet the old woman’s gaze, “The Summit.”

Mrs. Shin didn't reply directly, but her lips curled into a slight smile as she rose from her seat and walked to the tea set. Her wrinkled hands gently lifted the delicate porcelain teapot, steam swirling up as she poured the fragrant brew into two matching cups.

Yes.

The Summit.

Once every decade since the Mutual Prosperity Charter had been signed, the five original clans—each a pillar of clandestine influence—would congregate to reaffirm their tenuous truce with an event known as the Unity Summit.

 It was nothing short of a grand ballet of diplomacy, a way to remind everyone of the precarious balance of power that held their world together. And, while the gatherings were designed to celebrate peace, they were also used as an opportunity for each clan to showcase its strength and splendor.

YN had been to just one such event in her youth, hosted by the Tigers—the Kim clan. Only now did she realize these were the same walls that had encircled it. She was astonished she hadn't realized sooner. Her recollections of that day were still crystal clear.

After all, it was the first and only time she’d met Namjoon before.

***

The grand hall itself was a testament to the event's significance, draped in rich banners and ancestral crests. Conversations dwindled into silence as YN, squeezed between the towering figures of her brother and father had walked in, their footsteps echoing through the vast space.

The crowd of dignitaries and delegates parted to make way, acknowledging the family's authority with nods and murmurs. Eyes filled with respect and a hint of fear turned in their direction as they strode towards their host.

Once they reached Kim Eungsoo and his wife, YN felt her father's grip tighten on her shoulder—a silent command for unwavering propriety. She straightened her back, drew in a breath, and lowered herself into a deep bow before the imposing figure of the Kim patriarch. Her eyes briefly met his, lingering on the nasty scar that ran across his stern face. A chill brushed her spine, and she quickly shifted her gaze down in respect.

Drawing herself up, YN’s eyes shifted to the boy who stood confidently besides the leader.

Only 12 at the time, Namjoon already carried the air of someone burdened with expectations, a seriousness far beyond his years coloring his features. Awkwardly caught between boyhood and the precipice of command, he was unusually tall for his age. His face was conspicuously smooth, freshly shaved, though there was no stubble to speak of, and his suit a miniature mirror of his father's. He was quiet. Focused. YN remembered seeing his eyes darting towards his father throughout the day, his young mind already threading through the maze of clan politics, yearning for a seat among the decision-makers.

YN had been similarly ensnared in the silent dance of expectations. Her hair was woven into a braid so tight it seemed designed to squeeze any hint of rebellion from her skull. The stern eyes of her governess loomed at the periphery of her vision, a silent sentinel ensuring her posture remained as straight as her lineage.

They both spent that banquet afternoon ensconced in the polite but distant company of the other clan leaders' children.

The Kang quadruplet daughters, with their sharp whispers and mean-spirited giggles, huddled together like a litter of scheming mice.

The Choi brothers were in their own world, it seemed, their boisterous energy manifesting in endless arm-wrestling matches, while their infant sister slumbered undisturbed, a serene island in a sea of chaos.

The Lee siblings stood apart, a trio of statuesque figures, their expressions unreadable and their poise as perfect as porcelain figures on a mantelpiece. They carried themselves with the regal aloofness of royalty mingling with commoners, watching the festivities with an air of superiority and detached amusement.

Amidst it all, the Park heir, YN's older brother, moved with newfound importance. At only 17 years of age, he had freshly been inducted into their clan's inner circles, earning him a coveted spot at the adults' table alongside the eldest Lee son. He wore his responsibility like a mantle, his young features set in determined imitation of their father’s grave expressions.

YN, from her distant vantage point, watched them with a detached curiosity, wondering about the weight of the conversations that included him and excluded her.

Overall, that day had been an absolute bore.

The one highlight of the day came when dessert was finally served, gleaming invitingly in delicate bowls accompanied by shiny silver spoons.

 Black sesame pudding.

