#is this fandom even alive anymore. i sure fucking hope so

[merriclo]

klaus goldstein kind of looks like benedict cumberbatch. just a little bit

[possessionisamyth]

Not to kick a dead horse, but there is a way to make Pier's death genuinely very loaded and tragic that fandom consensus just seems to continue to miss! I've never seen a take about Piers's death being about PIERS, but all about "ooohh chris lost a good one" and how the two are not able to fuck anymore. But I am going to free you from these shackles while I zero in on Chris' comment of

"I wanted him to replace me."

Surely Piers was being trained to take Chris' job ideally after a decent retirement party, but neither of them get that luxury because Edonia happens, and Chris is gone. The beloved captain has vanished, and the person who's supposed to take his job is right there, so they give it to him. It's Piers responsibility to not only be a face of what the BSAA represents, but also the heavy shackles of expectations are slapped onto him.

Everyone wants Chris, which means Piers can't be himself nor figure out how to run the same jobs his way. No, it has to be Chris' way. There's no time for anyone to adjust and shift gears either with the C-Virus outbreaks, the terrorist attacks from Ada*(Carla), and the search party he shambled together to locate the missing Redfield. So he tries his damnedest to fill Chris' shoes and suddenly realizes just how out of his depth he is. There were so many reasons people called Chris for certain tasks, even tasks Piers hadn't known about and definitely hadn't been trained on, that Piers never saw. There's no mentor to dial. No reference other than fellow soldiers saying things like, "We don't know how, he just got it done," which is the least helpful thing in the world. Hell, there's barely any notes to go through when he searches Chris' office for a semblance of a hint as to how he should do this job.

Maybe it turns out Chris was doing his best to gently ease that heavy mantle into Piers' hands. It's why his scheduled retirement seemed so far away at the time. Perhaps, after one comment too many where he'd been accidentally addressed by the name of his captain for the 50th time, Piers breaks. He can't do this. He's not ready for this. He needs the one person who did all this back by any means necessary, so he drops all the work and joins the search party. He verbally harasses an amnesiac Chris into coming back because maybe it isn't that bad. Maybe Chris just needs a reminder of what he's been doing everyday for literal years and things would be back to normal again.

But it's not. It's messier. It's uglier. This isn't the Chris he worked so hard to fight alongside. There are glimpses of him in there, but most of the time in China, Piers feels like he's working with a stranger. People die, and Chris keeps pushing forward no matter how much he's shouted at, and Piers feels like this is all his fault. The deaths are his fault because he couldn't buckle down and do what Chris originally wanted him to do. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him.

So when they go to that underwater facility, and their backs are against the wall, there's the looming sense of failure and a terrifying amount of pressure. If they get out of this alive, who knows when Chris would be back in shape to work again if that ever happens. Piers would have to be responsible. He was already responsible for the squad he gathered to take up this job, and they were skewed into pieces around downtown Lanshiang. Take Chris' place. Replace him. Be better than him, and Piers failed on all accounts. He couldn't get Chris back the way he was supposed to be. His squad was dead. The responsibility he'd have to take up if they made it out alive would be nigh unbearable, and then he gets infected.

He gets infected and suddenly the decision is so easy. To let go. To hope for the best. To be the one left behind when he was supposed to be the one moving towards the future. Another glimpse of the Chris that Piers knew is seen, a more confident glimpse wherein Chris does everything he can to try and save him. And Piers smiles when Chris fails. When he saves Chris. When he seems to finally do one thing right after things never seemed to stop falling apart.

It's the last thing Chris sees. That smile and the ever encroaching weight of immeasurable responsibility that'll grasp him tight as soon as he breaks the surface. The weight Piers couldn't take from him, and maybe never wanted in the first place.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

thoughts on fanfiction, perfectionism, and being enough

I'm pretty sure I'm ill and half-asleep and the Good Omens fandom has destroyed my last tenuous grasp on reality, but I am making a post anyway not knowing what I'm going to say. Because that's what this site is for, is it not?

*holds out hand* *waits for you to take it* Hey, you know, you're never going to be done. You're never going to look at something you made and think it's perfect. It's never going to be enough. It's okay to stop and it let it be imperfect. The earth didn't just birth life into just the right conditions, it made creatures which evolved and went extinct, ice ages which ended, volcanos that destroyed life and volcanos that preserved cities for millennia. It made jagged rocks that would be smoothened by rivers and stomachs that would hunger, rivers that would flood and rivers that would run dry.

Create imperfect things and give them to the world. Let the world create from it in turn in an endless cycle. Like Milton on the Bible, like BBC with Sherlock Holmes, like anyone writing fanfiction of their favourite show... Let your creation be imperfect, so you can see all the million ways in which people try to perfect it. All the million ways in which perfection can exist. That's the beauty of fandoms and fanworks. It keeps the creation evolving, keeps it breathing and alive. It becomes the work of a million people, and carries their stories with it in a little back pocket.

And maybe we were made to be imperfect too. Our hair tangles just to be brushed, our arm itches just to be scratches, our hand clenches just to be held and unclenched. There are odd shapes that make us up but they fit in with everyone else's, in handshakes, in bridal carries, in a parent lifting a child, a rescue worker lifting a victim, a girl kissing her wife, a child hugging his toy, a person holding their hands in prayer or in pain.

I'm trying to remind myself of that, because it's so easy to keep wanting more, to believe that there will be a point at which I will be satisfied with what I have done. Even in this fandom, I look at my ridiculous summaries I accidentally wound up making, and look at someone's beautiful meta blog and I feel like shrinking a little bit. But in real life, I'm a designer and an artist, a reader and poet and songwriter, and someone who has been a writer the past eight years, if not all my life. Have I done enough to qualify for any of these roles? Who knows? It shouldn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you, whatever you love doing or are doing.

It will never be enough, you will never be enough for yourself. Can we try to make peace with that little gap in ourselves that acts like a vacuum to keep sucking in more and more effort and things? It'll never be filled. That's okay.

*squeezes your hand before letting go* Isn't it amazing how imperfect and fucked up we all are? Isn't it beautiful that we don't have to sit and stare at statues we cannot touch, but we get stone that we can keep carving all we like? That creation starts with imperfection? I don't know if I'm making sense anymore, the medications are kicking in and my eyes are closing. But I love all of you, everyone who is a maggot and everyone reading this post, too.

Take this *holds out a seashell* it's pretty and it's broken and the animal that made it his home changed it, the sea changed it, and I hope you change it, too. That's all.

[tarjapearce]

T!!

Howw do you manage to keep the Miguel fandom alive 😭 it feels like a ghost town here and fics feel so dry when posting it on here! But you keep them coming

How do you do it? what’s your secret?

Bc my hyperfixation on that man is on its last breath 😭

Not gonna lie, hun .

I was 🤏🏻 close to say "Fuck it" and move to write books instead or feed other hobbies I've been dying to try. 😅. Because I do understand! Interaction in the Miguel Fandom has decreased so bad to the point of just a few of us keep posting things out there and hoping that it reaches out, and doesn't get lost cause Tumblr doesn't help either with the tags. At least that's my case.

I keep 'em coming cause, I don't like leaving things half done and I really enjoy writing for Miguel 🥹 (Even if it takes me ages to update 😅) He's such a wonderful character to explore. Even if little people read it, I just want my stories to be enjoyed. Cause I know when BTSV comes out? It's gonna be BONKERS in this site 🤭. And I'm not that sure to be that much around when that happens, so I'm just finishing them so my contribution to this fandom last :').

And you know? It's totally valid to move to another hyperfixations. This is my first fandom I get to create this much, and I've been enjoying it throughly, despite the bad things.

Don't feel guilty for not wanting to create anymore. I mean, we do this for free, we've got a life outside this social media, we're enjoying our characters. Doing our thing. Don't worry about it. Im sure when the movie comes out? the interaction will be amazing again and it won't feel empty. :')

Miguel is my muse. And I'll keep writing for him until another fictional man or responsibility steals my focus hehe.

Thanks for stopping by ❤️. Is nice to see you around.

[areyoudreaminof]

some word salad behind the cut

I never thought I’d ever get into writing. My self esteem is so minimal it’s nearly non existent, so I had never bothered to try. But I started writing last year and found I was enjoying it. I made grand plans to write more until I didn’t.

My passion became my poison, suddenly.

As I scrolled through endless fics and writers much more talented than I am, my anxiety perched itself on my shoulder like a crow and squawked in my ear.

“The shit you’re putting out? No wonder nobody is reading it. You’re writing boring stuff. Who gives a fuck about kids and one shots?” It would say. I’d reply that I didn’t want to write smut. I don’t like doing it and it felt silly.

“So why are you writing at all?” Anxiety Crow said, “That’s what people want. And you can’t even do that.”

It came to a head right before Elucien Week. Last year, I wrote three fics I am still immensely proud of. One of which opened a door for me with the first Next Gen characters I came up with. I had assumed that I’d have something else lined up for this year's Elucien Week.

But in that year, I had a lot of personal changes and mental health challenges that weren’t getting better. I made the mistake of starting a long fic and it became this beast that I couldn’t tame. Even one shots and snippets became a chore. I’d have to force myself to finish a chapter, to try and translate the images I saw in my head to paper, but it wasn’t working. This coincided with my depression peaking in early 2024, in which I got suicidal and had to seek help.

By January, I’d gotten more frustrated with my writing, by June, I despised writing in its entirety. Three days before Elucien Week was due to begin, I hovered my mouse over DELETE ACCOUNT on AO3 and nearly trashed a year worth of work. I decided to take a step back to clear my head and to put a stop to this toxic competition I had with myself. I didn’t want to lose the hobby I’d grown to love and destroy the new friendships I’d made. I was absolutely terrified of losing those wonderful friends I’ve made and I felt so guilty and angry at myself for fumbling the bag and not writing anything.

I can’t even tell you why I obsessed over it, I may never go back to writing at all, but the weight of that self hatred has eased up from my chest. It’s not eating me alive anymore. That’s not to say it’s gone of course. Just the other day I had another major moment of doubt, and nearly trashed everything, again. I’m trying to parse through my own mind constantly to sort out my own spirals and triggers. Some days it’s working, others it’s not.

I think I’m now telling you about it, because I’m sure you’re feeling it too. People reached out to me to check on me when I left and others to let me know they were having the same problems. The feelings of inferiority among fandom, the nagging expectations we placed on ourselves. Never mind any of the challenges we face in our daily lives. What’s the worth of my mental health and happiness and why the fuck do I keep measuring it like this?

Whatever comes of this break, I hope that all of us can find our self worth, wherever it is. I see so many incredible artists, writers, and people that inspire me to want to keep going. If you’re reading this, you’re one of them.

Take a breath and take a break. We’ll figure it out.

