#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.

[xoxorealitygalore]

Trust and Believe

Trust and believe me

You're gonna need me

Trust and believe me

She'll never be me

Authors note: I’m nervous as hell! This is my first time writing…well I mean publishing one of the many stories that I’ve written in my Google docs on here. This is one of my goals for 2025. So let’s see how it works out for me. Enjoy.

summary: Keyshia and Joe had a seemingly perfect life together after marrying in 2010. However, as their careers grew, so did the strain on their relationship. When Joe cheats on Keyshia. The emotional fallout from the incident leaves their relationship hanging in the balance, with Keyshia questioning if they could ever recover from the betrayal.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE

KEYSHIA ANOA’I

ARRESTED FOR ASSAULTING WOMAN

In Roman Reigns's Penthouse

Keyshia Anoa’i spent a not-so-pleasant Monday morning in jail ... after allegedly assaulting a woman who apparently spent the night with Keyshia's husband WWE wrestler Roman Reigns.

Keyshia showed up at the swanky penthouse building in Miami at around 5 AM. We're told she came to Miami to surprise her husband after being on tour for two months.

Our sources say ... she got into the penthouse and she saw another woman and went nuts.

We're told Keyshia attacked her ... leaving scratches and knots all over her face. Cops were called ... and Keyshia was arrested for battery.

She was just released on $46,000 bail, which her husband paid.

We called Reigns and Keyshia's reps ... so far no comment.

Keyshia Anoa'i, a soulful R&B singer with a string of chart-topping hits, had always prided herself on her relationship with Joe Anoa'i, better known to the world as WWE wrestler Roman Reigns. Since their marriage in 2010, they had built a life together—one that, from the outside, appeared perfect. On the surface, they were the picture of success and love, navigating the pressures of their high-profile careers while raising a family. But as the years went by, the cracks in their relationship began to show. The more their careers flourished, the more the distance between them seemed to grow.

Joe’s career as Roman Reigns had skyrocketed. His fame and schedule with WWE meant long stretches of time on the road, and his larger-than-life persona brought both admiration and envy from fans and fellow wrestlers alike. Keyshia, on the other hand, had continued her journey as a chart-topping artist. Touring, recording, and engaging with her fans had become a huge part of her life, but it also meant being away from Joe for extended periods.

The couple's physical separation, driven by the demands of their respective careers, slowly became emotional as well. What started as occasional misunderstandings soon evolved into deeper issues. Trust, communication, and intimacy—key components of any relationship—were fraying at the edges. Joe’s long absences and late-night workouts at the gym were often coupled with his refusal to share much about his personal life. He bought a penthouse in Miami without consulting Keyshia first, something that, in hindsight, symbolized the growing distance between them. He would justify it as his need for space, a private place to unwind after a grueling schedule. Keyshia didn’t think much of it at first, but deep down, it only served to fuel the quiet fire of suspicion she had begun to feel.

Over time, those suspicions grew. Keyshia had always trusted Joe, but there was something about his behavior that began to feel off. His late nights, his constant phone calls, and his cryptic responses when asked about his time away made her wonder if there was something more going on. It was the kind of feeling that gnawed at her insides—a woman's intuition that something wasn’t right. She had asked him about it a few times, but each time, Joe brushed her off, assuring her there was nothing to worry about. But Keyshia’s gut told her otherwise.

On the night in question, Keyshia had just finished her twentieth show as a part of her five-month tour, Trust and Believe Tour, and decided to surprise Joe at his Miami penthouse. She was exhausted, but her mind was consumed with thoughts of reconnecting with her husband, of finding a sense of closeness that had been missing for so long. She’d gotten a few days off and felt it was the perfect opportunity to show him how much she still cared. However, what she didn’t know was that Joe had been keeping secrets—secrets that would soon be laid bare in a shocking way.

Keyshia arrived at the penthouse, a place she had visited only occasionally over the years. She felt a flutter of excitement as she stepped out of the car and walked toward the building. She imagined the surprise on Joe’s face when he opened the door to see her. Perhaps they would have a romantic evening, catch up on lost time, and rebuild the emotional connection they had once shared. But as she approached the door and inserted the key card, everything changed in an instant.