She indulged with the enthusiasm only a child could muster, her lips and tongue turning a dark grey color. Her governess, less amused, delivered a swift reprimand—a slap that stung far more than the fleeting embarrassment of being scolded. Tears welled up, not enough to draw attention, but sufficient to send her seeking solitude.

Hidden away in a secluded corner, nursing her bruised pride more than her reddened cheek, YN was startled by a presence next to her. A lady had knelt beside her, eyes soft with concern. “Everything alright, little bird?”

***

YN glanced up at Mrs. Shin, who returned to the table, setting the teacups down with practiced ease.

“You gave me a sweet that day,” YN recalled, her tone casual yet pointed, as if to underscore the precision of her memory, “the chewy, ginger kind.”

“Never seen a teary eye that couldn’t be fixed by Jocheong taffy,” she replied warmly, pushing a cup gently towards YN. "Go on, now, drink up."

YN obeyed, the warm liquid sliding down her throat soothingly. She set the cup down with a deliberate clink, “So,” she broke the silence, her eyes hardening, “this is all Namjoon could muster?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Send the meek, old lady to tame me?”

“I may be old,” Mrs. Shin retorted, her voice steady and her back straight, “but I am certainly not meek.” Her eyes flickered briefly to the faded clan tattoo peeking out from under her uniform—a relic from a past that whispered of untold stories and battles fought. Clearly, the old woman had earned her stripes one way or another.

“And Namjoon didn’t send me,” Mrs. Shin continued, her tone turning wry. “I changed that boy’s diapers. He knows better than to give me orders.”

“So, you volunteered?” YN’s eyebrows rose slightly, intrigued. “How sweet.”

“I must have a soft spot for outcasts," Mrs. Shin admitted, her gaze softening just a touch as she considered YN, seeing perhaps a reflection of someone else. “But truth is I’ve simply always taken care of the attic,” she added.

« Not exactly much to take care of, up there," YN sent her a confused look, “It’s an unoccupied suite.”

"Appearances can be deceiving," Mrs. Shin replied, her eyes twinkling, “you ought to remember that.”

"Oooooh,” YN mocked, a light laugh escaping her despite the slight heaviness beginning to cloud her mind. “Are there ghosts roaming around I should look out for?"

“I guess you could say that," Mrs. Shin said with a cryptic smile. “Of course, ghosts aren’t the only lost souls lingering up there.”

YN took another sip from her cup and tried to focus on Mrs. Shin’s face. The edges of her vision blurred slightly, and she felt a growing fog settling in her mind. "So… what-» Her words felt thick, her tongue growing sluggish.

YN's head began to feel heavy, her thoughts muddled as if fog was rolling through her mind.

Mrs. Shin tilted her head ever so slightly. "You’re looking a little pale, dear," Mrs. Shin remarked in a gentle tone that carried a steely undertone.

YN tried to focus, but the woman’s face seemed to blur and swim out of focus. She felt a strange heat rising through her chest and head and opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come out right. Her hands felt strangely detached from her body, her fingers tingling as she gripped the edge of the table. "W-what the fu-"

"I said we wouldn’t poison you," Mrs. Shin interrupted calmly, her words echoing through YN’s brain like a distant lullaby. "Not that we wouldn't- temper your spirit."

YN glanced down to the bottom of her teacup, her hand trembling. It was then she noticed a faint residue, something she hadn't seen when she first started sipping.

"Son of a bitch," YN muttered, her voice fading as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision.

Mrs. Shin’s tender voice echoed through her mind just as everything went black.

"Sleep tight, little dove."

--

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters!

Chapter 4

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

[petorahs]

because i will protect him.

Persona 3 FES/Portable/Movie/Reload: Closing Thoughts.

When I first experienced Persona 3’s story last year, it was at a time that I was beginning to figure out my life. It broke down my walls and seized me by the heart, but it cradled it lovingly as well. It reaffirmed all the personal philosophies I held at the time - in other words, my values.

