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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 9 months

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close to home | chapter sixty three

plot: the reader and Daryl reconnect in a treehouse

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,499 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, alcohol use, tipsy sex (the best kind tbh) no plot just smut so ya'll are welcome A/N: thank you for reading!!

By nightfall, a fire was going, Daryl returned from a quick and successful hunt, and you unpacked all your supplies. He’d grabbed mattress pads and blankets, pillows, food, water, candles, and a bottle of wine. Jerry must’ve snuck in one of his cobblers because a small one was sitting in one of the bags. There were also tarps that you didn’t know what for--until Daryl got back and nailed them to cover the windows.

It was dark in the treehouse except for the fire and a few candles. You had already eaten what Daryl brought back--rabbit--and were eating the cobbler straight out of the container with the open bottle of wine.

“I gotta have Jerry tell me how he makes these.” You mumbled through your food. “I could eat one every day of my life.

Daryl smiled at you but didn’t say anything. He’d been quiet since he came back from hunting--which was only about thirty minutes anyway. He was happy, you could tell, and you knew he was at peace, which is why he was quiet.

You grabbed the wine bottle by its neck and took a few sips. “Where did you get this?”

“Stole it from Ezekiel.”

You chuckled and took another sip, feeling it bubble in your chest. “He’s gonna kill you.”

He grabbed the bottle from you and drank from it. “He ain’ ever gonna know.”

You smiled at Daryl and lifted the fork up to his mouth. He rolled his eyes but ate off it anyway.

“Tell me about you from before,” Daryl said, turning around to lay back with his head in your lap.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

You smiled and sat your hand on his upper chest as you thought about his request. You weren’t even sure where to begin, honestly. You decided to first start with your family: your two sisters and mother and father. You told him about growing up on a farm, all the crap that came with it, and all the trouble you got up to.

You told him funny stories about you in high school and the friends you had. About all the silly fights you got into with your sisters and even your cousins. About when you ran away from home, but your mom caught you right before you skipped town.

“College was nice. I made a lot of friends and had so much fun,” You said, putting the wine bottle down. You were definitely buzzed, and you knew Daryl was too from how he laughed freely along with you.

You reached down and unbuttoned his shirt's first couple of buttons to gently run your fingers against his chest. “When I got accepted into medical school, me and my sisters got so drunk at the bar that the sheriff had to give us a ride home.”

“I woulda loved ya back then if we ever met,” Daryl said, looking up at you.

“You wouldn’t have even looked twice. I was a farm-raised nobody.”

He shook his head. “I woulda loved ya. Woulda saw you on the street and been a goner.”

You smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You’re crazy, that’s what you are.” You rubbed your hand against his upper chest; his skin was smooth other than old scars. With your other hand you grabbed the bottle and took a long sip. It was almost done.

“Tell me about you from before.”

“Ya don’ wanna know about that. Probably would walk right on outta here.”

“I wouldn’t,” You cupped his cheeks and stared down at him. “It’s too cold outside for me to leave. I’d have to at least stay here until the sun was up.”

Daryl swatted your hands away and then begrudgingly told you about him. You already knew more than just the basics, such as how his mother and father died--and you knew how Merle died already. So he told you about his years in high school and how he was always either ditching or suspended for ditching. Which didn’t surprise you.

He’d had a few friends that Merle didn’t fuck up for him, but after they graduated, they went off to college, and he stayed home.

“I was a piece shit, honestly, didn’ do nothin’ good for myself.” Daryl told you.

“That’s not true,” You said, although you partially agreed with him. Not about the piece of shit part, but the old Daryl didn’t seem to make the best decisions and resembled nothing of the man you’d married. “Besides, you’re one of the strongest, bravest, smartest, and sexiest men I know.”

“One of ‘em? Who are the others?”

You laughed at his joke. “You know what I mean, old man.”

“It’s been a while since ya called me that. Didn’ realize till now just how much I missed it.” Daryl sat up and spun around. He grabbed you by the legs and pulled you closer, and you set your legs on his upper thighs, and his were outstretched behind you.

You set your hands on either of his cheeks as your head swooned a little bit. You and him were definitely wine tipsy; enough to take the edges and awkwardness off. But you felt safe up in the treehouse, and you felt protected. You played with the scruff on his chin as he stared at you.

“Do ya believe me?”

You nodded and pressed your forehead against his lips, getting a few soft kisses. You set your hands on his chest and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way so you could see his skin. You kissed his collarbone and wrapped your arms around his lower waist. His muscles were taunted under your fingertips, and you could feel him tensing each time you kissed him.

Daryl mumbled your name, and his body relaxed against your touch. You scooted closer and moved your lips up his neck. You pushed his shirt off and ran your hands down his biceps; he was so muscular, so strong, even when relaxed. You couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingernails along the lengths of his arm, which left goosebumps in their wake.

You moved your hand down his abdomen and to his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper for a second while running your tongue up the length of his neck.

“Jesus Christ,” Daryl grunted.

You smiled against his skin before pushing your hand between his jeans and briefs and palming his growing erection. You sucked gently on one of the spots on his neck you knew he loved, and you felt him grow even harder.

One of Daryl’s hands reached up to pull out your braid, and your hair fell over your shoulders, tickling his skin, and he fisted his hand through your hair at the base of your head. You moaned as you sucked on his skin, dipping your hand into his briefs and running it along his velvety smooth skin.

“You’re so hard, honey, is everything okay?” You whispered in his ear.

His chest was moving up and down rapidly as he nodded. You squeezed him before wiping your thumb across his leaking precum tip.

“So fuckin’ sexy.”

“Tell me what you want, old man.” You leaned back to look at his beautiful eyes. “Tell me how you want me.”

“On your knees.”

