#tragic clown attempts to write

[tragicclownwrites]

🤡

[theglasshatstud10]

MY personal Laughing Jack Head cannons!!!!!

(Going off of his character wiki too)

♧ LJ definitely has a fear of abandonment and is extremely touch starved, however he isolates himself because if no one gets close to him, they will never be able to hurt him.

♧ LJ definitely uses all terms of british slang but often prefers to use slang that the working class during the early 1800s used.

♧ He once tried to get "hip with the kids" by dressing up and acting like a road man, saying things like "I'm gonna chef you up fam" and "wag wan G" but because most of the pastas were born and raised in America, they didn't get what he was attempting, and he quickly got embarrassed.

♧ He used to go to a lot of goth clubs back in the 80s and took part in the goth scene when it was new, as he found the dark and gloomy lyrics of goth music to speak what he sometimes felt, best putting it into words.

♧ Despite him being a monochromatic clown, he loves colour. One of his favourite aesthetics being art nouveau and whimsy goth. Otherwise he simply wears gothic clothes.

♧ He can change clothes from his normal goth attire, however, as soon as he puts it on, it simply becomes monochromatic like him, no matter how colourful it is, but it reverts back to his colours as soon as he takes it off.

♧ He loves everything gothic.

♧ He makes his own candies and chocolates.

♧ Currently, his favourite candy bar is the Cadbury jelly bean and popping candy bar. (It's the best one hands down)

♧ He watches period dramas with the other creepypastas, just so he can laugh and point at all of the historical inaccuracies made.

♧ His sense of humour is increasingly dark, crude, and vulgar. Often referencing tragic events in recent history or within someone's life, as he sometimes doesn't always pick up on social ques, so he doesn't know what exactly is appropriate and what isn't (not like he'd care anyway).

♧ Contrary to popular belief, he's actually incrediblely intelligent.

♧ Due to his ability to telliport, he has travelled the world. When he's board he just picks a random spot on earth and kinda just sits there for a while. By doing this, he has managed to witness many things throughout history.

♧ He has witnessed all the crimes and sins of humanity since the 1800s, and he hates the existence of humans for it. However, sometimes he will come across a human or a few, who make him second guess his beliefs and opinions on humanity.

♧ After killing Issac, he went on a 26-year massacre. Killing a child, parent, or random person, every day or few. But slowly, over time, he slowed down. It went from killing every couple of days to every couple of weeks, then soon months, then once a year.

♧ this was when he went into a kind of depression. He didn't do much at all for a long time. He doesn't know exactly how long, and he doesn't remember how long he kept himself isolated in his carnival for.

♧ Eventually, he got back into the swing of it. after all, Issac imprinted that killers streak onto him. But this is when he began to travel.

♧ Seeing the world for what it was both made him more blood thirsty, and yet it kept him somewhat down to earth in a way. He had slowly matured. Although still very child like in nature.

♧ He would write poetry, study gothic literature, take part in the arts, and culture himself in theatre. All just activities to keep himself busy over the years. After all, he's lived over two centuries, and he'll live longer. You've got to do something from keeping you going mad with boardem.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Idia & Rollo: A Tale of Two Brothers

HI I’M WRITING ANOTHER ANALYSIS BECAUSE I’M STILL GOING CRAZY OVER GLORIOUS MASQUERADE PART 5 🤡 *honks clown nose*

***Spoilers for chapter 6 of the main story and Glorious Masquerade!***

***CONTENT WARNING: extensive mentions of death and allusions to suicide and suicidal ideation.***

This analysis was inspired in part by this illustration; Idia and Rollo are both standing trial for their crimes. However, notice that while Rollo is frantically defending himself, Idia stands calm, almost accepting of his fate and awaiting judgment. Please keep this illustration in mind, as I believe it to be an apt visualization of both the similarities and the differences between the two.

On a surface level, there isn't that much that's the same about Idia and Rollo. They don't even "speak the same language", as Rollo expresses confusion at the slang Idia uses when referring to gargoyles as Malleus's "oshi". Idia is socially anxious, introverted, and nerdy, with hobbies and interests such as video games, idols, and manga/anime. He's intelligent, but he's also self-absorbed, often bragging about his own genius or making inventions just to make his own life easier (such as a tablet so he can attempt classes remotely). Idia also has a habit of insulting others for "not being on his level", or even talking them down or acting frightened when they exceed in areas he doesn't deem important, such as athletics. On the other hand, Rollo is far more astute and serious, setting high standards for himself and for others. Despite this, he does well with people at a superficial level and is well-liked by his peers. He is practical and sparing about how he uses his intelligence and magic, usually only limiting them to scenarios which they are necessary to utilize.

However, if there is one major, glaring similarity between Idia and Rollo, it is this: they both love and care for their younger brothers--and they both lost those beloved brothers in tragic accidents, which deeply affected their courses in life and their mindsets as they grew up. What's more, they both became emotionally closed off from others as a result. The difference here is how they coped with their losses and came out the other side.

Idia has been groomed from birth to be the perfect heir that will eventually succeed his father as director of S.T.Y.X. and the Shroud family itself, which oversees the Underworld. Because of this, he has usually been contained to his studies and scarcely saw the outside world. His younger brother, Ortho, who was not burdened by these responsibilities and loved playing with Idia, one day convinced his older brother to sneak out with him to play in the world above. When Idia disarms the security systems to aid in their escape, a Phantom escapes and tragically ends Ortho's life. This incident traumatized Idia to the point where he stayed in his room for roughly 2 years, barely asking anything of others but spare parts. During this time, he invented a robotic version of Ortho to act as his brother, aware that the A.I. would never be able to replace the original that was lost. When the events of episode 6 occur, Idia is able to finally acknowledge Robo!Ortho as his own person, and comes to terms with the original's passing. He decides that he must live on, and gradually opens up to his classmates once he has this revelation.

Rollo's younger brother unlocked his magic before Rollo did. (I will call the unnamed younger brother "Brollo" for the sake of simplicity.) From a brief flashback at the end of Glorious Masquerade, we know that Brollo truly loved magic and using it because it made Rollo happy when he did. Unfortunately, this magic (presumably a fire spell) got out of hand one day and ended up consuming Brollo. Since then, Rollo cursed magic, blaming other magicians for not intervening to rescue his sibling. Then, in a horrible twist of fate, Rollo discovered his own magic after Brollo's passing. Not only does Rollo turn out to also be a mage--one of the people he detests for not helping his brother--but his own unique magic, something that defines him as an individual, is driven by negative emotions and engulfs him in flames... More fire, just like the fire that took Brollo from him. Rollo not only experienced that trauma, but let that trauma fuel him and become an integral part of his identity. This would later convince him that magic is a "sin" that tempts people and decide that it would be better off if Twisted Wonderland were robbed of all of its magic. He cites his motivation for taking such an extreme stance as "saving" others. Even when he is defeated and apprehended by the NRC boys, Rollo holds fast to his beliefs and refuses to admit to any wrongdoing.

Notice where their paths diverged.

Idia was in a situation where he was more directly responsible for Ortho's death. If he hadn't meddled with the security, the Phantom would have never escaped and Ortho would not have been gravely injured. Because of this, Idia accepts the burden of responsibility and feels immensely guilty due to his involvement. This is a good deal of the reason why he shut himself away from the world following Ortho's death and why he has issues with socializing for so much of the main story; Idia feels ashamed for what he has done, so he turns to his own interests as a way to cope with it. Without Ortho there to encourage him to reach out to others and attempt at friendships, Idia falls victim to his own hopelessness. Why bother making friends? Why bother reaching out? His future has already been decided for him, and the one time he tried to avoid his fate, someone he loved was lost to him forever. It's pointless and futile to try, and he says as much in episode 6. All of the test subjects will have their memories of their time gaming wiped--so why be friendly with them and enjoy himself? It's all meaningless. Idia's guilt turned inward, and whether he realizes it or not, everything he does is an unconscious reflection of that guilt, right down to the defeatist attitude he adopts following the initial trauma.

Rollo is the opposite of Idia; his guilt turned outward, and he never came to accept it, so it ended up poisoning him and his perception of the world. This explains why Rollo took extreme actions against all of Twisted Wonderland, whereas Idia was contained (again, internalized guilt) and only Overblotted when tempted by the promise of reuniting with his dead brother.

To go into more detail with Rollo... Sebek mentions in Glorious Masquerade that he cannot understand his motives; if Rollo hates magicians and magic, and Rollo IS a magician, then does the logic not follow that Rollo, by proxy, must hate himself? Idia echoes this sentiment when confronting him, accusing Rollo of actually hating himself the most for being powerless to help Brollo. That's... most likely true, given the circumstances, but notice that it is Sebek and Idia that have to say this for the audience to understand, rather than Rollo monologuing about it. Why? Because Rollo is in denial about his internal conflict. Time and time again in the event we hear him talk about how OTHER people are disgusting, how OTHER people misuse their magic... and when he talks about his own magic, he refers to it as "a curse", "a burden". It's clear he views magic, including his own, as a very negative thing. Rollo's wording is especially telling when he has been beaten, weeping over the loss of his flowers, his salvation, even though he has been claiming all this time his actions were for the good of OTHER people, not himself.

Unlike Idia, Rollo was not the direct cause of Brollo's passing. However, Rollo must feel responsible in some part (whether consciously knowing or not), as it is implied Rollo indirectly encouraged his brother's use of magic (because seeing Brollo's magic made him happy). He must have also felt an immense guilt for not unlocking his magic sooner, for not being capable of stopping the magic from raging out of control. But Rollo, being powerless at the time, did not direct his anger at himself, but at the people around them. Blaming others is just an easier solution than accepting blame yourself, and that was the route Rollo went down. However, in refusing to acknowledge the part he played himself, it caused more hatred to fester. Rollo could never be happy, could never be satisfied, because everywhere he looked, he saw sin--but not within. Like Idia, he emotionally closes himself off from others, not speaking about his experiences to others and instead writing them down in journal entries... but Rollo takes it so, SO much further, spending years and years plotting his "salvation" to come into fruition. He tries to justify this to himself and to others as a means of saving them, but as Idia rightfully points out, that's just an excuse to vent, an excuse to save himself and to be liberated of the burden called magic. It sometimes slips out in the way Rollo speaks about his goals: how people will not have to suffer from painful memories “again” (ie Rollo won’t have to relive the past), how they will be freed from “dark and cold despair” (he’s speaking about it in such detail, like he is speaking from experience).

I actually don’t think what Idia said is completely true; yes, Rollo wants to save himself. However, if that were the case, why wouldn’t Rollo just have the crimson flowers relive himself of magic and no one else’s? It’s because Rollo honest-to-God believes the world would be better off without magic, even if that means he has to force his will upon others. He wants to not only save himself, but prevent anyone from ending up like Brollo. Again, I believe there is a part of him that subconsciously feels guilt for not being able to help his brother, so now Rollo is overcompensating/overcorrecting by ensuring that he “helps” everyone. His extreme wording plays into this; by using harsh terms like “villains” and constantly citing morality, it sounds as though he is trying to convince even himself that what he is doing is correct. He is someone that inherently values morality and justice, but his definitions have become twisted thanks to his grief and guilt. Rollo so reverently defends himself and his worldview because that is the only way he can rationalize tragedy and make sense of the trauma he has experienced.

Perhaps the saddest part of Rollo's story is that, unlike Idia, he doesn't change his mindset (or at least he doesn't want to). By the end of episode 6, Idia has started to come out of his shell to hang out with his classmates and play video games with them, and he has accepted Ortho as an individual. Rollo still believes he is in the right and refuses to talk to the people who offer to lend an ear (the gargoyles) to his woes. He still claims he will never see eye-to-eye with magicians and swears he will continue working against their interests. What’s important is that he is put in a situation where he is forced to face the inner demons that torment him, the guilt that he has yet to address in full, thanks to the NRC boys putting his self-righteousness on the spot. Rollo is being punished, but also given a chance, to be like Idia--to grow from the past, rather than let it continue to consume him.

It was so genius how they implemented Idia in Glorious Masquerade; it can be said that Malleus is Rollo’s foil (in that Malleus represents all the frivolous use of magic that Rollo detests), but in a way, Idia is also a foil to Rollo due to their similar backstories. I love that for the first half of the event, Idia was being his usual self, complaining about being away from his room and from Ortho, making jabs at his classmates, trying to minimize socialization, and occasionally geeking out. Even when the crimson flowers make themselves known, Idia is anything but enthusiastic to assist. He would rather run away from the issue, or just throw in the towel and Game Over than put up a fight. However, there is a dramatic shift in his behavior as soon as he, Malleus, and Azul find Rollo’s diary and learn of his motives from it.

Idia goes all quiet and becomes serious about stopping Rollo. Funnily enough, Azul initially interprets this behavior as hesitation, or Idia showing sympathy for their adversary. On the contrary, Idia knows more than ever that Rollo has to be stopped. Why is Idia suddenly so motivated when he wasn’t before (in spite of knowing the full weight of this threat)??? Because he realizes, whether he likes it or not, that Rollo is just like him. And while Idia may not care for Rollo, the fact is that Idia understands and empathizes with his experiences--but at the same time, he disapproves of the way Rollo is going about coping with it. As Idia puts it, Rollo has a right to be angry and to ruin his own life, but he has no right to drag other people down with his misery. Idia is drawing from his own experiences, how he holed up in his room and hid away from the world with his sorrow and rejected lucrative offers instead of causing trouble for others. Later on (in episode 6), Idia would be an inconvenience because of his Overblot, so he is speaking on those experiences as well. Idia has been on both sides of this, so he understands what Rollo is going through, AND what the worst possible outcome for it could be if he’s left unchecked.

Worse still is Idia knowing that Rollo has also lost a younger sibling--but instead of trying to move on from it, Rollo has fixated and is weaponizing his tragic past to justify his evil actions. As Idia demands of Rollo, is this really what Brollo would have wanted? Or is Rollo just lying and superimposing his own views over Brollo’s wishes, conflating them to make something that fits his narrow-minded and hateful view of the world? Idia is in a similar situation as Rollo, but he has never tried to use Ortho’s passing to excuse or to justify his actions. Even when he Overblotted, sure, Idia was rampaging, but his concern was always Ortho first and foremost. When he gets shot with lightning, Idia loses his cool over Ortho being hurt and rushes to check on the damage he has taken. At his lowest point, Idia still cares for his brother above all else, so it makes sense that he’s disgusted by Rollo essentially using his dead brother and his “wish” to justify doing awful things to innocent people.

This is why Idia says he cannot forgive Rollo: because Rollo is a dark mirror of himself--a version of Idia if his pain had been directed outward instead of inward. Someone who can’t let go of the past, and is ruled by it, spreading their suffering onto others instead of learning to live with themselves and their sins. He’s horrified that Rollo would use his brother’s passing to justify bringing a similar sadness upon do many others by robbing them of their magic. It’s such a perversion of grieving over a loved one, Idia cannot stand it. Both boys demonstrate to us unhealthy methods of coping with their circumstances (turning the guilt and hatred inward vs turning the guilt and hatred outward), but Idia was the one to learn and grow from his sorrows whereas Rollo continues to wallow in them.