Going into it I only had a vague idea on what to expect. I’ve only recently played Persona 5 Royal the same February before that, so I knew instead of its themes of ‘rebellion’ it would be themed around ‘death’. Instead of fallen ‘stars’ like in P5, P3 would be based around the ‘moon’ and all its phases. What also convinced me to play P3 so soon after just finishing P5 was its main character- Makoto Yuki. He was voiced by Akira Ishida in the japanese version which I immediately caught on to… I had to see it for myself since I was in an Ishida phase at the time (lmao). I expected to love him as far as liking silent protagonists/player avatars would go.

What I didn’t expect, however, was how deeply I latched onto the characters and main character in particular. I think it’s the way the friendships are a bit complicated and none of SEES really like eachother at first but learn to care and help despite that. It’s the way its messages are written in a clear thesis. I’ve written about them before, but it’s the way the only thing Death ever yearned for is life. That life and death can’t exist without the other. It has life palpable everywhere in the game. 

And Makoto Yuki. It’s the way that Makoto Yuki symbolizes the apathy one experiences in life but learns to find so many things worth living for anyway. I wouldn’t say I related to him because I’ve always enjoyed life while he was content to throw it away, so it’s another thing: Pure unbridled affection. To me, he’s someone I would devote myself to. To me, he reminds me of my little brother a lot. Shy, introverted, deadpan. To me, he’s every beautiful thing in this world. He’s like the moon, pretty and distant. Deep and emotional. He’s also like sakura blossoms. Transient. But still, so, so beautiful and precious. He represents a life worth protecting no matter what.

It’s in Aigis. Someone who echoes my sentiments with Makoto so perfectly - I didn’t understand anything about life and thought it was all about being “optimal” and that it can be replicated, replaced, redone. But I know now that it’s so precious; that life is so precious. I never found Aigis latching Makoto to be out of place or particularly fanservicey. To me, it’s like a natural progression of both of their character arcs. She didn’t have anyone in her life before. As someone who struggles making deep relationships out of my own nature/how I was built, I understood it. She delivers one of my most favorite lines in media ever, that “philosophy” I held so dear - "You don't have to save the world to find meaning in life... Sometimes all you need is something simple, like someone to take care of.”

And that’s literally it to me. There is no grand meaning behind it all. What matters to me is to hang out with my friends and family and be the kindest I can be to them. I want to be a light in their life, however small - kinda like how Makoto was to Aigis and all his other friends. I, too, would spend my whole life by his side just to follow in those footsteps. It’s pure and beautiful. An actual bond,

But then he dies. 

The thing about Persona 3 is that it never once romanticized death to me. Them shooting themselves in the head represents resolve, yes, but it’s always but gratuitous and framed in an unhinged way. Nyx Avatar, the final boss and actual symbol of Death in the game, has the face of a nightmare that made my heart drop when I first saw her. It knows that death is scary to everyone, so it represents that well. But it was clear what exactly it wanted to portray to its players: that despite death being scary, it’s not something to be feared. It can be peaceful, so long as you remember to live your life to the fullest. To quote my own post, “the meaning of life is hanging out with your friends on a mundane, sunny day during a graduation ceremony”. 

But that doesn’t stop the grief.

I can’t explain what it’s like to see my favorite character’s corpse rotting in real time. It’s actually horrifying. But the thing is - it wasn’t done without purpose. I accepted it, just like how I accepted everything about “The Answer” or, “Aigis’ Story” in JP. 

I quite literally put myself in the shoes of the one character who mirrored my own sentiments so clearly as she fought with the grief of losing the one person she swore to protect as he died in her lap. I was kinda crying the entire time. It’s so fucking real to me. The way that she reverted back to her “robotic state” but it was literally just her numbing herself to the pain. The way that Yukari had to escape by acting indifferent. The way that Junpei tries to act upbeat for everyone’s sake. Mitsuru’s quiet grief. Akihiko's respect. Ken and Koromaru's silent strength. But most of all, Aigis… and the way she’s so lost and confused. 