Not even a minute later, you were naked with your legs spread out, ass in the air, and Daryl was thrusting into you hard from behind. The position had him reaching parts inside of you you didn’t think were possible, and you struggled not to cry from how good it felt.

Daryl’s hands held your hips tight as he slammed into you repeatedly.

Then one of those hands wrapped around your hair, and he pulled you upwards. The pain from it was nothing compared to how good it felt being dominated like that, and you moaned loudly and closed your eyes. One hand wrapped around your middle, with a hand palming your breast, while the other gripped your hip.

“Ya like that?” His breath was hot in your ear, sending chills down your body. “Ya gotta use ya words, pretty girl.”

“Yes, yes,” You were desperate. His hoarse voice in your ear and his grunts and moans were too much for you. “Daryl, I’m going to-.” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before you were coming. You clenched around him as you moaned and pleaded his name louder than ever.

“Such a good girl,” Daryl said. His thrusts were like torture through your orgasm, and you could hear how wet you were.

“Daryl,” You moaned. You couldn’t believe this side of him; it had to have been the alcohol. He was never this talkative.

“Ya want more, baby girl? Tell me what ya want.”

You couldn’t even think straight, and then when you felt his lips clamp down around your neck, your eyes rolled back, and you were speechless. But you thanked God Daryl wasn’t.

“Ya so fuckin’ wet for me.”

“I missed this little pussy so bad, gorgeous.”

“Fuck, (Y/N)...”

“Suck on these for me, will ya, darlin’?”

Without even hesitating, you opened your mouth and sucked harshly on his fingers before they were ripped away from you, and within seconds you felt them rub against your clit in time with his thrusts.

“Daryl…” You nearly yelled and leaned your head back against your shoulder.

“Ya know how good ya taste, baby girl?” He asked before bringing his fingers up to his mouth. You turned to watch him; his cheeks hollowed as he sucked you off his fingers. Then he returned them to your clit for a few seconds before showing them in your mouth.

You moaned against his fingers, licking and sucking until he was satisfied. His fingers were only on you for a few seconds before you nearly started yelling when you came again.

“That’s right, baby girl,” He grunted, thrusting through your orgasm. “Tell me how much you like it?”

“Oh God, Daryl, so much.” You moaned loudly. “I need more of you.”

Your back hit the mattress pad, and he was slamming into you before you could blink. Your legs were jelly, and you couldn’t bring them up to wrap around his waist, so they went slack as he fucked you hard. You couldn’t fathom how much stamina he had tonight, nor all his dirty talk.

“Daryl…” You whined as he repeatedly hit the same spot again and again, winding you up all over again.

“I know, baby girl, I know.” His voice was so deep and hoarse in your ear, and you ran your fingernails along his back, making him groan. “‘M gonna fuckin’ cum inside of ya, fill ya up so good. Make ya mine.”

“I already am,” You whimpered at a particularly hard thrust, and you could feel yourself starting to get sore. Tears leaked from your eyes at how good it felt, and he paused for a second and looked at you, wiping them away.

“Feel good?” He asked you under his breath.

You nodded. “Keep going, hard.”

Daryl fucked you like he did the night that he asked you to marry him; hard, with his hands, mouth, tongue, and teeth everywhere he could touch. You were sure you left scratches bleeding down his back as you came one more time before he did, filling you so much so you could feel it leaking out before he even finished.

You winced when he pulled out of you before letting your sweaty body relax into the mattress bad.

“Fuck,” Daryl muttered. “Darlin’, ya bleedin’.”

“Hmm?”

“I made ya bleed, I- I am so sorry.”

You sat up partially and saw little blood on him. “It’s okay. It’s been a really long time since I had it like that. I’m just sore, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Are ya sure?”

You nodded, “Just get something to clean me off.”

He chuckled, gave you a yes, ma’am, and was gone for a second before he was back, taking care of you like he always did. Then he brought you into his arms, and you sighed with content against his chest.

“We should drink like that more often. You were…”

“Don’ remind me.”

You smiled and looked up at him. “I loved it. Why haven’t you said anything like that before?”

“Just kept it up in my head, I guess.”

You snuggled closer to him under the warm blanket. “Well, I except to be called baby girl much more often, old man.”

“Ain’ an old man.”

***

The following day, you woke up to an erection digging into your back so hard you were sure it left it bruise, and you woke Daryl to give his body what it clearly wanted. The two of you made slow, tender love to each other for nearly an hour before your stomach grumbled too hard, and Daryl went to fetch you something to eat from the supplies you brought.

After eating, you got dressed and went outside. The sun was shining again, and about a foot of beautiful, crystal snow had partially frozen over. Your boots crunched over it as you and Daryl worked to clear the platform and the parts of the roof you could reach.

“I wanna walk around. I need to stretch my legs.” You told him as you grabbed your weapons. Your machete went to its usual home, but you left the bow behind.

Daryl followed you down the rope ladder, and you both took a few seconds to look around the area before walking. Flurries were floating around from the branches above you and the wind, so when you looked at Daryl, his hair was coated in them. You knew yours must match.

“You wanna know what I love most about you, Dixon.” You asked him.

“What, Dixon?”

You smiled, your heart fluttering. “That you’re not what I expected you to be. When we first met.”

“What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “Some macho, manly man who didn’t have a care about anything in the world.”

“Ya sayin’ I ain’ manly?”

Laughing loudly, you looped your arm around his. “I’m not saying you aren’t. I’m just saying that you’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever known. Both before and after. And I just really admire you for it.” Daryl blushed and shook his head, and you stood on your toes to kiss his red cheek. “Just as I said, sweet.”

Daryl grunted in response and said he was going to check the snares. You watched as he walked away, admiring him in his shawl and how he carried his crossbow. He was a perfect figure against snow blankets, and you bit your lip as you watched him.

