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mickvalencia · 5 months

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Devlog #000 - Welcome to the DGS Project!

Hello there!

I'm Mick, lead of the Detrayan team and this is my first devlog ever. Today, I'm here to tell you a little bit about myself, but mostly about my project, the Detrayan Gaming System. DGS is a project that has been hanging around in my mind, my notes and my thoughts for years at this point, although not in the same way that it can be seen today. You see, I used to think that I was a writer, a novelist, all that cool stuff, but in reality, my skills are closer to the ones of a worldbuilder, a systems designer and a scriptwriter than the aforementioned, and that's the main reason that this project hasn't been public until yesterday. I wanted to write a novel (a bunch of them, actually) I started designing the world of Detrayan on its most primitive form around 2019, and since then I had this desire to write an epic saga of novels that spanned through the ages and planes of my world, thinking about being the next Tolkien or Douglas Adams. You know, small, achievable goals. The thing is, me not knowing that I'm not a novelist, but a worldbuilder, extensively worked the details of the land, the creatures, characters planes and ages, and it was beautiful. The problem? I couldn't for the life of me to pick an angle to tell this story. I couldn't cover my favorite parts, heroes, villains, events and all the other things on a book, didn't knew where to start, where to finish, where to even put the first word to give it the meaning or weight that I wanted. The project became dormant, while I tended to other matters, until one day, a group of excellent friends (some of them members of the actual Detrayan team to this day) in between our daily talks and jokes, proposed the idea that we should play a TTRPG, and games are one of my biggest passions in life, besides animals and quality time with the ones you love. But, what to play? I love TTRPGs as a concept, but I never found one that really encompassed the aspects I liked about them, like the freedom and experimentation they offer, without using a bunch of number crunching or rules that were too loose to develop consistency with the world. So I went and decided to design something myself. The first beta was rough. I decided to skip the whole "IRL" setting, and go for a different approach closer to MUDs in a way, because we played through a Discord server via text, in this way avoiding some of the complications of most TTRPG sessions (people not getting enough into character out of embarrassment, scheduling conflicts, dice fudging, number crunching, and others) and with that, giving space to concentrate in the part I liked, that was the narrative and stories you can build around these games. The setting was not there the first time, we had a short adventure about a wizard who liked to torment a dwarf by stealing his potato chips and putting him in complicated situations against goblin junkies and orcs that came to his house. It wasn't great, but we had an idea, and we could make it work, the system was fun, intuitive and for a beta, I would even say "functional". And then it hit me. I had been building this world without an actual purpose to it except for a theoretical novel saga, but it was all there, years of work could be reused in a new idea, even if it was just for our personal fun.

Time passed, seasons came and went, and I kept improving on the systems with the help of my friends, we had to adjust many things, from combat, socializing, world logic, rolls, stats, all of it, but in the end we came up with our own flavor of TTRPG, that was enticing and fun because of the customization we gave to it, but also because we invested a lot of time in making it a unique experience.

Once the world was fully integrated with the system, we played for about a year consistently, and had a lot of fun with it, getting to that impostor syndrome moment where you say

"Hey! This is pretty good, it looks like someone way better than us made it!"

When I heard myself saying this phrase, I knew that something wasn't right, and I needed to do something to correct it, so then again, I got back to the drawing board (I actually have a drawing board now, they're very cool).

I started making a little trailer about the game as if it was an actual product, showcasing the book covers you can see in the gallery, and I got pretty hyped up about it. Why couldn't this be a thing? Why should I stop here? There was no actual reason for me to give a chance to this game I got to love while creating it and the world that has been with me for all this time, so I started creating actual rulesets and adapting mechanics to a "newcomer-friendly" mindset. This went great, and taught me a lot about system design and project management, but there was always something lurking in the back of my head, and that was that this project would only be an idea until I released it in one way or another to the public.

Couldn't stop thinking about it, I had to make that trade, and so I did. Being here holds me accountable on my progress, and while it's not perfect (nor done until it's actually done), just one day of leaving my fear of it not being "perfect" made me get to this point, where I can freely talk about it, receive feedback, and even deliver whatever is done to you, the "Dear Reader". What can I say besides, "This feels great"? I'm a little bit scared about what comes for the future of this project, but now that the journey has officially started, I can repeat the wonderful process that took me to this point, which was to share with others what at some point it was only an idea in my head, hear their opinions and questions, and build upon that what will be the next iteration of DGS and the deployment of Detrayan as a new fictional universe to enjoy. There's so much I'd like to talk to you about, from the game itself, the lore, the universe, my own journey to get to this point, but I also want to make a habit of this, talk to you often through this devlog, to receive your questions and comments on everything from the earthly to the divine, I want this creative process to be a constant dialogue, and I think this new work model where I keep adding up to what's already done, instead of waiting by myself for everything to be completely ready, is an excellent way to go forward. Before I go, there are three things I'd like to say:

1. I'm open to hear your comments, ideas, messages and questions, just send me a message through ko-fi, tumblr, or if you're more old-fashioned, throw me an email at [email protected], think of me as that friend you haven't met yet, that everyone says it's super nerdy and chill, you can even find me on Twitter if that's your thing, I'm kinda bad at social media, but I'm learning as I go. 2. The project itself has already completed some of the milestones I had for it from the beginning, we've already released our "Red Book" for new players and our "Blue Book" for Game Directors, they both will give you a good idea of where are we going with our project. They are in our shop, and you can pick them up on a "Pay what you want" basis, being $0 the minimum, because I want you to have access to the game no matter what.

3. There's a lot more I'd like to share, but I'd rather not flood you with information, we have plenty of time ahead of ourselves to know each other, talk about many topics, related and non-related to DGS and Detrayan, and I want this to be a growing relationship between me and you, so please make sure to follow us, talk about the project with others, let us into your world and interests, so we can build this as something real and human, I'd like to know about you as much as I'd like to tell you about me and all of this.

Alright, I need to stop, or I'll end up writing a novel right here, and that's not the idea. I hope that you and the ones you love are safe, that you have an excellent day, and that we can get to know each other better over time. Big hugs! Mick Lead of Detrayan Team

#game design tabletop #dgs #devlog #ttrpg #worldbuilding #indiedev #ko fi

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teyvat-imagines · 3 years

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Hello, I read the 'losing game' and can I request you a contining(?)fic where he realizes he does love them, BUT only after they leave and he feels more heartbroken than ever and tries to find them and fix things? I hope this makes sense, thank you!

Hello! :D Thank you for the request! I'd be more than happy to write up a continuation! ^w^ Time to add a bit of comfort to the angst! XD

Original Oneshot Here

[A/N: If you want some additional spice to the intial angst with this, I'd recommend listening to Far Away by Nickelback! Thank you to by buddy Cryo for the recommendation! :D]

Zhongli - New Beginnings

It's been almost half a year since you finally ended things with Zhongli. It still hurts at times, but it's getting easier to get by each day. You still see him and you're still close. But you've given yourself boundaries. There's no physical contact anymore. No hugs, because you're far too afraid that the moment his arms are around you again you'd crumble and want to be his again.

It's not the same, but it's enough. At least you can still see him, and at least you know when he looks at you he's actually seeing you now. Not Guizhong. And that thought alone is enough to bring just a small smile to your face.

For the ex-Archon however, the days have not been easy. They have barely been tolerable. Every time he sees you, there's an ache in his chest, a deep sense of longing filling him until he can barely stand it. He tries his best to ignore his feelings. It would just hurt you, and you deserved so much better than that. And of course... He spent so long seeing Guizhong reflected in your face, spent so long replacing you with her in his mind. So to turn around now and ask for your hand back? To ask for another chance when you had spent so long putting up with that level of mistreatment? He could not bring himself to be so selfish.

He tried desperately to will these feelings away. To ignore them. To forget what he had with you. But they were always there, creeping in his mind and waiting for his guard to drop. Late at night as he tries to sleep, the thoughts of you seep into his mind and keep him awake for hours in endless anguish. He misses you. He needs you. And this time he means you. Not Guizhong. Not a stand in. He wants your heart. To feel your form curled up with his. To be able to hold you close and keep you safe for as long as you could have together in this lifetime.

It has been many years since the old Geo Archon had wept. But since losing you, that seems to be all he does when he's alone. He hurts and he cries and he sobs until his throat is as raw as the pain in this chest. Until his eyes are puffy and red.

It can't keep going on like this, he realises soon. He wants to be able to continue to see you, but he can't move past his feelings for you. So he decides to stop avoiding his problems. With a deep shaky breath, he decides it's time to finally bring this torment to an end.

There's an odd feeling in the air when he asks you to meet him at the outskirts of the city. The sun was setting on the horizon, and it almost felt... sad. Like you were about to part ways for the last time. Licking your lips nervously, you looked up at Zhongli. When he looked at you, he looked so tired. Less like the mortal Zhongli who enjoyed strolling along the harbourside and more like the old Archon Morax. Like you could see every century of loneliness he had endured.

"(Y/N), thank you for giving me your time." He smiles, but it doesn't look right, like a poor imitation of a smile from a man who has forgotten how to be happy. Your nerves begin to grow. He hasn't even told you why you're here yet, but there's a nagging sense of fear that won't leave you.

"It's fine, what are friends for after all?" You smile and chuckle half-heartedly, noting the soft flinch on his face as you call him a friend. Was that what this was about...? Was he about to end your friendship...? Was that even what you wanted?

"That is..." He sighs softly, and this time he does nothing to mask the sadness in his eyes. "About that." You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. You didn't want to be Guizhong's replacement, but you didn't want to lose him entirely! "I fear I cannot continue to be friends with you." There was a ringing in your ears at his words. You felt dizzy and weak and hurt and- And why? Why was he doing this? You wanted to ask him but your mouth felt so dry and your heart ached so much it was all you could do not to cry.