[angelasscribbles]

Audrey's Broken Heart

Fandom: Astrea's Broken Heart (Romance Club)

Pairings: Audrey (F!MC) x multiple LI's

Word Count: 2,479

Rating: MA for mentions of violence

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of violence (canon), slight sexual innuendo.

A/N: So that last chapter (season 2, chapter 1) left something to be desired in my mind. So I rewrote it and tweaked a few things.

I have no idea who to tag other than @harleybeaumont because I don't know who is into this story and I can't even remember the RC blog that is like CFWC so here it goes out into the ether. May the odds be ever in it's favor!

My other stuff: Master List.

The world spun as I lay on my back, gazing up at the stained glass window above me.

So this is how I die.

The fucking irony.

I had escaped one religious cult only to fall victim to another… after a lifetime of avoiding and rejecting even the most mundane churches and religious philosophies.

How? How had I ended up here?

This was Ruth’s fault.

Assigning blame wouldn’t help me now. I needed help, but there was no one to call. My cell phone was gone, and no one even knew where I was. Instead, I prayed. I prayed to a God I had ceased to believe in. I prayed fervently as I cast my eyes around the church searching for a way out… a weapon… an ally…. Anything of use.

There was nothing.

Nothing and no one. And no response from God.

I closed my eyes against the inevitable. A deep, all-encompassing grief spread through me.

I wasn’t ready to die. 

Faces flashed through my mind, but not the ones you would think.

It wasn’t my parents or a lost love that occupied my dying thoughts. No. It was the four men who had inexplicably become my whole world.

David. He had offered to come with me or at least drive me here, but I hadn’t let him. I should have let him. But then he’d be in the same predicament. David. Sweet, sarcastic, passionate. The world needed him in it. At least I could die knowing he was safe. That was some amount of comfort.

Mikael. Would he be disappointed? Sad? I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. There seemed to be a connection between us, but nothing tangible, nothing ever spoken. He was the consummate professional. He would be there to comfort the others.

Cassiel. His job was to protect us. Where was he now? Would he blame himself? I hoped not. He was already too serious, too angry at the world. Despair filled me as I realized that the progress we’d made would die with me. All those cracks in his armor would refill and seal shut forever.

Raphael. He lived with a deep, pervasive sadness. This would only make it worse. It might destroy him. He was too good for this world. Compassionate. Caring. Vulnerable. As I lay dying, I swore I could feel his soft lips on mine again.

There was a commotion and my eyes fluttered open, but what I saw didn’t make any sense. Or maybe it did.

I saw an angel, which was appropriate because I was dying. Had he come to collect my soul?

I could feel my life slipping away. I was too weak to fight anymore, too weak to even cry out for help, too weak to understand what was happening around me.

No one was trying to kill me anymore. The cult members had scattered. A booming voice filled the room, promising damnation and darkness.

The angel was raining vengeance down on the evildoers. It would have made me happy if I’d had the energy to feel anything at all.

Through the last vestiges of consciousness, my fog addled brain registered something wholly impossible.

The angel…. It was Raphael.

My eyes closed again as I sank into the darkness.

The next thing I was aware of was the warmth of my own bed.

My body was leadened. I couldn’t move or speak, but I knew I was home, and more importantly, alive.

Barely.

I was vaguely aware of voices as I faded in and out of consciousness. Distressed murmurs. Fervent pleas to live. Voices that rose and fell in discord and grief.

When my eyes opened, I was in a verdant valley of lush green grass and rolling hills. The sky above me was a vibrant blue.

Across the valley was a glimmering golden light pulsating from an open portal. I could feel the peace emanating from it. I felt pulled toward it. I wanted to go to it, enter it, and forget all the pain and chaos of the world I’d left behind, but when I took a step toward it, I felt an equally compelling pull in the other direction. I turned to look back and found myself staring down at my own body.

Mikael perched next to me holding my hand, heedless of the blood covering it, and now him. “I can’t hear her.” His voice was filled with despair.

I felt his touch and the pull to go back became slightly stronger. I took a step in that direction and paused again, casting a glance back at that golden glow that promised peace.

My mother appeared beside me. Laying her hand on my shoulder, she gave me a look filled with compassion, love, and regret. “It’s up to you if you go back or not.”

“Mom?” My voice quivered. I opened my mouth but couldn’t decide which of the million questions spilling through my head I should ask.

Before I could process the fact that my mother was with me, that I was being offered a choice between continuing life or not; before I could ask her anything, the pull from my body grew stronger.

“You were sent to us for a reason, Audrey…”

I looked back to see Mikael holding my body close to his. Mikael covered in my blood. Mikael pouring his healing energy into my broken body. Mikael with tears of grief pouring down his face. My choice was made, and I was suddenly back in my body.

“I’m sorry, Audrey, but healing souls is beyond my power…”

What power was he talking about? I still couldn’t speak, couldn’t open my eyes. Everything hurt. He lowered me onto the bed and laid his head on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. He started to pull away from me, but I finally managed to move, wrapping my arms around him weakly.

He froze. Hope filled his voice. “Audrey?”

I clutched at him tighter, and he moved so that he was lying next to me, cradling me in his arms. “It’s okay, Audrey. I’m here, I’m here.”

“Audrey?” It was Raphael’s voice, and it flooded me with memories of dying. Quiet but terrified sounds issued from the back of my throat.

He tried again. “Audrey, you are home. You are safe.”

Yes. Home. Safe. Raphael was here, Mikael was here. I was safe. My eyes fluttered open and my heart surged with joy and relief when I saw his face. Then my gaze dropped to his white shirt, rumpled and soaked in blood. Was it my blood? Or the blood of the cult members?

No. That was impossible.

The image of Raphael as an avenging angel came back to me, and I swear I saw him that way again. Standing in my bedroom at Astrea, glowing with wings sprouting from his back. I clutched harder to Mikael as I shrank away from him.

Pain flashed through Raphael’s eyes. “Audrey, I saved you. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

I blinked several times. One moment he had wings, the next moment he didn’t. I was losing my mind. Of course Raphael would never hurt me.

Mikael held me tight and reassured me. “It’s okay, Audrey. Raphael would never hurt you.” Then to Raphael, “She’s been through a trauma. She needs time.”

“Of course, I’ll go.” He sounded so broken that my heart shattered.

“Wait!” I cried out. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Audrey. Would you like me to take away the memory?”

I blinked up at him as he approached. “What?”

“I can take away the memory of what you saw.”

“How?”

He gave me a sad smile. “The same way Mikael healed you. There are things about us that you don’t know. Your memories will be recoverable, but this will give your mind a chance to heal before we confront all that.”

“No.” I shook my head as a vision of my mother in a verdant meadow flashed through my mind. “Don’t take my memories. Just…. Hold me for a moment?”

Mikael released me as I was engulfed in Raphael’s arms. I clung to him as if my life depended on it. He had saved me. Twice now. The memory of him catching me when I had fallen swirled through my mind. I had no idea what he was or if my mind had been playing tricks on me in that church, but to the very core of my soul, I knew that this being would never hurt me. None of them would. The tears started as my body began to shake, a delayed reaction to the horror I had experienced.

A clatter in the hallway drew everyone’s attention. Mikael excused himself to check on it. I heard raised voices in the hallway. Mikael’s and David’s.

Snippets of the conversation floated in to me. Enough to discern that David had done something to the villagers and that Mikael wasn’t happy about it.

I pushed away from Raphael and looked up into his face. “Let him in. I want David. Please!”

I needn’t have asked. The next moment, he was barging through the door. “Audrey! Audrey, are you okay?”

I pushed myself up into sitting as he threw himself onto the bed. Another man covered in blood, but not mine. David hadn’t been there like Raphael and he wasn’t the one that had healed me like Mikael.

The cult members. The villagers. I instinctively knew whose blood it was and why. He hadn’t been there in time to rescue me, but he had avenged me, and I loved him for it.

“I think so,” I answered as he pulled my body this way and that, inspecting me for injuries. When he was satisfied that I was no longer dying, he embraced me fiercely as tears slipped down his face. “I thought we had lost you!”

“I’m here. I’m alive. Thanks to Raphael and Mikael.”

Raphael wrapped his arms around me from the other side, and the three of us sat that way for a long while.

When David pulled away to wipe the wetness from his face, I looked around the room to find Mikael standing awkwardly at the end of the bed. I gave him a weak smile. There was only one person missing.

Before I could ask where he was, Cassiel appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by my thoughts.

“How is she—” his question was cut short as his eyes fell on me sitting up in the bed.

He then did the most un-Cassiel thing I’d ever seen. A smile of relief and joy lit up his face as he bound across the room and leapt onto the bed unceremoniously knocking the other men out of his way as he scooped me into his arms and hugged me firmly against him while raining kisses on the top of my head. “Audrey, you’re alive!”

“Yes!” a laugh burst out of me despite the terror I’d been through. Cassiel acting like an over exuberant puppy was possibly even more surprising and unlikely than me being kidnapped by a deranged cult.

I looked around at the other three men, but none of them seemed upset at being displaced.

David was a little bemused while Raphael radiated nothing but happiness. Mikael wore a thoughtful expression as his eyes traveled from me to each of the other men.

The image of wings sprouting from Raphael’s back was still occasionally there when I gazed at him, but it was fading as I convinced myself that part had been a dream.

But I was healed. Raphael had managed to save me somehow. Mikael had done something to bring me back. Raphael had admitted to having powers. And David had somehow gotten to the village and back in a time frame that didn’t seem wholly possible.

I pushed all of that to the side. There would be time for questions later. I needed a shower. And food.

Cassiel released me and moved away as if suddenly embarrassed by his outburst. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I told him before requesting privacy for a shower.

I stood before the bathroom mirror and inspected my body. There were no cuts, scrapes, bruises, or other signs of the torture I had endured.

How was that possible?

I hugged myself for a moment before stepping under the spray of hot water. Whatever had happened, I was happy to be alive and whole again. At least physically.

When I emerged from the shower, there were fresh, clean sheets on my bed. I sank into it gratefully.

One by one, the guys showed back up. Mikael brought food with him. I devoured it. I guess almost dying works up an appetite. I noticed they had all showered and changed as well. All physical proof of my ordeal had been erased. My body had been healed. My mind and soul were going to take a little longer.

Cassiel was the first to move toward the door. “I guess we should get out of here and let you get some rest.”

My cheeks flamed red as I stared down at my comforter and asked, “Could one of you stay?”

David spoke up immediately. “I’ll stay!”

“We’ll take turns.” Mikael’s tone brooked no disagreement.

“Fine,” David acquiesced, “I’ll take the first shift.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Raphael said. “You’ve been through a horrible ordeal. It’s normal to need support.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be here in two hours to relieve you,” Cassiel told David, then turning his attention to me said, “We won’t leave you alone and I promise no one will ever hurt you again.”

Something in his tone made my heart race. I believed him.

The others trailed out of the room. Someone clicked the light off.