Keyshia stepped into the penthouse and froze. The sight before her took the breath right out of her chest. There, in the living room, was Joe—her husband—sitting on the couch with another woman. The woman was leaning into him, and Joe appeared to be speaking to her in a way that was far too intimate for a simple friendship. The woman’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Keyshia, and Keyshia’s heart dropped. The floor beneath her seemed to disappear, and all at once, years of confusion, pain, and suspicion crashed down on her.

Her first instinct was to confront Joe, but the anger that surged within her was overwhelming. She felt her fists clench at her sides, and before she could think, she marched toward the woman and pushed her away from Joe. In the heat of the moment, words failed her, and all she could do was physically lash out. She slapped the woman’s face, threw punches, and clawed at her in a fit of rage. The betrayal, the hurt, the disbelief—all of it culminated in an uncontrollable outburst. Keyshia wasn’t thinking about the consequences; she was thinking only about the woman sitting with her husband, a woman who had crossed a line that Keyshia had never expected.

The woman screamed in surprise and tried to back away, but Keyshia was relentless, shoving her toward the door, her hands swiping and scratching. "Stay the fuck away from my man," Keyshia spat, her voice dripping with venom. "I better not evee catch you around my husbans again! Slut bucket!"

In the chaos, Joe stood up, trying to intervene, his voice raised in an attempt to calm the situation. But the damage had already been done. A neighbor heard the commotion and called the police, who arrived shortly afterward to find Keyshia still at the scene, her emotions running wild. The officers quickly subdued her, arresting her for misdemeanor battery. The police report would later note that Keyshia had struck the woman multiple times and caused visible scratches on her face. As the cuffs were placed on her wrists, Keyshia’s mind was a swirl of emotions—confusion, anger, and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the sight of Joe with another woman that cut her so deeply, but the years of tension that had been building up between them. This, she realized, was the breaking point.

At the police station, Keyshia was left alone in a holding cell for what felt like an eternity. The time felt like a blur, and every second she spent behind those bars was another moment for her emotions to spiral. She had always been known for her composed and graceful persona in the public eye, but here she was—gripped by raw emotion, fighting to make sense of the man she had married, the man who had been her partner for over a decade. Joe had always been her rock, her protector. But in that moment, he had shattered her trust in a way that felt irreparable.

Hours later, Joe arrived at the police station to bail her out. He appeared tired, his usually sharp features softened by concern and frustration. His presence was both comforting and maddening. He had been the one to create this mess, yet now he was here, trying to smooth things over as though nothing had happened. When Keyshia saw him, her anger flared up once more, but she fought to control it. She had no idea what she was supposed to feel at that moment—anger at Joe, at the woman, at herself—or a combination of all of it.

"Keyshia, you can’t keep doing this," Joe said softly, his voice strained as they walked out of the police department together.

"You’re telling me what to do? You’re the one cheating while I’m on tour, Joe!" Keyshia snapped, getting right up in his face. Her voice was trembling, but it was also fierce. Every word she spoke was filled with pain. How could he do this to her? To their family? She had trusted him, loved him, and this was how he repaid her?

Joe sighed, his frustration evident. "Chill, we ain’t even leave the police department yet."

Keyshia’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again. She wanted to scream, to hit him, but instead, she just exhaled deeply, the fight leaving her body as quickly as it had come. She felt drained, emotionally and physically. She had never imagined that their love story would end up like this, not in a million years.

The drive back to Joe’s penthouse was silent, filled only with the sound of the engine humming in the background. Keyshia stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts, while Joe kept his eyes on the road. There was no quick fix for what had happened, no simple apology that could erase the betrayal Keyshia had felt. But as the minutes passed, she couldn’t help but wonder: Could they find their way back from this? Was there still hope for them? Or had the damage been done beyond repair?

For Keyshia, the road ahead was uncertain. The life she had built with Joe, a life she had once believed in so fully, now felt like a house of cards, teetering on the edge of collapse. Would they find a way to rebuild, or would this be the end of their story? Only time would tell.

[paroslineage]

Say You Love Me Too

Oneshot

Featuring : Yoon Eun-seong x F!Reader.

Summary : He was crazy about you, but what he didn't knew was that you were equally infatuated with him.

The characters do not belong to me except the reader. This is an original plot idea do not steal or modify the scenario created down below.

Masterlist.

Yoon Eun-seong’s obsession with you begins subtly, his intense eyes lingering on you longer than they should. At first, he uses his wealth and influence to orchestrate seemingly coincidental encounters—bumping into you at high-end boutiques, exclusive events, or even at your favorite café. Each meeting is marked by his charming demeanor and carefully chosen words that seem harmless yet cling to your mind.