It is Idia and Idia alone who understands everything Rollo is going through. All that pain and regret, wishing so desperately that life had been fairer to them and to their poor brothers... He even understands wanting to “destroy the whole world because it hurts knowing that [his brother] will never come back to him”. These are feelings Idia has had himself, but the difference between him and Rollo is that Idia can see those feelings for what they are: misguided, misplaced. He knows that even if life has been unfair, it doesn’t justify making others pay the price for it. He knows that making others suffer won’t get him a happy ending, and that it won’t bring Ortho back. He knows that doing all of this won’t make Rollo happy, it won’t really free him, because the past and the guilt associated with it will always remain no matter what changes in present day.

Rollo will only be free once he reaches acceptance in the cycle of grieving, if he lets go of what happened before and decides to live for himself without shame, like Idia has. Instead, Rollo has chosen to lash out at the world, using his brother’s passing as a fuel for his self-righteous fire. It’s the only way he can live with himself, because were he to accept his own guilt, his ego would break. The magic unique to him, Dark Fire, all of the inner turmoil he has held up to this point... that makes up who Rollo is. And if he doesn’t have that... then what’s the point of it all? He’s not ready to come to terms with that possibility, so he shunts it out for the easier solution, which is being rid of that magic altogether. In that mindless pursuit of his goals, he has lost sight of what he is truly after, his “salvation”: being at peace with Brollo’s death, and finding a reason to live on in his stead.

As Idia tells him, it’s alright to feel guilt, and there is nothing wrong with using the love we have for those who have passed as motivation to keep living. Idia was someone who was fully prepared to “join” Ortho in the afterlife (his choice of word, not mine), and Ortho had to convince him to stay. There’s too many games Idia hasn’t played yet, manga he hasn’t read, shows he hasn’t watched. There’s so much of life he has yet to experience, and he shouldn’t throw that away. Ortho tells Idia to return to his friends, to live--and with that, they said their final good-byes, and Idia is finally able to move on. Now he is passing along that knowledge, that plea to live, to Rollo, even if he detests Rollo’s character, his intentions, and the motivation behind it. For as much as Idia hates people, he would hate to see someone go down the dark path he had been destined for, had it not been for Ortho’s intervention, even more. I imagine it must be a weird feeling Idia is experiencing, some mix of disgust, displeasure, pity, and the feeling of “bro, I know where you’ve been and I know you can be better than this”.

Though Idia is definitely in the right in this situation, I want to call attention to the fact that Idia isn’t exactly intervening for purely selfless reasons; he was ready to fuck off and leave the City of Flowers to (metaphorically) burn and was putting forth no effort to save it until he caught that thread that connected him and Rollo. Even then, Idia’s not concerned with saving Rollo’s soul or whatever, he just wants to make it known Rollo is a bad person and should feel bad for what he has done because they are similar. If Rollo had had some other tragic backstory that didn’t involve a dead brother, I doubt Idia would have been reinvigorated to stop him as he was in canon. They have a kinship through their brothers whether they like it or not (and trust me, neither of them like it 😅), and that is ultimately what drives Idia to intervene.

Idia’s love for his brother not only allows him to connect with and empathize with others against his better judgment, but that love also supersedes Rollo’s hatred and guilt. He is able to reach that final stage of acceptance, while Rollo is still angry and bargaining for a way out.

Anyway, that was my very VERY long-winded way of saying I think Rollo should be forced to hang out with the Shroud brothers in fact, I’m working on a fic about this 🤡 because he could honestly stand to learn a lot from their character arcs…

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Michael David Cobb Bowen

Published: Dec 21, 2024

Today I came across some interesting material. It was a video that my brother Doc, retired LAPD, got to me from his network of insiders. It seems so long ago, but seeing it fresh four years later is quite the revelation. Today I’m publishing some of the last things I said on my old blog before moving to Substack. You can check it out at Stoic Observations.

From the Archives

Dateline June 2020 Some time ago I wrote My Black Life Doesn't Matter. As the machinations and shenanigans associated with BLM continue to disturb my peace, I think I have come to an appropriate way to describe it. Having come to this realization, I find it entirely consistent with my understanding of coming to grips with an identity one doesn't choose and how the Civil Rights movements of the past are so starkly and fundamentally different from what's going on today.

George Floyd has become a fungible.

He has been press ganged into a parade of celebrity victims by a crowd of activists and their sympathizers. His actual black life has been hounded into a representational dead end. Or to use more commonly bandied about language, he has been culturally appropriated. George Floyd is not his life, he is only his death. What his life might have meant has succumbed to the public acceptance, almost unanimous, about what his death has symbolized. I too, like the family of Floyd, know what it is like to lose a family member suddenly and tragically. I know what that kind of grief and loss feels like. I have experienced this for myself, twice. What I do not know, is what it feels like to have a family member's entire life be overshadowed by a moment of infamy and then converted into an avalanche of political activism. I have not had a family member erased.

On the other hand, I am familiar with the theme. Anyone who has attempted to write, as I have, as a black writer, knows how difficult it is to get your writing recognized as a legitimate and authentic representation of your lived experience. You can call this an economic injustice if that term suits you, because it is clear that the economic power of news organization and political organization and cultural production companies in any medium quite handily overwhelms the truth of any individual writer. Only the writer who is broadly published and becomes famous because of that, is relatively safe from misrepresentation. That safety is under a greater threat than ever in my memory, owing to the cowardice and volume of Cancel Culture and their blue meany alarm-clowns. As much as it is told that diverse voices are being empowered, these are only pigeonholes. They are as common and as generic as rainbow graphics and full [people of] color brochures for liberal arts colleges. Yet it is hard enough to have the actual details of life accurately portrayed in a world where racial stereotypes rule. When I moved from Los Angeles to Brooklyn around the corner from Crown Heights, it was assumed that black Americans all had the same negative connotations of Jews. So I was asked to join certain protests. I never had anything but normal relations with Jews my entire life. When I moved from NY to Atlanta's largely white Cobb County suburbs, it was assumed that I would inherit all of the black culture of Fulton County, largely black. Black diversity, that phrase you never hear, is real but it is always smothered for the premises of black cultural and political unity, and by the liberal confirmation bias that assumes it. That's why it's not part of today's narrative. That's why George Floyd's dead body means so much more than his life. It can't defy the narrative. It generated a perfect storm because it was racially predestined.

When I first got on the net in the early 90s, a close friend of mine said something fundamentally profound. It was that black Americans didn't need and weren't looking for a black leader, it was white people. White people needed a black leader to speak for the masses, someone they could accept or reject and then compare the ideas of the leaders to those black Americans with whom they wished to embrace or denounce. Where do you stand on Khalid Muhammad?, we were asked. Where do you stand on Mumia? What is your opinion on Cornel West? It was as if black America lived in an hermetic universe whose bubble could only be pierced by the Fungibles who communicated with the rest of us at the Wednesday Night Meeting. At the same time, we acknowledged it was true that black Americans were looking for symbols to back up their stories of "I told you so." to anyone who doubted the reality of racism. The dynamic remains. There is a hot market for tales from the hood. I cannot tell you how many breathless inquiries I have received in the vein of "What is the most devastating racist thing that ever happened to you?".

In this inverted world of show and tell, only the bleakest, blackest tragedies are monetized and taken up by the American elites. The short attention span theater of the mainstream media does not have the inclination, time, patience or budget to put more substantive non-fiction into their agendas, certainly nothing that defies the new conventions of multicultural political correctness that floats up from the teaming millions. The common man must be left to his own devices and of consumption, but they are not interested in their reality. If the New York Times survey says X, then the public had better believe it for its own good. All the acceptable alternatives are to be consumed by the first class citizens in the magazines that matter, mostly brought to you by Conde Nast. Perhaps I'm being cynical and shrill. I simply hate drowning in the vanilla fluff of deepest darkest horrors of the 'black lives' that matter. Once upon a time there were celebrated men like Vernon Jordan who got to represent what America could provide to its citizens. Now the examples are the mistreated, maimed, & murdered.

In my writing, I have dealt with just about every one of them. Sean Bell, The Jena Six, Latasha Harlins, Rodney King, Ron Settles, Michael Zinzun, Don Jackson, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Mumia Abu Jamal, Shaquanda Cotton, and many more that I don't currently have the patience to link to an appropriate post in my archives. Nevertheless I have no problem simply listing them:

Abner Louima

Genarlow Wilson

Dunbar Village

Jonny Gammage

Tyisha Miller

Eric Garner

Tamir Rice

Freddy Gray

Philando Castile

What did they do? How did they live? It doesn't matter. They were crushed, now all we have are their ghosts haunting every newsroom, every political mention of race. They have, in the hands of the priests of the death cult of the New Anti Racists, the only blacks that matter - the dead ones. Nobody is able to celebrate black life in this narrative. It's black death that pays the bills. It's black tragedy that keeps the newsrooms buzzing. It's black dysfunction that keeps people talking and editorializing and coming up with some of the most nonsensical political ideas outside of Lilliput. This game is old, tired and wrong.

[pagetoscreensaga]

I'm only HUMAN

Hey there! I am a 20 year old who is an anime fanatic(popularly known as otaku). Watching anime is my solace. I also enjoy reading novels. Preferably the dystopian, mystery, thriller and tragic or angsty novels. I wanted to share my thoughts and also hear out the thoughts of others.

For the first post, I wanted to share how an anime led me to read a novel. The novel that I recently read was No Longer Human by Dazai Osamu. Yes, you read that right! Bungo Stray Dogs was the reason which made me want to read the book! For those who don't know, the anime revolves around Nakajima Atsushi who is expelled from the orphanage and is taken in by the Armed Detective Agency (ADA) which is composed of individuals with superhuman abilities. The show takes us through Atsushi's journey of self-discovery, overcoming his trauma and his life as a member of ADA. The most intriguing thing about this anime is how every character is named after a popular author and how their ability is associated with the most popular work of the respective authors.

Dazai Osamu is a character that stood out to me. His ability in the anime is No Longer Human. This ability enables him to nullify the powers of the other ability users. No Longer Human also happens to be one of the most notable works of the author. Dazai Osamu was a prominent Japanese author who depicted the complexities of human nature through his writings. He died by committing double suicide in 1948 by jumping into a reservoir in Tokyo. He had made multiple attempts at suicide, the first one being at the age of nineteen. He was also involved in a lovers suicide with one of his mistresses. However, he survived the suicide. Dazai in the anime, is also depicted as a suicide fanatic who is obsessed with the idea of committing a lovers suicide. Often fatuously joking around, there were instances when he seemed like an empty shell. His numbness and nihilistic perception comes from his lack of understanding of the purpose of life. This can be witnessed by viewers when he says- "Is there really any value to this thing we call living?" He seems to be desperately seeking to associate his life with some goal, indicating his paradoxical thought process. He seeks to attach meaning to life while also wanting to die.

No Longer Human is a brutally honest and vulnerable soliloquy of Yozo who is dreaded of human beings and feels like a social outcast and how his fear governed his actions in life. The experiences of Yozo are based on author Dazai's life himself. Yozo's internal conflict shows that how complex humans are and how their differences in perception contribute to their very self. He lived in the constant fear of being stripped of his farcical mask and also being treated as a social outcast. Over the time, he accustoms himself to societal settings and interactions. However, he feels alienated and struggles in building interpersonal relationships.

Every human being is an existence in themselves. Yozo's reason for building a farcical image was being allowed to live despite not feeling "Human". However, I believe it was also a subconscious attempt on his part to feel accepted. Dazai in the anime is also known for clowning around and lighting up the mood. However, behind the mask lies a heart brooding in inexplicable despair over the real reason for continuing the suffering of living.

Reading the book made me introspect if I were also putting up a facade to keep others from knowing the "Real" me. It made me think how disappointed others would be in me. There was also a feeling of guilt that came gushing in for deceiving others. It made me rethink, if I decided to stop being the way I am, would I still be loved and accepted? How long will I be able to put up the image of a jovial person? Would it be okay for me to share the emptiness I feel from within? It made me realise how I am shallow deep within; how I have accustomed myself to act in "socially accepted" ways and also behave and do things the way I am "expected"to do; Oh, how I fear being my facade seen through, but desperately seek to be heard and understood. It made feel like I have been losing sense of self.

Humans can be self-contradictory on multiple ocassions. It is important for us to feel and also process our thoughts. It is important to let ourselves experience the emotions. For I believe, experiencing emotions is also what makes us "HUMAN". Classic Japanese literature delves into complex human emotions by depicting them in fictional settings and how the characters cope with such emotions. Watching Bungo Stray Dogs was one of the best decisions for it allowed to explore classic literature. There are a lot of anime out there with stories of different characters and how they deal with their shortcomings which can be thought provoking, heart-rending and inspiring.

This would be the end of my first blog. I would be more than happy to know your thoughts and experiences :) Thank you for reading!

P. S. - May seem out of the blue, but the song "space" by Audrey Nuna is simply ETHEREAL. Do give it a listen :)

[translationandbetrayals]

Let's talk about the real Osamu Dazai, a genius in transforming his wounds into art

Who is Osamu Dazai?

Osamu Dazai was a Japanese novelist born on June 19, 1909, considered one of the most appreciated writers of the 20th century in Japan. Some of his most popular works, such as The Setting Sun and No Longer Human, are also considered modern classics in his country of origin.

"It's not that I'm weak, it's that the suffering weighs too much on me"

While some writers write to heal the wounds acquired in life; others, like Osamu Dazai, refuse to let their wounds heal and thus reveal them starkly in their writing. 

For Japanese literature, Osamu Dazai is one of the outstanding writers of the post-World War II period. His narrative developed a pessimistic tone, openly presenting a nation in social and moral crisis, a product of the effects of the war and the transition from feudal Japan to an industrial society.

No Longer Human, his greatest work

His novel No Longer Human (人間失格),it's the second best-selling novel in Japan.This novel portrays the life of Oba Yozo, a young sinaffect who, feeling alienated from society, tries to survive through the mask of a "clown", being a subject provided with humor and irony. Parents, teachers, friends, strangers, lovers, all of them are the subjects by whom Yozo wants to be recognized. The story thus shows us the protagonist's unsuccessful attempts to reconcile with the world around him; a process that begins in childhood and continues until adulthood, when he decides to commit suicide as an escape from this impossibility.

¨I had always been afraid of people and, due to my lack of confidence in my ability to act and speak like a human being, I kept my lonely agonies locked in my chest and my melancholy and restlessness hidden behind naive optimism. And over time I perfected my role as a strange jester¨.

Dazai's work reveals the dark side of modernization and its effects on our humanity, being critical of the rules and expectations of his time. For the writer, the human being is disqualified or dehumanized, since he is forced to live in the fragility of social ties. The novel is thus a tragic story that warns of today's postmodern world; written in sober and elegant prose that reveals the author's inner world.

Indeed, what we know about Yozo comes mainly from the life of Osamu Dazai himself, who used biographical material throughout his books. This is what is known as the literary genre shishosetsu or watakushi shōsetsu, used to describe a literature with a confessional tone where the events of the story correspond to the events in the author's life. 

Although it is worth saying that his work is also marked by satire and sarcasm, just as the protagonist of No Longer Human.

(Osamu Dazai's grave)

So...why is Dazai's name so beloved in anime?