"I have not been fair to you... And for the mistakes I have made, I apologise." Even as you shake he continues on. "I caused you a great deal of pain... And, unfortunately, what I am about to say may cause you even more anguish. But, it must be said." He looks at you and there's a firm resolve in his eyes. You nod slowly, unsure of what you even could say at this point. You were going to lose him weren't you? This was going to be good-bye...

"(Y/N), I fear it is not fair for me to ask this of you but." Zhongli takes a deep breathe before he lowers down onto one knee, reaching up to take your hand in his. The way he holds you is so soft, so gentle. As if he were afraid the slightest pressure would cause you to shatter and fade to dust. "But, I love you. And my dear, yes it is you I mean." What...? "I know how I treated you previously, and I know it is so selfish to hurt you like this again but. But, (Y/N), my sweet, dear (Y/N) I love you so much. I can't be without you anymore."

You looked at him in disbelief, almost searching for any sign of this being a cruel joke. "I can understand if you do not want me. I hurt you so much after all... But, I've spent so long thinking on this. Dwelling on you." He looks at you and there's a soft vulnerability in his golden eyes. One you had never seen before. He really is opening to you and entrusting his heart to you. "I love you, and..." He licks his lips, a nervous energy around him. "(Y/N), my dear, if you permit it, I would like to be with you. To properly court you this time and prove my love for you." Your hand had stopped shaking as he held you, and you could barely believe what he was saying. "Please, may I have the chance to prove I'm worthy of being yours?"

It was only as his other hand reached up to cup your cheek and wipe the tear away that you realised you had started crying softly. This... This had been all you had wanted. For him to see you. For him to love you. With a shaky breath, you finally spoke.

"It won't be easy... You really hurt me." He nods earnestly as he listens to you. "But, honestly..." You sniffle softly and smile. It's small, and there is still pain mixed in with the gesture, but it's the first genuine smile you've felt for a long time. "I missed you too." You can see the relief in his eyes as he allows himself to begin to feel hopeful.

"Is that a yes...?" You nod softly and he moves to hold you before pausing. "Would this be appropriate for our current relationship level?" He looked like a confused puppy and you knew he was actually trying this time. You smile grew even as you rolled your eyes.

"Come here." You pulled him into your arms, and that's where the two of you stayed. Holding onto each other as the sun set behind you. You were right, this was the end of your friendship with Zhongli.

But it was also the start of something so much more.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli angst #genshin one shot #genshin impact one shot

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maribatz-2k · 2 years

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Child of Mine

04/27/2022

Chapter 10

First|Previous

Since Mari kidnapping, Alix has been non-stop looking for loop holes in the time vortex but always comes up short. The genius redheaded bunny just was running off fumes at this point. Two months has passed before she decided to give up on searching. Wayzz has mentioned to her that Mari was still alive, so not to fall low to the ground.

Another couple of months have passed and Alix has been focused on mediation with Fluff under Wayzz guidance. Each meditation would feel like a dream. She would find Marinette across from her on the clouded looking sky like ground smiling at her. Her features sometimes looked worn and tired when they meet. Other times she was healthy and talking about what is happening to her. After two weeks of this, Alix have realized that this was her loop hole. She found a way to communicate to Marinette and find her.

Nights with Mari had suddenly ended with no warning. Alix had entered her meditation state with Fluff but Mari was no where in sight. She knew something was wrong. The redhead woke from her session and quickly went to her desk where she hid her journals. She has been writing all of her times with Mari in the notebook thus she had begun her research on the Order of Assassins.

It's been a year and two months and Alix has been in inner turmoil. Adrian has been visiting Alix from monthly to see how his friend has been doing. Most time he will find her at work non-stop, other times she would be hold up at home going through books after books. It was as if her world came to a stop after the incident. One can tell she has been forcing herself to not do the unthinkable with each passing week, months even.

Adrian has just arrived at her door when he heard shattering glass from inside. Quickly he used his key and forced his way inside, finding a disheveled redheaded woman standing at one end of the room and glass on the floor by her feet. She stood with some of the silk robe laying barely on her shoulder, exposing her bones more than skin. Her hair wrapped in a messy knotted bun, and looking like she hasn't slept in days. The world news was on, talking about an assassination on some of the powerful people around the world, and an attempt in New Jersey.

"Alix? What is it?" Adrian grabs a towel from the kitchen, kneels down in front of her, and began to clean up the glass. He checked her feet for any bleeding then stood to look at the woman.

"They took Mari, a year ago. They took her Adrian." Alix moves to the miraculous box, rubbing it as if she was deciding to do something she shouldn't. Adrian looks confused. His lady was missing and his friend is tormented. All he knew was what the police had reported when they decided to stop the investigation. Marinette has chosen to run away and leave everyone behind. At first like Alix, he didn't believe that Marinette would do that. She had her girlfriend, her job, the life she wanted. Why would she do all this just to leave? Alix had mentioned to him that she used the rabbit miraculous to find Mari, only to return torn up more. Adrian didn't know what she has seen, but it obviously wasn't good.

"Wait, who took her?" He asked.

"Those people, the ones that Mari told me about. I saw it when they had taken her." Alix admitted. "I've been keeping tabs on them. I couldn't locate Mari in the time vortex. There were just too many variables to know which was the real one. So I decided to keep track on the ones who had kidnapped her." She continued.

"Alix! That's dangerous. Marinette would not have approved of it." Adrian said disappointed yet approving at the same time. "Okay, so who are they?"

"From what I have learned." She waved her hand over the year worth of research she had fanned out in her living room. "They are a powerful group. One that it seems to be years old. There isnt much to go by thanks to the history of them has been hidden. The Kawamiis couldn't help either." Alix sat down and sighed helplessly. Adrian sits next to her, taking her hand in his and rubs it gently.

"Hey, Marinette is the toughest person we know. If anything happened to her we would know about it. Don't give up." He said. Tikki flew over with Fluff hugging the holder with their little bodies.

"Remember, we will know if something happens to our Great Guardian." Wayzz says, appearing in front of them both. Even though this was said to her before, Alix still hasn't stopped worrying. Marinette, please come home soon. I need you. Alix thought to herself as she curled up into Adrian's arms crying for her lost girlfriend. He has decided to try to help, knowing she will need all the help she can get until their Mari returns. Maybe even after. Then something dawned on him.

"Alix, did you say Mari told you about them?"

@laurcad123 @vixen-uchiha @iamablinkmarvelarmy @emimar7 @magic-miraculous @jayjayspixiepop @galla02006 @queenz-z @tazanna-blythe

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #mother x child #mominette #alix x marinette #alixnette #child of mine

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mofieroll · 4 years

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You Too (Jotaro Kujo x Fem!Reader)

Inspired from my in-character interaction with @mistaeq! Dedicated to them for motivating me to write! 💛

A Post!SDC Jotaro x Reader one shot where you bond with Holly, who you call Seiko, and pamper your man Jotaro.

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Trauma

Word Count: 3k

Two years have passed since the events of the Crusaders' trip to Egypt to save the life of Holly Kujo from being taken by her own Stand. To say that the trip was memorable is an understatement. It was too memorable. The memories of built friendships and increased attachments in just a span of fifty days were unbearable, for fate made the surviving comrades of the group pay for all the joyous moments with the pain of death and eternal separation.

It was hard. Painful. Frightening. Heartbreaking.

It was excruciatingly traumatizing, that even the boy who appeared to be unbothered and distant, the boy who put an end to the cold-blooded century old vampire's curse, couldn't deny it.

Jotaro Kujo couldn't get away from the memories of his dying friends, and so, the supposed flashbacks became inescapable nightmares.

But fortunately, that was until you came.

You met Jotaro a month after he came back from his trip. The meeting was a mere coincidence as you were a year lower than him, you personally did not and had no intentions of getting to know him. It just so happened that Holly or Seiko, his mother, came across your small shop that sold self-designed accessories made from recycled materials. You had told her you search and pick the materials —mostly trash— yourself, which certainly piqued the woman's interest and told you, “Is that right? I have a son, and don't tell him I told you this, but he loves marine animals! It seems you are both fond of nature so I'm sure you'll get along— Oh! I'm sorry dear, we haven't introduced ourselves! I'm Holly Kujo, but you can call me Seiko~”. She was a sweetheart, so you saw no harm in accepting her offer that led you to become a close acquaintance of the Kujo Family.

Much to the matchmaker's Seiko's dismay, it took a year for you and Jotaro to confess that your platonic feelings are in need of a level up. She is Jotaro's mother and your first Kujo friend, of course she'd notice if something was up between you and Jotaro that you both refused to talk about! When you finally re-introduced yourself as Jotaro's.. cough.. girlfriend, Seiko was delighted and decided to treat her second favorite couple (next to her parents Joseph and Suzie) to a nice romantic dinner! The unplanned date embarrassed Jotaro, but he endured it as it gave a good start for the new level of your relationship with him.

Until then, Jotaro became more and more protective. You found it sweet knowing that your boyfriend, former acquaintance, cares about you and shows affection in ways you quite expected for a forbearing man like him. He's not a man of words nor materialistic gifts but a man of straightforward actions— yet he remained mysterious.

Jotaro has been avoiding you since the week has started. He distanced himself yet guarded you as you walked home after class everyday. Everytime you tried to catch him, he's nowhere to be seen. You started to get frustrated, and you know you wouldn't get any explanation even if you corner him and face him alone.

Seiko called you today and asked if you could have dinner wih them, which you excitedly agreed to because you were actually on the way to the Kujo household, a paper bag —which contained your newly designed rings and necklace— in hand.