One day, you find an intricately wrapped gift at your doorstep—a limited-edition necklace, far beyond anything you could afford, with a note written in his elegant handwriting:

"You deserve nothing but the best. Y.E.S."

The obsession deepens when he begins orchestrating ways to isolate you from others. You notice your friends receiving lucrative job offers abroad, your phone calls interrupted by anonymous interference, and your routine subtly altered. Eun-seong’s presence becomes inescapable—he's always nearby, whether it's sending flowers to your workplace or showing up at places you’ve mentioned in passing.

The turning point comes when he invites you to his penthouse, under the guise of discussing a potential business opportunity. The setting is breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the city skyline, but his words send a chill down your spine.

“I’ve built an empire,” he says, his voice low and steady, “but it feels empty without you. Everything I’ve done, every step I’ve taken, has been for you.”

Despite your hesitation, his obsession only grows. He’s relentless in his pursuit, willing to manipulate the world around you to ensure you have no choice but to be near him. It’s a dangerous, intoxicating blend of affection and control, leaving you trapped in a game of his making, where every move leads you closer to him—or to a decision that could change your life forever.

Eun-seong freezes as you approach, the sound of your heels echoing in the quiet room, each step commanding his undivided attention. His usually composed demeanor falters when your delicate hands cup his cheeks, your touch soft but electrifying.

His eyes widen slightly, the intensity of his gaze locking onto yours. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe, caught off guard by the intimacy of your gesture.

“You…” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions—curiosity, frustration, and perhaps a hint of understanding. “Why do you do all this for me?”

Eun-seong’s hands instinctively rise to cover yours, his fingers trembling as they hold onto you like you’re his lifeline. His lips part, but words escape him for a second, his mind scrambling to find the right response.

“Because I can’t stop,” he admits in a low, unsteady voice. “You’re all I think about. Every moment, every breath—it all revolves around you.”

You can feel the warmth of his cheeks beneath your palms, the vulnerability in his expression breaking through the layers of his cold, calculating persona. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this—utterly bare, stripped of pretense.

“Tell me,” you say, leaning in just slightly, your eyes never leaving his. “What happens if I walk away?”

His grip tightens ever so slightly, a flicker of desperation crossing his face. “You won’t,” he says softly but firmly, as if willing it to be true. “Because I’ll give you no reason to.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and obsession, leaving you standing at the precipice of a choice you’re not sure you’re ready to make.

Eun-seong's breath hitches as you suddenly cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. His body stiffens for a moment, unprepared for the vulnerability in your touch, but then he melts into the embrace. His strong arms circle around you protectively, holding you close as if afraid you might slip away.

“I just…” Your voice trembles, muffled against his chest. “I want to be loved. Truly, completely.”

His hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with surprising tenderness. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your cheek, proof that you’ve pierced through the polished façade he always wears.

“You are,” he whispers, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “You are loved. By me.”

He tilts his head down, resting his cheek against your hair. “I’ve never loved anyone like this. It consumes me, keeps me awake at night. You’re the only thing that matters.”

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you tighten your grip, burying your face in the warmth of his chest. In this moment, it doesn’t matter if his obsession is overwhelming or if his world is far too complicated. All you can feel is the fierce, unwavering devotion in the way he holds you, as if you’re the most precious thing in his universe.

“You’ll stay, won’t you?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both hope and fear. “Tell me you’ll stay.”

And for now, wrapped in the intensity of his love, you can’t bring yourself to say anything else but, “I will.”

Eun-seong’s breath catches as you tilt your head back, your lovesick eyes locking onto his. There’s a wild, unrestrained intensity in your gaze, a fervor that sends a shiver through him. For a moment, he’s utterly transfixed, caught between awe and disbelief.

“You wanted me,” you whisper, your voice low and trembling with emotion. “And now you have me. Every part of me, Eun-seong. Even the parts that no one else dares to see.”

Your lips curve into a faint, almost unhinged smile as you step closer, pressing your body against his. Your hands slide from his cheeks to his chest, your fingers clutching the fabric of his suit like you’re afraid he might vanish.