Osamu Dazai's work has been widely revived by multimedia, through films, series and manga. We owe the boom that No Longer Human has had in the otaku community worldwide to the manga (and later anime) Bungou Stray Dogs, written by Kafka Asagiri and illustrated by Sango Harukawa. In this series, the character inspired by said work, who shares the name with our wonderful author, reflects Yozo's personality in a striking and exceptional way. Even the theme of the author's (and the character Yozo's) recurring suicide attempts are a comedic resource in the series, reflecting his ¨clown¨ ways, without leaving aside the reflection of the serious inner emptiness that Osamu Dazai's character suffers.

Due to his peculiar personality, attractive design and importance in the resolution of the plot of the work, this character has generated a large fan base throughout the younger community, of which a significant percentage has resorted to the original work, giving it great popularity outside Japan.

Without a doubt, Dazai has earned a position in modern Japanese literature comparable to writers of the stature of Mishima, Soseki, Akutagawa, Abe and Kawabata. Although his greatest achievement is not even that. His greatest achievement is being an essentially youthful writer, widely read and loved by young people. That far exceeds the previous one.

I, personally, highly recommend Dazai's work. Despite being from a past century, it has a very deep connection with the slights of youth. I assure you that if you are an ordinary person, who has felt internal conflicts and confusion, even more or less mild depressive moments, No Longer Human will give you a reflective space (and in my case, a safe space), in which to protect yourself. your insecurities and emptiness, represented in the person of Yozo, who, after all, was a reflection of the deep emptiness that Osamu Dazai felt throughout his disordered and tragic life, and the tangible example that your misfortunes can become one of the best youth literary works of all time. 

   Javiera Martel P.

[minetteskvareninova]

Minette watches Medici, part 15 (Betrayal)

- This is probably going to be a short one, because I don’t have much to complain about this episode? Like, the whole thing is questionable from the historical perspective and has a lot of problems carried over from the previous episodes, but overall the buildup to the Pazzi plot kinda slaps? Who knows, maybe I’ll fill this one with compliments instead.

- First off, one thing I forgot to mention in the previous entry: the decision to tie Galeazzo’s murder to the Pazzi conspiracy. And I mean, those two things were related, in that they were both attempts to remove an autocratic ruler and reinstate the old semi-oligarchical order, but they weren’t literally perpetuated by the same people. With that said, as far as deviations from history go, this is one of the better ones, because it fits very well into the main plot. Like, if they are going to disregard the history completely, they might as well give us something this good.

- Look, I hate to say this, because she was a great gal and shit, but... They should’ve killed Simonetta sooner. I don’t hate some of the things they were trying to do with Giuliano here, like him being distracted by women, wine and general fucking around, untill he falls in love with a girl who inspires him to take his responsibilities more seriously even after she dies. But like... The whole thing was too little too late. Instead we spend most of Simonetta and Giuliano’s time together with their dumb courtship and even dumber drama with her husband and Sandro.

- Also, the whole “Sandro loves her as an object of artistic adoration, while Giuliano loves her as an actual person” would be a great angle to take if it wasn’t for the fact that a) again, too little too late; b) if Giuliano really loved or at least respected her as an actual person, he would’ve left her alone at the first “get lost” and none of this drama would happen. These two had no fucking chemistry, but honestly that’s to be expected, I’ve yet to see a tsundere girl x presumptuous fuckboy pairing that isn’t pure trash. This is the kind of couple that gives enemies to lovers trope a bad name.

- Another thing that was too little too late? The whole thing with Giuliano finding his place as the hard first of the bank, while Lorenzo is the brain and friendly face. I don’t love either of them as characters, but they have a solid dynamic this show refuses to play on for some reason.

- Also let me clown a little on the whitewashing of Sixtus IV., like, I get that The Borgias did the whole “morally ambiguous pope” thing sooner and better, but come the fuck on. Also was his cardinal nephew supposed to be part of the conspiracy, because IRL he very much was...

- Whitewashing of the Medici family is bearing some really nasty fruits here in the form of tragic flattening of the Pazzi conspiracy. Like, where are my liberatores vibes? The Caesar references?! Halooo??? THIS SHIT COULD’VE BEEN SO POIGNANT ASFJG...

- The flashback was... Eh? Contessina’s death had me rolling my eyes, which - you know you’ve fucked up when a best girl is literally dying and my reacting is a fucking eyeroll. At the same time, we finally got some glimpses of an alternate timeline where Francesco de’ Pazzi had a decent characterization. His pride, his penchant for violence, his contentious relationship with his uncle... This dude could’ve been so interesting with some better writing! As it is, my interest in him as a character lives off of scraps and his mighty cheekbones. Ugh.

- But, I cannot emphasize this enough, despite all of my minor complaints, this was a fucking great episode! The plot was well-thought out, fast paced, the chase at the beginning kicked ass, the twists and turns of the plot were exciting, yet made perfect sense, and Carlo, oh my poor sweet Carlo, my heart goes out to you... Also my girls Clarice and Mamma Lucrezia, god how I love them. Like, so much for my conviction that I’ll end this show without any new blorbos. It’s just that I am better at complaining than praising, sorry about that.

[cottonpuffmouse]

I finished “The Setting Sun”.

Whew.

Here’s the review:

A pretty painful story as always. Tsushima isn’t exactly known for his ‘up-beat’ nature. But this followed the same beats of many of his other pieces. They almost always go: Tragic Start, Bad Coping Mechanisms, More Problems, A Meeting With Friends, Remembering Something Someone Said That Was Mean, Tragedy, Worse Coping, Tragedy, Tragedy, End.

In FOB you could see it in: Yozo attempting off screen and waking up in the hospital, starts flirting with the nurse and thinking of dying, friends show up, he learns he might get nailed for(basically) murdering a woman, his brother shows up(that’s the mean thing), he hates his charcoal drawing and his friends think it’s okay, the nurse takes him to the mountain, end.

NLH follows it with: Sensei’s childhood, Sensei’s clowning, that kids seeing through it, going to university, ETC ETC.

My point is, The Setting Sun followed this similar path. I even got the ending right when I said on PG 68, “I predict the book will not end with her suicide but rather her grim acceptance of a truly heinous life. Everyone has lost and now she’ll be forced to reckon with all the bills.”

In the end this is exactly what happens. Kazuko decides to live for love and then that love is extinguished, the Revolution isn’t coming, Naoji and her mother both die, her family has no money, and she lets an author she thought she loved put a child in her.

The book ends with the words “M.C. My Comedian.” Which makes sense considering every man Kazuko fell in love with was just a version of Tsushima, who considered himself a clown. Him as a painter through Hosoda. Him as a writer through Kazuko’s Love.

Ultimately, like all of his works, he’s writing about his own feelings. All authors do, I guess, but Tsushima ONLY writes about his own feelings.

I liked it. I thought it was delightfully modern in it’s depiction of Kazuko, who was a pretty fleshed out female character to Tsushima’s immense credit. It speaks a lot to the feelings of post-war Japan and the death of aristocracy. I thought Kazuko’s mother was also a very interesting character. I enjoyed, as I always do, the way Tsushima writes. His work is very poetic, very lyrical. It’s easy to be the best in and it’s easy to see where he could hear that beat himself.

On the flip side, despite it’s vocal assertion of the power of love and revolution, neither of these topics are described in depth. Possibly because Tsushima was a unexcited communist as the time who didn’t really believe in it’s ability to succeed.

As for love…..I often find his works sound like cries of “Love me! Love me, please! Aren’t I so lovable!”

I do not decry Sensei about this, not only because I’m the same way, but because he is so…..pathetic about the whole thing. I feel like I’m paying attention to the ignored child at a birthday party. I feel like I’m reading the works of someone very unloved, very disliked when Tsushima was………….only kind of disliked(before…you know).

It’s a painful story because it makes me empathize with Tsushima’s misery around society and love. But ultimately, it doesn’t effect as much me because I’ve work to try and make peace with isolation and loneliness,,,,,,,

By writing books,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Final Verdict: Very Good

🩷🩷🩷🩷/out of 5 Pink Hearts.

Bonus: “Damn. Got Me Again” Award

[destructive-rose]

Prompt: "Write a short story about a magician who loses their powers."

Beaufort Buxley's Magical Menagerie

Hot lights, smell of stale tobacco, and the particular mustiness of moth eaten curtains and old wood. This was the climate inside the small Thrice Penny Theatre, located on the corner of 1st and Sadie Avenue, and it was an environment Beaufort Buxley was all too familiar with— save for the sharp silence permeating the air.

Dust particles and smoke rose towards the ceiling. Buxley dabbed his forehead with one of the numerous multi-colored handkerchiefs he had just pulled out of his breast pocket. His little trick elicited not a single laugh or gasp from his audience, a stark contrast to his fonder memories.

Only a month ago, he had the crowd in an uproar about his ability to dodge "magic bullets" and swallow "flaming swords". In fact, over his illustrious 6 month career, he had attempted amazing feats of wonder and escapes. The rumors flew. He was a supernatural creature of inhuman strength and speed, he was a Satan worshiper with an unholy power, or he was an angel sent to work miracles, depending on who you asked.

In truth, Beaufort was a simple magician and slight of hand master, no better than the greatest thieves and pickpockets of yesteryear. One might even go so far to say he was a fraud, if they knew the secrets behind his many tricks. But even without that knowledge, the audience had grown weary of his performance.

They were unamused, uninterested, and unhappy that they had wasted their precious 50— formerly 3— cents to watch an utterly washed out hack job play his little games with the audience, all of which were entirely predictable. But the show must go on, even for the tragic clown.

"Er," Beaufort mumbled, fumbling with the handkerchiefs, "and now for my next trick, I'll need a member of the audience, please!" He looked around expectantly. "How about you, sir? Madam?"

The unlucky couple brushed him off. They didn't want to be caught dead sharing a stage with Beaufort Buxley.

"Er…. Anyone? Anyone?" Beaufort pleaded, traipsing around the edge of the stage.

Unfortunately, he was spending too much time on finding a good sport.

"Get on with it!" someone at the back shouted.

"Do I have a volunteer, perhaps?' Beaufort asked hopefully.

No reply. He straightened up and called for his assistant, Jessica, who wasn't due to go on for at least another 15 minutes. The buxom redhead came out in her shimmering flapper dress and full face make-up, forgetting her feather headband in the rush to accommodate a change in schedule.

Beaufort greeted her warmly with a deck of playing cards. "Jessica, my dear, please pick a card."

"Any card?" she asked.

"Any card!"

The assistant did as she was told. Buxley showed the card to the audience without looking at it and covertly slipped the card into his sleeve.

"Okay, now, watch as I shuffle the deck…." Buxley legitimately shuffled the cards around. Then, with a flourish, he produced the card from within his sleeve. "Presto! Was this your card?"

As expected, Jessica bounced up and down, clapping her hands a bit too much. She'd seen the trick done many times but didn't know the secret behind it.

"Oh yes, Mr. Buxley!" she crowed. "The queen of hearts, just like I picked! Wow!"

Less than a beat passed until they were heckled.

"Oh like we're supposed to believe it hasn't been planned?" someone shouted.

Murmurs broke out across the auditorium. The crowd was growing restless by the second. These outrageous accusations must not be allowed to circulate!

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Beaufort asked, stamping his foot for added emphasis.

"Your little card trick! The assistant is obviously in on it!"

"No! That's not true!" Beaufort insisted, but it was no use.

The audience had already been riled up by one baseless claim, and insulting a performer was infinitely more enjoyable than watching a boring act. They wanted their money's worth, and by God they were going to get it, one way or another.

"You're a fraud!"

"Get off the stage!"

"Yeah! Boo!"

Beaufort was really in the thick of it now. The words, although harmless, hurt his pride as an entertainer. Never before had he come across this level of hostility. He motioned to Jessica, who was equally appalled, to seek refuge backstage. The moment she left, someone chucked a wad of napkins at him, and then a full ashtray, and then came a volley of crumpled up playbills designed exclusively for Beaufort Buxley's Magical Menagerie.

Buxley ducked and dashed, dodged and weaved, all the way to the curtain, where he was finally safe from the merciless assault. Jessica was waiting for him. She was twiddling her fingers, not quite sure what to do with herself.

All she could say was, "Gee… tough crowd, huh Mr. Buxley?"

Tough crowd?! That was a severe understatement! They treated him like an animal. There was no nice way of putting it. Jessica meant well, but Beaufort couldn't reply, he was so distraught by this blatant disrespect.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought the card trick was neat," Jessica said before retreating into her dressing room, no doubt to clean herself up for the night.

He'd call her to discuss the future of their professional relationship later. It was out of the question to even consider closing up shop and ending his career prematurely, but if he wasn't tempted to do it right this instant! Feeling lousier than a wet mop, Beaufort went into his dressing room and closed the door behind him.

He had performed in some questionable locales before, but to lose the audience's faith and trust was the lowest point he'd ever reached. What he needed now was time. Time to think, time to process, and time to grieve. Beaufort sat down at the vanity and buried his face in his hands.

Only two words came to mind: "I'm ruined."

*****

After what seemed a mere 10 minutes but was more likely an hour, a sharp rap rattled the door. It was Richard, better known as Ricky. An assistant of a more physical nature, Ricky was in charge of hauling and setting up Buxley's personal stage equipment.

"Mr. Buxley, sir, are you still in there? The manager says we gotta vacate," Ricky warned. "She says she's givin' us 10 minutes 'til she calls the cops."

It was perhaps a rather crude way of putting it, but at least Ricky got straight to the point.

"Alright, I'll be out in just a second!" Buxley replied and rubbed his tear stained eyes with the palms of his gloved hands.

Then he stood up, brushed off his lapels, put on his top hat, and began to gather his various personal effects. If the manager wanted them to vacate, he wasn't taking any chances. He placed all of his stage makeup, various articles of stage clothing, and smaller props in their respective places. He'd have Ricky haul the chest out, but the suitcase could be carried on his person.

Upon opening the door, Ricky was standing stock still behind it.

Somewhat quietly, as quietly as a juggernaut could be, he asked, "You alright, boss?"

"I believe so, but I would prefer not to accept my new title of 'village idiot' just yet." Beaufort gave a half nod towards the dressing room. "And, Richard, if you wouldn't mind...?"

"Sure, Mr. Buxley." After returning with the massive trunk, he asked, "You didn't get hurt, did'ja boss?"

"Aside from whatever's left of my pride, I can assure you I got out completely unscathed."

"D'aww, those guys wouldn't know a good trick if it hit 'em between the eyes." Ricky clenched his big fists tighter around the chest handles. If he were born any stronger, he might bend the metal. "I always like watchin' your show! Jessica does too!"

The sentiment was appreciated, but Beaufort didn't have the heart to tell him this might be their last performance. Tonight's events already spelled certain doom for their lineup at the Thrice Penny Theatre. They'd have to skip town, change their names, and start fresh elsewhere, if such a thing were even possible. He couldn't ask that of Jessica and Richard. It was simply too much to expect from an assistant and a stagehand.

"Yes, well, you'll find your check in the mail," Beaufort said. "And I'll call you before the end of the week, as usual."

"It's been real fun workin' with you, boss." Again, he didn't have a way with words, but at least he was honest.

Beaufort patted the oversized man on the forearm, giving him a light squeeze. "Thank you, Richard. Now, if you'll please put that chest in my car…?"