With Seiko greeting you outside their gates, you entered their traditional mansion and told her about the happenings from the previous days. Even with the mention of Jotaro's sudden actions, Seiko chatted with you nonchalantly.

“Dear, you know my boy would do things that can be a little too unexpected even for me,” Seiko stated, “But if there's one thing or two that I can assure of, is that he means no harm..” You stopped in your tracks as she faced you and tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling, “And he cares for you, [Y/N]. I think, that may be his way of showing it!” Seiko spoke with softness, hopeful that her words would reach you and get rid of any confusion that would spark a misunderstanding on her stoic son's intentions.

You smiled back at Seiko with teary eyes, touched by her comfort. You pulled out the necklace from your paper bag and showed it to her, quietly telling her that it's your gift, only to receive an enthusiastic squeal and hug before you locked the accessory around her neck.

“It looks perfect on you Seiko! I wonder if I'd be as beautiful as you when I reach your age..” You sighed and pouted at Seiko, holding the paper bag on your middle.

“Oh, you!” Seiko playfully hit you as you both giggled, “You shouldn't say such things to a middle aged woman, [Y/N]! I might believe you!” Seiko joked while you insisted that you're sincere about your compliment.

Your chat continued on until she told you to run along and check on her boy, not forgetting to tease that Jotaro misses you. You face warmed in pink, which Seiko found so cute that she had to pinch your cheeks. With her positive and welcoming presence, your determination to face Jotaro fueled.

Seiko informed you that she'll be preparing dinner. You replied, “Mhm! I'll drag Jotaro and we'll meet you here at the dining room! Is that okay?”

“Okay~!”

—

Meanwhile Jotaro, who hasn't come out of his room the whole day, heard you and Seiko pass by. He was sitting in the far corner of his room but the combined voices of yours and his mother's particularly blasted through his ears. He's.. happy.. that you're both safe and sound.. but— why are you here? You should be at home! Did something happen? Did someone bother you? Wait.. did you come here alone? Didn't he tell you even before that you shouldn't go out at night? What if.. what if something happened to you? What if someone showed up and.. and took you away? Took you somewhere.. he can't reach.. What if his dreams were to happen? What if—

Knock! Knock!

Jotaro's sweating face turned to look at his door as his breathing became more unsteady. His eyes widened, brows clashed, and his mouth was agape, gasping for more air. His fists were clenched and he was trembling, who's knocking? Who's trying to get him again?

“Kujo?”

Jotaro stopped breathing for a second while his body still trembled. The voice that called him held sweetness and concern in it but he was still in a dark trance. What if someone's trying to deceive him?

“Seiko called me, may I come in?”

His widened eyes calmed, turning his tormented expression into one of those longingness. His shuddering arm reached out as he subconsciously stood and walked towards his shut door. His cold hand gripped the handle.. but he didn't have the slightest strength to pull it himself. What is he doing? He can't face anyone like this, especially..

On the other side of Jotaro's door was you, with a hand that also gripped the cold handle, waiting for the right timing to enter. Your heartbeat has increased its pace, indicating your uptight feeling of facing him after not seeing him for over a week. You were nervous and a short flashback of your first meeting with Jotaro popped up in your mind. Has it really been two years?

Jotaro never directly told you of his.. episodes. But, there were times where you just happened to observe that whenever you were late on your meeting, he immediately scoops you in a hug while he trembles; or whenever you randomly visit him on weekends and you enter his room only with a knock, he abruptly charges at you with his folded fist stopping inches from your worried face. He didn't tell you about what's haunting him, not even once. Yes, you were undeniably frustrated by him avoiding you, but you love him well enough to have the willingness to act up whilst having patience.

You waited for more minutes before speaking again, “I'm gonna enter now, alright?” You assured, carefully sliding the door behind you and turning on the light switch after you entered.

Your eyes wandered after it adjusted to the lit room, locking on the form of a slouched man in the corner, sitting with a knee up that had his arm and head resting on it while his other knee was folded. You quietly sighed and walked close to him, hiding the impatience to throw yourself at him and pepper him with kisses, mumbling i missed yous. You would have done it, but that kind of affection.. goes for later.

You sat beside Jotaro and placed the paper bag on your side. You weren't too close nor too far from him, just enough to have your hand caress his messy dark hair. You loved seeing him without his hat, seeing his flawless face be shadowless. But if he took it off, the reason is either he's agitated or.. sleep. There was a time when you told him that he should take off his hat indoors and a time you tried to take it off yourself, but he completely ignored you at both and kept the hat on.

“How are you?” You asked without expecting a reply. It was to make him acknowledge your presence, and that is because you didn't know that he's been waiting for you to come in since the moment he heard your voice.

Jotaro wanted to answer. He wanted to lock you in his arms and.. say sorry. He wanted to apologize for neglecting you but— how is he going to do that without telling you too much?

“Why the f*ck did my mother call you? I don't need any help. That b*tch.”

There it is, his method of putting up a tough facade, the swearing that would prompt anybody to think that he needs no help. It worked on you once, but you're not just anybody to him now.

“Mhm. Seiko checked up on me while I was heading home from.. somewhere. She invited me for dinner,” You informed. You didn't want to tell him that you were on your way here even before Seiko called you, knowing full well that he's against you ‘roaming’ at night alone.

You continued to comb through his hair as he answered, “For real [Y/N], I'm fine. Leave. I don't need you to stay here— or.. or something.”

Your hand lowered to his upper back and started to rub circles, “Would you look at me and say that again, Kujo?” you asked in a slightly teasing tone, trying to light up the mood.

You started humming a soft melody, a melody that somehow always soothed Jotaro. The first time you hummed it was when you were cooking dinner for him and Seiko wasn't home. He got into a fight that day and he was abnormally quiet, not the usual, resulting to a tension between the two of you. You hummed the melody to ease the atmosphere, and when you were placing his plate on the table, he suddenly grabbed your wrist and muttered an apology before he told you to ‘keep doing’ what you were doing. The melody was just random, so you did your best to remember its tone and hum it whenever you both need comfort.

And this time, he was soothed again, but he isn't going to be swayed so easily even if he wants to.

“F*cking go away.” He huffs, “You're just like the annoying b*tch. Leave me alone.”

No, stay. He stated in his mind the complete opposite of what came out of his mouth. Of course you didn't leave and continued to hum and rub circles on his back. He may be one of the harshest men you've met, but you have a counter for that. Well.. you're stubborn.

He remembered what you said about heading home from.. somewhere. Where was that? “Where were you coming from?” He asked in a demanding tone.

“Doesn't matter where I was, Kujo. You're still not looking at me.” You retreated your hand from his back and crawled to sit in front of him in crossed legs before placing your hands on his large ones, “I wouldn't mind being like Seiko, although..” You squeezed the top of his hands, bowed your body and peeked at his face where your warm [E/C] eyes met his tired yet enchanting aquamarines. Your lips quirked into a small smile, “You wouldn't want your partner to be your second mother, would you?”

Partner?

Jotaro looked at you blankly, not realizing how close your faces were, “You're still worrying about me too much, I'm fine. I'm.. I'm just remembering..” You straightened and held his cheeks, gently pulling up his face before standing on your knees. You shifted your hand and cupped his face, delicately looking at him to encourage him to speak.

In that moment where he's putting his toughness down, you've completely set aside the issue from the past week. The thoughts that Jotaro might've had enough of you because he thinks you're oblivious to his personal issues— all gone. Holly's words echoed through your mind. Mother truly knows best.

“Egypt.. friends dyi—” Jotaro cut his words and sighed deeply, “..all of it is hitting hard. You won't understand.”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. He's right, you would not be able to understand, but that's temporary. It'll take more time for him but you're willing to wait, “I.. dream of you..” He swallows the lump in his throat while you wipe the sweat forming on his temple, “I dream of you dying too.”

With that, you were able to catch on more of what happened before you came in his life. People close to him died. People who he probably traveled with.. might have died right before him.. or not. And now he's being haunted, probably by the guilt or by the experience itself. You're still skeptical, but it's considerably clear now.

Your eyes that looked at your hand which wiped his bead of sweat shifted to his eyes, and you saw fear. He was frightened, not only by the past, but also by the possibility that he might lose you too.

You retreated your hands and sat on your legs as you and Jotaro continued to communicate through your eyes. Your heart was thumping fast against your chest, now of sympathy.

“Jotaro, I..”

This time, you threw yourself at him. Arms snaking around his neck, your face buried on his shoulder. You wrapped him in a tight hug as it took him time to return the affection, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you even closer as he closed his eyes and basked his head on yours. You and Jotaro savored the hug for a while, not thinking about anything else aside being in each other's arms.

“I'm here.. and I'm telling you that I'll be here to love you longer than that delinquent head of yours expected.”

You broke the hug gently, a hand shifting to cup his cheek while you also reached for the paper bag. Jotaro opened his eyes as he felt you fix his sitting position so you could sit —with crossed legs— on his thighs, laying your back on his chest.

“See this?” You lifted the paper bag with both hands, giving Jotaro the chance to once again wrap his arms around your waist. He doesn't mind giving in to your touch as of now.

Jotaro grunted, “Inside this lovely recycled and eco-friendly paper bag are things that.. uhm.. how do I introduce it..” You slowly placed your head on his shoulder, putting the bag down between your legs. You contemplated as you stared on the wooden ceiling, “I know! The things.. consider it as our promise to each other, Kujo. Am I clear? Yep, I'm clear!”

Jotaro clicked his tounge in annoyance as you lifted your head from his shoulder when he was about to rest his head against yours. Why can't he just cuddle you without you moving too much? Can't you and him just cuddle in peace?