David gazed at me with the same intensity he always did, but all the playfulness was gone. “Tell me what you need, little witch.”

The familiar nickname earned a small smile from me as I snuggled into the covers. “Just talk to me until I fall asleep.”

“I can do that.”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to lay in the bed with me?”

His mischievous grin finally returned. “If I ever say no to that, go ahead and shoot me because I’ve clearly lost my mind.”

“Stop it,” I scoffed, “I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

He climbed into bed and tenderly wrapped his arms around me. As if he were afraid I would break. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” My body relaxed into his. I listened to the sound of his voice as the horror of the day receded a little.

As I slipped off to sleep, I knew one thing for certain. Everything bad that had ever happened to me had happened outside these walls. Whatever was going on in here, I was safe. I was surrounded by love. I was home.

[yudrein-aile]

Woah just reached the ch where its revealed Keilusa was planning to appoint Kishi as crown prince.... bro.... the usurp and win Civil War before it begins vibes r off the charts

Reading 536 was such a god damn treat for me personally. Like

As he waited for the coughing to subside, Yuder contemplated Emperor Keilusa's true intentions. According to the Empress, the Emperor wants Kishiar to become the Crown Prince. However, if something were to suddenly go wrong—due to hasty action fueled by newfound hope—and the Emperor died prematurely or encountered any issue, then all his plans would be in vain. The same would apply if something happened to Kishiar. 'Considering that, it's not surprising if he finds it more comforting to prepare for a future he can somewhat control and anticipate.'

I’m not sure Katchian can became a threat as he is – too immature, with too many powerful players on the keyboard, but it would be interesting if Keilusa does die now, wouldn’t? All his plans put into motion, only to die—

You can tell how much I’ve been craving a civil war AU for this fandom lol. I suppose I have one fic heading there but that’s a different conversation

That aside, I have been wondering for how long Keilusa has been planning for this and when he informed Faria of his plan. Like, having the child they wanted to become their successor murdered is already horrible, but I don’t think Katchian was terrible from the start. He was fucking fourteen. Fourteen-year-olds are not irredeemable. Was Diarca’s influence to great already? Did Keilusa also think that Katchian was only going to be Diarca’s puppet and that’s why he couldn’t tolerate him?

Or was it simply a question of trusting his brother more?

I tend to put Kishiar’s Awakening as my terminus post quem for Keilusa putting decision into action. While Kishiar's entire condition is obviously not fixed by Awakening, it has stabilized enough that he’s not dying in the next five years, that he’s most certainly going to outlive Keilusa – and outlive him he did! Even in the first timeline, dying bc of the Red Stone injury, he lived approximately a year longer than Keilusa.

But yeah Keilusa wants Kishiar as his heir so badly.

Like in 60 we got

'Kishiar. So, is your vessel still fine?' 'Thanks to your concern, brother, it's perfectly fine.' When they were alone, Kishiar called the emperor 'brother'. Although this was against etiquette, when they were alone, the emperor called him by his real name, not his title, so it was all the same. 'What a pity. If the late empress saw you alive and breathing healthily without any outburst, she would undoubtedly have been so upset that she would have risen from her grave. It's quite regrettable that I can't show her that her most important decision was so wrong.

And in 110 the info that

Originally, the position of the Crown Prince was set to be Kishiar La Orr's. However, about 20 years ago, due to the strong influence of the then Empress, Inella La Orr, at the imperial family meeting, Keilusa La Orr was appointed as the Crown Prince. It is said that the late Emperor and Empress Inella had a major dispute over this issue for several years, and their relationship was not good.

Like, tbh I think that – unlike Kishiar, who I don’t see as ever really considering the throne as a position for himself – Keilusa was very much aware that their father wanted Kishiar to be Crown Prince (or at least, be given more time to pick which one of his sons would inherit the crown) and continues to consider the position Kishiar’s. Not just because Keilusa genuinely has no other heir he approves of, but because he trusts his brother with it. Keilusa is the pettiest bitch being so self-satisfied that his grandmother’s schemes led to nothing, that Kishiar is still well and thriving.

Uh, excuse the off track ramble.

TLDR: god yeah civil war would be fun, don’t think Katchian could pull it off anymore tho.

[vitzi9]

Pretty gifts

Joker X GN!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's how life is in Gotham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of the devil...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some are fond of me, huh ?

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

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

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

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

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

This city is lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fucking hate chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why ? she asks.

-It's complicated." you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"D'you like them ?

-Sorry ? you blinked.

-My scars. Do you like them ?

-Uh, yeah, yeah.

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

-Do you want to know how I got them ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Liars.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck.

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

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

-You want me to come back ? How flattering.

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

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

-Do you want to play a game with me ?

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

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

Sean, move your ass over here, now.

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

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

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

No...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But wouldn't you be safer in a asylum ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But do you really have a choice ?

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

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

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

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

Did he say clown ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like a badly drawn smile.

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

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

And that's bad news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-What ?

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

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

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

Six fucking what ?

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

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

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

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

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

Judging by his eyes, he is not kidding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you hate this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Am I wanted ?

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

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

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

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

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

-What environment ...?

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

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

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

Damn.

-Why do you think that anyway ? he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

-Oh fuck.

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

He hung up.

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

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

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

What have you done ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did he get your address ?

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

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

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

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

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

-Why did you hang up ?

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

-And ?

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

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

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

-How are you so sure ?

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

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

-What do we do, now ?

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

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

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

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

-What's your plan ? you ask.

-It depends on what you want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What ?

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

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

-Jeez, calm down.

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

-You want my help or not ?

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

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

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

-Wow. No ?

He stops in his tracks as you block his way.

-What do you mean, 'no' ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

-That means I'm in danger, right ?

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

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

You don't bring it up, of course.

-Explain.

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

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

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

-His name was, uh, Korej I believe.

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

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

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

-Korej, you corrected.

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

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

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

-You don't believe me ?

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

-Please, leave my house.

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

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

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

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

-Shopping center.

-What ?

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

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

"Okay. You yield, once again.

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

And with these last words, he left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever... You rub your eyes."

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

But are you really leaving this place, though ? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, earlier's vandals. 

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

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

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

-What do they looked like ?

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

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

-Thank you, have a nice day sir.

-Yeah yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” you mumble, avoiding eye contact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Well, uh, it's complicated.

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

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

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

Why does he always seem so nervous talking about him ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

-The Joker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Shut the fuck up you whore !

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

Blood, there’s blood everywhere.

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

-I believe alive was written on the contract.

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

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

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

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

Who is he ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotham killed you.  

[dazai-anon-archive-taketwo]

Your answer is complete bullshit. What the dazai anon did is nowhere as serious as what you are doing. You want her personal life basically sabotaged, and all she did was send you a couple of cruel messages that made you have a bad day, guess what? That’s everyday for the dazai anon. She’s just fucking tired of the treatment her favorite character faces form this shitty fandom, even his own “stans” join in the hate against him but there seems to be some hypocrisy against chuuya or even the fucking pedophile mori.

All she did was send mean things out of frustration and anger, she deserves to feel that way. I don’t agree with death threats, but nothing about her behavior is “harassment” or “grooming minors” you’re all dumb fucking idiotic children and it shows seeing how you label petty internet fights as “crimes”, at the end of the day, did you lose your degree? did you lose your job? are you in constant fear and suicidal ideations because you’re scared you’re going to jail over THE FICTIONAL CHARACTER CHUUYA NAKAHARA of all things???? No! You are completely fine and living your life with no fears or anxieties as she is. Your blog is also completely useless btw! No one is gonna make a case on this, your parents didn’t which is why they asked u to delete the previous blog. Follow their advice again and leave the Dazai anon the FUCK alone and have the balls to actually face her without holding legal threats over her head. You pieces of shits.

What she does is tell people to kill themselves and say that she hopes they die, that their pets die, that they fail their finals, that their mental health/life gets worse. All over fictional characters, and we are just documenting it. At most she might get a fine, or have her Tumblr/Twitter privileges removed. I'm not sure how that second one would play out but I know people have been banned from sites.

As for the. having a bad day bit. I've mentioned this to her before but I have several disorders that make everyday hard for me too, most notably that I've been either passively or actively suicidal for the last 6 years. How do you think her damn near constant hate and harassment of me and my friends affects my mental state? I say it doesn't get to me because it doesn't incapacitate me and I don't want my friends to worry. The shit builds up. I have blocked her, I have reported her, I have ignored her, I have asked her to leave me alone. None of that has worked.

I understand the frustration she goes through, that's the whole reason I don't interact with the pjo fandom anymore. I was taking everything personally, I couldn't play nice with others and I realized that I was problem so I stopped interacting with it. That is my oldest special interest that has kept me alive multiple times. I do not post about it. Because it is unreasonable for me to ask everyone else in the fandom to only see it my way.

She has become the problem here and needs to deal with that. It is not fair to everyone else here for her to decide that her way is the only right way and everyone who disagrees is against her specifically. She absolutely has every right to feel angry or frustrated but she does not have the right to take that out on everyone else, if she doesn't want to block people and respect people blocking her she needs to leave until she can play nice.

As for the legal action, she can stop harassing people right now and case will likely go nowhere. And I have tried to talk to her about the things she does without "threatening legal action" and she called me a cunt and stupid and jobless and a dickrider and a doormat. She isn't willing to talk things out and treat others with respect, so we have this blog. And we have gotten a few asks regarding legal action, we haven't answered them publicly because Kavya tends to harass anyone mentioned here.

-2

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

The way Condal, Hess and co write certain characters, especially Alicent, just makes them look like some kind of aliens who cannot comprehend the core of human nature and familial bonds (motherly love, sibling dynamic...) . I mean, fine, maybe they aren't parents honestly have no idea about their private lives nor do I want to know ), but that still doesn't justify the atrocious manner in which they have been portraying Alicent's relationship with her children. And I dislike the explanations that come from one part of the fandom (she married against her will, never wanted those children, never felt freedom...) I mean, I don't deny these, but they are not enough to explain or justify her weird (and sudden imo) detachment and dare i say, borderline hatred of her sons. Not to mention that this was the life of westerosi women, basically every one of them. Also, Ryan talked how Alicent and Viserys had "a loving marriage, just weren't in love " and generally holds Viserys in high regard, so he obviously doesn't see him as Alicent's abuser or anything. That's why i cannot understand what is the point of showing her so disgusted by her children and incapable of showing them love. Otto's influence? Maybe, but still not the greatest explanation. And she seems even harsher and distant to her sons this season than Otto ever was to her. She doesn't seem broken over Jaehaerys, she doesn't seem overly upset over Aegon (he's burned alive and is dying ffs and she won't shed a tear), Aemond is apparently an ireedemeable monster in her eyes fur some reason, even before RR... It's so frustrating that there are people who eat it all up and justify it as a genius and subtle storytelling with a lot of details that we "the whiners" refuse or are unable to grasp. Idk, I really liked her in s1 and although she was a bit inconsistent in ep 8 and 9 I hoped it would be retconed. Unfortunately, this season I'm watching a character I don't recognise anymore. And the worst thing is that she doesn't suffer from a lack of screentime like Aemond or Helaena do. Almost everything on tg revolves around her and yet I still have no idea what is her goal or who she is anymore.