I lost so many family members in the recent years prior to playing P3. It’s never easy. Playing The Answer especially (and all of P3) put it all into perspective. I don’t know how, but all of these elements and plot beats in the game represented my feelings so perfectly.

Seeing its remake announced in June was actually serendipitous. I basically got to relive it quite recently. A year’s worth of nostalgia is still nostalgia. I loved a lot of the changes, and hated some others. 

But every time I experience Persona 3’s ending, I end up crying though. Unfailingly. And I’ve experienced it many times by now. Every time I think I’ve “gotten over it” I literally do not. Prior to P3 the only media that started making me cry was The Good Place’s ending. 

I think Reload’s was the worst. What they did with player proxy death in this one felt way more insanely real I think. Or Maybe it’s the sea. How Ryoji says in FeMC’s route and in Reload to Makoto how “the water is going on a journey, too. It must be having fun”, “The waters all converge to its source, like us.” Maybe it’s how the sea and moon are so intimately connected. Just like how life and death are. Maybe it’s the way that even nihilism represented by Strega isn’t actually wrong as framed by Reload, it’s just not the message this time around in this game. Or maybe it’s hearing the voices of everyone (social links) who loved him and was touched positively by him also echoing my thoughts. Maybe it’s the way that the ending felt way more personal when you choose to not romance any of SEES, especially Aigis. That platonic love goes beyond any of that and makes every act of devotion and speech about bonds feel actually real (despite how cheesy it seems!). 

All I can think about after playing it every time is that I will love the people in my life so, so hard from now on. So much that they wonder why. For a game about death, it sure does make me live my life more fully. 

It’s just… real. This game and all its themes was perfectly concocted. The moon, the sea, spring, rebirth, and the sakura blossoms. And you. It’s all so precious and beautiful. I want to remember and protect it, always. I want to live for it all.

[otomiyaa]

Ittorou Miss Hina fic reupload? 🥺

Ms. Hina's Advice

Gorou x Itto

[Fic Reupload] - There you go! At least, I hope you mean this one because I think I remember writing another fic with Ittorou ft. Ms. Hina ^^ But this one seemed to be the obvious choice! (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.7K

Making his way downtown, walking fast, walking faster ー Gorou did not know how much faster he should walk, but it was already too late. Of course his tail was hard to miss, as were his ears. And of course Itto would already spot him from that far, with crowds between them.

“GOROUUUU!” 

Gorou could hear the loud familiar voice call out behind him, followed by a sea of apologies, soft and subtle “Sorry! Coming through!” as Itto pushed his huge body past many people to reach Gorou.

Ah, great. There he was again. For some reason, lately it was always like this. Did Itto find this magical way to track him everywhere he went? Gorou had a hard time handling Itto’s energy, but above all, there was one other reason why he didn’t like hanging out with him.

“Gorou, stop walking so fast! Ms. Hina says it is bad to rush and you should slow down for a more peaceful set of mind!”

THAT. Gorou could feel his cheeks heat up and he cringed so badly at his very own words. Damn Yae Miko. Damn her and the Ms. Hina thing. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he landed his unfortunate butt into Yae Publishing House business, it brought the non-existent Ms. Hina character to life and brought him his personal biggest fan as a bonus: Arataki Itto.

Not that Itto realized Gorou was actually the writer behind those advices, which was something Gorou would never admit to him either. After having mentioned that Gorou did look like Ms. Hina -- which sparked their meeting in the first place, Itto seemed to be more keen about bothering Gorou with the very own advices he had written.

Gorou groaned. "I'm not rushing, I am just busy.” 

“It's also not good to just be too busy all the time! You should take a break, I can join you!” Itto said, chasing after him for absolutely no reason at all.