You shifted again, now face to face with him. You acted surprise when you saw his furrowed brow, “Oh? Kujo is annoyed with the mighty [L/N]?”

“Just get it over with, woman.” Jotaro supported your back with an arm, watching you as you struggled to hold his free hand with one of yours. You had set aside the paper bag, the things in it now hidden in your other hand.

When you finally settled with wrapping your small hand around his palm so his fingers were loose, you smiled up at him and swiftly leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. Jotaro turned away, snorting to at least lessen his flustered state. Where is his hat now that he practically needs it?

Jotaro felt a cold thing graze his skin, along with what seems to be two fingers pushing the thing on his. He glanced and saw you inserting a ring on his pinky with a serious face. You were glaring at his hand, your smile only returning when you successfully inserted the ring.

You let go of his hand and was about to wear the other ring yourself when he grabbed your wrist, snatched the ring and easily inserted the accessory on your pinky, all of it with only one hand as his other arm was still supporting you.

You were taken aback, ready to question him when he pulled you into a bridal position and locked your upper body with his arms within a second. You chuckled instead of saying a thing, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Keen for a cuddle, huh, Kujo?”

“Good grief. You're one brave woman to challenge me.”

As you and Jotaro became ignorant to your surroundings, a flash of a camera resided from the slightly opened door, the sound being followed by a muffled kyaaah! which, with no doubt, came from the adorably giddy mother of the impatient man in your arms.

[End!]

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quinn-tessence · 4 years

Text

Nocturne for a Clown

Part 3

Summary: you're tormented by the realization Arthur is the killer clown on the news, yet no bone in your body feels any different for him. Not even Casanova's advances could sway your from wanting to hold Arthur in your arms and alleviate his sorrow. He's had a bad day, and retreats on your couch, broken and confused.

Length: 5k words

Warnings: mentions of murder, lack of remorse, guilt and grief, seeking comfort where he'd never had it from. Smut with dear Arthur that could cause a rush of tremors, be warned. 🤭❤

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You sat and watched. Then watched and watched some more. There were no words, no voice, no sound coming through your gaping mouth as the skin on your lips almost started to crack. It made sense. The blood, the bruise, the liberating sex, the wretched guilt. Oh God, what has he done?, you repeated in his voice over and over, that impossible puzzle putting itself together before you as you hid your gouging eyes underneath heavy, sweaty palms in a much too similar reflex to his own.

What has he done? He'd been beaten down surely, given his frail nature you could see how he'd be fluent in being at the receiving end, but as grievous as the thought was, it made it no less valid. This was bad, he’d land straight into Arkham if you picked up that phone to call the authorities, the way a considerate citizen would, as if Gotham deserved any at all. But you weren't one of them, were you? Never had you really fit in, yet you tried for the sake of appearances, it had become so burdening of late, only the thought of Arthur could provide the comfort you'd been seeking.

The news reports kept blaring, yet all your compassion overflowed for the clown, had you been able to see things objectively you'd still think he was hero. Three fewer assholes in Gotham, only a million more to go, you heard an inner voice say, even if you knew that was enough reason to throw you into the depths of Arkham Asylum. You'd sadly known that place from family, and you never wanted to set foot in that Tartarus again, but perhaps the apple didn't fall far from the tree. You couldn't stomach the thought of Arthur sitting opposite the glass wall from you, so dozed up on sedatives he'd hardly even recognize you. No, no, no. You wouldn't let that happen, and yet he'd need his own time and space to process.

You resisted the urge to bang on his door and ask for a full account, it felt as if you were a passenger on a derailing, speeding train. Regardless of how breathtaking the turquoise water under the rails, your gut wrenched at the thought of plunging into it head first. You were a decent swimmer, but you knew you’d be incapable of fighting those waters from swallowing you whole. You'd just given yourself to him, entirely and shamelessly, and regret was nowhere in sight. Had you been the forth prey of his killing spree, he would have killed you already. Yet he did the exact opposite, in distress and quivering like a leaf, but it was your door he opened after his rupture. He trusted you to keep this secret for him. And you welcomed the trust.

Within a few days you noticed you'd returned to your bad habit of unconscious nails biting. As if the deafening tumult between your temples wasn't enough, you also had to self flagellate as you desperately waited in silence.

You were busy enough at work, and the newest addition to your team had become daring enough to invade your private space little by little. Tall. Lean. Broad shouldered. Curly caramel hair and eyes of obsidian, winking at you shamelessly each time he passed by you. Patrick was a force in his field, yet he rolled his eyes and tongued his cheek whenever you'd call on him for a task, as if wanting to taunt you. Quite quirky and unprofessional, but restrictive enough to question yourself if you were merely projecting. Not once had he failed to deliver, on the contrary, yet that sly attitude never left him. Hm. The distraction was welcome, but it was nothing more. You'd catch yourself staring through him, picturing sparkling emeralds and cocoa, having to snap yourself back to reality before he'd think it was him you were aching for just like all your infatuated colleagues.

He must have checked with your giggly girlfriends before casually slipping in an invitation to your favorite bar after hours, casual drinks with a few colleagues, of course. Perhaps you should have politely declined, but you needed the respite from the heart wrenching torment, even if just for a few hours.

As empty as the venue was, he insisted on strolling in your visual field, intriguingly charming, maybe a bit too charismatic. It was time to maintain a level of dignity with your colleagues and remove yourself before getting into a state where you'd find yourself in Arthur's apartment, this time fully conscious. Yet Patrick gallantly offered to drive you over, posing a certain concern for your safety alone in the streets with a murdering clown on the loose. HA! You giggled at the joke being on him, silently talking to yourself. No thank you, you rascal, protection from that clown is the last thing I need. He insisted on paying for the taxi at least, and you’d had two drinks and wanted to be home already.

The thunderstorm washed the streets rapidly as you entered your building. You loved ravenous thunderstorms, especially as they traversed the sky over your cozy apartment bathed in lily scent. You took comfort in the hot shower and the chilly air in the room, lightning bolts clearing up the sky for a flash of a second as you wrapped yourself in the bathrobe, ready for Murray's dry humor.

Oh God! Your heart leapt to your throat as a soaked silhouette bathed your floors in cocoa flavor. At last.

‘Arthur! You scared me!’ he lay motionless, your words passing through him as if he wasn't even there. ‘Is everything ok?’

His damp fingers absently traced a faint line over the glass of your coffee table, his body slouched and stiff, the edges of his hair dripping on the couch.

‘I had a bad day.’

The words had come from a deep dark pit inside his chest, a wretched misery draped across his face as you kneeled next to him, cupping his cheeks. You'd ached to see his sparkling jades, yet you'd met them covered in a thick coat of tears, on the edge of dropping.

‘Arthur, what happened, sweetheart? Talk to me, please' He was so tired and withered, not even the wicked cackle would surface in this state.

‘I had a bad day…’

‘You said that, sweetheart, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?’

‘Kitten. I've done something… I…’ for seconds he tried to articulate, but the cackle fought its way up his throat.

‘Arthur shhhh. I know it was you. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I won't force you… I won’t judge you for it, I promise. Just sit with me for a second’ his head already leaning on your chest, your palm caressing his piercing bones, even through sets of clothes. He sat sedated, limbs heavy, flesh trembling, voice cackling in wrenching anguish for what felt like minutes on end.

‘You do?’ he asked between ruptures as if to steer his initial subject into whatever you'd conveniently brought up.

‘I do. I knew it the moment I heard the news after you stormed out. I saw the blood and the bruise on your face. You won't find any judgement here, I promise. I know you needed time to process, but you’re here now. Shhh' you almost cradled him in your arms, the most powerful instinct to protect him even from himself overbearing. He was all bone and sinew, like a hungry lone wolf, but there now was a sinister vibe to him.

‘Good. I'm glad you know. I lost my job that day, and then they attacked me in the subway, beating me to a pulp. Hm. Now you'll know that killing them hasn't bothered me at all. How's that for casual conversation?’

An unnerving tremor slid down your spine at the tone of his voice. You'd known him for a while, yet this resentful sneer was far from something you'd expect from timorous Arthur. Dreadful it's what it was, spine-tingling, intriguing, you were utterly mad to clasp this deranged man to your bosom when another prince charming just waited for one damn look from you. Who cared, you thought, Gotham’s gonna claim all of us sooner or later.

‘All I want is for you to be safe, Arthur. I won't tell anyone, but you need to be careful, sweetheart, you can't be saying things like those to anyone, please'

‘I have no one to tell, Y/N. And you’re not just anyone. You know. I’m still here, although you could have thrown me in police custody for the past few days.’ The cackles had given him a short respite, even if still lingering on the edge of bursting. He wheezed heavily before speaking. ‘My whole life I didn't even know if I really existed. And today, I feel… hollow…’

You'd asked and asked again as you touched his face and held it close to yours, his forehead as cold as the thunderstorm outside this comforting protective bubble.

‘My mother had a heart attack. She's in the hospital. Hah. My mother…’ a late instinct turned your skin to prickles hearing him speak from a different octave, a thick air of mustering resentment filling the room. ‘I had a few days to myself and I decided to deliver a letter to Thomas Wayne from her, seeing how he never bothered to write back. I'd told you she worked for him 30 years ago, and I read it although I shouldn’t have. I'd never known my father, but the letter said it was him. I confronted my mother and she told me everything about the two of them. But… instead of some warmth or a bit of decency, he told me my mother was insane and that I had been adopted. That and a punch to the face is what I got. Hm. Who am I, then? You tell me'

Your own eyes on the brink of overflowing, your soul coiled. You couldn't do much, but he needed comfort. Where would you even start, though? His tone of voice, the grief weighing him down, the droplets off his wet hair disintegrating whatever pieces were left of him, a question mark in stead of whomever he thought he'd been his whole life. Yet he didn't expect comfort. Such a foreign concept to him, as if reserved only to an elite he was not part of and would not dare intrude upon. You could easily hear how he'd just laugh it out into his pillow at night, his cries stifled, lacking a corner of privacy and personal intimacy where he could really build up that forced smile he'd put on every next day. You’d go utterly mad if you were in his shoes, no comfort and no expectation of it. So used to being overlooked, deep down he knew he was alone, and that filled him with fear and hopelessness. So you shushed and nuzzled him to your chest, hoping the warmth of your body would be soothing enough for the chaos that he was.