Sorry for the rant.

Hello!

I could not agree with you more. Not sure if some kind of personal/family circumstances of HotD writers played a role in them fumbling the Greens family dynamic so badly but I am convinced that their "women good men bad" narrative policy did.

In "Driftmark" Alicent orders for Luke's eye to be cut out (and immediately, in public) - and then attacks Luke and Rhaenyra herself. But a few minutes (in show time) later she repents - and after that, apparently, she is all for "violence is reserved for men" agenda. That's where her disdain for Aemond (in whose name she was about to commit a public act of violence herself) is supposed to come from, I think. It doesn't even feel like she is horrified precisely by the fact that he might have almost killed (deliberately at that) his own brother. Lack of consistency and logic? Yes. Obliviousness at best, hypocrisy at worst (from Alicent, I mean)? Yes. But who cares, right? Alicent does not support the evil deeds of men - and that's what matters.

And her treatment of Aegon looks even more moronic. Girl, you put him on the throne against his will! After her meeting with Rhaenyra she knows it was a result of a misunderstanding (the favourite trick of this show, dammit - but it is a topic for a whole another conversation) but how is Aegon to blame for it?

I can relate to Alicent growing tired of being used and manipulated - but IMO (I agree with you here as well) this is not a good enough excuse for her to fully go into the "fuck yourselves, the lot of you" mode. But for the writers it is, at least it looks like it. They were trying to sell us the bullying of Aemond by Aegon (combined with the former's desire for power) being a sufficient motivation for Aemond to get rid of his brother (during the civil war where they are supposed to be on the same side no less) - and now they are trying to justify whatever Alicent does with her being a child bride and so on and so forth. I have no love for Viserys (or sympathy for Otto - where it comes to him pimping his teenage daughter out to the king) - but turning Alicent into this and expecting everyone to eat it up? Come on. Even some casual viewers are going "WTF" watching Alicent's scenes with her children, never mind those who are familiar with Fire and Blood.

And double yes to the point about the show very heavily focusing on Alicent to the detriment of many other characters (Aemond first of all). It feels like the writers believe that all that audience is supposed to know about Aemond now is that he is a bad guy - and they give him just enough screen time to show that. Meanwhile Alicent has loads of it - just so we could get a really good, really long look at her face and understand just how bad patriarchy failed her.

So, as I see it Alicent is now no more than a means to the end of hammering home the main idea of the show. How does she do that and what happens to her character in the process is unimportant - at least, to the writers and showrunners.

Sorry for the rant as well🙈

[hesitantvampirealien]

i need to make a one time exception to what i said about no longer venting because this is directly related to the content i post here.

i really need to talk about my feelings regarding the mcr fandom... i seriously need to talk about this right now, or I'll just explode and end up doing something worse that I might regret later.

and before you read it, i must make it clear that I'm not holding anything back and in some moments i will unavoidably come across as mean and rude, but none of it is directed to a specific person, i don't make ANY descriptions of any particular person or blog that annoyed me, everything is entirely "/nbh" and my thoughts might, and probably will change after i finally just put all of this weight off my shoulders. I just need to unbottle this for a second. Don't take any of it to heart, reinforcing that i just... really need this out of me

Probably i won't even remember saying any of this, or I'll just delete it

>> /nbh <<

i wanna start off by saying that this is (mostly) unrelated to the ticket occurrence so you stay fucking quiet because i know your unloved pedant ass was gonna bring this shit up as if it was the main reason why I'm saying all of this. And no, this is - probably for your disappointment - not a text saying the 4 of them are awful people who should die like you were most probably hoping it was

i admit that I've considered leaving the MCR fandom for a while. I'm trying to gaslight myself into staying because it's the thing that saved me and i want to show my love for it, and i know that if i left I wouldn't have anyone to talk to about it.

Do you know how fucking shitty it feels to feel like you're the only person that doesn't absolutely despise something... while in the middle of the fandom for this same thing??

And for a while i wanted to feel like it was a loving and caring community. But if i was to allow myself to not lie to myself for one second. It fucking sucks here. And i know it's probably because, truth be told, this website is just mass produced suicide but nobody gives a shit, i end up hating more than half of the interactions i have, i hate that most of the people i talk to feel like they can't express their real thoughts out of fear of idk fucking being ostracized over stupid shit, i hate that everything becomes a weapon to be used against you, i hate that i try hard to be loving and yet all i get is more and more fuel to hate people, all while i get told that if i hate people I'm evil and a loser.

And to be honest, i think it's quite cruel for you to lie to me and tell me that you'd want me alive when you make sure to make me feel like being alive is a fucking punishment and enjoying the thing that made me want to stay alive is immoral

so i don't fucking know, call me some fucking apologist because I'm not out here saying G should've killed themself for doing shit like simply doing silly on-stage jokes with their brother or not being a perfectly stable and neurotypical conventional person writing cute fluffy stories or not being the person YOU wanted them to be i guess.

i think that's all. Hopefully that's all, i feel like i just puked out an entire week's meals saying this. Probably in like 5 minutes I'll feel better and no longer think about leaving. I just really needed to take this weight out of me, i wasn't being able to think properly anymore by continuing to bottle all of this up. Thank you for letting me talk about it, even if it goes against the thing i said I'd do, where I said i wouldn't vent anymore. This is still a one time thing though

[set-phasers-to-whump]

somewhere to land

prompt: nowhere else to go

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house

hi here's river & louisa Again...sorry i am just obsessed with them. this is technically book canon (set sometime after book 4) but if you ignore like one or two small details it'll fit with the show too. hope you enjoy!!

She’s hardly expecting anyone. So when there’s a knock at her door, at damn near midnight, she grabs hold of the bat she’s taken to keeping beside her bed and steels herself before looking through the peephole. 

She drops the bat to the ground with a loud clatter. “Fuck,” she mutters, unlocking the door and opening it. 

It’s only River. 

He’s soaking wet and shivering–it’s pouring outside, has been all day–and for a second she’s hit with the image of him unconscious and soaked through on the bank of the Thames. 

She shakes her head, banishing this version of River to the depths of her mind. Whatever else might be the matter, he’s very obviously alive and conscious. 

“Come in,” she says, after a beat too long. She sort of gestures sweepingly to the flat behind her. “Only maybe don’t go too far,” she adds, “seeing as you’re dripping wet.”

River stops just beyond the threshold, shuts and locks the door behind him, and then just stands there. 

He looks fucking miserable. Even if he weren’t dripping rainwater onto the linoleum, she thinks he’d still look fucking miserable. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, because it’s not as though anything could be right. 

River shrugs halfheartedly. He’s looking around the room, and it doesn’t take Louisa more than a second to realize that he’s avoiding looking at her. 

“River. What’s wrong?”

He looks at her guiltily. She gets the sense that he’s been drinking, though not heavily. 

He shifts on his feet, winces, wraps an arm around his middle. 

Ah. 

“You’re hurt?” She forces herself not to imagine great, bloody wounds lurking beneath his clothes. She’d have noticed, she thinks. 

Right?

“Is it bad?” she asks, when he doesn’t immediately respond. She’s starting to freak out, just a little bit. He’s not usually so quiet, and sure, he doesn’t look like someone on death’s door, but you never know, and anyway maybe–

“It’s not bad,” River says quietly. His cheeks have turned pink, which is good, as this means there’s enough blood still in his body for blushing.

“Well?” Louisa asks, when it becomes clear he’s not going to offer up any other information. 

“It’s just–I was at the pub, and some guy got up in my face, yelling at me, I dunno what about, I didn’t know him, and I was trying to reason with him, and–he started hitting me. Didn’t do much before the bartender got him out, but–look, it’s nothing, really, just some bruises, but–”

His voice gets quiet, so she doesn’t quite hear what he says next. 

“What?”

“I didn’t–it just hurts, a bit, it’s not even that bad anymore but, well. Ididn’twanttobealone, okay?”

Aha. 

“It’s alright,” Louisa finds herself saying. “No shame in it.”

They’re both a little bit beyond shame in front of each other, she thinks. They’ve seen each other through terrible things, awkward things, and pretty much all manner of things in between, and look, she gets it, that desire to not be alone. God fucking knows she gets it. She likes it, actually. That River had come to her. 

True, it’s not like he would’ve had any other options, there’s really nowhere else for him to go–as far as friendships go at Slough House, they’re pretty much each other’s one and only. But still. He’s hurting, albeit not badly, and he’d chosen to come to her. 

It’s kind of nice, is all. 

Anyway. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just…let me get you some dry things, okay?” They have to start somewhere, and River’s not going anywhere until he’s dried off. 

She leaves him dripping in the entryway and goes rummaging through her drawers, looking for things that might fit him.

Her fingers brush soft, familiar fabric. A hoodie of Min’s. She sets it aside, smiles to herself, half sad and half fond. 

Eventually, she finds a few things that seem reasonable. A pair of sweats abandoned by a one-night stand ages ago, a big t-shirt she’d won at a fair, fuzzy socks she’d gotten as a Christmas present and has never actually worn.

She fetches a towel from the closet, then returns to River, standing precisely where she’d left him. He’s removed his shoes, placed them beside the door, and he’s in the process of wriggling out of his jacket. 

“There’s a hook on the back of the door,” she offers up, though he could hardly have failed to notice.

“Thanks,” he replies anyway, and hangs up his soaked jacket. 

“Go dry off, take a hot shower, if you like,” she says, holding out the stack of fabric. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He takes the clothes silently, then trudges to the bathroom. Louisa watches him, eyes the floor for any particularly large drips–she can’t decide how she feels about having become the kind of person that cares so much about water on her floors–and then, when she hears the shower turn on, makes her way to the kitchen.

--

River joins her after a few minutes. He’s still damp but not shivering, and he looks overall a good deal less pathetic than he had standing there on her doorstep. 

Louisa passes him a mug of tea–hers is already half gone–and then just sits there and looks at him. 

“Are you really alright?” she asks, when she can stand the silence no longer.

He looks up at her, slightly startled. “I’m fine, honest. Just sore.”

“Can I…” Louisa stops herself before she can get out the rest of the question. He’d said it was nothing, really. That he’s just sore. 

Except she can’t stop thinking of all the times she’s seen him hurt, the times she’d thought he was dead. 

She just–she wants to make sure for herself, okay?

Even without her having finished her question, River seems to know what it is she wants. 

“I promise, it’s nothing bad. But if you want to make sure…” he trails off as well, looks away. 

She does. She just needs to see for herself that there’s really nothing to worry about. She wants confirmation. 