“No! No need,” Gorou said. Still, somehow he did end up taking a break with Itto by his side, after failing to shrug him off even as he exited the city. The two of them sat on the beach near the water, and he sighed, accepting the lollipop that Itto had fetched on their way, and he tasted it. Hm. Not bad.

“Heh! Feels nice to take a break, doesn’t it?” Itto sighed. Gorou rolled his eyes.

“Just why are you following me around anyway?” he asked, enjoying the lollipop. Itto looked at him and shrugged.

“I don’t know. You’re nice company! I like you,” Itto said bluntly, causing Gorou to almost choke, and he coughed softly. 

“I see... I see,” he muttered shyly, wondering why those silly words made him feel like this. Itto chuckled and sucked on his lollipop, looking dreamily ahead of him. 

“I know you said you don’t know her, but I can’t stop thinking about Ms. Hina and the words she wrote to me. Ever since I started writing to That’s Life, and heard her words of advice and encouragement, I’ve become a better man,” he said, chomping off the final bits of his lollipop. 

Gorou wanted to groan. Why again Ms. Hina talk! This had to be his curse for fooling people like this with a false persona, a curse directed at the wrong person because this wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for Yae Miko!

It all started with her forcing him into this situation, where under the alias of Ms. Hina - an alias that was not even created with his approval, he would run a column for her popular magazine, in which he would offer advice and support to readers, helping them in their times of need.

How could he have known the columns would gain so much popularity, and attract so many fans? With gang leader Arataki Itto being his biggest fan? Gorou could. not. believe. it. And he was already thankful that Itto did not seem to suspect anything about his identity, but it seemed that there were other ways to be punished and tortured, such as Itto following him around and reciting every bit of advice Gorou himself had written for him. Talk about embarrassing.

“What are you frowning for? Hey, cheer up! Today is a sunny day!” Itto said, suddenly poking Gorou’s side, making him shriek like a cat whose tail got stepped on. 

“Ho! Ticklish? Heehee, Sorry. Oh but that’s good! Ms. Hina also says you should laugh out loud at least once a day! I am ticklish too, we can make each other laugh! I can go first?” Itto said, spreading his arms. Gorou was too busy being flustered though, bending forward and hugging his tail defensively.

“I’m not ticklish, and I don’t wanna lau-GHhAHhahah!” he giggled when he could feel how thick fingers started to poke his sides. 

“Oh alright then. I don’t mind if you want to go first! Laughing is healthy. Even if there’s nothing to laugh about, it’s good to let it all go,” Itto lectured, and suddenly he was all over Gorou, his fingers wiggling against his sides. Worst of all was that Gorou remembered writing all these exact same words. This really was his way of getting cursed! 

“Pfffahahah! Hehehey!” Gorou laughed, and he tried to jump away in surprise, but Itto held him tightly and pinned him down in the sand. 

“Theeeere is that laugh! This is nice. Ticklish people are made to get tickled,” Itto said matter-of-factly. 

“You’re crahahahazehehe-aahahha!” 

Gorou couldn’t remember the last time he got tickled like this, but definitely didn’t remember it could make him cackle and snort like he was doing right now. His own lollipop lay miserably to the side where he had dropped it in the sand, and he still had his arms wrapped around his middle which was his automatic reflex that did not help him at all.

“Heehehehee Ittahaha! Waha-wai-wahahait!” He kicked his legs and shook his head hysterically, and he howled when Itto started to pull at his arms, trying to uncover his tummy.

“Plehehease not thehehere!” Gorou giggled. Itto had only tickled his sides so far and he did not want to know what it was going to be like if his tummy would get the same treatment. Itto was too excited though, and he continued to try to pry Gorou’s arms away.

“Just for a little! I promise that after I’m done, you can tickle me!” It did not make things better, but Gorou’s strength failed him too as Itto finally managed to break through his barrier to tickle his stomach. The ticklishness he felt was absolutely insane, and truly he couldn’t remember ever laughing this loud.