Ricky did as he was told without question. He hauled the chest out the rear exit, hefted it through the alley, and placed it in the backseat of Buxley's Cadillac. Beaufort followed him, languidly chugging along. He was being ripped away from his place at the Thrice Penny, forcibly uprooted before his time. He'd have to be 6 feet under for it not to hurt as badly as it did.

It was only his stagehand that garnered his attention.

"Uh… boss, what's that sound?" Ricky asked.

Beaufort quickened his pace, hurrying to the driver's seat. "I don't hear anything. I don't know what you're talking about."

Ricky didn't seem so sure. "No, boss, I swear I hear somethin'." He turned around and around, trying to locate the source. "It kinda sounds like… a baby cryin'."

A baby crying in an alleyway behind the Thrice Penny Theatre? Of all the ridiculous things for them to experience in one night, an abandoned child was beyond imagination! Beaufort dismissed the idea entirely, but before he could open the car door, he stopped to listen and realized: the behemoth was right!

Barely audible over the noise of the busy street and whatever wretched performance was now going on in the Thrice Penny Theatre, the weak cries of an infant erupted from across the alley.

"Good God!" he gasped, pointing towards a set of dumpsters. "It's coming from over there! You don't think…!?"

Ricky didn't say anything. Instead, he made a beeline in search of the child. He pried open each dumpster and trash bin he could get his meaty hands on. And then the whirlwind frenzy was over. Ricky had stopped.

"Well?" Beaufort hissed, growing impatient.

No reply. Silence, tormenting silence. Beaufort couldn't take the suspense. He crept closer, glancing from side to side, hoping and praying that no one was watching them rummage through the theater's garbage in some twisted act of lunacy. He had half a mind to set fire to each trash can in this detestable alleyway!

To hell with the rest of these despicable thespians, these— these charlatans! Damn the owner and her threats of eviction! And damn the miserable audience for— for not being good sports about the whole thing! That's what the spirit of magic was, wasn't it? Knowing each bloody trick is fake, but still choosing to believe, in spite of it all!?

But no sooner had his revenge fantasy died had Ricky drawn his attention once more.

Gazing down into a trash can, the stagehand said, "Uh… boss? I think you might wanna take a look at this..." He was smiling rather foolishly, especially for someone who had just found what could be an orphan.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake…" Beaufort grumbled, finally joining the ten ton giant. He peered into the bin and let out a low groan.

There, laying underneath a folded newspaper, on top of a half crushed cereal box, lay a baby. She was no more than a few months old, perhaps. Aghast and dismayed, Beaufort's imagination wasn't getting the best of him. Oh how he wished this was all just some terrible dream. Any minute now, he would wake up and this horrible day would be over with.

Ricky kept smiling like some halfwit. "What'dya think she's doing here?" he asked.

"Why don't you ask? I'm sure she would be happy to tell you all about how her mother abandoned her!" Beaufort snapped. He was beginning to panic. "We must remain calm! This is no time to lose our heads!"

Ricky didn't quite know how to respond. Buxley handled stage pressure with relative ease. Anything else, however, was out of the question. He had seen his boss give into dramatics before. The man was an entertainer, through and through. So he figured it was best to nod and agree.

"Uh… Whatever you say, boss. Maybe we should go back inside and call the cops!" Ricky scooped up the tiny infant. "Here, boss, you can hold her for a while!"

Beaufort opened his mouth to speak but the words died before they could make it out. Ricky had shoved the little tyke into Beaufort's arms. He could do nothing to protest. The baby was filthy and smelled of rotting fruit and excrement… but she was also malnourished, freezing, and most likely in need of medical attention.

Beaufort's heart sank. She was helpless, welcomed into this world by someone who would only discard her later. Thrown into the trash heap, like yesterday's leftovers, not worth even a paltry 50¢... Yes, he knew a thing or two about that. Thank goodness they had been in the right place at the right time.

"Call the authorities, Richard. I shall stay here and keep our young audience entertained."

"Yes sir, Mr. Buxley, sir!"

The men went their separate ways. Beaufort resigned himself to the hardest task: sitting in the car and waiting. The baby had grown rather quiet, probably too exhausted to cry any longer, but she was awake and alert so he wasn't too worried. He stared at the baby, and she stared back.

Her eyes reminded him of a cow's— not all together lifeless, but empty, full of wonder, and devoid of any sense of self. He caught himself thinking she'd probably get a kick out of anything. He glanced at the chest in the backseat, and a strange thought occurred to him.

"Would you like to see a magic trick?"

The baby, of course, could not reply.

"Well, it just so happens you're in the right place, my dear. I am the esteemed Beaufort Buxley, and this is my Magical Menagerie! Watch and be astounded by feats so impossible, so extraordinary, you'll beg to see them again!" Beaufort announced.

From inside the trunk, he produced a metal spoon and a deck of cards. The baby didn't know what she'd signed up for, but the funny man with the big hat was doing something interesting, something she couldn't comprehend. She stared at him with her wide eyes as he held the shiny spoon.

"Behold, as I prepare to bend this spoon! This cannot be done by just anyone, but know that I am no ordinary man!"

By moving the spoon in a particular angle, he created the illusion that he had bent metal with the squeeze of his hand. A beginner's trick, one he spent hours in the mirror practicing to produce the desired effect.

"Thank you, you're too kind," he said, pretending to hear the applause of one so small, she barely had the strength to hold her own head up.

Proud of himself, he brought out the playing cards. Aside from the purported "dangerous" escape attempts, card tricks were among his favorites to perform.

He held the deck out to her and said, "Madam, I am going to ask you to pick a card, any card!"

To his surprise, the baby wiggled her fingers at the deck. She clenched and unclenched her fist, trying desperately to grab one of the cards.

"A keen eye!" Beaufort said, handing it to her. It was the Queen of Hearts, and he allowed her to keep it. "Now, I can assure you that this is an ordinary deck!" He thumbed through the deck to show her, going through the act with all his usual vigor. "I bet you one silver dollar that I can make the other queen appear!"

He shuffled the deck and then showed her the bottom. "Ah! The other queen, as I've said! But I wonder…" he trailed off and pulled the top card. "Another queen of hearts? Fascinating. There are only two in each deck, you know! But, perhaps…" Turning over the cards in their entirety revealed a full deck containing only the queen of hearts.

"Oh my! How can this be? I think you'd better give me that one back, and we'll settle this matter once and for all!" He took the card back from the baby and showed it to her. "I thought you'd drawn the queen of hearts, but it seems you've somehow gotten the ace of spades. I think you may have a career as a magician someday! Now, let's see…"

He inserted the ace of spades into the middle of the deck. Suddenly, it started rising from the center, as if an unseen force were pushing it out.

"Uh oh, it seems this deck won't accept your ace. Where, oh where, has that pesky queen gone?" He pretended to check his pockets, really hamming it up. "You don't see her anywhere, do you?"

The baby continued to watch, incredulous but absolutely enraptured by the spectacle playing out before her.

"Oh, there she is!" Beaufort smiled and reached behind the baby's ear. He slipped the original queen out from his sleeve and said, "I've found her! We'd best put her back. She must be furious by now, missing out on all this fun!"

The queen of hearts went willingly into the deck. Beaufort turned it over once more to reveal that everything had gone back to normal. The deck was no longer flooded with queens, and everything was in order. He gave a little bow.

"Thank you, thank you. Oh no, please, you really are too kind! I couldn't have done it without your help!" he guffawed.

The baby reached out, now grabbing at him. She was smiling a toothless smile, reaching as far as her arms would allow, trying to grab Beaufort's gloved hand.

"Oh, really, I shouldn't…" Beaufort teased. "You've placed my heart in quite the predicament… I don't have any children, you know, nor a wife of my own… My career may even be over before it's really gotten started." He laid his hand down out of habit.

The child followed suit, latching her tiny fingers around his thumb.

"You liked my tricks, didn't you?" Beaufort said softly. "I'm very happy I could provide some amusement, even if it was only for a little while. Maybe, after all this is over, I can start fresh, go someplace nice. Perhaps I'll join the circus! That could be fun!" He shifted, admiring the vice-like grip the infant had on him. "Children always appreciate magic more than adults do, anyway. All the adults I met today seem to have lost their sense of imagination, and I surely could use the change of pace…"

A traveling circus might do the trick at reviving his dying career. It wasn't merely a pipedream, and if he wanted, he could find a way to take Jessica and Ricky with him. The whole gang could travel together, doing shows, living life on the road. No more of this Thrice Penny nonsense! They'd see the world together, and eventually… Well, who knows? Perhaps they'd sell out the Majestic someday!

Beaufort tried not to let himself get too excited. There was much to consider, much to do to make this work. And of course, there was still the matter of the baby. Thankfully, in the rearview mirror, he could see Ricky approaching alongside a police officer. The baby cooed, making a soft gurgling noise as she continued to hold onto Beaufort's thumb.

He smiled fondly at the notion that they were both getting a second chance at life.

"Thank you, my dear, for changing my mind," he said. "You've no idea what you've done, yet I'm already in your debt. How can I ever return the favor?"

But Beaufort knew exactly how he'd repay his youngest patron. He got out of the car and greeted the police officer.

"Good evening, officer."

"Good evening, sir. This man here called about a baby?"

"The orphan is just in there, on the passenger side." Beaufort stood a bit taller. "We found her in a nearby dumpster."

"I heard. Poor kid." The man ducked down into the passenger side. He rose back up less than a minute later, cradling the bundle of joy in his arms. "It's a miracle you gents found her. I've seen a lot of things on the force in my time, but she's in good hands now. We'll get her to a doctor, find a temporary home, and make sure she's taken care of. She's young, so it's likely she'll be adopted quickly."

"Yes, I certainly hope so. She seems to have an acquired taste for magic tricks."

"Magic, eh?" The officer chuckled. Then he stared at Buxley for two seconds too long. "Say, aren't you that famous magician? The one with all the odd rumors? Gosh, what was his name, again? Beaufort?"

The magician gave a slight bow. "Beaufort Buxley at your service, proprietor of a Magical Menagerie of sorts."

"Wow! You're a local legend!"

"I'm flattered you recognize me, officer. However, I believe my chapter at the Thrice Penny has come to a close."

"Oh, is that so? I would've liked to seen your show. My son's crazy for magic. Y'know, Harry Houdini and the like."

"And you still might, at a place you might not expect. Not to worry, I have some other plans." Beaufort winked at Ricky, who was left thoroughly confused.

"Well, good luck to you. I've gotta get this precious cargo over to the precinct. Thanks again for your help in watching over her, and thank you, sir, for calling it in."

Ricky blushed. "I was just doin' my civic duty, officer."

The police officer nodded to both the men and went back into the Thrice Penny Theatre. It was a bittersweet moment. Even Ricky, who spent the least amount of time with the baby, felt emotional about her sudden departure.

Beaufort stared at the building's back entrance, whispering, "Until we meet again, my dear. Farewell." Then he turned to his trusty stagehand and said, "Richard, may I ask for your opinion?"

"Of course, boss."

"What do you think of the circus?"

Ricky thought for a moment. "Well, gee, boss. I think the circus is kinda nice."

"As do I, my friend, as do I…"

[nightcolorz]

Poorly describing my versions of the Gotham rogues:

Joker: “yolo” in its most dangerous form, def is writing a slow burn enemies to loves fic about him and Batman. Gay and homophobic 💯 The other rogues don’t invite him to pride celebrations anymore cause he’ll keep calling people slurs “as a joke”. Him and Edward have longterm beef, like schoolgirl levels of petty drama.

Harley Quinn: would describe herself as a “girlboss” unironically while committing heinous crimes. tweeted “clowns aren’t funny” after breaking up with Joker (ended up causing a huge scandal). The OG “I can fix him” girl. Is sort of the rogues free underground therapist (god knows they need it) cause they can’t get professional help without being sent to Arkham.

Poison Ivy: Breaking News: Cottagecore lesbian commits mass murder cause her plant wilted. She’s what republicans think environmentalists are. Would get in a fist fight with that vegan teacher cause “plants have feelings too”. Has beef with most of the male rogues, supports ‘kill all men’ without realizing it’s a joke (she prefers ‘kill all humans’ but figured she had to downgrade because the Gotham city sirens are humans technically).

Cat Woman: “OH NO! It appears I’ve gotten stuck backwards in the bank vault step-Bat 😏😏😏😏😏😏, looks like I’m not stealing any more diamonds today 😰😩”. Mad respect for Selina, she just wants diamonds and bat dick, no tragic backstory or complex motivations needed. I personally like to headcanon her as wearing a straight up cat costume (ears and a tail like a true furry) cause it’s way funnier to imagine a sophisticated rich woman dressing up as a cat to steal shit than whatever bullshit DCs up to these days. Trans catgirl supremacy 💎👍

Scarecrow: That one guy who gets angry at people because “Halloween costumes are meant to be scary 🤬😡😑😒”. Doesn’t even attempt to express emotions, is the human embodiement of this emoji: 😐. His presence is more jarring than threatening, his intimidation levels are somehow underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. The other rogues have collectively decided that he’s asexual under no assumption other than that they don’t want to imagine Jonathan having sex. Overtime Jonathan has become basically fearless (he smokes his own fear gas like vape just to feel something). Jonathan and Harley became good friends when they both worked in Arkham, their dynamic is surprisingly wholesome.

The Riddler: Didn’t get hugged enough as a child and is now making it everyone’s problem. Would hold a bank hostage to show Batman his third grade spelling bee medal. Is the only autistic rogue that gets accommodations in Arkham because he won’t stop bugging the guards. FTM trans ofc (his names Edward Nygma for Christ's sake). He ran away from home at seventeen and faked his own death (his deadname is legally dead lmao). Uses the terms “alpha, beta, and omega male” unironically.

Two Face: “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t wanna blow up the orphanage either, but Y’know the coin said-” The other rogues talk to Harvey as if he’s constantly at his breaking point, which is half true. Harv is a stone cold mf, he’s the rock that’s holding Two Face together tbh. Edward calls Harvey and Harv Jekyll and Hyde cause he’s that original. All the rogues have at least a sneaking suspicion that Bruce Wayne is batman and use Harvey as their little primary source (being ex besties and everything), until they find out Selina and Bruce are a thing of course. No matter how much evidence he’s faced with Harvey will never accept Bruce Wayne is batmam, he’s not ready to consider that one of the only positive people in his life has been duking it out with him this whole time.

Penguin: He’s the rest of the rogues chill gay gangster uncle I don’t make the rules. The iceberg lounge is like the Batman villain equivalent of The Central Perk from friends (aka: its their default place to hangout). Oswald always makes a fuss about them not making reservations ahead of them but at this point it’s just performative. Everyone’s 99% sure Oswald and Edward fucked at some point (Edward always makes a show of flustering Oswald when he needs a loan). Ossie always takes care of the others belongings when they’re in Arkham (he has a special place in his heart for Jonathan‘s crows).

The Mad Hatter: I love Jervis lmao he just really likes Alice in Wonderland and that’s a valid ass villain motivation 👍. One of the smartest rogues but doesn’t get enough credit because of how childish he is. He dresses in kids clothes, not just because he wants to but because he’s small af and can’t fit in shit. In public while the rogues are undercover Jervis usually wears a beanie or a baseball cap (he’d get spotted instantly if he wore his usual, but on bad days Jervis can’t bear to be without a hat). Jonathan and Jervis play chess a lot together in Arkham, and frequently engage in intellectual discussion, Edward tends to be a piss baby when Jon encourages him to do the same, he’s not ready to accept the reality that Jervis can match his intelligence.