“I don’t care if it’s obsession,” you continue, your voice rising slightly, filled with both desperation and determination. “I don’t care if it’s madness. As long as it’s you—only you—I’ll take it all. Because I love you, Eun-seong. I love you so much it drives me insane.”

His hands grip your waist, his hold firm but trembling, as though he’s overwhelmed by the force of your confession. There’s a flicker of something primal in his gaze, his usual calm exterior breaking under the sheer intensity of your words.

“You’re crazy,” he murmurs, but there’s no malice in his tone—only a dark, twisted admiration. “And maybe that’s why I can’t stop. Because you’re the only one who matches my madness.”

He leans down, his forehead pressing against yours, his lips hovering just inches away. “You belong to me now,” he whispers, his voice low and possessive. “And I’ll make sure nothing—no one—takes you away from me.”

The two of you stand there, lost in a whirlwind of mutual obsession, your love a dangerous, all-consuming fire that neither of you can—or want to—extinguish.

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

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.

[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

[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.

[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

[shieldmaidencreative]

Call No Man A Hero While He Still Breathes

Yesterday, Vulture released a very well-written, and very damning, article about Neil Gaiman. I highly recommend you read it, though it has terribly disturbing information. If you aren’t aware, Neil Gaiman is an extremely popular fiction author; some of his works of note are Good Omens and the comic book Sandman, both of which have active series on Amazon and Netflix respectively. He’s known for his stories with darker worlds and tones, worlds where danger is very real and spares no one (many of his stories are written, or partially written, from the perspective of children having to confront a terrifying world). His stories are unique, empathetic, and well-written. He’s been considered a genre leader for years.

The article went into allegations that have come out in the last year of sexual assault and abuse. It started with a podcast that interviewed his accusers, and then other articles and podcasts followed. Of particular note was Gaiman’s silence when the allegations where first made, and then his responses of regret…not, one will note, of denial.

In the literary world, the fall of this leviathan has been particularly shocking because of the lack of allegations previously despite an active career since the eighties (though the allegations do reach back that far), and the fact that Gaiman has claimed to be a feminist, and is known for championing women.

Unfortunately, as any female can avow, it’s not just men who have “creep” tattooed on their foreheads who are dangerous. And it would appear Gaiman is just one of the millions of “wolves in sheep’s clothing” that prey on women in this world. I fully believe the accounts of the women, and find them absolutely horrific. He clearly uses his power and wealth to find women he can manipulate and hurt, and does so with apparent abandon.

I don’t want to get into the details here too much, but some high level overview includes:

Cheating on both of his wives, despite the second marriage even being open

Regularly finding extremely young fans at events and coercing them into sexual situations. This in itself doesn’t seem to bad on the surface, until you read about the type of sexual encounters that Neil seems to thrive on: Extremely sadistic sex without consent or safeguards, especially with those not used to a BDSM lifestyle. If you use sadism without constraints or consent, that is just abuse.

Abusing his positions of power to keep women in financial trouble in positions of weakness to be easily exploited (two of the women had agreements of employment with him, that he then ignored and abused, and willingly exploited their fears of him taking away their homes if they didn’t comply with painful sex that they said they did not want)

Fostering a self-deprecating and “safe” persona for women, which was a front to prey on them behind closed doors.

Committing abusive sexual acts to woman IN FRONT OF HIS CHILD, who was awake and aware. Ugh.

And that’s just the surface. To be clear, there’s one discussion to be had about consenting adults in positions of different power and what they want (for example, an older and wealthier famous person being with a very young and broke not famous person). But that isn’t the discussion appropriate for this situation. Specifically at play here is the abuse, and the fact that Gaiman essentially copped to it all by saying he had “regrets about his conduct”. But not a denial.

I’ve been a fan of Neil Gaiman’s work since the mid-nineties. I first read the Sandman comics, then bumped into Neverwhere on my school’s library shelves. I read the story of a different London and loved it. The bits of history that were referenced, the odd and quirky characters, the darkness with bits of light: I was immediately enraptured. I then read Good Omens, the apocalyptic comedy collaboration with Terry Pratchett, and got completely absorbed by American Gods when it was released a few years later. There were always uncomfortable scenes, but that was part of what drew me in. Life has dark parts that we can’t avoid or flinch away from, and I liked that Gaiman’s writing acknowledged that. Sometimes the endings were happy, sometimes neutral, sometimes…dark. And that reflected life to me, with a bit more magic and mystery thrown in. I don’t buy the idea that some are touting now, that we should have seen this all coming because he had dark scenes in his books. Artists are capable of projecting darkness without acting on it, I always have and will believe that. Unfortunately, some of them DO. And, Gaiman is apparently one of them.