“AHahah! Hahahang on nahahaah! Wahahah!” His hands desperately chased after Itto’s fingers, but the ticklish shocks surged through his body and in the end all he could do was laugh. 

“Whew! That was so cute,” Itto said when he finally lifted his wiggly fingers off Gorou’s shuddering body. Gasping for breath, Gorou clutched his chest and couldn’t help but still giggle.

“Y-you’re ー uneblievable,” he panted.

Itto took it as a compliment and said, “I know right? Feels good right? You know, you actually have Ms. Hina to thank for this. She is right. It’s good to laugh everyday, so even if nothing funny is happening, it can be done through tickling. We are blessed to be ticklish, it is a like a gift from the Archons,” Itto said. Gorou blushed and clutched his chest tighter, trying to calm down his racing heart. 

“Well? Are you not going to tickle me?” Itto said, spreading his arms. Gorou blushed. How was he supposed to...? All his eyes could focus on was that bare skin he was too shy to touch. 

“I surely can’t tickle myself,” Itto said impatiently. Gorou knew that. He shyly reached out and started to poke Itto’s lower side.

“Heehee!” That was fast. Gorou hesitated and looked at Itto who was smiling like an idiot.

“Do it again,” Itto encouraged. Gorou rolled his eyes and started to tickle him with more determination. It was hilarious how Itto flopped back, laughing like a child. 

“That tihihihickleeees!” It felt as if he was exaggerating, but the moment Gorou started to feel less shy and actually dared to climb on top of him so he could attack him with fierce tickles as a payback for all that nonsense, it sounded absolutely genuine. Itto was indeed very ticklish.

“Hahahahaha! Ohohoho feheheels gohoood to lahahaugh!” Fortunately no one was out fishing today or hanging around at the same place, because it must’ve been the strangest sight.

“Yeah? Ready to give up yet?” Gorou asked, wishing to tickle Itto at least until he would surrender, but seemed like this ridiculous oni had no such plans. He shook his head and laughed freely.

 “Keeeheheeep goiihihing!” he laughed. Gorou couldn’t believe it when in the end, he was the first one to stop the tickle attack, he was too flustered to continue. Luckily Itto didn’t persuade him to tickle him further, and he rolled onto his side and watched him with a smile.

“Thank you, Ms. Hina,” he sighed with a smile. Gorou blushed and gasped. “Wha?!” he yelped. 

Itto shook his head. “I was just feeling thankful towards Ms. Hina. Thanks to her advice, I got to have this tickle fight with you. Who would’ve thought? It’s crazy,” Itto said dreamily. 

It was indeed crazy, Gorou thought.

“So, tomorrow again?” Itto suggested. Gorou frowned, but Itto continued: “Like Ms. Hina said, laughter is good for you at least once a day. I think this is my favorite way to laugh. Just a good old tickle fight, and I can do it to you as well,” Itto said, poking Gorou’s side and making him squeak.

“J-just... no! Ms. Hina is wrong,” Gorou protested with a blush on his face, but this earned him to have a vengeful oni pounce on him.

“Whaaat did you say?!” Itto roared as he started tickling Gorou again. 

“NAhaahah I sahahaid she’s wrohohong! GAahahah!” And thus continued Gorou’s apparent mission to dig his own grave. 

Then again, something inside him told him he didn’t mind that much to spend so much time with Itto, and now that he seemed to have this new mission to include lots of laughter in their meetings, he couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy. 

Maybe his advice ー er, Ms. Hina’s advice wasn’t so bad after all. He smiled. Indeed, in the end he really had himself to thank for this... Himself, a wicked fox, and an oblivious, crazy and adorable oni... Eh, did Gorou just think that? No. No he didn't. He would never.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

I'm so full. I'm so happy. This is everything that I wanted for the tannies. It's so amazing. Never mind its 144p and I'm still learning the lyrics. I had such a blast! Jimin was so cute. Yoongi was so funny and cute and sexy and awesome and just,,, just,,, JUST!!! Couldn't stop grinning while watching their wlive and burst out laughing as Yoongi ended it so abruptly. lol Love you, Yoongi. Love them. Who's doing it like them? Have you seen the Tiffany crowd? Have you seen the concert crowd?!!?