There was still lingering anxiety as you looked at him. You believed that he wouldn’t let what happened happen again. But you weren’t quite sure about it. He didn’t know the future. You didn’t. And it killed you to think that it could happen again. You weren’t sure if you could survive it. You barely survived it the first time--if you had, you wouldn’t have fallen into him again so quickly. You would’ve been able to let him walk out of your room at the kingdom and be content with never seeing him again.

You sighed to yourself and crossed your arms. It was freezing but the fresh air felt nice against your rosy cheeks. And the surrounding area was so peacefully quiet that you wanted to bask in it.

Something hit the back of your head, and you felt snow fall into the back of your jacket. You scoffed and turned again. “Did you really just throw a snowball at me, Dixon?”

He had another one in his hand, about five yards from you. He tossed it into the air and caught it. “I did.”

“What are you, ten years old?” You asked but bent down to pick up snow in your own hand. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him about to throw another one at you, and you quickly jumped behind a tree.

“Can’ hide from me, foreve’,”

You smiled widely and leaned against the tree. You could hear the crunch of his footsteps, and when he was close enough, you ducked around the tree and jumped on his back. You shoved the snow into his face and laughed loudly.

“I let ya do that,” Daryl said as he wiped snow off his nose.

Your boots hit the ground, and then Daryl grabbed you, pinning you against the tree before you even realized it. “You did not. You must be losing your touch in your golden years,” You said.

“That ain’ what ya said last night.” Daryl dipped his head and whispered in your ear. “Think ya was tellin’ me how much ya need me.” His voice was deep, and you felt your stomach flip.

You looked up at him as flashbacks of the night before and then this morning when he was buried deep inside you. You felt heat run straight through you, grabbed him by his shawl, and brought his lips to yours. You could still hear those words ringing in your head.

Daryl pushed you against the tree with his body, and you reached down to palm him over his jeans. His lips moved quickly over yours, and his hands couldn’t find a spot to settle.

“Gotta get ya back to the treehouse, huh?” He mumbled against your lips.

You shook your head and unzipped his jeans. “Here.”

“It’s freezin’ out,”

“I don’t fucking care,” You said, kissing him again.

Daryl groaned against your lips before stepping away and taking off his shawl. You were instantly touching him again, trying to reconnect your lips when he had you lie down on the shawl, and he worked at taking off your sweats. You could feel the cold from the snow as soon as your pants were off, but you ignored it.

Your cold fingers worked at lowering his pants enough to get his cock out, and you had only just started moving your hand up and down when he swatted your hand away to spread your legs for him. You bit your lip at seeing him lining up to fuck you.

His fingers were as cold as ice when he rubbed them against your clit and teased your opening. Your eyes screwed shut, and you moaned softly. “Don’t tease me.”

He didn’t say anything as he thrust hard into you, which had you nearly yelling in arousal. Your fingers locked around his neck as he fucked you. You could feel snow everywhere, and your legs tingled with cold, but it was exhilarating. Having him fuck you outside like this.

“Fuck, ya so wet, baby girl,” Daryl grunted in your ear. “All for me.”

***

You and Daryl arrived at Alexandria four days later, hand in hand. Eugene was manning the gate, and he was happy to see the two of you. There were a few other people on watch. Some of them Daryl hadn’t met you, so you introduced them. The streets were slushy, and you kept slipping next to him as you walked toward your house.

"(Y/N)!”

You smiled as soon as you heard Judith yelling for you, and when you saw her running as fast as she could, you dropped Daryl’s hand to meet her halfway. You scooped her up and spun her around before putting her back on the ground and cupping her cheeks. “I missed you so much, Jude.” You said.

“You missed the first snow,” She whined. “We didn’t get to have our annual snowball fight. And you were gone longer than you said you’d be.”

“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. I came as soon as Adam cleared me.”

“Can I see your scar?” She asked with excitement.

You laughed and nodded. “Later. Look who’s with me.”

Judith looked around you and smiled wide when she saw her uncle. “Daryl!”

You smiled as she threw herself into his arms, and then the door opened, and Michonne walked out in her pajamas. She was thrown off when she saw you but quickly came over to hug you. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I wanted to surprise the kids.” You said, adjusting the bow on your shoulder. You lowered your voice and looked at your best friend, who kept glancing back at Daryl. “We want to work things out. I want to work things out. I love him.”

She slowly smiled and nodded. “I’m happy to see it. Is he moving back in?”

“Yeah, but we can move into one of the emptier houses.”

“No, I want you with me,” Michonne told you. “And it would break Judith and RJ's heart if you did.”

#daryl x reader #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl twd #twd #daryl x you

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vitzi9 · 3 months

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Pretty gifts

Joker X GN!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's how life is in Gotham.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of the devil...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some are fond of me, huh ?

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

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

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

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

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

This city is lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You fucking hate chaos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why ? she asks.

-It's complicated." you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"D'you like them ?

-Sorry ? you blinked.

-My scars. Do you like them ?

-Uh, yeah, yeah.

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

-Do you want to know how I got them ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Liars.

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck.

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

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

-You want me to come back ? How flattering.

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

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

-Do you want to play a game with me ?

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

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

Sean, move your ass over here, now.

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

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

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

No...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But wouldn't you be safer in a asylum ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But do you really have a choice ?

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

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

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

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

Did he say clown ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like a badly drawn smile.

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

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

And that's bad news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-What ?

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

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

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

Six fucking what ?

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

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

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

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

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

Judging by his eyes, he is not kidding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you hate this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Am I wanted ?

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

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

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

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

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

-What environment ...?

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

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

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

Damn.

-Why do you think that anyway ? he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

-Oh fuck.

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

He hung up.

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

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

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

What have you done ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How did he get your address ?

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

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

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

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

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

-Why did you hang up ?

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

-And ?

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

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

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

-How are you so sure ?

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

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

-What do we do, now ?