As a woman, this whole situation is so frustrating to me. I’m no stranger to people that I look up to letting me down. By your forties, that’s happened a lot to everyone. There have been so many falls from grace. But the fact that Gaiman had made it through my entire adulthood unscathed, had given me a sense of relative ease to his behavior (although I’ve been a part of this world too long to ever completely believe that any rich, powerful, famous man is incapable of terrible things). I’ve met him at a book signing in Chicago when I was in college. He was kind and warm to me, and flirted lightly about my unique name. I took my signed book and went home, feeling good about the whole thing.

Now, in this case I’m seeing most people believe the women, but I do still see some of that doubt that comes out every time a woman accuses a famous and successful man of horrible things. It amazes me that so many seem to think there is some huge advantage for a woman to accuse a man of sexual assault. The conviction rates are incredibly low: less than 4% in the United States. There’s only a 50% chance that there will even be an arrest. And according to the National Sexual Violence Resource Center, somewhere between 2 and 10% of sexual assault claims are false. Here are more statistics from RAINN, and here from the National Sexual Violence Research Center. The public loves to side with the accused (I think I hear more about “Let’s wait to see if they get convicted, innocent until proven guilty” far more regarding sexual assault than I do for other crimes), despite the overwhelming odds that A: The guilty will be proven innocent statistically and B: The odds are overwhelming that the accuser is speaking the truth. It’s no wonder that most sexual assaults go unreported. The accuser will likely be doxxed, her name dragged through the mud, she will be labeled and disbelieved and, the added bonus now: Relentlessly bullied online for being a female who has accused a man of doing what terrible men have done throughout history.

Like all women, I have had my fair share of terrible, unwanted sexual and sexist encounters. There was the government boss who had a one on one meeting with me to discuss “the future direction of my project”. The project was classified so he asked me to close the door. When I closed and turned around, he was standing right there, and tried to corner me and kiss me. I was able to dodge him and leave the room. YES, that really happened. This was a charismatic man who was liked and didn’t seem sexist. He was married. I didn’t report it, because historically at the agency I worked at, reports of harassment were statistically overwhelmingly likely to end in the accuser being fired, the accused having no repercussions, and the accused’s name would be drug through the mud. I had bills to pay, so I just made sure to never be in a room alone with him again.

There was the team lead who intentionally wanted me to spend days doing high-powered radio frequency testing when I was pregnant. This would involve being a few feet away from the sorts of radar and radio devices used on aircraft carriers for hours every day. I said no, it would be too dangerous and could hurt my baby. He got angry and shouted in my face about it. This is the same man who later tried multiple times to intimidate and corner me in rooms alone when he didn’t like that I stood up for myself. I went to HR (never do that, kids), and they sided with him. I ended up leaving the entire project, which I loved.

Once, when walking in Chicago in the evening in winter, a random nicely dressed man started talking to me while we walked down the street near one another. He was commenting on nice restaurants in the area, and since I lived the next block over I gave him some advice. I enjoy chatting with people, and was content to just chat while we were on the same path. While waiting for a light to cross the street, he told me, “You know in this light, you remind me of my daughter.” I smiled and said thank you.

And then he grabbed my shoulders and tried to open mouthed kiss me. I shoved him away and called him a pervert, and went home and cried.

A man tried to drag me behind construction barriers when I was walking to the library when I was 19. He just grabbed me without a word from nowhere. I fought and got away.

A man who owned a comic book and gaming shop I went to as a teenager asked me if I “Was into married men” at 18. He was in his mid-forties. I’d felt safe after playing games with friends in his shop for months, and was there by myself. I laughed at him, and he said, “I’m serious.” I said, “Absolutely not, no thank you.” And left.

Honestly, these are the most PG stories I have of deplorable behavior. I have others, but I don’t want to share them online. I commend the women who are brave enough to do so. And every single one of these stories has a man who I’m sure has plenty of people who would say, “Oh he would never! He’s a good man. A family man/upstanding citizen/good dude/goes to church/nice guy!” And the moment those “good men” got to be alone with a woman that they thought they could treat any way they wanted, they did. Or they tried their best to.