“If you don’t mind, I mean–it’d be nice, is all. To know you’re not really hurt.”

He nods, slowly, then stands. She doesn’t miss how he winces. 

He raises the hem of the borrowed shirt. The bruises on his torso certainly aren’t pretty, but they’re just that–bruises, one on his stomach and the other on his side. 

She touches them lightly, not really sure what it is she’s looking for. River tenses up when her fingers brush his skin, but then relaxes, breathes out deeply. 

When she’s satisfied herself that he really is fine, they both sink back down into their chairs, wrapping hands around rapidly cooling mugs. 

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” River says quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Louisa replies, although she’s not entirely certain that’s true. 

“You answered the door with a bat,” River says, and Louisa laughs. She’d forgotten about that, with everything that had come after. 

River smiles as well, half hidden behind his mug, and Louisa feels compelled to say something else. 

“Well, I was scared, a bit. I mean, yeah, by getting a knock at the door at midnight, but mostly by…by the thought that you might be really hurt.”

She says the last words in a hurry, doesn’t quite meet River’s eyes. “But you’re not, so it’s all alright, really, and mostly I’m just glad you came, ‘cause if you had been really hurt…” I could’ve helped. I could have done something, instead of being somewhere else, not even aware of the fact that you’d died. 

River nods, and she knows he gets it, as much as he can. 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he replies, although she thinks they both know she wouldn’t turn him away. 

“You’re welcome,” she offers up in acknowledgement, and a comfortable silence settles between them. 

It’ll have to be broken, at some point. They cannot sit at Louisa’s kitchen table indefinitely. Sometime soon, decisions will have to be made. One bed, one couch, a bus ride home…

But all of that is for later. For now, it is them, and the silence, and this is enough.

thanks for reading! hope you liked!!

[ouidamforeman]

Okay if you hope Neil dies then stop giving him money, stop giving him indirect revenue by keeping his fandom alive. Say it with your whole chest or don’t say it at all

Fandom is not an advertisement and I haven’t paid for anything that goes to him for years 😌 Pretending all fandom is “indirect revenue” to anyone who created a piece of media whether it’s a writer or anything else is disingenuous and performative and trying to control others to your arbitrary moral standards. You are not only reducing fandom to consumerism but dismissing many other people’s work as well. Pretending that something this indirect is causing harm is performative when people do things and Actually spend money on things that do real direct harm. I’m also suspicious of this attitude of “cut all monetary flow to bad people” because well while celebrities absolutely don’t need that money and can often use it for harm, “someone did a Bad and therefore they should not be paid” is a bit iffy to me. The degree to which money is power in these situations is subjective and I know it’s uncomfortable but whether one’s money is going somewhere it’s doing harm or not is your individual decision to make. I’m not even spending money on NG myself and im skeptical of what practical good “no more money” would do in this case. It’s largely symbolic. There are ways to cull a bad person’s influence that aren’t harassing random fans of work that was never even solely made by this guy on social media. I and others are perfectly capable of enjoying a novel or tv show while cutting support and acceptance of a writer. Discussion of this and not letting the issue be swept away is how we do this, not nebulous “you’re symbolically supporting a bad evil guy!!”. He did harm with his power and influence which we can prevent without being reactionary and acting like a work of art or adaptation are synonymous with the person who made them (and never made alone, even!!!) Pretending this man is a sole auteur of good omens or whatever the fuck else is giving him power he doesn’t deserve, and causing wanton destruction because you feel powerless to stop harm that’s already happened is unbelievably foolish. Genuinely go outside and think about what good you can actually do instead of harassing people who are not even supporting the guy materially in any way and are in fact committed to finding ways of keeping him away from vulnerable people in fan spaces and calling for him to be removed from productions so everyone else’s work can be honored without more needless destruction, you know, something materially practical that isn’t moral posturing. You have literally made up that I am funneling money to this guy when I am not, and you know what? If he gets paid for work he did I don’t really care. I care about stopping the influence he had over people. I don’t think “something you did could possibly be construed as an advertisement for something he contributed to!!!!” and “Make absolutely sure none of your money is in any way even indirectly going to the bad evil person!” are the way to do any of this.

Also like fuck Terry Pratchett I guess, there’s no way one of his best works deserves to go in the trash because the co writer is a shit guy. Different people are going to deal with this in different ways. We all just want to prevent harm and people WILL disagree on what the best way to do that is. I think it’s getting him to step down from these media projects and not be involved in spaces where he can exert influence anymore. You may disagree, but do Not pretend you are ostensibly in the only moral right just because it looks good to you to say fake activist soundbites like this in random financially powerless fans’ inboxes. I keep joking that i hope he dies because i actually am mad and want him to stop! I’m doing what my moral compass says is ok. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. Go do something kind instead of trying to control others

[snowdropluck204]

Sweetness - Sweet Pea x Fem! Reader

Hello my lovelies! I'm not sure if this fandom is even alive anymore... at least not the Sweet Pea love, but I hope the people who find this story might like it? Just to make sure, Trigger Warning! For anyone who is triggered by the following; Death, illness, gang related activity, injury, guns or knives - Please read this book with caution, there will most likely be mentions of at least one of these in each chapter, but I will give a proper warning for any scenes that detail these events!

Thank you my lovelies (Also, I'm not sure when exactly the series takes place, so be gentle with my dates please!), and enjoy the chapter! Xxx __________________________

July 1999,

Dear diary,

I used to think that Riverdale was the safest place for me, Ricky always had my back, someone I could always trust, someone who loved me and that I adored. And now he's gone.

Ricky was a badass! He was an angel of death and was a big deal in the Serpents, he died protecting his friend! He was so young... He was in the hospital for days, I still think they could have saved him, they chose not to! They saw the snake on his shoulder and chose to give him the bare minimum help!!

Screw this town. Screw the Ghoulies. Screw the Northside. The Southside.

I can't help but feel selfish now. Thinking about myself and what I'm going to do with Peanut. Sure they were a surprise, but they were a welcome one. Ricky was so excited about you, little one. He would have spoiled you rotten.

I know that the Serpents would have taken care of us, F.P is definitely going to be named Godfather now, but they aren't Ricky. And everything in this damn town reminds me of him, of what he was. So I'm leaving. My parents are moving with us out of town, as far away as we can.

I love you so so much Peanut, and I'm hoping one day you'll be a nosy little shit like your dad and find these entries one day, it will be much less painful than telling you his story myself.

Until I meet you, Kathryn (aka mama)

________________________________

February 2000

Dear Ricky,

She's here. She's beautiful. Ten fingers and ten toes, I named her (y/n), the name you wanted, it just seemed perfect for her. I'm going to love her and protect her the way you would have. I've written to F.P, letting him know that he has a happy, healthy god-daughter. I wasn't convinced about him being her godfather, but it's a bit difficult to argue with you now, huh?

Don't think I'm going to let her forget how painful it was getting her out of me though! If this kid ever gives me sass, I'm going to tell her they nearly had to cut her out of me so she can zip it!

I wish you could see her, I was so worried when she first arrived, she didn't make a sound. She hasn't cried since. She just sort of scrunches up her face when she wants something, sort of the way you did when I refused your kisses.

I hope she winds up keeping your eye colour, the gorgeous (e/c). Most people who lose someone say they can't bear to look at others that look like their loved ones. But your eyes, were my everything. My slice of heaven. My oasis. She has my nose, I want her to have your eyes.

I love you Ricky,

Kathryn

________________________________

December 2015

Dear Diary,

It's been a while huh? Being a parent is a bit of a full time job I guess! But (y/n) is beginning to suspect that I'm hiding something from her, she sees me getting weaker, she can tell I'm going places without her. How am I supposed to tell her that I'm running off to the Oncology department a few times a week...?

I want to tell her, desperately. I hate hiding this from her, she's seen me getting weaker for years, she's been taking care of me, ditching school to make sure I'm okay for fuck's sake! She's my angel, she means everything to me.

I can't hide it from her any longer, I'm going to tell her tonight over dinner.

Wish me luck,

Kathryn

________________________________

August 2017

Dear Peanut,

I'm sorry it has to go this way, believe me, if I could have stayed longer I would have, but you wouldn't have wanted that. You need to live your life without having to worry about me, follow your dreams without me holding you back.

I love you so so much (y/n), but I think we both know its time for me. This is the hardest thing I have ever written, and I hope you can forgive me.

With this letter, I have left you a folder, it's just dumb legal bullshit really, but I think there are some things in there that you'll like. I know you found your dad's old recipe books, you and him were so alike my darling.

Hopefully, the stuff in the folder will help you, please don't mourn too long, live your life for me, for your dad.

I love you more than words can say.

Be a good girl (y/n).

Love mama

________________________________

Patient Name: Rick (l/n) Age: 24 Status: Deceased Reason for Admittance: Stab wound Cause of Injury: Gang Fight

Treatment: Patient was admitted with a stab between the second and third ribs (left) at approximately two AM. Patient was given steroids and antibiotics to avoid infection. The wound was more severe than originally believed, the left lung had been punctured. Patient was lost in surgery.

________________________________

Seeing all the memories that I spent the last month avoiding was harder than I had expected. If I thought it was difficult holding my mother's hand as she fought through the cancer and eventually as she passed away, I wasn't prepared for the feeling of resurfacing memories. Mama's lawyer had handed me a large brown folder, a solemn look on his face, struggling to think of something to say to the girl who was now an orphan.

I left the folder in a draw of my dresser after I'd got home, the house felt so empty without her around. Even when she was weak, my mama lit up the room she was in. She was happy and, as cliche and now untrue as it was to say, full of life. Now the house felt cold and dead. My mama was my best friend, my closest confidante, she hasn't been gone an hour and I was already so lost. The worst part was, when I felt this lost, I spoke to my mother.

I went to my mama's room, followed by our dog. I had found him in the park when I was younger, he was just a puppy, I begged and pleaded with mama to keep him, after a pretty big temper tantrum, she finally gave in. Sonic wasn't a puppy anymore, he was nine years old and huge! Mama liked him eventually, when he began exhibiting guarding behaviour, feeling more comfortable with him as a guard dog, a big Rottweiler cross that looked like her came straight from guarding Hades.

Sitting on her bed as carefully as I could, I thought about how strange it was, that everything still was the same, the day was a beautiful, blue sky, the house still looked the same. I contemplated opening the folder now, but it was too hard to think about. Instead, I curled up in the bed sheets, humming a lullaby my mama used to sing, until I fell asleep.

But now I was reading the files. It was a lot of suppressed pain that had suddenly bubbled its way to the surface. My heart felt like someone had taken a hammer to it, there was a photo album full of pictures of me and mama, even some of her and my dad, when they were in high school. I never knew my dad, now I knew why.

Mama had told me he had died, she had just never told me how. Now I knew, someone in a gang had murdered my father. But the diary entries mama had written, my dad was in a gang as well. He died, for another gang member. F.P Jones.