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

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

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

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

-What's your plan ? you ask.

-It depends on what you want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What ?

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

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

-Jeez, calm down.

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

-You want my help or not ?

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

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

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

-Wow. No ?

He stops in his tracks as you block his way.

-What do you mean, 'no' ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

-That means I'm in danger, right ?

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

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

You don't bring it up, of course.

-Explain.

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

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

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

-His name was, uh, Korej I believe.

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

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

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

-Korej, you corrected.

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

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

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

-You don't believe me ?

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

-Please, leave my house.

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

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

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

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

-Shopping center.

-What ?

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

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

"Okay. You yield, once again.

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

And with these last words, he left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever... You rub your eyes."

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

But are you really leaving this place, though ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, earlier's vandals.

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

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

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

-What do they looked like ?

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

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

-Thank you, have a nice day sir.

-Yeah yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.” you mumble, avoiding eye contact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Well, uh, it's complicated.

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

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

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

Why does he always seem so nervous talking about him ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

-The Joker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Shut the fuck up you whore !

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

Blood, there’s blood everywhere.

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

-I believe alive was written on the contract.

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

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

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

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

Who is he ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gotham killed you.

#heath ledger joker #Joker #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #the dark knight #vitzi9writings #i am losing it

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midnightstargazer · 6 months

Text

why I, as a Regulus stan, don't ship Jegulus

With the disclaimer upfront that I'm not saying nobody should. I know I have mutuals who do. Y'all are cool. We can ship and let ship. But I don't ship them, and here's why.

I don't care for how Regulus is usually characterized in the context of Jegulus. I prefer him redeemable, but morally gray; someone who was influenced by family and peer pressure but ultimately made his own bad choices and later changed his mind, not someone who was forced into every bad thing he ever did. I'm sure there are Jegulus fics out there where he is more morally gray. But from what I've seen, he's often a bit too sanitized for my taste.

I don't care for how James is usually characterized, either. Sunshine boy who wants to believe the best of everyone? I don't see it. In canon he's very loyal and caring towards his friends, but there's no evidence he would have a nuanced point of view towards someone like Regulus, particularly during their late teenage years when Regulus is actively espousing blood supremacist ideology and working for the Death Eaters.

(Which doesn't mean I think Regulus is unworthy of love. I just don't think it's likely James, specifically, would have liked him very much during the time period when they would have known each other in canon)

Because of this, I can only imagine Jegulus in a context very far removed from canon: either a Muggle AU, a no Voldemort AU, an AU where Regulus runs away with Sirius, etc. None of those are very interesting to me. It could also work if Regulus survives and ends up in the Order, which is a favorite trope of mine, but I'd just as soon see that with a different ship or no ship for Regulus and keep Jily together.

I ship Jily. Which isn't necessarily an obstacle, because I'm willing to multi-ship basically anybody except Tedromeda. I can totally get on board with the idea that one or both of them had another relationship before they got together, or that in a canon divergence story where one of them survives, they might eventually move on with someone else. But because I do ship Jily, I'm not really looking for someone else to ship with James.

Who Regulus ends up with romantically, if anybody, is the least interesting thing about him imo. I'll read fics where he's paired up romantically, and I've written a few of them - although I also have a long ongoing series where he's aro-ace. Having a romance arc for Regulus at all is 100% optional as far as I'm concerned.

The "best friend's brother" thing - I think it mischaracterizes Sirius's relationships with both of them to assume he would be overprotective of Regulus and suspicious of James if they were to get together. I love fics where the Black brothers reconcile, but still, I doubt they'd ever have such a stereotypically normal sibling relationship. And that's not even getting started on how it undermines Sirius's friendship with James.

Its sheer overwhelming popularity annoys me. No offense intended to anyone who likes it. Your personal preference is valid. It's the expectation for everyone to share that preference that I don't love. A lot of the time in the Marauders fandom the pairing is simply taken for granted as the default. So that does make me dig my heels in a bit.

#anti Jegulus #Regulus Black #James Potter

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kyouka-supremacy · 9 months

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I've recently read the ch 84-88 of bsd and there's one thing i want to know, why did atsushi challenged akutagawa to not kill anyone during 6 months if he never believed that akutagawa could keep his promise about not killing ? What was going through atsushi head when he challenged akutagawa that way, did he want akutagawa not listen to him and fail?

That's a good question. Because chapter 85 proves that Atsushi did not believe Akutagawa would have been able to keep his promise; why bother asking, then? I suppose, in the end Atsushi thought it was worth giving it a try. He didn't believe in Akutagawa, but the fact that he challenged him demostrates that he wanted to be proved wrong. That he wanted Akutagawa to prove him wrong.

Atsushi - at least, at that point in the story - thinks very poorly of Akutagawa. Atsushi is judgemental, he thinks of Akutagawa as someone impulsive, stupid and small minded. But after they fought together, after they fused their abilities, after Atsushi had made himself defensless and vulnerable in front of Akutagawa and Akutagawa had done the same in turn... Atsushi didn't care for Akutagawa. Except that he did, at least more than he did before. So he's like: here's a tip. That's what Atsushi words are: a suggestion from a friend. They're not a challange, or an order, and they're only disguised as a deal, because there wasn't any reason for a deal to begin with, Akutagawa would have fought against him after six months either way. And Atsushi gives Akutagawa an advice, he tells him: there's some things that you aren't able to see, and that's why you're in pain. Here's what you can do to change that. In a way, Atsushi's words to Akutagawa in chapter 53 are the direct follow-up of his statement on the Moby Dick “If you asked me, I'd say Dazai-san has already recognized you long ago [but you can't see it]”. “Then you will come to the truth in its simplest form, and what you need for Dazai-san to acknowledge you. The fact that weakness and strength aren't as related as they appear to be [here's how to see it]”.