Killer Croc: Waylon has a surprising amount in common with Jonathan, they share southern solidarity. He doesn’t travel out of the sewer often so the rogues will occasionally come to visit Waylon there (Edward always makes sure to complain loudly about the smell). Will show immense affection and loyalty to anyone who treats him as human (poor guy just needs a friend ☹️).

Mr Freeze: Literally just dead inside, someone give this poor bastard a hug. Victor stands as the most awkward rogue, he‘s sorta like the odd one out. The other rogues don’t interact with him that often because he’s sort of a party pooper. He’s the straight friend on thin ice, haha get it. Mr Freeze is my sisters favorite Batman villain because she thought the ice puns were funny in Batman in Robin, little does she know I’m embarrassing myself on tumblr in her glory.

Music Meister: So many of the Gotham rogues have horrible childhood trauma and Music Meister is just like “people bullied me for being a theater kid 😩😭💔😔”. In all honesty he’s iconic, in my au universe thingy I have him join the dork squad latter on and he sticks out like a sore thumb for a bit. I feel like him and Jervis would really hit it off though (mind control buddies, ha), although Jervis would always get him to sing Alice in Wonderland songs. In Arkham they have him wear a dog collar thingy and zap him when he sings, he gets bullied for that lol. anyways I’m sure I could make more of these, but it’s 2:20 am and my mind went blank. If y’all liked this I could always put more au headcanons out (I have A LOT)

[thrillridesz]

heart racing ▫ j.yn

in part of the adrenaline rush! collab hosted by @lucas-wongs​ + @ickjun​

⇢ pairing: jaehyun x reader (f) (ft. other nct members + twice’s jeongyeon)

⇢ genre: fluff, angst, racer!au, best friends to lovers

⇢ warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions and consumption of alcohol, alcoholism, hitting rock bottom

⇢ synopsis: once a revered member of the racing industry, jaehyun has been living at rock bottom for the past few months following a tragic accident that effectively put him out of racing. it seems as though nothing would get through to him, not even you. will he ever break out of the constant loop of doubt and start seeing things for what they really are?

⇢ word count: 8.04k

⇢ fic playlist: get you to the moon - KinaBeats ft. Snøw | Amnesia - 5SOS | You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift | Confetti Falling - Big Time Rush | Go Season - Devin Bronson (highly recommended for the racing scene) | Love Story - Taylor Swift 

⇢ a/n : unedited! also posted on this account because I’m considering merging my nct account with my tbz writing blog also PLEASE check out the other writers’ works ^^ we’ve all worked hard on our fics

“Jaehyun, you’re ruining yourself.”

The dim room reeked of stale alcohol and something mouldy as the empty beer bottles that littered the floor clanged noisily against the surrounding furniture, leaking golden yellow liquid all over. Old, worn clothes were draped everywhere, stained and darkened with murky stains while the battered television flickered weakly to live, showing nothing but static. The walls were streaked and striated with scratches, as if someone had just been clawing desperately at them and on the floor amidst the empty glass bottles, were pieces of scrap poster paper. Sunlight peeks in through the drawn blinds, giving a teasing glimpse to the bustling outside world from the sad, decrepit apartment Jaehyun lived in.

Sprawled on the couch with nothing on except a wrinkled pair of jeans, Jaehyun’s eyes were devoid of emotion - blank and dazelike. In his hand, his fingers held on limply to the neck of yet another bottle of beer, possibly his nth for the day. His usually shiny hazel brown hair was greasy with filth and his bare chest was sticky with sweat from being cooped up all day in this tiny, stuffy apartment of his. His jawline was starting to grow a hint of stubble given how much he’d completely let himself go and dark circles were appearing underneath those intense eyes of his.

Slowly, Jaehyun lifted his gaze from the floor to look at you, the first flicker of emotions that he’d ever displayed in the whole day. You stood before him, arms akimbo, your gaze sharp and piercing. He smiled, a smile that held no mirth or happiness.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

You shook your head, ripping the bottle of beer from his grasp. As you approached, the bottles, clothes and torn pieces of paper on the ground almost made you trip and you tutted under your breath.

“Of course I am. I’m your best friend who is somehow still here with you. Best friends help each other.”

He chuckled nonchalantly, waving his hand at the door. “Well, feel free to leave then. I don’t need your help.” His eyes held a hint of anger as he did, something that did not escape your notice.

“Jaehyun,” you said softly, placing the bottle on a nearby table as you dread what was to come next. “Please, not this again.”

Your words only served to fuel the fiery spark of anger in his eyes as he said in a barely controlled tone, the irritation radiating from him in ripples that threatened to evolve into waves, “Why not? I’m a fucking wreck and a loser anyways. Leave like everyone else did. Leave like…” His voice wobbled, “leave like Jeongyeon did.”

Your heart fell and it took almost a godlike willpower not to let your emotions show. Was he still thinking about her?

“Jaehyun-”

“What? Are you gonna say I’m not a loser like you always do? Cut the fucking lies. Everyone out there is saying the same thing, what makes you think you can convince me that you’re not thinking it either? Hm?” He spat, the drowsiness in his demeanour dissipating fast as red hot anger replaced it. There was so much internal frustration within Jaehyun that just seeing him like this was enough to break your heart. It was one thing to see him in this terrible state but it was quite another to see him directing his anger towards you.

You drew in a deep breath, trying to calm your pounding heart and to stop the tears that pricked at the corner of your eyes. Having been there with him every step of the year ever since the both of you were children playing and horsing around the neighbourhood, you found yourself desperately missing those much simpler times and wondering how things became so wrong.

For as long as you could remember, Jaehyun had always been interested and had a natural flair for racing. There always existed a competitive streak in him that thrived off a challenge. It didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was a game that could have a clear winner or incited competitiveness, he was all up for it. As kids, the two of you used to compete over everything, be it for the last popsicle in the convenience store down the street or past the gates of your school. It was as if racing was something he needed in order to live. It wasn’t until sophomore year of high school did Jaehyun decide to take his love for racing to a professional level. He began to dive deep into the motorsport industry, starting out as a mere rookie in auto racing. He never did apply to college, preferring instead to invest all his time into his newfound life career.

His rise to fame was quick, quicker than most. Within his first year, he had won a number of races, beating even some of the well known names in the sport. Every other month, he was winning trophies and exorbitant cash prizes which in return earned him the recognition of famous sponsors and racers. Bumper stickers from the various sponsors decorated the back of his ride and it was no time at all before Jaehyun began to don some of the most expensive sports gear on the tracks. With his smouldering good looks, he also appeared on the front pages of magazines and newspapers, all while attracting a loyal fanbase made up of both racing enthusiasts and adoring admirers.

To everyone else, he was the suave, handsome and effortlessly cool young racer who was practically born to race and to do it well but to you, he was your childhood friend… and your first love. In front of the flashing lights and cameras, Jaehyun knew his way around the crowd. He knew exactly when to flash one of his dazzling, dimpled smiles and how to work the crowd - it was just one of his innate charms. Yet, you knew that underneath that, that flashy, extravagant Jaehyun, was the Jaehyun you grew up with and had gradually fallen in love with.

As children, he was there for you whenever you needed him, always ready to lend a helping hand when he noticed that you were stuck in an unfavourable situation. You distinctly remember what had happened in second grade. It was a bright and warm summer’s day, the lovely scent of sweet peas floating in the air as the sun bore down on the earth. Pigeons flitted over the sidewalks, pecking at the cemented floor and the leaves of the oak trees that lined the streets rustled gently in the wind.

You fell with a loud and heavy thud on your bottom, feeling the leaves crunch noisily under your weight. Fear and trepidation coursed through your veins as you stared with eyes wide at your tormentors.

“Look at her, she looks pathetic. Do it, Johnny! Do it!”

A tall, hunkering boy flanked by his cronies stood over you, his dark, massive shadow engulfing you as you frantically scrambled backwards. Tears were beginning to stream down your face and a sharp pain shot up your spine with each move, owing to the impact of the fall. There were scratches on your hands as you dragged your palms over the rough gravel in an attempt to move away.

There was a malicious glint in Johnny’s eyes and his lips were curved into a devious smirk as he stared down at you, domineering and intimidating. The veins in his arms and hands were bulging angrily and as he clenched his fists, you felt your stomach sink. Your legs began to feel like jelly and your vision was beginning to blur from all the salty tears. You were struck with fear and the sense of helplessness you felt made you feel both ashamed and furious at yourself yet there was nothing you could do.

You held your hand up to shield yourself from the impending attack as the bully lifted up his fist.

“Hey! How about you pick on someone your own size?!”

The group of you turned to see Jaehyun, eyes blazing with anger as his chest heaved. His wind-swept hair hung over his eyes, a surefire sign that he’d run over and his cheeks were red from exertion. Even from afar, he was clearly no match to Johnny’s larger build, much less the whole lot of them.

“J-Jaehyun?” You spluttered, shocked.

“Who is this clown- Ow!” Johnny stumbled backwards as a rock pebble hit him on the head, promptly ricocheting off his forehead and bouncing onto the ground. His jaw was clenched in pain and when he removed his palm, a reddish bruise had blossomed and there was even a faint trace of blood. There was a split second of stunned silence before Johnny turned almost magenta with rage.

“GET HIM!” He roared and his cronies shook out of their daze, immediately going after Jaehyun who’d already ran a good distance before the reality of what had just happened set in. His mocking laugh rang through the afternoon amidst a cackle of profanities and threats yelled at him.

It was a laugh that remained in your memories all these years. It was a laugh that strengthened you, a laugh that spoke so much of willful courage and youthful rebellion which was everything you’d eventually come to associate with Jaehyun. That laugh was bright and so… him.

Yet now, you could see none of that playful mischief and vibrancy in those eyes. All that is left is emptiness.

“You’re not a loser, Jaehyun,” you began softly, “you never were in my eyes. You were a fighter.”

Those beautiful eyes you adored so much narrowed at you, his face twisted into a scowl.

“A fighter? Guess what, y/n?” He sneered, his voice dripping with venom. “I fought. I fought endlessly but did that work out for me? I threw in everything I could, every little thing. I worked hard and put in a hundred and one percent of my effort.”

You stared at him, your heart aching for him as a single tear began to roll down his cheek, tears of anger, indignation and pain.

“But did that work out? No, it didn’t. If anything, it left me a wreck. People out there call me a loser, a has-been and even my girlfriend has left me. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put in, how much I fought because at the end of the day, everyone is only here because of what they think I am. They saw me as a champion, an up and coming and the moment I wasn’t anymore, they all dropped me in a heartbeat. What are you waiting for, y/n? Why the hell are you even still here?”

His words echoed through the empty apartment and out loud, it sounded bleak, harsh and biting. His anguished voice tore at your heart and as each word left those lips, it felt like your heart was slowly breaking apart. Neither of you said anything for a moment, locked in a silent, unspoken fight as he held your gaze steadily. His eyes were cold and there was the look of a broken man in them.

“I am here because I love you, Jaehyun,” you said finally, your voice quivering. “I don’t care who or what you are and it pains me to see you tear yourself down like this because I know you are not the loser you believe you are. I don’t know how much of this I can take, seeing you ruin yourself.”

You can see the slight softening in his eyes and you gritted your teeth.

“I’m going to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t see you ruin yourself and be able to do nothing about it. I’m not strong enough for that.”

With that, you left the apartment before he could see the tears in your eyes.

The miserable, empty can of beer clattered loudly against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the dank apartment.

Jaehyun barely lifted an eyebrow, his fingers growing slack without him even knowing. He stared up at the dark ceiling, a hooded look in those once bright eyes. The stench that hung around him was growing more intense by the day and it was reaching a point whereby he could almost smell himself but there was nothing in him that seemed to care.

Sounds of active civilisation outside drifted in through the windows and occasionally, he’d hear the honking of angry drivers on the roads or the laughter of children playing at the playground at the courtyard below. Normally, he loved waking up to these sounds or at least when he wasn’t off to the race tracks, when he was relaxing with a book in his hands. Now however, he found them irksome, irritating and he wanted nothing more but to block them out. He wanted absolutely zero reminder of the world outside.

Grunting, Jaehyun dragged himself off the couch. As he trudged heavily back to his room where his comfortable bed beckoned to him, he turned to stare at the large, imposing front door where moments ago, you’d slammed shut as you left him to his own devices.

Guilt tugged at his heart and for a split second, Jaehyun contemplated running after you. When you left, there was an indescribable sense of hollowness that engulfed him in a way that he couldn’t quite understand or explain. The apartment was filthy, dark and small but somehow with you around just a few minutes ago, it felt just a little bigger, a little warmer. As much as he hated to admit it, his heart was calling to him to reach out to you, run after you. The crumpled look on your face haunted him but he shook the thought from his mind.

It would be better if you left him. If you knew what was good for you, you would.

The anger in him was beginning to resurface at the thought of everything that had happened over the past few months. His career plummeting on a downward spiral right after his recovery, the exact opposite of what was predicted by his agent.

He was born to race, his family and his friends had always told him so. He knew it himself, he could feel it in his blood, his bones, his spirit. Ever since he was little, Jaehyun had known that his career would have something to do one way or another with racing. As a child, he loved running, competing but most of all, he loved riding in his father’s pickup truck on the way to school. He loved the way the vehicle would zoom past the streets, overtaking other vehicles and he loved the feeling of the wind against his face. He loved the speed and everything about cars or racing. It felt natural for him to pursue a career in competitive racing and a natural he was.

After getting signed with a racing company, Jaehyun quickly rose to fame with his numerous championships, bagging trophies, medals and cash prizes in almost every event he participated in. Sports magazines and reporters would clamour over each other to score an interview with him. People wanted pictures with him, wanted him to sign an autograph for them.

He was the golden boy in the racing world, an untouchable.

In the racing world, everything goes a mile a minute and nothing waits for anyone. After the morbid crash at the June Tokyo Prix, Jaehyun had sustained several fractures to his ribs and a severe concussion that left him in the hospital’s intensive care unit bedridden for several months. The pain was unlike any other and every single move hurt immensely but what suffered more damage than he did was his career and his relationships.

Within months, the racing career he had so painstakingly built up for himself collapsed before him. Due to long inactivity, brands and sponsors began to drop him, slowly at first then steadily one by one. He was also constantly under the media’s scrutiny for a period of time, their cameras and microphones thrusted in his face while he lay helpless on the hospital bed. The bright flashes blinded him and the loud noises made his head pound and even now, he still remembered how that experience was like, shuddering every time it crossed his mind. It had taken Jaehyun countless hours of physical therapy before he could even think of racing competitively again.

Yet when he did, he quickly realised he never could revert back to his old self, the one who got off on adrenaline kicks while zooming along the tracks at breakneck speed, the one who only knew what it was like to win. He was slower, less coordinated. His body could no longer take the pressure racing would subject it too, or at least not quickly enough for him to make a full, stunning comeback.