The thing about predators is, they don’t show who they are to everyone. They don’t walk around town with a lear on their face, with a smirk and greasy hair. They don’t come across as sociopaths. They have a mask that they show to us. There are so many decent and good men out there, and the predators don’t go up to those guys and say, “Bro, if I could get that girl behind a dumpster I’d rape her, amirite?” Brock Turner, one of the more infamous rapists, who literally raped an unconscious woman behind a dumpster AND there were witnesses, got no jail sentence because the judge “didn’t want to ruin his life”. I’d argue that Brock Turner was the one who ruined his own life. But he appeared to be just a normal, preppy college student from a good family with a good future. They lurk among us, and know how to blend in and wait for the moment where they think they can get away with something. And they know the odds, and terrible to say, the world, are on their side a lot of the time.

We just elected a convicted sexual predator for President (again). As I write this, Pete Hegseth is being considered for SECDEF, despite convincing sexual assault allegations (and his own mother calling him a predator). At the moment, the public tide is turning in an anti-female wave on many levels. SCOTUS has stripped women of their body autonomy, and women have died from having miscarriages that they weren’t able to receive care for in places like Texas. Public perception and treatment of women is not at a great point. Mark Zuckerberg said he wanted “More masculine energy” at Meta last week, while Meta has a 2/3 male workforce. There’s a backlash currently in the public sphere against sexual equality. Part of that is because the more outrageous opinions get the attention, and our economy is in many ways attention-based these days. Part of it is because even the good men are tired of being painted with the “All men are bad” brush, which I think is a fair criticism. It’s absolutely true that not all men are bad; most of them are good, I do agree with that. But part of being the “good”, is making sure to call out and acknowledge the bad. And for so much of history, the “bad” have been able to act with impunity. I think maybe there was a bit of an overcompensation in recent years, where some people got so caught up in being able to finally acknowledge that they had a hammer of righteousness for the first time…and they unfortunately started to see all men as nails. We need to be careful to always recognize and support allies, and I’m not sure that it was kept in sight as much as it could have been. So now we have further tribalized again. The pendulum has swung a bit back the other way.

One of the hardest things to do is reconcile the people we think we know, with the other faces that those people don’t show us. We all do this to some degree, it’s part of living in society. I certainly don’t show the same aspect of my personality when doing a briefing at work, as I do to my children, or to my friends when discussing Star Wars or another hot button topic. But we need to remember that those masks can cover far more differences than interpretations of decorum, or what language is appropriate for current company. It can be a mask that covers horrors. And it’s our job to remember that you never truly know all parts of someone. At the same time, it’s important to remember that not ALL masks are covering monsters. Some of them are just covering regular human foibles, and that’s okay too. We need to remember that it’s not men vs women, right vs left, traditional vs progressive: It’s good vs evil. And the evil ones are the ones who hide their actions from the rest of us, because they know what they’re doing. And in this case, the mask that I’ve been following for years is one of my favorite authors. And now I have to reconcile the monster that he was hiding with what I thought I knew.

I won’t be purchasing anything else that gives money to Gaiman while he’s alive. I don’t want to support a living monster’s estate. I do still plan to watch Sandman and Good Omens when they come out, because those have an entire ecosystem of jobs that I want to support. However, I am not planning on getting rid of my books that he wrote either. I believe that artwork transcends the creator, and I don’t believe that the things I took away from his stories stopped existing because he’s not the person I thought he was. But I’m not going to continue to fund his means of exploitation either, and I won’t be recommending his work in the future. And I do support the women who came out against him, and I appreciate all the other authors and men and artists who have come out in support of the victims.

The world is hard and getting harder, for most of us. I don’t think that’s going to let up any time soon. But in the mean time, what we can do is remind ourselves that we are all here together. And in a world of polarization and hateful speech, which seeks to isolate and anger us for clicks and engagement (everyone types more when they’re mad! Everyone loves being told it’s not their fault, it’s the other guy’s!), let’s try to remember that most of us are here to try the best we can. Sometimes we fail, sometimes we succeed. But we need to listen to each other, even if the messages are hard. We need to find common ground, listen to the truth, and not surround ourselves with people just like ourselves. Men aren’t the problem; women aren’t the problem. Humans who wake up and choose evil are the problem, and the rest of us have to take uncomfortable steps to get ahead of them again. Maybe that means listening to someone who is saying a truth that hurts about someone you held in esteem. Maybe that means acknowledging that something about the world is not a good way to do things, even if it benefits you personally. And maybe that means acknowledging that simple answers may be attractive, but may not actually solve a complex problem in a country of 330 million, or a world of 8 billion. We just need to choose to move forward together, and make sure the company we keep is the “good” ones, as much as possible.