Let's add to that. Perhaps, Atsushi's willingness to give Akutagawa a chance was prompted by how close they went to knowing each other's ghosts during that mission, how much of themselves they opened up to the other. In that moment, for the first time in the whole story, Atsushi starts contemplating a tiny possibility of Akutagawa ever changing. Even though he doubted Akutagawa could make it, even though he knew there was a very slim chance Akutagawa would ever keep his word, for a fragment of second Atsushi still thought it was worth giving Akutagawa a chance¹. Atsushi is quick to judgement and full of preconceptions and doesn't often grant people the benefit of the doubt, but here for the very first time we can see him partially dropping his prejudices, which is so important to his personal growth. It's the first step towards trusting Akutagawa which will ultimately culminate in chapter 87 and them blindingly trusting each other in order to defeat Fukuchi, and later in chapter 107 with Atsushi fully trusting Akutagawa would never hurt him under normal circumstances and also with Atsushi offering himself as Akutagawa's meal without opposing much resistence. I mean. Sorry. It did kinda happen tho.

I don't think Atsushi made Akutagawa promise because he was hoping that he would have failed. I mean, if anything, Atsushi is strongly against people dying, so he would hope for Akutagawa to keep his promise only so that nobody would have had to lose their lives. The only instance of Atsushi hoping Akutagawa would break his promise could be, perhaps, on a subconscious level, hoping, in spite of himself, that Akutagawa would break the deal because that way they wouldn't have had to fight and kill each other, because deep down Atsushi doesn't want to kill Akutagawa. But this last one is quite a romanticized interpretation, ahah.

¹ Some very insightful considerations on Atsushi's willingness to change his view of Akutagawa were expressed in this great Atsushi analysis. I warmly recommend to give it a read!

#I hope this makes sense? Exams have been killing me I'm very tired #atsushi nakajima #ryūnosuke akutagawa #sskk #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #people asks me stuff #mine

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66sharkteeth · 12 hours

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hi it seems like from some of your posts that City of Blank has been getting a lot of negativity/hate recently so as a semi-longtime reader (ok just since it debuted on originals but it FEELS like a long time) I wanted to drop in and say that CoB is probably like. one of my favorite fandoms ever of all time. As a person who gets really intense about their interests but in a way where I'm constantly bouncing from one thing to the next I have a lot of love for a lot of stuff but thinking about it I've probably generated the highest word count of talking about CoB online to my friends out of any fandom I've ever been in. because I physically cannot stop saying shit abt my favorite characters and the themes and literally everything (to this day. up to this moment. there's a specific like two scenes where if they cross my mind at all I can't stop thinking about them for at least like 20m. it's kind of a problem lol). I also have like rlly bad brainrot rn bc of tonight's update so my friend is probably going to get an earful...anyway this is not meant to sound deranged in your askbox but the point I'm trying to make is that there are DEFINITELY people out there who are still so excited about your comic bc it's incredible and all the haters are Wrong and Bad. so yeah

ahah thank you. though to be clear, i think i'm making things sound worse than they really are. nobody's out there like... slandering the comic and saying its the worst thing they've ever read, except for like...literally 1 or 2 people who have a hardon for letting everyone know how much they hate it haha (main reason i've stopped going to the Webtoon subreddit, which is a shame, because I really did enjoy some of my conversations there). there is more negative comments than there used to be i feel like, but it's just people critiquing it or saying they feel like it's gone down hill. Nobody's saying it's total horse shit or anything (give or take those couple of people who for some reason act like it killed their grandma).

my confidence and self-worth in the comic is just paper thin these days and i do find it confusing that back when it was...objectively worse IMO, it almost never got any criticism, but now that it's getting to things i'm really proud of, suddenly it's gone down hill to a lot of people. makes me question how much i really know about writing. but thank you. i do my best to remind myself there are a lot of people like you who enjoy it and think i'm doing a good job! i'm just trying to get back to a place where i believe in my abilities as much as the majority of my readers. i hope you continue to enjoy it ♥

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caterkinnie · 2 years

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hello! may I request 3, 8, 20 with Floyd and Rook? thank you if you took up my request! have a lovely day or whatever time you have rn ❤️❤️❤️ congrats on 200 followers 🎉🎉

3, 8 and 20 Floyd Leech and Rook Hunt!

❥warnings: very messy. some parts are longer than others.

congrats, lucky anon! i got extremely inspired writing this, so have some incredibly messy headcanons. theyre all over the place and at some point its just me info-dumping about said characters, my dearest apologies.

also trying to be more aEstHetIc for my own viewing pleasure and i think it looks good?

3. How does he behave around his crush?

Floyd is quick to fixate on something that catches his attention, and you aren't the exception.

At first you might believe he just loves messing with you, and he thinks the same actually! He's not aware of his crush on you for quite a long time actually.

Whenever he's bored he might just go to look for you to tease you and see what kind of funny reactions you'll give him! — And at the slightest hint of you hating him his mood will drop for reasons he doesn't understand.

There are some things that give him away.

He might be in the worst mood ever, but just seeing you around makes him feel instantly better. Jade and Azul constantly ask for your help to 'fix him' when he's feeling down — They're the first ones to notice his obvious crush for this same reason.

Even if he IS in a bad mood — he always finds the energy and motivation to help you if you need him.

The way he's overly protective of you. Nobody is allowed to mess with you except him!

And sometimes your real name will slip out of his mouth. No he doesn't find it weird to call you by your name. Why are you so surprised?

He's also like a puppy following you around sometimes, it starts as just wanting to tease you a bit — but then as the weeks go on you start to see him more and more often, to the point where the majority of time you aren't in class Floyd is probably either with you or looking for you.

He slowly becomes such an important part of your life that it becomes weird when he's not with you for a few hours.

And yeah… Still, he accepts his feelings as just something normal and doesn't think much of it — he doesn't question his relationship with you at all.