The tabloids and news had run wild with his fall from grace, writing up horrible, demeaning articles about him. His rivals had mocked him to his face and he could even sense the visible disappointment from his fans emanating from the stands whenever he’d lost yet another race. The thing that really broke the camel’s back however, was when his girlfriend Jeongyeon initiated a breakup.

Jaehyun had hoped that things would turn for the better, never one to give up. He’d trained tirelessly everyday, pushing his brittle body to the limit. He never let up on himself, gritting his teeth through all the physical and mental pressure he had imposed on himself. When the final text was sent, Jaehyun could remember distinctly how hopeless and distraught he’d felt. It felt like his world, the empire he had so painfully and relentlessly crafted for himself from scratch was breaking bit by bit. To add salt to the wound, the next time he’d seen her on television, her body was plastered against his biggest rival, Yuta. Her arms were wrapped around his and her lips pressing against his cheeks with no shame whatsoever for the interviewer interviewing him, no sign of the girl who’d once told him that she loved him with all her heart.

What was once determination and naive hopefulness soon devolved into anger and resentment. Jaehyun began to let himself go and the change was drastic. Where there once existed a time whereby he’d rise from his slumber early to visit the gym, he now regularly slept well into the late afternoon. His diet began to consist largely of takeout, junk food and alcohol and his apartment got more and more cluttered by the day. He’d stopped contacting his friends and family, ignoring their calls and texts, preferring to fester in his own solitude. It wasn’t long before an odour had started to emit from his place, a nauseating mixture of stale pizza, beer and pure filth from the lack of showers.

His appearance was also no longer polished, but rather haggard as if he’d aged five years in a matter of months. He was beginning to lose his fit stature, the healthy glow he’d once been prized on by magazines and gossip columns dimming. It got to a point whereby Jaehyun had begun to avoid looking at his hideous reflection in the mirror, his self-hatred growing with each day.

A poster of him in his racing gear and his race car was tattered and wrinkled on the floor, stained with ketchup and soda. Staring at it blankly with eyes empty of any emotions whatsoever, Jaehyun swiped it up and in a swift moment, he tore it up with a large rip before trashing it somewhere on the floor.

Flopping onto his comforter, he almost moaned in pleasure as he sunk into the soft sheets. Reaching for the air conditioning control, a loud smack on the ground roused him from his hedonistic haze. His hair was sticking up in all directions as he peered over the edge of his bed to see a picture frame that had fallen from his night stand.

Holding it in his hands, he looked at it with a nonchalant air.

It was a picture of the both of you a few years ago, back when he was just kick starting his racing career. He hadn’t yet made a name for himself then as the two of you leaned in for the picture.

You had on a bright, illuminating beam on your face, your eyes alive and glittering with happiness. Your hair was down, wisps of it framing your face as the sun brought out the colour and shine of it. Next to him, you’d completely dwarfed in comparison. He had his arm around you, bringing you to his side and from the picture, Jaehyun could feel a smile begin to crack on his face at the comical height difference.

He’d looked completely at ease here, carefree with the recklessness and restlessness of the soul beneath shining through his dark eyes. His hair was wavy, styled down in that ridiculous fashion he wanted so badly to leave back in high school. He had worn a dimpled smile on his face, the look of someone who knew he was destined for greatness and believed in it.

Jaehyun was about to put the picture down when something caught his eye. He leaned in closer.

There was something about you. At first glance, it would have been clear that you were smiling for the camera but upon closer look, it looked as if you might be smiling at him instead. Your smile was softer, eyes gentler from the first time he’d seen the picture. It was the sort of smile that struck him in his heart, the kind of smile that would make its recipient feel loved, appreciated.

“I want to be a racer when I grow up.”

You turned to Jaehyun, eyes wide as saucers as you popped the ice popsicle out of your mouth.

“Why?”

He shrugged, still struggling with the wrapper of the popsicle. The two of you sat on the wooden bench, side by side as the other kids ran around the park, playing rounds of tag while their parents or babysitters sat watching over them. The sun was glaring down on the earth and though it was a great day to go out to play and sweat it out, it was also a perfect day to find an excuse to buy popsicles with what little pocket money your parents had given to you two. It wasn’t an opportunity to be missed.

“I really like racing. I don’t know if there’s anything else I’d want to be,” he said simply, grinning as he finally succeeded in breaking open the plastic.

You tried to hide the blush that was beginning to creep up to your cheeks, looking away from him.

“My mom says being a doctor is good.”

As soon as you said it, you immediately regretted your words. Jaehyun scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“No way! It’s so boring. Do you want to be a doctor?”

Quickly, you shook your head fervently. “No!”

“Then what do you want to be?” He asks curiously, sucking on his popsicle.

You are quiet for a while as you ponder over his question. What exactly do you want to be when you grow up?

“...A writer.” You said finally and he swiveled around to look at you, clearly not expecting your answer.

“A writer? Hm, why?”

“I just really like reading. I want to write interesting stories that people will like,” you take a tentative lick of your popsicle, the icy, sweet taste of apple flavouring coating your tongue, “Like fairytales!”

Jaehyun broods over your answer, seemingly deep in thought. For a moment, neither of you say another word as you sit together under the warm, sunny day, enjoying your popsicles.

“I want people to like me too.” He says suddenly, his eyes shining. “People will like my racing! I’m going to be a racer and people will like me to win!”

He hops to his feet, his popsicle raised as he made his declaration. There is a triumphant, toothy smile on his face and he says it with so much hope and gusto that you can’t help but feel drawn to his driven spirit. For a boy of five foot, there was a lot of motivation and energy in him and there was just something about him that got you transfixed.

Under the sunlight, his smile seemed almost blindingly bright with the shadows highlighting the charming dimples on those round cheeks. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy and your heart began to pound. Your words seemed stuck in your throat and you choked out, “I t-think you’ll make a good racer, J-Jaehyun.”

You thought your heart might burst as his smile grew wider, his dimples making deeper indentations. It felt like the sun might just be a little too hot since your face felt like it was positively flaming.

“Thank you, y/n.”

Suddenly, something caught your eye and shakily, you pointed at him.

His smile dropped as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“What?”

“Y-your popsicle is m-m-melting… down your a-arm.”

The elevator button made an uncharacteristic squeaking sound as Jaehyun jabbed repeatedly at it, his jaw clenched in impatience.

“Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” he muttered frantically under his breath, pacing the lift lobby. The red letters above the elevator were moving at a snail’s pace and it seemed as if it’s stopped to pick up some passengers on the 5th floor. How long does it take for people to move into an elevator?

Jaehyun groaned in annoyance as he watched the number on the display crawl up slowly.

This wouldn’t do. By the time it’s here, it would be too late.

Immediately, he sprinted for the stairs instead, his heart hammering against his chest.

There was great fanfare as the rowdy crowd erupted into raucous cheers, the large, industrial sized party poppers going off with a bang, covering everyone in glitter streamers and confetti. Cameras were flashing and clicking away at every corner while throngs of sports reporters flooded the holding area, all trying to reach the champions for their coveted exclusive interviews. Agents and pit crews were all celebrating with the sound of champagne bottles popping and yells and cheers of congratulations ringing through the air.

Jaehyun stood at the top of the podium, shooting the cameras his trademark stunning grin as he posed with his golden trophy that looked to be about the size of his torso. The racing suit he was wearing was uncomfortably hot and he wanted nothing more than to strip from it but the adrenaline and euphoria he was experiencing far surpassed any feelings of discomfort.

This was it, the taste of success. It was everything he lived for, raced for. This was why he always trained so hard, from dawn to dusk. This was why he put his own body through all those hours of endurance training, gym and dieting. It was all for this single moment of true bliss enjoyed and savoured after the extreme thrill of racing. Here on the podium, towering above everyone else… He was truly where he needed to be, where he was born to be.

As he stepped off and the bodyguards swarmed in to escort him to his own holding room, Jaehyun couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Yet another trophy for display on his shelf back in his apartment. He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it, the feeling of winning but then again who would?

Reporters were attempting to accost him at all sides, all screaming out the same old questions he had grown tired of early on.

“How do you feel after winning the prix for the third year running?”

“You hit a record timing today! How did you train for the race?”

“What do you have to say to your rival, Nakamoto who came in second this year? By a mere few seconds at that!”

Jaehyun nodded and waved at a few of them, still wearing a smile on his face but there was no answer evoked from him. He’d kept up a calm and cool demeanour throughout but once he was in his holding room alone, the moment the door closed shut behind him, he let out a loud, jubilant howl.

“Fuck yes!” He roared out in happiness before collapsing onto the couch, laughing to himself as he held his trophy above him. He badly needed a shower but he couldn’t care less, not with the trophy in his hands. Under the light, the gold shone and even as a seasoned racer, the excitement and happiness from winning never grew old. In the empty room, the victory felt even more profound, the reality of claiming the championships for yet another year sinking in.

He was in the middle of celebrating and basking in his own victory, he received a text.

Jy: how’s my man doing? congratulations on the win honey ❤️

Jae: thanks babe, it feels fucking amazing. you have no idea… also i missed you so much

Jy: we should celebrate. together, alone. tonight at my place? ;) we haven’t done it in awhile, i miss your body, your kisses

Jaehyun stared at the text. He should be happy, excited to see Jeongyeon again after so long. He had been so preoccupied with training for the big race that he’d barely had any time for her. He had missed her yet now that they were finally exchanging texts again after so long apart, he didn’t seem to feel the same anticipation.

There was something about that text she sent that seemed weirdly… detached. He had imagined their first interaction in over a month to be one that warmed him up in the inside, brought him to a whole new level of euphoria even after winning but if anything, this reality paled in comparison to the scenario he had looked forward to in his mind.

Jae: yeah sure

After pressing send, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table and rested his head against the velvety cushion of the couch. Somehow, that very short exchange with Jeongyeon had dimmed his excitement and readiness to celebrate.

His phone suddenly rang, disrupting him from the reverie he’d found himself in.

“Must be Jeongyeon,” he thought to himself and for some reasons as he swiped to answer the call, he found himself reluctant to talk.

“Hello?”

“Jung Jaehyun! I was watching your race on television, congratulations for coming in first yet again! You were terrific out there.”

Y/n.

Jaehyun smiled, feeling his heart swell at your words.

“Thanks, y/n. I really appreciate it.”

“How about we meet for dinner tonight? I know of this amazing Italian place that serves the best lasagna, your favourite! My treat too to celebrate your win, how’s that?”

At the mention of lasagna, Jaehyun could feel his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering. The tangy tomato sauce, copious amounts of cheese and spiced minced beef with soft pasta… He would absolutely be down for some well-deserved lasagna after weeks of feasting on plain, watery salads. Dinner sounded like a great idea.

“Sure, I- Wait, I can’t,” he groaned, suddenly remembering his plans with Jeongyeon. Plans he didn’t even particularly look forward to.

“Why not?” You asked.

“I um…”

Fuck, why is it so hard to say it?

“I have plans with Jeongyeon tonight,” he said, ignoring the strange pang of guilt and indignation that hit him square in the chest.

“Oh! Oh, uh… That’s completely fine. Don’t worry about it, we can always have dinner some other day.”

“Really? That would be great! How does next week sound?”

“Sounds good to me!” Even on call, he could imagine you bobbing your head enthusiastically like you usually did and that brought a chuckle out of him.

“Alright, I’ll see you then y/n.”

“See you! Please rest well, you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he replied before hanging up.

What is this warm feeling in him?

Jaehyun raced out of the apartment complex, his eyes searching his surroundings.

The sun was glaring and he couldn’t see straight without squinting his eyes. He must have been a weird sight to behold - scruffy, pale from the lack of the outdoors and reeking of the garbage piled up in his apartment. An elderly woman walking past him tutted disapprovingly at his disheveled appearance, holding her nose as she did but Jaehyun didn’t seem to notice her. His mind was on something else, something more important.

A boy from across the street was staring at him with his mouth agape, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he shakily fumbled in his pockets for his phone. Jaehyun let his sights linger on him, wondering if he should have at least thrown on a coat but as he turned, he caught sight of a figure hanging by the bus stop, looking miserable.

He swallowed thickly, feeling the slight clench of his heart and without hesitating a single second longer, he made his way over.

The heart monitor’s methodical beating was driving him near insanity. If not that, then certainly the suffocating atmosphere of the hospital and the bandages wrapped tightly around almost every single inch of his body would. Not to mention the occasional undercover paparazzi who would try to inch their way into his ward.

Jaehyun stared up at the white ceilings, still as a plank. Every part of his body hurt to move, he couldn’t even turn his head without feeling a painful pounding in it. Sometimes, he would get dizzy spells so intense he actually felt nauseous. His appetite for food or anything in general had since plummeted. Everything, but racing.

He yearned to go out there onto the tracks, to resume his training. The Roman Prix is coming up in a month’s time and he was so far from ready. He needed to get out of this place as soon as possible, even if it meant jeopardising his own safety. His career mattered more than anything.

Jeongyeon hadn’t called either since the day he got admitted. Jaehyun had soon grown tired of checking his messages or asking his publicist for news from her, the feeling of disappointment felt deep within him. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue wash over him.

There was a gentle knock on the door and as the door creaked slightly open, you poked your head in. Upon seeing him, you smiled softly and made your way over to him. Jaehyun watched you approach, his eyes following you.

You had brought along a basket with you, seemingly full of items. As much as he wanted to know what you’d brought, he tried not to look overeager. “I made you something special today,” you said, settling down and practically vibrating with excitement.

“What?”

“Tomato minestrone soup!” You exclaimed, uncovering the lid as the tantalising aroma of tomatoes and a medley of vegetables drifted in the air. Jaehyun almost had to restrain himself from moving, lest he shift a bone out of place somewhere.

Somehow seeing you had sparked a certain kind of joy in him. Maybe it was a sign nobody had really forgotten about him yet. He had watched his number of visitors trickle down day by day and now that it was close to a month since he’d been hospitalised, after the tragic accident, he barely got any. Perhaps three or four a week if he was lucky.

You, however, you were different. You visited him almost every other day, no matter how busy you were. You visited his bedside even if you were worn out from a long day of work, even when you had things to attend to, even when no one else bothered to. You would bring along snacks whenever you did or homemade get-well food like fish porridge or chicken noodle soup you’d whipped up yourself, though they might be far from the usual gourmet fare he was used to back when he was still active when he would go for exquisite dinner parties. Usually, you stayed for a substantial amount of time and sometimes, you even stayed the night.

Jaehyun didn’t understand why you would do all of this for a friend, a friend who never seemed to have time to spare for you at that. More than anything, the feeling of guilt in him only grew stronger with each visit yet he was grateful, extremely grateful. Your presence was like a warm ray of sunshine in this dreary hospital ward. Whenever you visited, he couldn’t help but smile even though he could not find it in himself to smile. But when it came to you, it felt natural.

“Y/n!”

At the sound of Jaehyun’s voice, you turned and even from afar, he could see your reddened eyes - a surefire sign you’d been crying. Guilt and anger washed over him in waves and he tried not to think how many times he had been the cause of your tears. If only he could turn back time, he would have shook himself for ever dismissing you so lightly like he did, before he saw the situation for what it was.

He was blinded. Blinded by his obsession for winning, fame, glory and pleasing the wrong people. In a way, it felt like a fog had been lifted before him and now that he could see, think, feel clearly… He wasn’t going to let the right person out of his grasp. The person who loved him unconditionally, not just for his fame and achievements. The person who stuck with him through thick and thin but he was just too daft to notice it. The person who always felt like home whether he knew it or not.