‘I don't know who I am, kitten. So I went down to Arkham and stole my mother's file just to find that he'd been right. The… horrors… she subjected me to as a child had gotten me locked up in Arkham years ago, but now I think I was just trying to hide from her, from this rotten city, from this world. I felt safe in that white room, ironically. When they released me, the heavy medication was supposed to make me feel better, instead it suffocated even my most basic impulses.’

Laughter ripped at his throat and pulled his face into a grimace, your palms clasping him so tightly you were afraid you might smother him. How much pain and grief could a man take, his poor soul must have been bound to an eternal rock, forever pecked by hungry vultures.

‘How can you even welcome me into your home if I don't even know that much? I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should go, no need to burden you with any of this' he meant every word, as he kissed your hands with teary lips and dragged himself half upright.

‘Don't go' you close to begged. ‘Please stay.’

The grooves in his forehead you loved, just as the distinctive scar on his upper lip and the deep dark eye bags crowning his jades, his state of mind added another couple decades to his age. As you took him in through your pores, you remembered the shy clown peering through the shelves, and how the makeup would do the exact opposite of its intended purpose. Somehow he'd been unaware of how the makeup brightened his eyes to a clarity and sharpness you could cut yourself into. It was endearing how he'd stared at you when you'd first seen him wearing the costume, thinking he could hide under that mask when really it only brought him to life, his facial expressivity more riveting than ever. Yet he was here with you, more Carnival than Arthur even without the paint, as broken as a mirror in infinite shards.

‘Will you still have me here after this?’

‘I would. Please. I'm glad you came here after all this instead of going back home.’

The thought he'd ever been intimate with a woman before you had dissipated in an endless pool of murky turquoise, the genuine surprise in his eyes cutting you to your bone. There was no question, you knew.

‘Thank you, kitten. I'll stay, if you want me here'. There was no hiding anymore, you'd made it sparkling clear by being an accessory after the fact.

‘I do, Arthur, so much. I wanted you here… since you held that elevator for me, yet somehow we always missed our moment. No need to thank me…’

Had it not been for the roaring thunder, he'd probably hear your galloping heart, yet his composure betrayed just that acknowledgement. Every fiber in your body ached to touch his soul and mend it. The erotic tension you couldn't deny, but that wasn't anywhere near the reason why you'd willfully allowed yourself to become his accomplice. He sat back down, timidly reaching for your hand with his own smooth fingers, to place it on his cheek, now as warm as to ignite all the fires inside you with only one touch. Regardless of the endless torment of his life, it was so effortless to feel safe in his presence, even if he'd just killed three men in cold blood and joggled his life as he balanced on a thin string.

‘But I want to. Will you... let me thank you?’ his eyes had meekly turned to yours with a restless heeding for that glimpse of complicity you'd joined in a few times before.

‘If you insist, sweetheart, I guess you already did. You're welcome.’ And through that smile you could feel your body radiating as intensely as a candle flame in the dark. You’d tripped and fell into feelings for him, and nothing could brush them off.

‘No... I really want to thank you, kitten...’ Painfully slowly, he drew himself closer to you, a cocktail of demureness and ardor shaping his beautifully chiseled face into one that you'd missed your whole life, without even knowing. ‘I want to... put my mouth on you...’

Oh… He'd shown you a short, blissful glimpse of this other Arthur, the less tense, less uptight, more daring when he'd taken what you both wanted. There was always a limit to his courage, and yet he’d usually fall back into the timid, maiden like demeanor that he was. This felt different though, as there was a glimpse of unbridling in the way he inhaled, in the twitch of his contoured eyebrow, his whispering husky voice demanding consent. He needed this. Perhaps it would help deafen the torment for a quiet minute, and you were willing to let him try. Oh, who were you fooling, your heart had leapt at the thought of this since you saw him motionless on your couch, albeit in your mind the roles had been reversed. You'd bitten your lip instinctively, a most nonverbal cue of compliance to his plea, and within a short second he was tasting it, sucking it, biting it gently, as his nimble fingers strolled so tenderly through your hair to uncover your face, your eyes already deeply sunk behind fluttering eyelids.

‘I want to feel you shiver in my mouth' he whispered with a faltering voice, taking in all of your scent through avid nostrils. ‘You always smell so good, so clean… I want to taste you…'

So tender he was, you'd forgotten what it felt like to be wished for, body and soul alike, yet his palms willingly showed you a striking contrast to the tenacious Arthur who'd barged in days ago, as if your skin was porcelain and he wouldn't want to break you. He uncovered your naked skin underneath the fluffy bathrobe and smoothly tasted the growing prickles with curious fingertips, lowering himself towards your thighs at a painstakingly slow pace that would soon have you beg.

Pulling you to the edge of the couch where he’d slid himself, he finally broke the jarring tension of his eye contact just to move his head lower, descending decisively. The instant his curious lips parted, a shiver jolted through your flesh and your heart leapt into a marathon, you let yourself fall into his mouth without any control. How beautiful he was, you reminded him over and over as your fingers slicked his damp hair back, curling it around his ears, uncovering his furrowed forehead and perfect chiseled jawline. The sight of him between your thighs was no stranger, but you’d only seen it from afar until now, deep within the corner of each of your fantasies. Such a kind soul he was, but that mouth a wretched devil… oh my…

For a second he looked as if he'd forgotten all his sorrows as he strolled his tongue over your petals, tasting your skin one inch at a time, gently exploring to test your every reaction to his laps, his eyes fascinated with each of your whimpers. The throbbing love button he'd unveiled, a curiosity he had to touch with his tongue to feel the pulsation, your purrs a source of the validation in an endless sea of self doubt. Taking his time, curiously exploring this newfound medication for his sorrowful blues, he quickly grew hungry and greedy as an addict for a stronger fix, yet somewhat cautious to not overdose. His dilated basil eyes etched onto your contorted face, delighting in each tiny reaction he drew from you with his mouth, yet the catalyst to set you fully ablaze were his own moans as he enjoyed himself enjoying you. Oh God, what is he doing to me, I never want him to stop…

You’d thought you'd be the one comforting him, but it seemed as if he was doing it for both of you. His eyes moved around maniacally, taking in the shape of your naked breasts, of your nipples hardened at the thunderous air in the room, your moans guiding him into a delicate rhythm that could make you climb walls, even with the clumsiness that came with tasting a new person. He couldn't be a novice, although his curiosity was striking and enticing. Regardless of all that sorrow he'd brought with him, he curled a satisfied smirk under his scar and an impertinent twitch of his eyebrow sent you into a frenzy. His jades dilated at seeing your lips bitten, your eyebrows furrowed, close to crying in ecstasy, unable to move at the pleasure he gave and gave some more.

The mercury in your thermometer jumped at knot speed towards one big show of fireworks whose fuse got consumed by his kindling flame at a slow pace. Thoughts of his recent killing spree rushed through your mind, yet you were as high as a kite. You didn't care. So you let them ooze out to leave a hazy emptiness behind to be filled with all this spectacle of indulgence.

The pleas were whimpering whispers as you arched and etched your fingers in his smooth cocoa hair to anchor him, the other palm clenching a poor throw pillow to deformation. You hips guided by the rhythm of his palms on your waist, your moans deepening as he'd made you move onto his face, using it as a fine tuned instrument to orchestrate the crescendo of both your pleasure. Now that all your 8000 sensory nerve endings could light Gotham for Christmas if visible, his tongue flickered around your pearl, feeling the climax building up towards that overwhelming rapture. Moans turned to shrieks, toes and fingers clenched in reflex, his eyes and mouth on you as he winked from under long dark eyelashes. You combusted so powerfully into his mouth, within a few blissful seconds you'd left him glistening in traces of yourself.

Only as you quivered your last drop of pleasure in his mouth did you realize why he'd needed this so badly, he craved the validation of being a man even if his identity in shatters. It was one thing to have no identity, but another to not even be a man. Pleasuring you was one damn win that would hold his feet on the ground if he did it right, and that he could control. He had been scrutinizing you as you gasped for air, your eyebrows furrowed almost painfully, your flushed delicate muscles still throbbing under his tongue.

‘Oh, Arthur, that was… amazing…’

Still lingering his lips onto your inner thighs, he kissed tenderly as your flesh still twitched. You wanted him even more now than you did before. But tonight should be about him, even if he'd taken the lead so gracefully, so skillfully, so deliciously.

‘Yeah…’ the shyest smile draped across his tinted face, 'I felt that, kitten. I've… never really done this before…’ You'd known, deep down, and yet hearing him say the words was the most tender of piano nocturnes to your ears, so you latched at his mouth to taste him through your flavor, one that if you could bottle up, it would drive mankind rabid into destructive adoration.

Come here, Arthur, you whispered as you pulled him next to you, the puzzlement over his arching eyebrows an absolute delight you'd dreamt of relentlessly. He didn't fight it, yet the stiffness in his bones betrayed an urge he'd palmed away many nights without resolution, anxiety creeping over him at the realization it was now staring him in the face.

‘Wh… what are you doing?’, you shushed him as a response.