At this point, there are two things that might happen to make him confess. Jade and Azul have to make an intervention (Azul takes it completely seriously while Jade just wants to see how things will go) because Floyd keeps sneaking out from work to see you. The point is to convince him to confess in hopes of fixing the problem.

Or… He might kiss you out of impulse too.

He was alone with you, you were probably talking about your day and… his mind was elsewhere — it was clear he wasn't paying attention to what you were saying, he was too distracted with your lips. His brain just told him "I want to kiss shrimpy" and he did not question it.

∘₊· · ────── ·ஓ๑♡๑ஓ· ────── · ·₊∘

Rook is… complicated.

Like Floyd, tends to fixate on whatever catches his eye — but he's more subtle about it.

Rook will notice instantly the way his heart beats a bit faster when hearing your voice, or the way his stomach starts to feel butterflies when you smile at him.

Yes, he does often… obsess over specific people, but this time is different — he doesn't consider you a prey (at least not JUST a prey) and while he does still 'hunt' for you his intentions are different..

Whenever you interact with him, you might think Rook just started to think of you just like he thinks of someone like Leona or Malleus — if you don't know him you won't be able to tell the difference. And that's fine! Only a few can tell.

Rook loves to read you poems in french that convey all his feelings for you, he knows you can't understand him… but that's the point! He loves doing things that border the line of friendship and love, like kissing you in the cheek a bitt close to the lips, or saying some things that sound a bit too cheesy to be just platonic love. And since it's Rook, it's hard to tell!

He's always giving you mixed signals and finds it amusing when you're trying to figure out what he means.

Everyone who knows him closely (Vil) thinks his crush for you is incredibly obvious. Unfortunately for Vil, he can understand french — which means he can understand the poems Rook writes for you. This is bad for him because they always make him cringe due to how cheesy they are and always ALWAYS lets out a sigh afterwards because you are completely clueless and it's so frustrating he just wants you two to get together already.

Rook secretly wishes you try to translate his poems. He wants to see how you'd react to finding out what he meant! it would be funny if you did understand french and just acted like you didn't to see how long he'll keep giving you poems

His confession is probably extremely cheesy, with him gifting you flowers and translating all his poems, asking you out when he's finished.

8. Is he possessive, jealous..?

Floyd here!

∘₊· · ────── ·ஓ๑♡๑ஓ· ────── · ·₊∘

Rook isn't a jealous person, but he can be quite possessive.

I mentioned before that some of the boys were possessive with your attention — Rook is like that as well!

But unless it is too bad and you're almost blatantly ignoring him — he'll just… try to get your attention by either flirting with you or scaring the person you were talking to away. We all know how unsettling Rook can be.

And when he wants your attention he NEEDS IT and is willing to do anything to get it.

He's also very protective.

Whenever you're talking to someone he always ends up putting his hand on your waist or holding your hand. It's an instinct, he won't notice if you don't point it out.

Overall slightly possessive and isn't aware of it.

20. How do you make him fall for you?

Floyd would fall for someone who is both interesting and patient with him.

It always starts as him trying his best to mess with you, and if you give him interesting reactions then he's probably not going to stop!

But in all seriousness, whether you always have a comeback for his words or you basically can't handle his teasing at all for any reason — if you genuinely do get mad at him then it will stay as just that: teasing.

Show him that you care, the first time he might feel butterflies is when you try to uplift his mood — a feeling that at first he might not recognize, but whatever it is, he starts craving it desperately.

It's the fact that you care, the way you treat him and how you take him seriously. The way you don't just say "it's just a mood swing" and leave him alone, it's just… the way you actually have enough patience with him to try to help him.

Floyd has been told so many times that his brother is better than him in some way or another, and even if he does not hold this against Jade — it still hits hard nevertheless. While he might not say it out loud, he loves the feeling of someone liking him more than his brother for once.

Patience again, because he's slowly realizing his feelings — he doesn't know what is the nice feeling in his chest when he makes you smile, but he likes it a lot. Floyd needs time to understand what's going on and yeah, it takes a long time until he actually realizes.

∘₊· · ────── ·ஓ๑♡๑ஓ· ────── · ·₊∘

I actually wrote something similar for Rook before but I love him so…

This is insanely hard actually — he's the hunter of love and all but… it's incredibly weird for him to actually fall for someone.

He doesn't have any specific type, which makes things harder. You just have to stand out… but what's the criteria?

Alright, you might be the most interesting person on earth but still, he might just see you as another prey and nothing more. But there are a few things, and yes, simple as they might sound — they become harder due to the kind of person Rook is.

It always starts with him getting slightly interested in you. As I said, you have to stand out (even if it's just a bit) it's the easiest way! You don't have to do much, the whole 'be yourself' thing is literal.

But he might be even more interested if you don't seem to dislike him in your first encounter. He might want to see how far he can go to see the way you react!

It's a slow process, but as time goes he genuinely starts to appreciate you.

But this is how you can become friends with him! There's some other things you have to do.

As I said, he's very complex, and he prides himself on that fact. But that doesn't mean he's completely unpredictable.

Like I mentioned in my old post, something that gets his heart pumping is whenever you're able to guess something about him. Whether it's something small as just being able to tell whenever he's saying something just to mess with you or telling whenever something makes him upset or mad — he loves it. He tends to hide even the smallest stuff so he loves whenever you're able to see right through him.

Well… if it was someone else, Rook wouldn't be as pleased.

As I said, he prides himself in being someone people struggle to understand — after all, being vulnerable means you could get hunted, but you're already past that stage. He trusts you, so even if it's a weird feeling for him… he starts to enjoy the idea of being known.

The moment he starts to genuinely fall for you is when he feels able to be vulnerable, to let you know tiny bits about him — slowly letting you into his heart.