I'd seen the name in the folder too, he was listed as my legal guardian, my godfather, on my birth certificate. I'm not sure just how much I was interested in hunting this guy down, yes he was the person that my parents trusted enough to be my legal guardian, but he was also the person my father took a knife for...

Anyway, I began enjoying myself, looking through all of the pictures of my parents, I even smiled a few times at the pictures of mama and I. The smile faded into confusion when a few certificates and documents were mixed into the nostalgia. Leafing through the documents, I was shocked to find deeds. Specifically to my inheritance and to the house my parents had bought, before dad died. Mama did say she wanted to move away when he'd passed.

Away from Riverdale... ________________________________

The house was bigger than I had expected, a two story suburban dream house, sure it was a bit worse for wear, the wood panelling had chipped paint, some of the windows were so filthy I couldn't see through them and the porch was most definitely a health hazard, but that just meant I had something to distract myself with.

Unfortunately for the house, it would have to wait for some TLC, I was already on my way a few streets down, Sonic trailing behind me, to a separate building, one that my parents had left me money to be able to purchase. It was small, but I knew as soon as I'd seen it, I loved it. It had been my dream since I was a little girl to run my own bakery. I loved cooking and food as much as my father had seemingly.

Mama was right in her diary, I had found dad's old recipe books when I was five, I used a lot of the recipes to learn how to cook, and even more of them because they were claimed as healthy, I was a kid, I thought that because an adult deemed it good, it would make her better. It didn't, but I remember mama's face when I eventually fessed up about snooping through dad's stuff.

Dad had a lot of baked goods in his books, I even managed to tweak a few of them, but he never got to have a place of his own, I was looking forward to this. I would be dedicating my life to something I wanted to do, but also to my parents, forming a legacy I hoped they would be proud of.

My future bakery looked a lot worse than the house did, that was putting it lightly, the windows were smashed, glass was everywhere, the door was practically falling off its hinges and the bricks looked like they had been whacked with a battering ram! Although, the most confusing part about the building, was the old woman sitting on the bench outside, staring at the 'Sold' sign in the window of the door.

I walked up to the woman, cautiously, clearing my throat to avoid startling her, "Excuse me?" I asked, seeing her turn her head to face me, a small smile on her face.

"Oh, sorry dear," She began, struggling to get to her feet, I hurried to offer her a hand, Sonic herding around her knees. "Thank you, such a lovely girl! Oh, and dog!" I smiled at her, curious as to the people my age around here, she seemed surprised I offered to help her, what were the other teenagers like here?

"What were you doing sitting in the cold, all on your own?" I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, the old woman sighed, staring up at the dilapidated building once more.

The woman smiled, wistful, "This used to be my husband's business." She told me, "He passed on quite long ago now, but he loved this place." She placed a hand lightly against the bricks, I smiled at the woman.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I replied, seeing her nodding in response, "Actually, I own this building now, I'm about to start working on it," I told her, hoping she wouldn't be upset with me.

To my surprise, she grinned widely, clapping her hands in excitement, "Oh, that's wonderful news! I'll be delighted to see the old place back to its former glory!" She cheered. "I'm Ruthie, but such a sweet soul like you can call me Granny, if you'd like, all the other kids in town do!"

I took her hand for a shake, shocked at how strong her grip was, for an old woman, she sure had some muscles! And that was the start of a very odd relationship between the two of us.

Granny was lovely, for the first few days, she would pop by to give me lunch and some hot chocolate, saying that I needed the sugar and some 'pep in my step', but then one day, she picked up a saw, beginning to saw planks for me to use. She helped a lot with the renovation of the bakery, we even kept the name that her husband had used for it, Ray's. We did modify it slightly, now it was Rays, as in 'Ray of Sunshine', but still remembering her husband, Raymond. ________________________________

With the place up and running, I had to force Granny to take a break, in return, we had to make a deal, she could have as many free bakery goodies she wanted, and she would cover the shifts I couldn't make because of school. I was so excited for this, today was the grand opening! Unlike in movies and TV shows, I didn't make a huge deal out of it, even if I was positively buzzing! I didn't deck the place out with banners and balloons, instead, I just flipped the sign on the door and went back to baking, I was gonna let the open windows bring people in.

I was kind of worried about the area, especially considering I'd left my scary teddy bear at home, Sonic would have just gotten stressed each time the door opened. But apparently the Southside of town had a pretty bad reputation, most of the place was pretty run down compared to the preppy, expensive Northside, and was riddled with gang activity...

It had been a couple of hours and I was getting bored! I let my eyes wander around the walls of Rays, the glossy, white brick walls reflecting the florescent lights. All the industrial ovens, mixers and fridges were pretty high-grade, but they weren't the things I loved the most.

Next to the coffee machine, were two framed pictures, one of my parents, happy in their high school days, the other, a black and white photo of Granny and Ray, happy in their own. I was brought out of my reverie by the timer on the oven, pushing off of the counter to the kitchen, pulling the cupcakes out of the oven, relishing in the sweet smell of freshly baked cake.

I felt my heart swell with excitement when I heard the bell above the door ringing, we finally had customers! Quickly, but carefully, cause it was blisteringly hot, I set down the tray of cupcakes on the metal decorating tables, wiping my hands on my apron.

Walking back around to the main shop, I saw three teenagers, probably around my age, two guys and a girl. The guys were staring at the display case, their eyes practically sparkling, it was rather strange to see. One of the boys was quite tall, leaning on the display case, the other was significantly shorter, pressing his hands to the front of the glass. The girl on the other hand was gazing around the room, smiling, her most outstanding feature was her bright pink hair, all three of them were decked out in leather jackets and flannel.

A relaxed smile made its way onto my face, "Hey you guys, what can I get ya?" I asked cheerfully, a bounce in my step. The guys hardly looked up from the display case, the girl shaking her head at them disapprovingly.

"Hey, never seen this place before," The girl said, nodding at the door. I smiled and nodded understandingly.

"Yeah, we only just opened today! We've spent the last few weeks renovating this place!" I told her, offering her a hand to shake. "I'm (y/n), sort of new to town," I told her.

She took my hand, strong grip, something that most of the people here seemed to have. "Toni, congrats on opening! Sorry about those two, usually they're not this rude... Shorty is Fangs, the giant is Sweet Pea." She said, causing me to giggle.

"It's cool, I remember going to places like this when I was a kid and being starstruck by all the pretty cakes, not to mention the fact that there were way to many options!" I joked, happy when Toni laughed with me.

Seeming to wake up from the glutton induced trance they were in, Sweet Pea and Fangs looked up, only now realising there was a second party in the room.

The shorter guy, Fangs, looked at me in awe, "Did you make all these?" He asked, pointing at the goodies, I nodded in response, proud that they seemed to like the look of them, I only hoped that they liked the taste.

"Sure did! Would you guys like to try something, no charge! I need some guinea pigs!" I said, giving a cheeky smirk. The boys shared an excited look, fully prepared to say yes, when Toni interrupted them.

"You only just opened, we can't just take from your stock, at least let us pay for them!" She protested, I smiled kindly at her, it was very sweet of her to consider the business aspect, it was pretty important, but it wasn't why I started this! I wanted people to enjoy my food!

"No worries! You guys are the first people to come in today, well, ever! It would be good to have some feedback about some stuff, if it really bothers you, then feel free to come back another time and buy something? For now! I'll set up a sample plate!" I told her, not giving her time to argue.

I put together a large plate of lots of different things, cupcakes, cookies, pies, tarts, cakes, pastries and some drinks, bringing them over to one of the tables on the shop floor. I'll be honest, it was rather funny seeing these edgy teens sitting in my pastel bakery, I offered them seats before taking one myself.

Sweet Pea and Fangs were practically giddy, getting their hands smacked by Toni as they tried to grab some of the sugary treats. "Hey! If (y/n) wants feedback, you can't just shovel it into your faces! Have some manners, damn who raised you two?" She muttered.

I chuckled, "It's fine, go ahead, maybe start with the cookies? They should still be warm from the oven!" I told them, pointing at the chocolate chip cookies, a simple classic.

They each took a bit, their eyes widening as they bit into the warm, gooey chocolate. "Oh my god." Fangs muttered, his mouth full.

"These are amazing," Sweet Pea added, taking another bite.

I clapped my hands slightly, "Yay! I'm so happy you guys like them," Toni nodding along, giving me some info that was actually really useful. We let the boys keep trying the goodies as we settled into conversation.

"So why did you and your family move to Riverdale, we're not exactly a tourist destination," Toni joked, gazing out of the window at the run down streets of the Southside, "Your bakery is probably the nicest thing to be in this side of town for decades..."

My face soured into a sad smile, "Um, it's just me actually, my parents have both passed away, but they used to live in Riverdale before I was born, they left me a house in the Southside." I told her quietly, looking down as tears began too well in my eyes, already beginning to flood my face. I let out a choked laugh, "I'm so sorry, I never cry, this is so strange..."

I wiped my face, feeling my cheeks burn, I can't believe one of the rare times I cry and it's in public. Hearing the chairs scrape against the floor, I thought Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs were saving me the humiliation and leaving me to my tears. Instead, I felt a gentle hand cup my own and sudden large hands resting on my shoulders and knee.

Looking up confused, I saw a soft smile on Toni's lips, as well as Sweet Pea, kneeling beside my chair, his hand on my knee, leading me to believe that it was Fangs' hands on my shoulders.

Sweet Pea, though he wasn't smiling, had a soft look in his eyes, "All of us have lost someone, we get it. You don't have to be strong all the time, we got your back now." He told me, keeping his voice quiet. I looked into his deep brown eyes, wiping my cheeks and smiling at him.

"Thanks, you guys are being so kind to me, you don't even know me," I chuckled.

They laughed with me, "I mean, you gave us free sweets and you don't know us," Toni joked. We once again, fell into relaxed conversation, the guys joining in this time, whilst still snacking on pastries.

Fangs looked over at me, "So, if I can ask... Who were your parents? If they lived here, maybe someone knew them?" He asked, cautiously, probably trying not to set me off again.

"Rick and Kathryn (l/n)." I told them, playing with the straw in my drink, noting how quiet the three had gotten.

Looking up, I saw them all looking at me like they'd seen a ghost, "What?" I asked.

Sharing glances, they seemed to be mentally arguing about who was going to tell me.

"Spit it out, you guys, I thought we were friends now?" I muttered, trying to guilt them into just telling me.

Sweet Pea sighed, "We know your parents, or really, we know of them..." I looked at him confused, gesturing for him to continue.

"Your dad is a Serpent legend! He died saving F.P, he's kind of the boss now. His picture's been in pretty much every Serpent hangout since we before we all joined." He finished.

I smiled at them, clearly not the reaction they were expecting.