[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.

[ronsenburg]

For the ask game, 13, 21, and 26 for Sylvain?

OH MAN DID THIS GET AWAY FROM ME, SORRY.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

There’s a reason 3h isn’t actually set in modern times and that reason is that giving Sylvain a cell phone would probably be the cause of his untimely death. Someone is going to murder him for the fourth string (today) of incoherent emojis dropped in the group chat that convey no actual meaning, but still manage to be blatantly suggestive, somehow. Anyway, 😏 probably shows up enough to be noteworthy.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Something I like: using the word “probably”, apparently. I literally have to “find and replace” before I can post anything because it’ll be everywhere. Also italics?

But on a more serious note, I like writing him as intelligent with a lot of general knowledge on a variety of subjects. I like having someone ask him a question, having him think honestly about an answer, and then having him open his mouth to say something completely different that better fits the flippant/playboy persona he wears.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but when I write him I also tend to attribute his shitty behavior toward women to a) mommy issues and b) a self-affirmation of his shitty world views. Hopes spoilers, I guess, but…

…the fact that Sylvain’s mother is Matthias’s second wife really felt like a necessary piece of Sylvain lore, in my head. Matthias loses the (pregnant) love of his life and is suddenly left without a wife and without the possibility of a crested heir. The rules of Faerghus society won’t allow time for grief—tradition requires another Gautier crest-bearer be ready to replace Matthias in guarding the border should he die, and Sreng had grown so bold that full on war seems likely. So what does Matthias do? Marries the first woman likely to produce an heir with a crest. He doesn’t love her, because she’s a hasty replacement for his first wife. But he receives an heir and she receives a high-ranking title of Kingdom nobility, so the bargain works out for everyone.

Miklan’s behavior aside, I don’t think it would have been a particularly pleasant environment to grow up in, especially with Matthias so distant and cold from grief, especially if Sylvain’s mother was never actually interested in being a mother. Might make a guy grow up feeling really resentful and bitter about transactional relationships :) Might make him feel like it’s the only thing women are interested in—that’s all his mom cared about, after all :) Might even make him go out of his way to flirt with everyone he meets, wait until they fall for him, then say “see? they must only be interested in my house and crest, why else would they want someone who acts like this, who treats them this way, who has the reputation I do?” :)

Whether that’s true or not doesn’t even matter, because it’s not actually about women, in the end. It’s about his extreme lack of self esteem, it’s about hating the fact that he was born with his life already laid out, it’s about creating a feedback loop that affirms his worthlessness beyond the bounds of that predetermined role in society. But it doesn’t make it right or even better (honestly, I think the fact that the girls are just a tool makes it worse).

That’s a lot of supposition on my part, I guess, but it makes more sense to me than a simple “he hates women so he seduces them and leaves them so they cry.” You know?

Anyway, I probably write him a little too self-aware with a little too much self-loathing lurking beneath the surface, but what can I say? I like that in a man.

Hm, as far as what I don’t like from a writing standpoint… I’m not really a clever person, and I’m not great with innuendo. So that can make things hard. I also feel like I continually want to write him older and therefore later on in his development. I hope people don’t take that as me pardoning/glossing over his flaws. He’s not a good person at the onset of 3h, he def needs a lot of therapy.

26. What's something the character has done you can't get over? Be it something funny, bad, good, serious, whatever?

I always thought it was interesting that Sylvain seems to accept that Miklan acts the way he does because of the way Faerghus society works. He doesn’t seem to hate or really even begrudge his behavior, despite the multiple attempts Miklan made on his life, because he understands where they originated from. You’d think, then, that he’d be a little more understanding of those women who (if they were only interested in using him for a title) would be doing it because they had little other means for furthering themselves in life beyond marrying well. Especially because Ingrid is (albeit unwillingly) stuck in a very similar situation as those women. It’s an interesting break in logic and actually, in my mind, more indicative of misogyny than just being a philanderer.

This got way too serious. “Yeah, you just get it, Professor!” ✨