‘Kitten, please, don't feel like you need to give me anything back…’

‘Who said anything about giving back? I'm taking this for myself, Arthur. Let go, baby, let me take care of you'

‘Kitten… ohh' his eyes went straight to the back of his head, heavy eyelids covering his jades, his lips parted as your fingers traced the bulge straining his pants to suffocation. ‘Ok…’ he exhaled anxiously, a timidly bouncing knee betraying the rush of emotion flowing through him as you dragged his clothes over his head, his pants crowning the floor within a few seconds, leaving him naked to your hungry gazes.

The flickering light of the candles reflected over his protruding ribs as if a part of his body had caved in under the weight of his shoulders, his palms on your face strolling and tasting the reality of your flesh, he must have thought you were a side effect of his medication. Yet the prickling shivers traversing his body as you trailed your fingers over it were not. You reached for his lips as you lay him across the couch, your breasts invading his chest, the warmth of your body soothing his anxious trembling. That defeated look on his face, so vulnerable he'd made himself to you, he had nothing to give yet you still wanted him. He was mystified with even the remote possibility, let alone you giving him that adoration he'd chased endlessly, but never caught.

‘You are so beautiful, Arthur, let me show you, please…’ He was your paradise lost in the depravity of Gotham, a villain in itself, weighing down on each of its residents and having chosen Arthur to crush mercilessly under its own lack of a well defined identity, ready to teach us all lessons in humility that could lead to desperation.

He nodded shyly, his jades coated with an acute layer of yearning over something he'd never been given before. His body was a withered Stradivarius, abandoned in the corner of a cold, damp world, subjected to years of weathering and painful lack of any care, no wonder he was so feeble in between your fingers. But his strings were steel, and steel doesn't weather. It would naturally respond to external factors just like anything else but no amount of forcing, pushing, suppressing would bring out the brilliant austere sound it was designed to bring. Had he been less frail, you'd relate him to a cello, one that needs to be held tight to one's chest before playing it, where its resonating chamber rests upon the artist's heart as she moves the bow on the saddest of instruments. Yet he was so fragile, the wails of his chords almost bringing you to tears as you ghosted over them, testing what amount of pressure would bring the vibration, how to explore the potential of the sound and bring it closer to perfection. You were there to give him all that, to polish all the dust away, his wrinkles, his chiseled edges, to practice on his strings and validate his worth until he felt himself a Stradivarius for the first time in his life. He'd been blessed with a beautiful instrument that could bring such intense sensory bliss if only he'd find the right hands, and you longed to play him through the night, to tear your fingers into his chords and to sing his melancholy away.

What a trembling mess he'd become as soon as your lips strolled down his neck, the smell of rain and cigarettes off his skin intoxicating you into indelible addiction. The farthest you went, the more you saw how little he expected that you'd turn your full attention to him, as if never daring to expect anything other than what you'd allow him to take. You kissed your way down from his chest, palms exploring and fondling every bony texture, every inch of soft skin until reaching an extremity that felt to your fingertips as both together. Trembling, he slicked back his hair and sunk deeper into the couch, scrutinizing your face in detail and feeding you those micro expressions of Arthur and Carnival together, the twitch in his eyebrow a give away that you'd be playing for an audience of two tonight.

So immersed in the overflow of sensation he was as you took him into your mouth, his only verbal response a muffled ‘F-fuck, kitten', but his whole body screamed a different story of twitches at the touch of your tongue and lips. How demure the sounds he made as he shivered over and over, his eyes shut tightly, his mouth half open, heavy breaths raising his chest, quivering lips alternating silent approvals or four letter curses, as if careful to not be caught. So painfully expressive, all you wanted was to see him melt under your touches like silver over a burning flame without a hurry in the world, your tongue tracing a tale more evocative than any words could ever express.

With each stroke of your lips, he let go to all but that intense pleasure, as if your mouth held the power to oust the very fabric of reality, offering him an escape into a wonderland he'd been denied entrance all his life. He wants to be wanted, needs to he needed, lusts to be lusted for, his quivering lips more than enough validation for that thought. As you felt his muscles unwind, his fingers tremoring, his breath traversing his trembling body, you'd made him float in an isolation tank of indulgence. When you stopped, his voice would growl and whimper in reflex, the purring sounds begging for more. Some would call it schadenfreude, you called it your tiny overdose in hearing him say 'please' as you teased and inflamed him. His taste in your mouth, his smooth texture, his delicate skin, you wanted nothing more than to lock that door and trap him in this perpetual state of bliss. For eternity wouldn't be enough to put together all his broken pieces, but it would be a start.

The meekness in his jade eyes was wrenching, yet as he looked into yours, you quickly understood why. You couldn't hear his silent whispers, yet you knew he was begging for more as the throb in your mouth intensified and his whimpering green eyes slid to the back of his head, his palms clenching the couch so forcefully he could tear into it. It mattered no less as you felt him completely let go throb after throb, his body convulsing in spasms, the taste of him ambrosia hidden from all other mortals.

His head sunk deep in the couch pillow, his arms and body heavy and immobile, breath ragged, he giggled for the first time that day, a laugh so genuine it felt foreign to both of you, a rattled stranger you both wanted to welcome in and nurture back to his feet. As he lay sprawled on your couch, naked and ecstatic, you wished he was happy, for once. You needed a minute to freshen up, and as you returned to shut the windows and lay a blanket over him, he'd almost dozed off from exhaustion.

You sunk next to him as slick as a cat, laying him onto your chest and fondling your fingers in his damp cocoa hair, his limbs latching at you rendering you almost breathless with the radiating warmth of his body.

‘Kitten, I… I don't know how to thank you…’, he whispered in the nook of your neck, asleep had his flesh not sweetly twitched him back to a half awake state. ‘I've been off my medication for a few days, but I might have found an endless supply of pure morphine…’. His body had finally rested its convulsion, his limbs falling heavier, his breath slower, within a few seconds of his thought his eyes already moved spastically under heavy eyelids.

He was right, he'd found pure morphine, and so had you. It would consume you both, but him in your arms was that feeling humanity had sought since its birth. A once in a lifetime adventure they'd write sonnets about in the past, one that was yours to experience and live through with Arthur. That morphine had just kicked in for both, and you were floating on a cloud high above the thunder slowly roaring away in the night.

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Thank you for reading this far! ❤

A special thanks to a few of the lovely people in this community that inspires me to keep putting my odes to Arthur on paper:

@wuika @iartsometimes @impulsiveclown @arthurflecc @littlebird92 @life-or-something-like-lt @jokers-puddin-pop @arthurfleckownsmysoul @jokersdoll @bananabreaddough @paperorigami @ransomguest49 @daydreamhustler @arthurjokersgirl @forever-fleck @sweet-nothings04 jokerlicious @ajokeformur-ray @shaw-2000 @jaraysha1121 @jofic059 @shit-i-love-clowns

#joaquin phoenix joker #joker arthur fleck #arthur fleck #joaquin phoenix #joker #joker fanfic #joker x reader #joker x you

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rlbubbles · 5 years

Text

my mom doesn't understand me part 1

(disclaimer : I don’t support or encourage self harm, or disorders of any kind, this is only a post to explain what I’m going through. If you are having trouble with anything, mental health or physical health, please get help.) and know I love you. even if I don't know you, I love you. and we can get through this. 💙💙

TRIGGER ALERT : IF YOU STRUGGLE WITH MENTAL HEALTH, I STRONGLY ADVISE YOU TO CONSIDER NOT READING THIS POST, I DON'T WANT TO TRIGGER ANY OF YOU, I DON'T WANT TO HURT ANY OF YOU.

mom : honey, what's wrong?

me : *explains what's wrong super clearly and in detail*

mom : oh. I'm sorry. okay.

me : *nods*

mom 2 hours later : hey. what's wrong? is everything okay?

me : no. I'm not okay.

mom : what's wrong?

me : same thing I told you a few hours ago. I still feel upset/hurt about it.

mom : what is it?

me : I told you already.

mom : tell me again.

me : *explains it to her super clearly and in detail*

mom : oh. okay. I'm sorry. maybe I can help. what can we do to make you feel better?

me : *explains what will make me better super clearly and in detail*

mom : oh okay. we can do that. it's easy.

me : yup. thanks mom.

mom 2 hours later : *does the EXACT opposite of what will make me better and thinks it will fix everything*

me : *realizes what she did* *panics/panic attack and ask* mom? why? why would you do that?

mom : because we talked about it, this would make you better.

me : no. mom. no. I said *the exact opposite* would make me better. this made it SO much WORSE!!

mom : oh. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help you, because I love you.

me : I know mom. I'm sorry. it's not your fault.

mom : okay. I love you.

me : I love you too.

me 2 days later : *stressing bc mom "fixed it" but really it's way worse and I'm struggling to find a solution to feel better*

me a day later : *realizes the solution is to push through it, (bc it's ocd and fear of fears,) and I'll realize I'm okay.

mom 2 hours later : sweetie, what's wrong? are you okay?

me : no. I've been stressed out for a few days now.

mom : why? what's wrong?

me : same thing that was wrong a few days ago. it hasn't changed.

mom : *thinks really hard* I don't remember. what was it?

me : *explains it super clearly and in detail*

mom : oh. I thought we fixed that.

me : no. you tried to fix it, but I couldn't feel better.

mom : oh. well. what can we do to fix it, so you feel better?

me : *explains what will make me better super clearly and in detail*

mom : oh. okay. that's easy. we can do that. okay. relax. you'll be okay. okay. I understand. you don't need to stress anymore, okay. I love you.

me : *sigh of relief* thanks mom. I love you too.

mom 2 hours later : *"fixes it" by doing the exact opposite of what will make me better*

me : *panics* mom? why did you do that?