"Thank you, for keeping his memory alive, I'd love to meet some of the Serpents that knew him, I only found out what happened to him about a month ago, mama didn't really like talking about it."

Once again, the conversation started up, but, once again, was interrupted. This time, by Sonic, barking outside the bakery, freaking out the Serpents into standing up, "It's okay, he's my dog! Something must have happened, I left him in the house..." I told them, grabbing the keys to the bakery and rushing out to follow Sonic back to the house, Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs following close behind.

________________________________

So I'm going to end the chapter there! I hope you guys enjoyed it! I based a few characters off of my family... My mum and dog for example... Anyway! I love you guys, see you soon, hopefully! Xxx

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

DADDY ISSUES - Part Fourteen: Sex, Money, Feelings, Die

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: You and Jerry are working together to uncover the Colonel's secrets. You think you finally have something but you have to get Elvis to hear you. How do you get him to listen to you when he's barely even there half the time? [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: guns, minor violence (when he shoots the tv, same as in the movie), strong language, elvis is a BASTARD in this chapter, # canceled

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3926

A/N: i really have nothing to say other than bring pitchforks and also tissues

Song Rec: sex, money, feelings, die - lykke li

This is Part 14 of Daddy Issues. Find the rest of the series here!

[ masterlist | taglist ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Almost two weeks pass without you having any contact with Elvis at all. You wonder if you did something wrong by pretending to be asleep, if he knew that you were awake and chose to punish you for it instead of talk to you about it. To be honest, you don’t care very much anymore and are even maybe a bit glad that you haven’t had to visit Elvis this week. You’re tired, so tired of taking on his stress. You have so much to deal with as it is and it feels like problems just follow Elvis wherever he goes.

You lay on the couch, depressed and completely drained of all energy, and realize that if you could see yourself now, you would have said no. If you could have had a cheating glimpse into the future to see what’s happened to you, where you’ve wound up, you would have said no and turned Elvis down for good. This isn’t what you signed up for or what you wanted from this arrangement. You’ve completely stopped going to any of his performances, stopped watching his old films, stopped listening to his music.

You just can’t handle it anymore. He’s too different, too unlike the man you thought you knew so long ago. He’s cold, like someone who doesn’t even know whether they’re alive or dead, awake or asleep. Sometimes you wonder if he even remembers who he is. The drugs have messed with his mind so much that he hardly acts like himself these days.

A couple of weeks ago, you went upstairs to check on him and make sure he was okay. Low and behold, you ran into Priscilla for the third time since becoming Elvis’ sugar baby. While you’d been ashamed the first and ambivalent the second, the third time was too much. You have no idea what they were arguing about that time, probably the same things that you wanted to smack Elvis around for. But Priscilla came wilding out of the room and once her eyes locked onto yours, you knew it was going to be ugly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my husband? Who do you think you are, you little bitch! You’re not his wife. I am! I am his wife!” she shouted at you, pointing a finger directly into your face.

“Oh, please! Give me a break,” you shout. “Maybe if you were satisfying him, he wouldn’t need to keep me around! But you’re obviously not pleasing him because, oh look, I’m still here! And I’m not going anywhere anytime soon!”

“Oh, she’s selfish, too! And disrespectful! Reminds me of someone I know!” she yelled, glancing over her shoulder at her husband. “You two are fucking perfect for each other, really! I hope you have a nice life wasting time as you both fall into pits. You fucking disgust me!”

By this point, she was so close to your face that you could smell her perfume. But you didn’t give a shit. You weren’t backing down. At that moment, Elvis was yours and yours only. Priscilla clearly wasn’t enough for him since he was constantly searching for other ways to get pleasure. You folded your arms over your chest and stared her down until her face broke and tears began to leak from her eyes. She turned around and shoved Elvis hard into the doorframe. His face fell into anger and he reached out to grab Priscilla but she was already flying down the hallway, burying her head in her hands. You glanced up at Elvis with a flat expression, unimpressed and uncaring. It’s his fucking fault all three of you are in this situation, anyway. When opened his mouth to speak, you spun on your heel and stalked down the hallway away from him before he got a chance to say anything.

You run a hand over your face and shake your head to dispel the memories. You’re exhausted and you just want to go home. Back to a home you don’t have anymore.

A knock at the door sounds and you stand up, opening it to see Jerry on the other side. You breathe a sigh of relief and open the door so he can come into your room. You and Jerry have grown quite close recently. He’s been sharing information with you and you’ve been conducting your own research to find out what you can, including chatting with Elvis about the Colonel. You were making good progress until…

Anyway, you’re spending a lot more time together. If it weren’t for Jerry’s support, you would have flown out of there a lot sooner. But you couldn’t leave him now, not when you’re both onto something.

“Jerry!” you smile for the first time in what feels like forever. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Although you smile, his face is grave and his lips are turned downward.

“I’m not…in trouble am I? You seem upset…” you say but he shakes his head.

“No, nothing like that. But I do have some information for you. It’s important.”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you nod.

“What’s this about? Did you figure out why he fled Holland?”

You both sit on the couch, your attention pulled directly to him. The last time you talked, you were both trying to uncover why the Colonel left Holland, where he’s apparently really from.

“No, this information is of a much more…personal nature.”

“Oh?”

“I found out where your money’s going. Or not going, that is,” he says.

“That’s great! What did you find out?”

“I was right. The Colonel’s been blocking your payments. Apparently, according to my sources, he doesn’t find your position necessary so he’s been stopping the payments that were supposed to go through to pay off your debts.”

“Why am I not surprised. But I don’t understand; Elvis still gifts me things all the time, expensive things. Besides, he said he’d take care of my debts. He ensured me he'd handle it. Why hasn't he?”

“Not sure. My guess? Elvis brought it up to the Colonel, who lied to him and told him your debts were being taken care of. The Colonel can’t stop him from buying you objects because those come out of his own pocket and once they’re purchased, that money is gone. But from the looks of it, he’s doing everything he can to stop the payments from going through. I took care of it in the meantime, but I’m not sure how much more I can help you with it."

You nod, squinting your eyes in displeasure. Just one more reason for you to despise that humpty-dumpty looking man. He doesn’t approve of you…or your role. You scoff and shake your head.

“He doesn’t approve of my role,” you repeat. “When he’s the one taking fucking 50% of Elvis’ earnings and gambling it all away like a bastard. I wanna get him more than ever, Jerry.”

Jerry smiles mischievously and nods.

“Good. Me too. I have an idea. I’m not sure that it’ll make a difference but maybe we can try it?”

“Sure. Anything to take this motherfucker down. What’d you have in mind?”

“I was thinking that you could just bring it up to Elvis. I have a few documents here,” he pulls out a folder from behind him that you hadn’t even realized he was carrying. He hands it over to you and you flip through the pages. “These are all official, authorized documents of bills, receipts, transactions, everything that I could find to show that the Colonel is a fraud, a liar, and a criminal. I’ve tried to find the time to talk to Elvis, but he’s so busy nowadays and I think the Colonel may have an inkling of what we’re doing. I think he’s trying to keep Elvis away from me and maybe even from you. Not to mention that Elvis hasn’t been himself recently. Even if we were to reach him, I’m not sure that he’d hear us or care.”

“Yeah, I’m…not sure that will work. I haven’t seen Elvis in almost a week and the last time we saw each other, things weren’t going very well. I sort of stormed out on him.”

Your mind plays again through the events of your most recent night with Elvis and you shudder.

“Well, I’ve noticed he has a soft spot for you so maybe you could just try? I know it might not the best or most effective plan but I think it could work. It’s our best shot until we can figure out something else to do. Don’t think I forgot what you did for us all during the ‘68 special with ‘If I Can Dream.’”

Your eyes widen. You’ve completely forgotten about all of that. It all feels so long ago now. You nod, closing the folder and sticking out your palm. Jerry shoots you a confused expression but takes your hand anyway. You shake it vigorously.

“Mission accepted. I’ll go after dinner. He’s usually more amenable at night when he’s tired.”

And so you do just that.

After a small dinner for which you have absolutely no appetite whatsoever, you grab the file folder and press it close to your chest as you make your way upstairs. You don’t bother to change or get dolled up. You have no intention of using your looks or influence on him to persuade him to look at the documents. To be honest, you’re too tired and uninterested. Plus, you’re not even sure it would work. He doesn’t seem to be that impressed with you anymore. Your novelty must have worn off, just as his has for you.

You pause outside the door and take a deep breath, reminding yourself to be patient with him, especially if he seems out of it or incredibly high on whatever drug cocktail he’s taken today. As you pause, you suddenly hear voices inside, Elvis’ and a woman’s. You listen for a moment, not recognizing the voice as Priscilla’s this time. Shaking your head, you twist the nob but find it locked. Huffing, you raise your fingers to knock on the door.

When no one answers after a few minutes, you reach into your pocket and pull out your key. You twist it into the lock and open the door, stepping into the room. Before you even have a chance to call his name, something whizzes past your body and smashes into the glass screen of one of his televisions. You scream and drop the folder, reaching your arms up to cover your head as several more shots are fired.

Silence settles and with shaky breathing and a vibrating body, you remove your hands and glance over to see Elvis stumbling around in his robe with a confused expression on his face, wielding one of his prized pistols. You look back over your shoulder to see that he’s blown out every single one of his televisions. Glass is shattered everywhere on the floor and although you don’t feel any pain, you check your body just to make sure. As far as you can tell, you’re uninjured. You turn back to Elvis, a furious look on your face.

“Oh, hey princess,” he slurs, sticking the gun into the belt of his robe. “Whatcha doin up ‘ere?”

Your eyes flick to the left when they detect movement and your face only grows angrier when you see a tall, skinny woman in her underwear and a bra clutching onto the covers. You at her with unwavering rage.

“Get out,” you say through gritted teeth.

You momentarily feel guilty as you watch the terrified girl grab onto her clothing and scurry out of the room, her eyes wide and face horrified. But when your gaze returns to Elvis, you’re filled with a wrath that you didn’t even know you had.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hiss. “You could have shot me!”

“Nah, baby I thought you was an intruder that’s all…” he approaches you as if to wrap his arms around you. You swat his arms away and step backward.

“No. Don’t you dare touch me right now. How could you be this reckless? This careless? You could have shot and killed that poor girl, whoever she is. You could have shot and killed yourself! The glass from the TVs could have hurt someone. This isn’t a fucking toy!”

You lunge forward and pull the gun from his belt. After you did it, you realize that you probably shouldn’t have. What little you know about gun safety tells you that was maybe a bad idea but you already feel safer with the gun in your own hands.

“Hey, give that back to me. That’s mine,” he says angrily, pointing at his own chest.

“No. You’re in no state to be wielding a loaded weapon with actual bullets in it. How fucking high are you?” you ask.