***

It’s a different sort of high being a fan of BTS, isn’t it?

It’s a different sort of joy seeing them be their remarkable, awe-inspiring and goofy selves. It’s so beautiful to see the love they so clearly have for each other. It feels a little too intimate sometimes, and in my experience, this is a feeling that’s unique to BTS. This group is very special. What they’ve got feels genuine because it is.

Jimin was vibing hard. Yoongi’s performance felt electric from start to finish. They spent time together, [*]riding to the venue and leaving afterwards. Its clear as day that Yoongi is happy Jimin is with him, and Jimin wears the respect and love for his hyung on his face. It’s just so easy with them.

And can I just mention Yoongi’s energy during tonight’s concert?

The way he attacked HUH?!

AGUST D???

Christ.

It’s like he gets stronger, wilder, every concert… lol, like I suspected, he’s already a bit too good at this. I’m gonna need him to calm down before the Cali dates. And now that we know we’re getting Tony Montana at a future date, I think we’re all going to really learn to pace ourselves. This could get crazy before long.

Because we’re only three days in and I’m already hanging on by a thread.

What he’s doing to me with these performances cannot be written on the internet.

He fucks me up so bad y’all.

Let me go on a short tangent here:

STD is an acronym that’s known in Korea to mean what you think it means. Everybody knows it. Language isn’t a barrier in this case. When people in Korea hear “STD”? They know what it’s referring to.

Now, what do you think about the way Yoongi introduced his alternate persona: AGUST D in 2016? The way he enunciates that phrase is sickening and intentional. The very mention of his name in the mouths of his detractors is a sickness they get from him fucking them. Or ‘fat dicking’ them, to quote Yoongi. And on that song he spits one of the sickest bars of his entire career. You’re guaranteed to be fucked just by hearing it. I mean just in his name there’s already triple entendres.

It’s mad.

Yoongi has a very peculiar energy. It’s very catlike, but also serpentine and there’s an undercurrent of barely restrained lunacy deep beneath the surface. Hobi is actually more crude than Yoongi in speech and flow, but Yoongi can be so cruel. And that quality, one he doesn’t shy from turning on himself too, coupled with his pragmatic and caustic delivery… lord. He sets himself apart from every other artist alive. Nobody in BTS cuts to the bullshit faster than Yoongi - he’s lived through the consequences of deluding yourself that you’re okay when you’re not. He’s a man who is constantly examining himself, checking his worst tendencies, but never compromising on what he truly believes.

Ugh.

Times like tonight, I look at BTS and feel so much calm. They are so competent, and I’m certain whatever they make, it will be very good. Yoongi has proven that so far with this tour. Yoongi’s D-DAY concert tour is easily the best solo concerts I’ve been to this decade, and I haven’t even attended one yet. But it’s easily the best one. Easily. And I’ve been to a lot (actually been to them), especially in the last 12 months.

That crowd Jimin pulled for the Tiffany’s event is no joke. We’re now at the point where Western celerities know they’re not the main popularity driver if Jimin is also involved. They know the crowds are there for Jimin. And when he eventually showed up, he looked magnificent. Elegant. Polished. Understated. One of these days I want to see Jimin bejewelled and dressed in all primary colours - something more vibrant and queer. But that Tiffany’s event went for traditional and understated and that’s okay. It worked, because Jimin can work anything.

**

Edit [*]: Typo correction. Should include "after", meaning after arriving at and leaving the concert, Yoongi and Jimin spent time together. They arrived separately and left together, spent time together also before and after.