mom : bc you said it would make you better.

me : no. mom, that's not what I said. I said *the exact opposite* would make me feel better.

mom : oh. I'm sorry. sweetie, I just wanted to help you. bc I love you.

me : I know mom. it's not your fault, I probably confused you when I explained it to you. (a lie bc, i don't want to make her feel bad, bc she struggles with depression and for a while suicidal thoughts)

mom : okay.

me 5 days later : *been struggling with panic attacks every two hours for the last 5 days because my mom "fixed it" and my solution is to push through the fear bc it's ocd and fear of fears, and I will eventually realize I'm okay, so long as I push through it, so I've been in my room all day everyday, for the last 5 days, bc it's my only safe place*

mom : *knocks on door, opens door* hey. are you okay. you haven't left your room for almost a week.

me : *panics, I can't tell her I'm not okay, bc she will want to "fix it", and I can't make her feel bad and think it's her fault. lies* yeah, I'm okay mom. I just really like my room, you know.

mom : are you sure?

me : yup. really. I'm okay. *smiles so she drops it*

mom : okay. *leaves room, closes door*

mom 2 hours later : *knocks on door, opens door* hi. I was just thinking, you know how you said you really like your room?

me : yeah. *nervous, what is she getting at*

mom : well, what if we rearranged it so you have more space since you like to be in your room?

me : *panics, knowing that if my room were rearranged, it wouldn't feel like my safe place anymore, bc of ocd and fear of fears. tries to make up a reason for why I don't want my room moved without my mom feeling bad* um. no. that's okay, I really like my room like this.

mom : really? are you sure?

me : yeah. I'm sure. it's perfect.

mom : mmm. are you sure? it looks a bit crowded.

me : mmm, no. it's actually not. besides it feels cozy like this. I really like it.

mom : are you sure? I'm really good at tectris, I can move your room around and you can have more space.

me : no. that's okay. there's actually a lot of space in my room. you can't tell bc you're looking at it from the doorway, but if you were to step inside and move around my room, you'd see it's actually spacious.

mom : are you sure. you're going to spend a lot of time in here. I want you to be comfortable. I can move your room. it would be really easy.

me : no. that's okay, mom. I really like it like this. please don't move my room around.

mom : *nods*

me : thanks mom.

mom : I'm just trying to help. bc I love you.

me : I know mom. and I appreciate that, but I really like my room like this.

mom : *nods*

me : thanks mom. I love you.

mom : *leaves room, closes door*

me : *slow breathing to get rid of panic attack that was caused by stress and worry that I had to come up with an idea to keep my mom from moving my room around, my safe place. panic attack leaves after 10 minutes*

mom 2 hours later : dinner. come and eat.

me and my brother : *walk to dining area to eat*

mom : *weirdly disappears for 30 minutes*

me and my brother : *decide to watch a movie in the living room*

mom : *suddenly reappears and sits and eats at the dining table*

movie : *end credits roll*

me and my brother : wow that was a really cool movie.

me : well, I'm going to my room now

brother : okay, I'll go to my room too.

me : *walks to my room, notices my door is closed, it's never closed, I panic, I turn the handle and see my room*

my room : hi. I've been rearranged. I'm no longer your safe place. your bed isn't where it used to be. and that pile of stuffed animals you had on your bed ready to be used by you when you "can't do this anymore" yup, there on that shelf over there, in a neat line. and the stuff that used to be on that shelf is now either on your desk, which is also moved or in your dressers' drawers, also... moved. but hey, you have .08 inches of more space!! I wonder what your going to do with it!! so I know I'm not the same room you left like 2 hours ago. but can we still be friends. I hope you like me. please like me. it's not my fault. I didn't want to be moved around. but your mom moved me. bc the only sign on your door that says "keep out" is an invisible lock of trust that's on your door. trust between parent and child. but that lock is easily broken (whispers) all you do is turn the door handle, and push the door open. so. do you wanna come and sit on your bed, and hug a stuffed animal, that you'll need to pluck off the shelf, after panicking bc you have to chose ONE from the shelf, but how do you chose ONE, when you second guess everything, but don't worry about that, just pick ONE, and sit on your bed and you can cry silently, being tormented by suicidal thoughts until you tire yourself out and fall asleep. but don't worry, those thoughts will be there for you when you wake up, waiting for you to wake up, it'll have a big grin and a knife, shining in a beautiful light, calling your name. so wanna close the door, and we can start.

me : *panics, can't breathe, tears are banging behind my eyes, runs to find my mom who sits at the dining table eating, like nothing is wrong*

me : mom. uh. I just went to my room, and it looks different.

mom : yeah. I know. I moved it for you. *smiles, like she deserves a best mom of the year award*

me : *chokes on my tears, still holding them back* you moved it. why? I thought we talked about it. you said you weren't going to move my room.

mom : we did. but I figured you'd like your room more if it's more spacious.

me : but I told you I liked it how it was.

mom : I know.

me : so why did you move it?

mom : bc I thought you'd like it.

me : *confused* but I said I didn't want you to move it.

mom : yeah, but you know how you don't really know what you like until you see it. *shrugs* same thing. I wanted you to see how I could make your room look, bc i think you might like it.

me : um. but I said I didn't want it to be moved. and I know myself really well.

mom : mmmm. *tilts head side to side* do you, though? I'm your mom, I think I know you better than you know yourself.

also mom : *works 24/7 and only talks to me at dinner for 2 minutes and at night to say good night. and when I "schedule" time to talk to her once a month for an hour to two to catch her up on my life.*

me : *struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts for about 4 months when I was 14, and my mom didn't know anything, not even that I would cry in the bathroom every night for two hours. she only found out, bc I couldn't take it anymore and I was between killing myself or asking somebody for help. and I decided to text my uncle at 1 o'clock in the morning, and he text back. and said we should go out for ice cream when I wake up and we can talk about it. she only found out, bc I had to explain, why all of a sudden, I was leaving to see my uncle. and "just because we want to see each other" wasn't enough for my overprotective, aggressive parent of a mom. struggling with anxiety, ocd and fear of fears, I know EVERY FEAR I've dealed with for the last 3 years, what makes me calm and what triggers me, and my mom only knows about 2 fears that I've outgrown bc fear of fears, is a real b**** and gives new fears to me every two weeks. lovely, right? and she thinks she knows me. she doesn't even know what my favorite movie is!! for crying out loud.

also me : *nods, holding the tears back and says* okay. well, I'm going to my room now.

mom : okay. good night. I love you.

me : *turning away from her and walking out the dining area, voice cracks as tears start to flood my eyes* I love you too. good night.

mom : are you okay?

me : *shouts from the hallway, lies* yup. I'm okay.

me : *walks into my room, closes the door, stares at my unrecognizable room, my once safe place, my now, torture chamber. I break. tears roll of my waterline and race down my cheeks, "I can't do this" echos in my mind. I grab a stuffed animal from the shelf and face plant onto my bed. and silently ugly cry. telling myself, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and I can do this, I'm stronger than this. I can get through this. I believe it less and less with each hour that ticks by. eventually my body gives up, and I fall asleep. only to face these thoughts again in the morning, bc my safe place isn't safe anymore.

this is my life from the time I could talk to now. I'm 19¾ today.

#self harm #self harn #cutting #suicidal thoughts #anxiety #panic attacks #ocd #fear of fears #please get help #my mom doesnt understand #overprotective parents #aggressive parenting

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holdon-a-minute · 5 years

Text

As Time Repeats

Chapter I

A New World

*Present Day*

Shuffling feet, deep laughs, screeching brakes, choirs of songbird, pieces of conversation...each adding to create the loud bustle that loafs through the street. Listening. She slowly raises her eyelids, to only be greeted by the soft morning sun welcoming each body with its warmth.

Shining smiles, trees of chartreuse, paves of stone grey, breeze-caught hair...all merging together to paint one picturesque scene. Watching. She rests back onto the wooden public bench, controlled deep breaths escaping through her button nose.

Mature parfum, strong mowed grass, golden-baked delicacies, polluting fumes, freshly ground coffee beans...scents of good and bad are to be known everywhere you turn. Inhaling.

Now comes feel.

"Ugh..." Renae lets out an exasperated breath in defeat, sitting her elbows on her spread knees and burying her face deep in her dry palms. She tightly traps her airways, holding her breath as the tears threaten to spill from her eyes once again, before she stops herself and forces the words off her tongue, "I do not want to feel this way." She may not be happy now, she thinks to herself, but this is the start of a new beginning. And at new beginnings there is always hope. "Be optimistic..!" she whispers to herself, but Renae knows better than anyone that it's hardest to keep up with your new start when you didn't even want it in the first place.

Standing from the bench, she turns her judging eyes away from the classy lady who had tried to sit down beside her, and soppily strolls down the direction of her destination. Renae pushes herself past—fitted in her signature style of a soft fabric zip-hoodie and a dark leather jacket layered on top—determined to get through the swarm of bodies and make it back to her quiet house quickly. She wanders through Paris as if she's known it all her life now; the street of shops damp and dewy. Wind whistles through her raw ears as they heed the leftover rain that pitter-patters through gutters, down drain pipes and into the city grids.

The screeching, beeping of a pedestrian crossing makes a deafening echo as Renae and a huddle of rushing people cross the cobbled road, instantly zooming her back into focus of reality. Walking through the avenues of France you can smell dozens of different scents everywhere and anywhere. But Renae's favourite of all, she's come to realise, is the trace of a gingerbread man that runs past her. Every time, he calls out, and every time she ends up chasing him to Mr Baker's Bakery. Mmm, the bakery. This is where the baker she's come to know torments everybody with his luscious pies and pastries sitting on display in the window. And when he opens his huge oven door every day, religiously at 10:30, the whole road is filled with the most sensational smell of freshly baked bread rolls.