Reblogs are appreciated!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #disney twst #twst headcanons #❥questions list!#floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader

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veveisveryuncool · 1 year

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adeleine appreciation squad!!! time for me to project artist problems all over her and headcanon the heck out of this gal :]

adeleine is the type to go through a set of 24 prismacolors in a week and constantly has to get new supplies (dw, having a king as your friend means unlimited art supplies)

is adeleine’s age ever confirmed?? idk anyways i hc her as no more than 12

after the oil pastel incident, ado only lets kirby and ribbon use her leftover supplies to keep them busy while painting

bandana dee is the exception. bandana dee is allowed free range of adeleine’s supplies. bandana dee has earned her trust.

the first time ado hit art block, she cried for hours on end because she thought she had lost her talent forever

what’s in ado’s notebook? we will never know.....(its old 2014 deviantart ocs)

she loves oversized clothing sososo much

adeleine and ribbon have a weekly friendship bracelet making ritual :]]

i forgot to add it in the doodles, but adeleine’s hands and clothing are perpetually covered in paint splatters. always.

she’s also always got at least one bandaid somewhere plastered on, hard to avoid injuries when you’re a one-hit KO, and also when you’re the last human and nobody knows quite how to treat your wounds right

OH YEAH last human stuff here we go:

going to shiver star was lowkey traumatizing for her. ado always knew she came from shiver star, sure, and she still holds a couple of memories from there (she was 5 when she came to popstar. why? idk im still working on that). but nothing could have prepared her for the barren, abandoned, frozen wasteland that was left behind. it was as if every last shred of life was torn away, nothing but amalgamations of creatures that she had once read in storybooks floating in test tubes. it was so strange and so scary for her to realize that the beautiful, lush landscapes she held in her mind and in her paintbrush-- her home planet, were gone.

yikes that was dark what else uhh

when she met meta knight for the first time, she couldnt stop talking about how cool he looked, how his color palette was a perfect complimentary/analogous mix, etc. meta knight took this as a very deserved ego boost

adeleine gives a lot of odd compliments about someone’s geometric symmetry or color scheme

dedede’s not sure what a triadic color scheme is but damn if he isn’t proud of it

IM GONNA STOP HERE ACK THAT WAS LONG I HAVE MANY MORE THOUGH!!!!

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runwayrunway · 10 months

Text

No. 28 - A Further Explanation of the Star Alliance Test

This is a main-series post, despite not being a review of a specific airline. I just think it's something that belongs in the series, that should be read. Don't worry. Today's airline is going to come later. This is a necessary preamble to get out of the way first, and it's also me making things right with an airline I've covered already.

Stick around and I promise it'll make sense. I had to rewrite this entire post from scratch, so if I could have changed this fact I would have, but fundamentally before I talk about today's true subject I need to talk about the Star Alliance Test (SAT for the remainder of this post).

So let's begin with a question. You don't have to get this right. Just take a brief look at these pictures, don't try to examine them closely or anything, just a look-over, and tell me which one of these planes - we'll call them 1, 2, and 3, left from right - flies for an airline we’ve touched on briefly before, Avianca.

Got your answer locked in? Hit the readmore and let me tell you why I asked you this!

That's right! The answer was No. 1. You can tell because it says Avianca on it, if you look closer. But...why? Why would we want to be put in a situation where 'which of these three airlines with completely different liveries, identities, and brands does this plane fly for' is a question that could feasibly come up?

I don't know. I didn't make that choice and I was probably on some other wall during that meeting. Oh, and to the best of my knowledge I also hadn't been born yet. But it's a thing airline alliances do. And Star Alliance is the subject of the Star Alliance Test - one of my metrics for determining if an airline deserves a grade of F.

The Star Alliance test has been used precisely once - in my SAS post, regarding the 1998-2019 livery (henceforth referred to as red engine SAS or RESAS).

This monstrosity, for those blessed enough to not remember.

Here are the rules of the test.

The Star Alliance Test has exactly one question. Would I prefer that all this airline’s planes were forcibly repainted into Star Alliance liveries instead of allowed to remain in their current state?

If the answer is 'yes', the airline automatically gets a grade of F.

Why Star Alliance? After all, it could be better but I don't think it's that bad. Well, I choose it because the Star Alliance test isn't really about being aesthetically pleasing - at least, not exclusively. Let me explain.

Star Alliance is the largest airline alliance in the world. Flightradar24 estimates there are 106 planes flying in a Star Alliance livery. It has 26 member airlines, shown above. Note the variance in color scheme, in logo, in origin. 26 is so many airlines. These carriers span every continent except Antarctica and basically only share three features: being international, being full-service, and being members of Star Alliance. I think it's safe to say that in any other context, nobody would ever associate THAI and Avianca, or Shenzhen Airlines and TAP Air Portugal, or Aegean Airlines and EVA Air.

Each of these airlines has a livery of their own, except for Copa. I've covered Lufthansa and SAS already. Croatia Airlines and Air New Zealand are on my request list. Another several are on my own private 'short' list. (It is 50 airlines long. You don't want to know how long my longlist is.) 26 airlines comes out to at minimum 26 reviews, but actually more because you saw me squeeze four out of SAS. I will say up front, Star Alliance runs the gamut of liveries. There are a couple I like, a couple I think are very bad, and most I think are middling. But each of them, except Copa, is its own. Some of their designs are minimal, disappointing, ugly, but they are all designs made in an attempt to reflect the airline's identity and distinguish it from the rest of the tarmac, even if they create something ugly or boring or cowardly or all three.

A livery can be very, very bad indeed. But in my own mind an F, an outright failure, is the inverse of an A+ in a sort of cosmically symmetric ontology, and these are not the inverse of an A+ livery. They do not embody a transcendent bad to balance the scales against transcendent good. To reach this point you must be not only ugly but a gnawing void eating away at your own self. A livery worthy of the grade F do not fail to execute a good concept, or even fail to execute a bad concept. They have no concept and they fail to justify their existence.