You grab onto his chin harshly and tilt his head toward the light so you can see his pupils. He pulls away harshly but not before you get a decent enough glance to see that they’re incredibly dilated. A few moments of silence pass as Elvis stumbles backward and falls onto the bed, his head flopping down uncontrollably. As he sits there, leaning to the side like a dehydrated flower, you feel pity.

“Mr. Presley,” you say more softly now, making your way over to sit next to him. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me? You used to tell me when things were wrong and I used to help. You’re not well. You need to rest, take a few weeks, get better. You can’t keep going on like this.”

“What the fuck do you know? You don’t know anything bout me. I’m fine,” he lifts his head. His glazed-over eyes look unforgiving and cold in a way that proves to you just how sick he is. They look faded, almost grey.

“No. You’re. Not. People who are fine don’t shoot guns at their television sets. They don’t destroy their own property, do drugs twenty-four seven, cheat on their spouses. You’re sick and you need help.”

You reach out to touch his arm but he jerks away and stands up, stepping away from you and back over to the spot in his bedroom where he keeps all of his guns. His collection.

“Why don’t you just stay outta my fuckin business. I don’t pay ya to ask me how I’m doin. I pay ya to suck my dick and shut up.”

It takes everything in you not to slap the shit out of him right there. Your body is filled with rage. Your teeth clench and your fingers curl into fists.

“Fine. If this is how you wanna be, then I’ll go.”

Elvis laughs, almost sadistically, as you get up from your seat and start toward the door.

“Don’t be so fuckin dramatic, princess. Why can’t you stay? What the hell’s wrong with what I given you? Don’t act like you don’t like it. I know it gets you off to give me pleasure.”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you act like I’m being ungrateful! Do you even know what I’ve done for you, what I’ve given up, what I’ve sacrificed? I have no friends and no social life. You drove them all away. Did you know that I was seeing someone? Max, the stagehand. You remember him, don’t you? I liked him, Elvis. Really liked him and now I never get to know what could have been between us because you scared him shitless. Because you’re so fucking possessive, I-”

“Possessive? I’m possessive! You’re the one who got into it with my wife. More than once, I might add. But, no, I’m the possessive one.”

“You gave me a fucking collar! I’m not a dog!”

“Nah, but y’are a bitch,” he replies without missing a beat.

You respond, too, without missing a second. But your reply doesn’t involve words. Instead, it’s your open palm flying through the air and connecting with his cheek. The air is silent after the loud and harsh clap that sounds when you’ve slapped his face. Your chest is heaving and you’re breathing with so much rage that you can hear your breath when it leaves your body. His face remains frozen in the place where you’ve slapped him, his eyes closed tightly together and his chest heaving angrily.

“Fuck. You. I sold that necklace,” you hiss at him. “You wanna know why? I sold it to pay my bills, my debts. The ones you promised you’d pay. Remember when you told me you’d take care of it? When you told me not to worry about anything? When you pursued me without my consent and continued to do so even after I’d rejected your proposal? When you humiliated me in front of everyone, on multiple occasions? People I didn’t even know. On days when I didn’t want to suck your dick, when I didn’t want to be violated by you but I put that aside for your benefit? When I dropped everything, my entire life, to move out here to make you happy?”

“You lucky I paid you anything, specially considerin your attitude lately. Ungrateful brat.”

You scoff and shake your head. He says nothing but lifts his gaze, tilting his chin so that he’s looking down his nose at you. His face is scrunched up in an expression of disgust. You nod at his silence. As you step backward, your heel catches on one of the pieces of paper that you dropped. You laugh angrily and lean down to pick up the scattered contents. Most of the paper is still inside the flaps but several have fallen out. You hold it up and shake it.

“I used to think if I only had more money, all my problems would be solved. Money can’t fix everything, apparently. They’re right what they say, that money doesn’t buy happiness. Because I’ve never been more unhappy in my life.”

He shakes his head dismissively and clenches his jaw as he stares down at you.

“I was coming up here to help you. To tell you that the Colonel is bad news. That Jerry and I have been working on uncovering exactly what he does, how he does it, and how it’s hurting you. And the fact that my bills aren’t being paid because the Colonel’s making sure the payments don’t go through. And the fact that the Colonel takes 50% of your earnings,” his head snaps up when you say it, confusion flooding his face. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ve seen the receipts; I know about that.”

“And what the hell do you expect me to do bout it?” Elvis asks, throwing his hands up.

You clench your jaw and then throw the folder at him. It smacks into his chest and he stumbles back as the remaining papers go flying out of it. You tangle your fingers into your scalp and scream angrily before turning back to him.

“Fire him! Get rid of him! Why are you so indebted to this man? All he’s done is betray you and use you and abuse you? God, everything about you is backward. You’re an heartless bastard to the people who care about you and an absolute angel, a slave, to people who’ve done you nothing but wrong!”

“God damnit! Why do you even care so much bout me? We barely know each other! You ain’t got no obligation to care about me! You’re usin me just like everybody else does! I’m just a way for you to pay your bills, ain’t that right?”

“No!” you scream.

“No? Then what the hell am I to you? Why do ya care so much?”

“Because I love you, Elvis!” you shout and immediately falter.

You feel like your entire body is about to drop to the ground, your legs turning into noodles. Your heart slams against your chest and you drop your gaze, shame and embarrassment flooding through you. You wait, agonizing through the silence that follows your confession. When he doesn’t respond, you glimpse up at him. Although his sea-blue eyes are still glazed over, you can see that he’s finally focused on you, aware enough to recognize you. You guess your confession snapped him out of his drug-induced coma.

“I don’t…”

“Of course not. I don’t expect you to say it back,” you finally whisper. “I’m sure a million women say that exact thing to you every single day. Why should you care? You get your happily ever after anyway. You’re already married with a wife who still loves you, despite everything that you’ve put her through, all that you’ve done to her. You have a beautiful, wonderful daughter who’s gonna grow up to be such a lovely person. You’re not in this relationship for love, you have plenty of that. You don’t need it. You were only here for sex. The whole time I was just something to fuck, an object. I knew that when I agreed to this. I should have remembered it better.”

Your voice cracks as the reality of your unhappiness begins to settle.

You used to feel like the trap you were caught in was a privilege, a lust-filled dream that would only tease you and then indulge you eventually when it was ready. Now, you realize it was a prison. And you were being tortured every step of the way. You give him one chance to say something to make you stay, mostly deluding yourself into an extra moment of longing and hoping that he will. Not unsurprisingly, he doesn’t and silence envelops you in her wings, shutting you off from him forever. You nod resolutely and turn to leave.

“Y/N,” he says, lunging to grab onto your wrist.

Your heart shakes in your chest. He never uses your name, always calls you princess or doll or sugar. But never by your name. It feels too intimate, too personal now. It makes you think for one moment that he might actually love you in some small way. But you’re smarter than that. You shake yourself away from him and glance over your shoulder. You feel emotion rising in your chest, the tips of your fingers aching with sadness. You are powerless to stop the tears that quickly rise into your eyes.

“I can’t keep waiting for you to get better,” you say through the tears that are streaming down your face. You feel your face screw up and look away from him. “I can’t.”

You want nothing more than to run to him and touch his warm skin, kiss him all over, pull him close to you. But when you glance over your shoulder and meet his glassy eyes for the last time, you realize that this isn’t the man you want. You want the one who makes you laugh, whose eyes twinkle, whose humor is off the rails and unhinged. You want the man who bought you the most obscure record that you passingly mentioned one time. You want Elvis, not ELVIS. But you’re not even sure who either of those men are anymore.

You take a deep breath and turn, walking away from the man you love with all your heart.

When you step back into your room, you immediately go to the phone and dial in the very familiar number. After waiting for the ring, you hear the most beautiful voice you’ve ever heard in your life.

“Hello?”

“Hi Trixie.”

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[x-authorship-x]

Hello! I have a question or multiple if that's ok. ^^ Have you ever thought of how different people would react if hope au Shisui somehow for one reason or another found himself in the au where he's dead? Like would they become obsessed with his wellbeing because what went wrong for THEIR Shisui to commit suicide and what did THAT world do right for Shisui to still be alive? Would they agonize over who was the problem? Were they not enough/did they not have a close enough relationship? How much more devastated would they be if they found out hope au Shisui went to Inoichi for help when THEIR Shisui thought he was alone and couldn't rely on them? Would the Uchiha clan try to keep him within the compound like Mikoto going absolutely feral and refusing to let him be involved with the village anymore? Or how much more clingy Itachi would become? I feel like it has potential for a lot of hurt/angst with a pinch of comfort

Hey~

I'm always open to questions, about any of my fics or fandoms! ☺️

I think that would be an extremely upsetting fic (which obvs wouldn't put me off lol) but I'll admit I've never particularly thought about it. I think it's because I'm focused on pushing through with the series that it takes prompts/submissions for me to look back and rework "the beginning", as it were (part one/the suicide/the relationships first introduced in NoT etc). This sounds very interesting tho... I'm not sure I'd write it as anything longer than a one shot with a potential for a two-shot, just because - like you said - it would be a collection of people freaking the fuck out and raging/crying whilst Shisui is like... catatonic with guilt and shame...

I'll add it to the submission pile (not forgotten!!) tho because I am interested...

As for your questions;

They would absolutely be unhinged with Shisui's welfare

I think there'd be a lot of insecurity and self reflection. Kakashi would probably be dangerously low, as close to the edge as he's been before, whilst Genma would be extremely angry at the Uchiha - who would be enraged at the village - and likely to pick a fight with Itachi. Raidou would be hurt personally, Tenzo would be stricken and lost and possibly a little distant because he doesn't know how to cope (leading to more angst as Shisui sees this as a rejection). Inoichi would not let him out of sight. Ino would be extremely angry at everyone, her parents Shisui and herself included.

The divergence in HOPE AU versus this Darker Timeline would absolutely torture Inoichi.

Well, one of the reasons Shisui jumped (besides sheer hopelessness, the prayer that Itachi would awaken a Mangekyou that could fix the problem, and the influence of extreme panic under Aburame poison) was because he felt he couldn't return to the village/the clan after having been attacked by Danzo without pitching the Coup into all-out civil war. If Shisui returned, after having been so close to ending the fighting with Kotoamatsukami, only to not only be close to death because he was stopped by an Elder but because said Elder had committed bloodline theft...? Game over. Shisui would rather no one knew, he died, than risk being the thing that made it all worse.

In the usual Darker Timeline, the Uchiha Massacre does take place. I'm guessing that it doesn't in this one? Unless Shisui returned relatively quickly from death, in which case there's a very good chance that people just think he survived the fall and took a while to find his way home.... In the case that the massacre just doesn't happen, I think the HOPE AU divergence is even more interesting because... How was this coup stopped without Shisui/Kotoamatsukami/said Massacre?

If Shisui returned post-massacre....? 😬 He thought that returning after having an eye stolen and the fallout would've been the worst timeline... He'd be proven fucking wrong...

Hope that answered some of your questions, Riruisris! ✨