When her leg starts to vibrate, she reaches into her pocket and answers the person calling, "Hello."

"Ren, how come you're not home yet? You're going to be late."

"I'm on my way now Alice, and I've got half an hour yet. That's plenty of time to get ready."

"Well have you had any lunch yet? You can't go on an empty stomach your nerves will get the better of you."

Renae chuckles, "I'm not that nervous Al, I'll just eat an apple or something on the way there."

"An apple? Alright then, whatever suits you, I'm not going to argue with you on this important day now am I?"

"No, and I shouldn't think so," she teases as a smile plays at her lips and Renae rounds the corner. "Right, I'm round the corner now I'll be two minutes."

"Okay hun, see you in a minute. Bye."

"Bye!"

Renae was now in the neighborhood, the rush of the street of shops (as Renae and Alice call it) now gone, giving way to the open and tranquility of her housing estate. She loves her short over-the-phone conversations with Alice. They always play quite amusingly, and never fail to reveal their bond of trust, love and laughs.

She swings into the hallway of her home, and is almost immediately greeted with a "Hello!" coming from another unlocated room of the two-bed house, as usual. She shouts back a 'Hi!" and rushes upstairs, dodging another of her Aunty Alice's extremely energetic speeches that are supposed to be the best motivator out there. She changes into something a bit more formal, touching up her makeup as she passes the standing mirror, fills her faux leather bag with almost everything from her desk (just in case), picks up an apple and heads back out onto the street, where her taxi is conveniently waiting.

"Good luck!" Alice wails as she watches her niece drive straight into the fate of adulthood.

~~~~

*Ding-a-ling*

Renae steps through the old brown door and enters the café she hopes to call a workplace sometime soon. The space is fairly large considering its compact look from the outside, and it is so beautiful—everything the young photographer in the corner would need for his aesthetically pleasing Instagram page. She lets the soft, welcoming atmosphere envelop her whole as she strolls deeper into the intricate café, the warmth of brewing tea, the fresh scent of lavender, the ancient bookcase lining the wall, the smokey smell of lit candles, the dark brown wooden furniture, all making Renae feel as cozy as you can be in a Paris café. The building has an aged, withering feel, but the dozens of lush green plants dangling from ceiling to floor brought the life back into the room quickly; the pop of bright emerald managing to spark the creativity into any person who might pass through.

She finds her way to the counter, and politely addresses the waitress. "Hi, I'm here for a job interview with the owner. My name's Renae Cruzette, I rang a few days ago."

"Oh chéri, that would be me," the woman speaks in perfect English, but with a French roll to her tongue, "Come with me and we'll have a seat. Would you like some tea?"

"Green tea would be nice, thanks," Renae replies and finds a small round table for two to sit down.

"I'm Clemence Rosher—founder, owner—of this place, as you will already know."

Renae smiles and does a little laugh, "It's nice to meet you Clemence." The two shake hands as the bleach-blonde woman passes Renae a steaming mug of green tea, the teabag still left in of course.

"Yes and you are Renae Cruzette, you said?"

"Mhm." Renae was waiting for the traffic of questions to come along and preparing herself not to get stuck or lost in them, but they never did, and she finds herself feeling utterly relaxed with the welcoming woman before her.

"So, let's get down to business yes? Why are you here today?"

"I'm looking for a first job actually, and when I heard you were hiring it seemed perfect, because I don't live too far from here and I love baking every now and then, as well as being creative with coffee art. I'm quite the artistic person, you see."

"Good good. That's what I like to hear," Clemence looks into Renae's eyes and gives a shining bright smile, "So are you willing to give your all into this job? I need someone new, someone fresh who will put a part of their soul into my café. I need perseverance, a respectful and capable person. Why would I choose you?"

"I am all of those things and more Miss."

"Madame," she interrupts.

"Right, sorry Madame."

"Who always comes first in my business?"

"The customer does, always!" Renae eagerly answers after not understanding the question for a few seconds.

"Are you good with mathematics? Can you quickly count change?"

"Yes, I graded a nine in my GCSE when I lived in England."

"In England you say? I thought you had a different accent chéri!"

"Yeah I just recently moved here actually."

"Tell me a bit about that then. Why did you move, are you here permanently?" Clemence curiously asks.

"I think I'll be staying here for a good few years now until I have the money to move out and go back to Britain. I've always lived with my Aunty, ever since I was a baby. My parents have never been around, I don't even remember my mother's face, but my Aunty Alice got a promotion, so we had to move here."

"Oh chéri that must be terrible for you, not even knowing your parents!"

"It's fine really! I love Alice so much, she's always been there for me and I respect her with all my heart for deciding to take me in, but she never took the opportunity to become my mother. She's always been my aunty and kept the truth at bay about my parents."

"I see, so is she your true biological aunt then?"

"Yes! She's my father's sister."

"Oh she must be so very brave then, I admire her strength taking in just a child!"

"I do too. You know she is French as well, so it was a delight to her when the company said she'd be moving to their Paris branch. She took me in when she was just eighteen, and we both went to England so she could finish university. It was very stressful for her, and I am so greatful for her determination to not only provide a steady life for herself, but for a child that wasn't even her own too!"

*Snap*

"Yes she sounds like an amazing woman! So how old are you now then?"

"Seventeen."

*Snap* The photographer guy's camera clicks away

"When would you be willing to start? I'd have to give you some training first of course, but it'd be nothing major."

"As soon as possible Clemence!"

"Okay then how about I give you a call next Monday when I'm ready for you to come down? I have meetings and all sorts until then."

*Snap*

"Perfect, thank you so much!"

"Oh no worries, I have great expectations of you," and she give Renae a wink as they stand and part ways, Renae not knowing yet that it'd be the last time she speaks to the friendly woman who owns a café.

*Snap*

~~~~

Five days later.

"Alice, she still hasn't rang me after three days!" Renae bursts as she storms into the kitchen. A series of transparent patio doors line the back wall of the completely white kitchen, the only colour of the room being the numbers of herbs scattered along the windowsills and the grey laminate flooring below. It reminds Renae of a hospital, and she would very much like to hand some paintings on the walls and colourful flowers, nevertheless it's still comfortable to be in when you've got Alice as company.

"She probably just forgot, don't stress," Alice reassures her.

"I saw her write it in her diary! And she definitely said that she was going to employ me. It's getting ridiculous! Even if she did change her mind about me, a little text to apologise wouldn't hurt!"

"I know, she shouldn't have left you hanging like that, that is very unprofessional," Alice speaks in such a wise, calming manner.

"I really would've liked that job as well," she says saddened now, "It would've met all my needs of a simple first job, but one that I would still enjoy and be easy to settle into."

"I know Ren, but you can't just sit here sulking about it, why don't you go back there and see what's going on with this woman—for your own sake at least."

"What if I make it more awkward though?"

"You won't. You're only going to politely ask when you're going to be set for some training, because you've got other things you need to attend and you can't keep having it delayed or being left in the dark."

"I suppose..."

"Come on, it's not fair on you that she's done this, so go and change out of that old hoodie and get down there standing loud and proud!"

"Okay, thanks Al," and Renae gives her understanding Aunty a bear hug, then rushes upstairs to prepare herself to face Clemence again.

~~~~

The moment she steps out of the front door, an ear-splitting ring starts to sound in Renae's earlobes and an eye-aching migraine begins to crawl into her mind. She should just brush it off, but not matter how hard she tries, Renae just can't shake the bad feeling that drops to the pit of her stomach and the butterflies that flutter up and get lodged in her throat. Renae steadies herself on the doorway for a second, closing her eyes to ease the pounding in her head. She takes a shaky breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, and pushes aside this feeling, ready to take on her plan of action.

Her taxi ride seems to drag on for hours in the stuffy, cramped backseat, the breeze of the day barely noticeable even with the car windows all open. The heat is almost unbearable. Renae can't understand if it's anxiety (which she's never experienced before), or an illness she's suddenly caught that's making her feel this way, but something isn't sitting right in her flesh and bones. Due to the long, unmoving queue of vehicles, Renae decides to just pay the taxi driver now and walk down the rest of the way where café stood stunningly at the end of the road.

She looks about her to see that everyone is busy trying to get to places, and as she strolls further down the street she notices that she's come to a hidden alleyway, "Millbreury Lane, hm." Given her situation and the want to avoid it completely, Renae roams down the alleyway of tall, old-fashioned buildings taking her time to observe her exquisite surroundings.

Right along the bottom of the attached buildings are stores, and they are magnificent to the eye: cafés sit with intricate metal tables and chairs outside; hanging baskets spread throughout are filled with the most colourful, delicate flowers; antique shops showcase their treasures in the wide window each store possesses; and the cobbled floor beneath glows and sparkles as the afternoon sun shines down on the moist puddles and excess rain.

*Chuchak*

Renae stands still. So impossibly still.

The beautiful antique alleyway seems to disappear around her in slow motion as Renae is sucked back into reality and her eyes are met with metal.

Thick, cold, silver-grey metal.

Pointed at her forehead, in-between her eyes, is a slick handgun. For a while she cannot see the person whose hand is slid around the trigger, nor the group of men accompanying them. For a while, it was just her and the weapon, playing a dangerous game in a little world of their own—the opponent not even alive but still taking the lead and winning the girl over completely. She cannot break her eyes away from the metal in front of her, and the hand-held violence cannot take its eyes off Renae.

She feels frozen in her place, barely able to breathe, as the gun wielder speaks, "Oh chéri," before smacking Renae over the side of her head with the loaded gun.

All soon went black.

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