You.

“Jaehyun? W-What are you…” You spluttered, desperately trying to wipe your tears from your face as you stared up at him.

It took a couple of seconds for him to regain his breath, his face turning red from embarrassment and exertion. He should really start leaving those beers and junk food alone.

“I…” He panted, both out of fatigue and relief, “We need to talk.”

“Jung is getting closer, any minute now Hendery!”

“I don’t believe this! Are we looking at a potential comeback for this prix? Push, push, push!”

“It seems like we might be! Here he comes! He is absolutely mad!”

The nascars zipped along the race tracks, smoke and some bits of burnt rubber and chipped metal trailing along its wake. They were a blur of colours to the spectators, who were practically glued to their seats as they watched the race reach its climax. A massive telescreen was displaying close ups and the ranking board with huge overhead lights that illuminated the stadium. The crowd was growing wilder by the second as the racecars zoomed past them, their attention fixed on one racer in particular.

The sleek nascar was streaked in royal blue and crimson red over a metallic black base, looking almost purple and black with how fast it was flying across the tracks. The wheels were spinning so fast that the friction between the tough rubber tire and the rough granite almost lit up the tracks. It was charging forward with a steely determination and ruthlessness, closing in rapidly on a green and white nascar ahead of it.

The adrenaline coursing Jaehyun’s veins was unlike any other. The thrill he got from racing could practically send him into an all time high and a cunning grin tugged at his lips as he stepped his foot down hard on the pedal, his hands gripping tightly onto his steering wheel. Rounding around a bend, he clenched his jaw as he pushed his body weight to the left, the muscles in his abdominals and biceps flexing and straining against his racing suit as the car drifted across the tracks in a perfect arc.

“Did you see that perfectly executed drift?! Insanity!”

“Jung is absolutely on fire!”

The thunderous cheers of the crowd and the loud hum of the race cars racing across the tracks faded into the background as he kept his eyes trained steadily forward. Any time now…

“Watch out, Nakamoto,” he whispered under his breath.

Steering his wheel sharply and accelerating much to the crowd’s excitement and trepidation, his race car was now driving side by side along Yuta’s. For a split second, the two turned to look at each other through the window and even though there was no way of seeing the other’s face through that helmet, something in Jaehyun told him that his rival was angered, shocked and… Fearful.

Jaehyun grinned beneath his helmet and without a second thought, he zipped forward, leaving Yuta behind in the smoke.

“He’s going for it, he’s going for it… Wait for it… And he crosses the line! The legend has reclaimed his spot on the top!”

“And that is how you execute one of the greatest comebacks of all time, ladies and gentlemen. Jung has done what we believed to be impossible and dominated the race! I wonder how Nakamoto feels about that?”

The other commentator chuckles into his microphone.

“Well Haechan, if I were him, I’d be pissed off for sure! But I’d also be worried… So very worried.”

The crowd was absolutely wild when he’d disembarked from the car and as he removed his helmet, he was greeted with camera flashes all around him. He shook his head, running a gloved hand over his hair and he took a deep breath. The air smelled of burnt rubber, smoke and… Success.

He had done it. He had made his comeback.

His pit crew made a beeline for him, slapping him on the back, their faces jubilant and lit with pure joy. His new manager, one that he trusted and helped him inch his way back to the top step by step, shot him a thumbs up which he nodded in acknowledgement as the crowd of sports journalists, reporters and photographers began to swarm in on him.

Yet, he paid them no attention. If this was three years ago, he would have basked in the glory, the attention but now he had greater concerns on his mind. His heart was pounding now for a different reason altogether and he could feel his hands growing clammy.

Jaehyun craned his neck and searched the rowdy media crowd. Where were you?

“Jaehyun!”

At your voice, he turned and immediately almost stumbled backwards as you crashed into him for a hug. The feelings of you against him sparked a joy in his heart, a joy almost greater than winning. He enveloped you in a hug, holding your waist as he nuzzled his face into your hair. Your scent of honey and jasmine was intoxicating, alluring and a welcomed change from the smell of smoke and rubble.

The two of you had been dating for about two years now, each day together better than the previous. After he’d caught up with you that day, it was as if you were seeing a different Jaehyun from the one you’d seen in his apartment. That Jaehyun who had caught up with you at the bus stop was the old Jaehyun you’d missed and it was as if a switch somewhere had been flipped. To this day, he had never admitted what changed while you were gone for those few minutes. He had subsequently apologised for everything he’d done, even things you didn’t see a problem with. It was shocking to say the least to see the unapologetic Jaehyun apologise for anything at all, but not more shocking than what entailed a few days later.

It started with a vase of luscious red roses being sent to your workplace followed by an invitation for dinner. Before you knew it, the boy you’d loved almost all your life was courting you with a passion. It felt like a complete dream, so much so you had been afraid to wake up suddenly and realise it was all just your imagination. He’d been more of a romantic than he’d let on and many times, you had found yourself completely smitten by his stunts that stretched from learning how to make homemade chocolates for you on Valentine’s Day knowing that you liked them, even though he was well known as a terrible cook to sending flowers up to your doorstep every other week.

Within a couple of months, the two of you were dating and deeply, wildly in love.

Amidst date nights filled with laughter and kisses, he had also been steadily climbing his way back up the ranks of the racing world. After ditching his unhealthy lifestyle he had been living for the past year, the change was apparent. He’d started hitting the gym, eating healthier and before long, he was in prime condition to start racing again. Training was long and tough but he never did give up. He was more determined and driven than you’d seen him and though the old Jaehyun would have been gutted at a loss, this new, better version of him never fussed over a loss of any kind, instead learning from his mistakes.

All of his efforts had led to this ultimate moment, the taste of victory on his lips.

You noticed he had been shifting uncomfortably and you looked up, puzzled and concerned.

“Jaehyun? You okay?”

He looked at you, his ears red, a sign that he was anxious, nervous.

“Jaehyun? What-”

Your words got stuck in your throat as he knelt down on one knee, the lights overhead bringing out the sparkle in his eyes and the shine in his hair. Those dark orbs were so full of hope, anxiety and love all intermingled in one and you found it difficult to believe that those eyes were looking at you directly, the emotions in them all for you.

Jaehyun withdrew a tiny, velvet box from his pocket and popped it open. In the box, was a tiny diamond ring, glittering and absolutely regal. The diamond itself was beautifully cut and interwoven into the metal band with microfibres of white gold and it simply shone as the camera flashes went off. The crowd was going bonkers, screaming and cheering with wolf whistles.

“Y/n,” he spoke softly, his voice gentle. “You have always been there for me, always been my better half. We have been friends for over a decade and lovers for merely two but it seemed as if we always were meant for each other. It took me so long to realise that and there is not a day I don’t regret not realising it sooner. You are my everything - my past, present and future. Falling in love with you was gradual, unconscious. I guess my heart knew you the one before I even did. It started with me being in a dark, dark place where I drowned in my own self-hatred and insecurities. I was beaten, defeated and I just gave up. Where everyone did the same, you never did. You were like a beam of shining light, shining upon me and guiding me even if I didn’t notice it at the time. But when I did, you glowed even more brightly than I’d envisioned. I’d been oblivious to your beauty both inside and outside for far too long and god knows how much I fucking regret it. I’m different now though, because of you. I am the best version of myself right now because I have you in my life. You taught me how to love, allow myself to be loved. There’s no universe whereby I’d want to be without you. I can’t see myself without you in my life. I need you, I love you.”

Tears were beginning to stream down your face and the stadium had grown quieter, all tuning into what was happening.

Jaehyun looked up at you, hopeful and so full of love that you thought your heart might burst.

“So I guess what I’m saying is, will you marry me, y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

[tragicclownwrites]

🤡

[goodluckdetective]

But What’s the Punchline: Why the Joker is Being Written all Wrong and Why.

Hello everyone, and welcome to the circus. Yes, I am going to talk about the Joker at length here, making me the biggest clown, but listen, I promise, I have points to make. Just sit down and hear me out. 

So a lot of comic book fans, myself included, loathe seeing the Joker because when he appears, it’s usually a sign some bad writing will commence. The Joker is less than a character these days than a “stakes are raised” flag that a writer throws in to let us know “shit is serious now” like we didn’t just see the Joker a month ago in the same way. In general, his actions follow whatever the plot needs from him, plus a joke or two in a wavy font, but otherwise, there’s not much depth to him. He’s a bit like the “sexy lamp” trope except instead he’s more of a street sign that says “danger” and that street sign is in front of like the smallest pot hole to a full on burning building.

But I digress. So the Joker now kinda of sucks, but he has been good in the past. We’ve all read a story where he is actually interesting. So what happened? Well, long story short, the Joker got a bit lost in translation. 

What does the Joker actually represent? A lot of folks say society but that’s not it. Some say he’s chaos for chaos sake, which isn’t entirely wrong, and some interpretations have written him that way, but I’d argue they’re not good ones. 

I think Moore is a little closer with the idea of one bad day but I think people also really simplify what he was getting at.  Because Moore’s point in the Killing Joke (derogatory, problematic) was that the Joker is wrong. Jim proves him wrong, that’s the point. So it’s not that either.

So let’s take a step back. I think the best way to view the Joker is to start with Batman because the Joker is supposed to be his natural foil, his true nemesis. So to foil properly, you first have to decide what you’re foiling. Batman is an idea, the idea Bruce had a very very bad day and then decided to try to stop bad things like it from ever happening again. He’s not a defense of the “system” per say because Bruce goes against the system a lot because it’s corrupt and doesn’t work. But it’s an idea of justice, that those who are hurt can feel safe and that people can be better. 

It’s the idea that “the world sucks and is unfair and bad things happen, but we get up and try to make it better anyway because it’s worth it” Which fits Gotham thematically: things are terrible and dark but no one gives up, they keep pushing towards that light.

Okay so with this in mind, the Joker is easier to define. He’s not pure chaos. The Joker is destructive nihilism, the idea that “everyone sucks and the world is unfair and bad things happen and because of that, I should burn it all down until everyone else realizes it too, because we will never truly win.” A lot of the things the Joker does when written well come back to this mission statement: futility and despair. There’s no hope to be had so fuck it, let’s commit some arson and laugh because none of this means anything, might as well have fun as the world falls apart. And that fits with his character. Why is he a clown? Tragic comedy duality. Why is his backstory always changing and never concrete? Because nothing matters so who he is doesn’t matter, the city will still burn. Why does he shift tactics so often? Because he doesn’t care about consistency, he sees the world as a doomed sim city and he’s happy to destroy it regardless of what tools he has in the hot bar.

And it’s why he hates Batman so much. The Joker views the world as a bird with two broken wings from hitting the window:it hasn’t quite died yet but will never get better. Meanwhile Batman is the person still trying to bandage each wing, like birds doesn’t break wings every day, like the window isn’t going to cause this problem again, like trying to fix this one doomed bird matters. And the Joker hates him for it. He wants him to stop fighting, admit you can’t fix things and laugh. And yet Batman keeps trying to save every broken bird he can find like that will change anything. Hell, he even tries to fix the fucking window, even though some other asshole will put up another one as soon as he convinces this property owner to replace it. Batman looks at this problem and keeps railing against it, even when the chance of him saving ever bird and replacing every too opaque window is impossible. And the Joker finds that attempt to work against what he views as a hopeless situation the most frustrating thing in the world. 

(This viewpoint of the Joker also helps explain why Harley and others so easily fell for the line: cause chaos cus it’s fun is a harder sell then “we’re all doomed, might as well watch it burn and laugh knowing it was doomed to begin with). 

But instead everyone writes him as their first chaotic evil character in dnd and it’s lazy. It’s boring. It’s a plot device in clown make-up. Use a character who makes sense for your plotline. Save the Joker for what he’s meant for. 

[a-flickering-soul]

what is spg?

(this is an invitation to info dump)

I'm going to be honest, Anon, this is kind of a terrible ask to get because I genuinely don't know where to start. The thing about SPG is that the lore, worldbuilding, and backstory is incredibly intricate and at times quite tragic, but the nature of the live act that actually composes Steam Powered Giraffe is at its core a stand-up comedy act with some singing at times performed by essentially clowns that move funny. SPG is a fandom that by design is meant to mock you for deepifying something that seems like it shouldn’t be deepified, but in fact has been deepified since 2009. I know this is an open invitation but I do still have some sense of pride, so I promise you that I am going to do my damndest to keep this a readable length.

The general 'gimmick' of SPG is that this is a band comprised of three members (The Spine, Rabbit, and a third or fourth member that rotates out depending on the era) and they've been performing since they were built back in 1896 (you know, back when it was still illegal for women to read and write, and all the me-men dressed like Mr. Peanut) (*looks into the camera like I'm in The Office*). They are played onstage by real live people in incredibly intricate face paint, costuming, and (my personal favorite) physically act as the automatons they're playing, which leads to this really interesting uncanny valley effect that I personally find really entertaining to watch. Also, I really like the music! They span quite a few genres (American folk, motown, and rock, to name a few), and they have consistently really tight harmonies and nice lyrics! I've been looping their discography for quite a while, because there's just a lot of variety! Very much recommend and I will release my ranking of their albums or songs WITH reasons why at the slightest provocation.

Pretty cool, pretty fun. The lore, though, is where it gets fucking batshit. These robots are so fucking sad dude I can think about them and unlock hidden emotions. I promise to god this is all canon even though they will misrepresent their own lore and make it incredibly hard to find. Basically, you could listen to Brass Goggles and get the broad strokes, but really, it all starts with a love triangle back in 1896.

A young up-and-coming scientist, Peter Walter I, and his friend Thaddeus Becile, were both madly in love with an incredibly bright young chemist, Delilah Morreo (who, coincidentally, was a lesbian, but unfortunately for them neither of them knew about her Boston marriage). Delilah, sadly, hubrised herself into an early grave, but not before sparking a war of invention between the two men to catch her eye. Walter, pushing the boundaries of steam power at the time, strove to create sentient artificial intelligence, while Becile pivoted towards weaponry.

With Delilah's death, however, this once-friendly rivalry spiraled into anger and resentment. Becile, in his own attempts to win her attention, had previously discovered the unearthly Green Matter--similar to Blue Matter, but more unstable, with a necromantic bend. In an attempt to keep up with him, Walter discovered Blue Matter in a rift from an alternate dimension--a powerful, generative substance that could imbue a mechanical body with life. With this, he created our Steam Man Band as we know them today. They were initially meant to catch Delilah's eye, singing and dancing to entertain her, as well as a giant steam-powered giraffe automaton (Delilah, apparently, had a fondness for African savannah wildlife), but, of course, were never seen by her while she lived.

Now, this Green Matter could be found in the newly-discovered Rock Candy Mines of Africa (please for the love of god bear with me), and as Becile became more and more unstable, he sought to take control of this power source in attempts to bring Delilah back to life (he does, in fact, succeed, but not in the way he intended) and seize control. This is where the first of the many wars the robots serve in takes place. The Weekend War was fought between the necromantic zombified armies of Becile, and the steam-powered automatons of Walter--it lasted a single weekend, but was sufficient enough to prevent Green Matter from falling into the wrong hands, and to traumatize a whole bunch of very young, very new AIs.

From then on, the robots bounced back and forth between trying to fulfill their original life purpose--to sing, dance, and entertain--and being drafted into wars in order to aid funding for the slowly-growing Walter Robotics. They fought in three further wars, being WWI, WWII, and (I know.) the Vietnam War, before eventually refusing to fight in any further conflict and pivoting entirely to performance

That's the main background, and this is already at 800 words, but man. Man. I could say so much more. There's so much lore, and I haven't even gotten into their Patreon yet to get to the really deep cuts. Delilah Morreo is an immortal vampire hunter now. Rabbit is literally trans and her power source created a rift in spacetime. There is someone named Pomene who seems important but I can't find any traces of them anywhere. There is a whole fantasy world with different cultures and races and magics that just rarely gets brought up. Uncle Ralphie (from the literal outro of 'Steamboat Shenanigans') is a real character who is known. I haven't even touched on the Vice Quadrant, which is a space opera spanning two alternate timelines where a huge space lady and a lost astronaut fall in love maybe? And there's an evil astronaut there too and space whales and some twunk who can swap between timelines?

This is why I've been here for seven months. The lore is infuriatingly complex and ridiculously hard to track down and insanely tantalizing to me. And then I watch their live stages and it's like. Fart jokes. I can't overexplain enough how this makes me feel. And the music fucks. That's 1000 words, and I'll cut it there, but I am so so willing to explain anything from SPG's lore that I can so please send me asks literally anyone about anything relating to SPG I am DYING in here please for the love of god--

[sasster]

I dunno if you guys can tell but I haven’t done a lot of fantroll stuff lately. Or really. Much of anything. But I DID write this.

Mind this is just some oc species shit, BUT it would mean quite a lot to me if you guys read it. Since it’s the... Longest thing I’ve written in .. All of 2021? Yike!

Anyway, as usual, here is a link to a google doc if reading it on my blog upsets the minds eye.

----

“You know that we are practically Gods in comparison, right? It is a marvel that my people are not in the conquering business. We would be very good at it, do you not agree?”

Their captor spoke with a high in their voice, Qei was positive that they’d gotten their hands on some sort of mind altering substance to get them into the mindset that they were in -- Well, how else could you explain prattling on your master plan to a supposed lesser species? He found it rather foolish for the younger Cardali to speak so loudly and so boldly in front of newly rounded up prisoners. That was to say nothing to the tragically gaudy and unnecessary large castle-like structure that he and the four others of his crew were dragged to. Truly, he’d never seen such high ceilings outside of the Temples on Cardalith. What a waste of resources.

The upside is that the People of Aeilur were a remarkably easy species to mimic. They have no real sexual dimorphism, at least not one noticeable from the outside looking in, nor do they spend a lot of their time on ridiculous beauty standards. They were just a product of their world. Aeilur is a beautiful planet, actually, lush with fauna and vegetation long extinct on most other worlds. A strong, sturdy, practical people, with pacifism practiced down to an art, they wouldn’t raise arms even if an entire army to make a grab for their planet and it’s bountiful resources. It was Falarittus’ responsibility to help keep such things from occurring.

Qei could see how an opportunistic megalomaniac might have taken advantage of such information, he just never thought that he would see the day that one such megalomaniac would be an Ambassador of Cardalith, one of their own. He was disgusted.

There is a tug at the shackles that restrain his top set of hands, indicating that while he was lost in thought he’d stopped shuffling behind. He emits a low inquisitive grunt, he was going his usual hm, but he supposes that this is the only translation his current form could offer. How fascinating! He’d have to make plans to spend more time with the People of Aeilur. Under less pressing circumstances.

There is another sharp tug at his reins and he resumes trudging along behind the madman. How humiliating. Demoralizing. It was important for him to experience this though, so that he could speak to his short experience under their thumb when it came time to trial. There would be a trial. Not that Qei was worried that Falarittus would have much of a case. It would be short.

Not as short as it would have been if Qei were to let his patron in on the manhunt -- Why that temperamental giant would have lost it before they even stepped foot into this… Mansion? Seriously, this thing was gaudy. Might’ve burned the whole thing down Himself. No matter, this was always going to be a job for Qei. He even felt bad bringing along a crew with him. Diollea insisted he bring back up “just in case”.

He threw a worried glance over his shoulder to gauge them. They seemed comfortable, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Oh. Right, Falarittus was still talking.

“Once they see what I’ve done for the people of this world, the Gods themselves would shower me in praise. My peers and superiors would turn to me for guidance in the new age!”

It looks like Qei tuned back in just in time for a gem! He couldn’t help himself as the air quickly expelled from his new and quite long proboscis, which resulted in trumpets quite a bit louder than he was anticipating. He thinks this might be what a laugh is for this species. He did not intend to be laughing, but the idea that their creators would entertain the idea of the subjugation of any species, let alone one so peaceful as the People of Aeilur, was preposterous!

Only an idiot who made their home the size of a mall would have such delusions.

“What is so funny, worm?”

Worm! Perhaps not letting Diollea come was the mistake, this miserable pile of goo would long be ashes in that event. The trumpets were coming in spurts now, and Qei’s guess was that these were the equivalent of hiccups or maybe wheezing.

Qei’s crew took some steps back as Falarittus took the several steps to close the gaps between them. Now, naturally, Falarittus and Qei were eye level, but in this form they only came to just about chest level with him. Gentle, emphasis on the giant, indeed. The latters trunk swayed between them with a gentle undulation in a behavior that Qei was actually quite familiar with! Taunting.

He’d only seen it when three sisters prepared for a friendly bout of wrestling upon their reunion; It was cute. This was not.

“Oh, did you want to fight? Is that it? Did you plan to be the warrior of your people?”

Qei merely held up his two sets of shackled hands, hands big enough to hold Falarittus’ head in it. Hands that could crack their skull like a fragile piece of pottery if he were so inclined. He could not disrespect this form with violence, though, he thinks.

The bitter laugh that erupted from the man opposite him was unlike anything he’d ever heard come from the mouth of another Cardali, and he has met many of them in his day. It was almost ear splitting and made the hairs from his arms to his chest stand on end. Danger receptors? Very nice.

“It is not in you to fight, but please raise your hands to me so that I may cite self defense back to my superiors.”

There was a sick smirk on their face as they pulled a set of keys from their robes -- Robes, they were wearing robes like some sort of high priest in a fantasy story book -- and began to unlock the cruel piece of metal from Qei’s top set of arms. This was ideal, as he was fairly certain this is the set that translates back to the singular set of arms in his natural form, as they did not rudely burst from his shoulder blades like the second set did.

“Let's keep it fair, I only have the one pair after all.”

“Fair?” His own voice was quite alien to him, raspy and guttural as it tried to form words unfamiliar to the vocal cords tongue he borrowed to speak. Standard was not a language that belonged in this mouth.

“Fair. Say it with me. F-er.” Holy. Xenophobia. How did this pass the sniff test? No, there had to be another traitor in their ranks for such an awful wretched soul to have been left alone here. An example was to be made, and Qei would make sure that it was handled swiftly. The only good news was that this was so early on, that there was just this region of the planet that experienced it. Which was a really bad thing to think was a good thing. But there was a chance that the People of Aeilur would continue to allow Cardalith’s aid.

“Fair.” Qei said, once again the word barely made it past his tusks in one piece.

Falarittus cackled wildly at this attempt as Qei closed his eyes and focused his energy intro retracting that disrespectful set of arms back into his body, he’d been shifting for quite long time at this point in his life, so the rest of the shift passed by with a pleasant hum and totally not worth describing from the inside.

He reopened his eyes to the sound of metal hitting the floor, he was now looking at his own hands, ambient green glow and birthmarks exactly where he’d left them. They were clenched into tight fists. Most importantly, though, he was staring straight into the shell shocked eyes of the once quite full of himself clown.

“Fair enough?”

“Qei’eleritte, wait, let's talk about this --”

He swung hard, possibly with more force than intended, because they crumpled to the floor almost instantly. Behind him, he could hear the humored trumpeting of his still disguised crew behind him.

This could have been so much worse.

[phoenotopia]

2020 October Update

So... we've launched. And our launch was... actually kind of... bad...

This is a dev blog, so I'll speak on it. But before that, we do have the game's steam page up. If you're anticipating the PC release, please do visit the steam page and add it to your wish list. It would help us a lot.

VISIT STEAM LINK

...

So what didn't go so well?

1. We launched in Nintendo's Americas and Europe territory. If you've been following the release, you'd know that America got the game first. We didn't move to launch in Europe at all since I thought the EFIGS languages (English, French, Italian, German, Spanish) were pre-requisites for Europe. By the time I learned that this wasn't necessarily the case, and attempted to course correct, the damage was done. We had half the allotment of keys to do outreach, and maybe some European outlets that would've covered us, did not.

2. When the game launched, rather than a victory lap, what we experienced was more of a public lashing. We did get some reviews that praised the game highly, but just as many reviews lampooned the game for its high difficulty or other failings. I've since released two patches (or 3, depending on how you count it) to address the difficulty. A lot of overnighters. If you recall in the last blog post, I thought it'd be a good start if we got 20 or so reviews on Open Critic. But we've only 8 as of this writing, and the aggregate score isn't so hot. So that's a fail by my metric.

3. A publisher reached out to us because they were interested in physically printing the game! Yay! But... to advance our talks, they wanted to see the game's sales numbers to ensure that there's a good chance their investment could be recouped. And unfortunately, the game's sales numbers are pretty low. They backed out :(

Some hard lessons were learned. The biggest lesson for me concerns how well we playtested the game. Looking at the original playtester list, it's a short list. You may recall from a previous blog post that our ability to test was severely hampered by technical limitations. Add to that, a lot of people on this list are objectively really achieved players. We're talking power ranked in Smash Bros, regular tournament goers, and people who've played and bested every Souls game. And as the maker of the game, I am most blind to the game's challenges.

Now, I'm definitely more of the opinion that you prioritize PC development first. I still have some reservations about some stages of PC development. But if you do PC/Steam first, you have the great benefit of being able to do Early Access, which gives you access to a greater testing pool. I now view it as an invaluable part of the equation. If we had been able to do Early Access for 1 or 2 months before release, we probably could have ironed out most of the game's difficulty and balance problems. Hard lessons, indeed.

There were a lot of other notable events that occurred over the past 2 months - the travails of press outreach, realizing my own limits as a developer, feeling defeated and getting back up again, etc. There's too much stuff to chronicle or go into detail. But it wasn't all bad.

Some good things did happen...

We got a publisher to publish for Japan! It came as a huge relief, because clearly, we don't know what the heck we're doing.

The publisher has been an invaluable source of information and feedback. They've recommended some changes to the game to improve user experience. Some of these changes I was hesitant to do at first because they concerned systems I thought integral to the identity of the game. But after trying it, I have to admit, they're good changes.

So a Japanese version of the game was moving ahead. And it looked like that'd be it. I wasn't planning to move forward with any other language translations due to the game's low sales and our funds being depleted. 

But, I was approached by a translator who urged me to move ahead with translations. He told me he was willing to work for only a small price initially and then be paid the rest after from a percentage of the game's sales until the cost of the translation was paid in full.

I was surprised translators were willing to work under such a model since it's entirely likely the game's current low sales trajectory would continue and they wouldn't earn back the full cost of translation. But I was also flattered they were willing to take a risk with me. After that, I approached some others with the same hypothetical deal, and long story short, we're now moving forward with French, German, Spanish, Portuguese and Russian translations. As for why these languages in particular, they were languages for whom I had contacts (because they reached out to me at some point in the past). And also because they were deemed more likely to be profitable based on their home country's gaming market/buying habits. I'd be personally happy to have my native language be represented, but it's not expected to be a profitable territory. But if the game does better in the future, it may justify the costs of translation. There could be a chance!

The plan right now is to get the game supporting these first round of languages and then to patch that into the Switch version as well as launch the PC version with these languages - all in December. A lot of things need to align for this to occur, so a delay isn't out of the question. It'll be busy... I'll update the blog again in latter half of December, probably near the game's PC launch date... OR to announce a delay. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

Fan Support

While the past two months have been grueling, one good thing remains constant - fan art! Thank you everyone who submitted. It means a lot to me and the team!

Big thanks to Pimez who's taken on watching over the reddit community as moderator. He also combs the other communities and makes sure I see every new art piece. Despite juggling his own life and all these tasks, he still found some time to draw.

Pimez's piece reminds us that just because the new game's out doesn't mean we can't still celebrate the original flash game. The jail dog is a dog found only in jail and only in the flash game. I imagine Gail is just tossing a stick, and they're playing fetch.

A new artist to this scene æv draws both the Phoenix logo AND a super cute picture of Gail playing the flute. So precious, you want to pinch her cheek. Even the Sand Drake is enthralled!

Another new artist, beet4ppy arrives on the scene with two pictures! One features a no-nonsense battle-hardened Gail looking stoic and tough! Kinda reminds me of Vinland Saga actually. The other, a more cheerful group composition - I must say I'm a big fan of Fran's classic anime-style eye!

A returning artist, Cody G, returns with a picture depicting the tribulations of cooking. Gotta love Gail's frantic expression! I've heard the complaints, which is why we've added an option to slow the cooking mini-game down. An improved button font is also on the way.

Gamesing with two undertale x phoenotopia crossovers. Thomas being a robot builder makes sense taking a role similar to Alphys. But why is Alex dressed like a clown? Perhaps there is a hidden meaning here... 

A new artist, Warotar, draws both a pooki wearing Gail's clothes and Gail wearing pooki clothes. Awww. The pooki is a bit scary - it kinda reminds me of a tragic event in a certain anime. But the Gail is adorable!

POL#5655 submitted this one to KM's discord which made its way to me. Here, a stylized Gail appears unnerved by the dark red eyes stalking her in the background. Are they bats or something more sinister?

A new artist, MilesCPW, arrives on the scene with three rare well-vectorized arts! Love it! One scene depicts Gail balancing a bomb on her head - that's a speedrunning trick I only learned about recently after someone emailed me a video O_O

The other drawing gives us new insight into Katash - he could actually look cute if he wasn't trying to kill you.

And the bees... Okay, this one got a chuckle from me :D

A returning artist roccy_chair draws this heart-warming scene from the beginning of the new game. Aww. Mika doesn't get much screen time for story reasons, so it's nice to see her represented.

UnrealWorld_32 returns with another drawing of Gail in Panselo, this time capturing a more idyllic time. I like the tranquil nature of this piece. And Gail does in fact play the guitar, denoted by the guitar in her room.

Returning artist shafiyahh draws a nice portrait of Prince Leo - looking regal and princely. I like the storybook art style of this piece. It made me immediately think of "the Little Prince" - one of my favorite books actually!

Negativus Core returns with a beautiful group composition of Gail and the gang - flying from a Switch shaped window - totally sensible considering the game is only Switch right now. As usual, I'm impressed by Negativus Core's use of challenging angles to frame a more dynamic shot of the characters. Great job!

And it wasn't only artists bearing the banner. I'd like to give a big shoutout to everyone in all the game's little communities (from the reddit to the discords to this tumblr). I've seen this community help newcomers with gameplay and walkthrough advice, discussions, updating the wiki, and so on. It does bring a smile to my face. Thank you everyone!