One of the worst liveries I've covered vs one of the best.

The SAT is a litmus test for this astronomical, pernicious state of utter failure. It takes more to fail the SAT than to just be uglier than the default Star Alliance livery. Plenty of liveries are uglier than Star Alliance's and they pass by light-years. To fail the SAT requires more than bad design, blandness, or anything else of that nature. It is monumentally difficult to fail the SAT. It’s like stalling an Airbus. You can do it. We know this. People have managed to do it, when the perfect storm arises and the world enters that uncanny state where luck and circumstance conspire to make the absurd a reality. But it’s really not something you can do, broadly speaking. Just pulling the nose up too far or forgetting to keep track of your airspeed isn’t going to do the trick. Icing on the wings won’t either. Even forgetting to extend your flaps on takeoff probably won’t be enough. It’s rare enough that it straddles the border of being an urban legend. It seems so easy to do thoughtlessly but it’s only happened a couple of times. Even doing it intentionally is harder than just designing a good livery. I'm not even sure it's possible to do it intentionally.

To fail the SAT, you must fail so comprehensively that you should no longer be allowed to design your own livery. You should, in a paternalistic manner, have your entire fleet forcibly repainted into the Star Alliance colors.

A livery is meant to distinguish and represent an airline. Even a bad design is still a design. The reason that RESAS fails the SAT, in my mind, is that it doesn't feel like a design. It's not coherent. It's not intentional. It doesn't feel like improperly integrated parts, or even multiple liveries stapled together. It feels like it was designed by random number generator. It utterly fails to represent the airline, utterly fails to look good, and utterly fails to even seem like thought was put into it.

To fail the SAT is to get to the point where I genuinely think it is so shameful to paint this on your planes, so inept on every level, that it would be better to just not have a livery. It would be an act of mercy to become indistinguishable from other airlines instead of staying as it is, a thing you could only ever pity and never truly love. Never respect. The most wretched sort of creature. If your shirt is stained too badly, you just can't keep going on like that. People will point and laugh at you, and that's never fun. They'll say 'that guy's shirt is covered in mysterious substances', and you have to just put on a jacket and cover it up until you get home and fumigate it with kerosene. From 1998 to 2019, SAS would have been better off just not having a livery than they were flying that...thing.

It doesn't have to be Star Alliance in particular. Just something which renders the airplane mostly generic. They can keep a little logo on there but they don't get their own design. It could just as easily be, say, forcible repainting into the default manufacturer liveries Airbus and Boeing use for prototype aircraft.

Not the end of the world, right? These are surely not unbearable liveries. I don't think it's any worse giving up your identity to say you're part of Star Alliance than it is to subdue it in favor of the model of plane. If you're SAS pre-2019, this may be a decent option for you. If you're literally anyone else, the mere concept should be philosophically repugnant.

I am actually being kind, though. If I were to be even harsher, I could have easily made this the SmartLynx Test.

I asked you all about SmartLynx. To begin with, not a single person believed they could recall seeing one of their planes, or that they had flown with them. I didn't think they'd be able to. That's not a question I can really answer about myself either, at least not with any confidence. But what is SmartLynx?

The vast majority of responses just expressed bewilderment. I got 50 total replies to the questionnaire itself. Keep in mind that some people declined to answer, and I didn't include them, and even still the number of people who actively expressed that they did not know is nearly half of all responses. Few of the answers were especially confident, either. I'm fairly sure the ones about transporting animals were all jokes, and nearly everyone expressed that their answer was a guess. Someone just said 'bad', which I thought was pretty funny. I liked that answer.

I got two people who said that SmartLynx are airplane lessors. Actually, one said 'private airplane sharing company', but I've interpreted that as meaning lessor. Anyway, they're right. The people who said charter also aren't wrong.

SmartLynx are a Latvian airline which specializes in wet leases. For those unaware, a wet lease (very bad term) in aviation is a lease of an airplane that comes with a crew to operate it. Generally everything else, like fuel and various operating fees, is on the airline leasing the plane, and they're also the ones who market and sell the tickets. Basically, you could get on a flight, your ticket says, for example, Oceanic Airlines Flight 1, you bought it from the Oceanic Airlines website using your Oceanic Airlines miles, and be none the wiser that SmartLynx owns the airplane and pays the pilots flying it. These vary a little, but generally a wet lease provides ACMI (aircraft, crew, maintenance, and insurance), and if you ever see the term 'damp' or 'moist' lease that means the cabin crew is provided by the lessee rather than the lessor, but apparently neither sees much use. Which is a shame, because I think this is one of the few situations where more categories actually might make this easier to parse.

If all of that is sort of confusing and a lot of information upfront, you are not alone in feeling like this! I'm still pretty shaky in my own understanding of it. I'm a history person, not a business person. You can think of it as codesharing but never mentioning that's what you're doing, if that's any easier. It's also similar to regional brands of larger carriers, like Delta Connection flights being flown by Endeavor Air or SkyWest, though these carriers aren't going as far as to lease and are still on the hook for their own operating costs.

Every time I explain this to someone for the first time they think it's pretty deranged, and I don't completely disagree, but it's very normal. There are plenty of reasons airlines might wet lease, generally involving them not having the capacity to fulfill demand. All sorts of airlines provide wet leases, and all sorts of airlines hire them. It can create weird legal loopholes regarding who is allowed to fly in whose airspace, but typically it's just one airline not having enough planes for the holiday peak. They usually last for a few weeks or months, rather than the many years of a 'dry' lease which includes a plane only.

SmartLynx fly basically everything you can think of - passenger, cargo, holiday charter. Some airlines they've leased for are EasyJet, DHL, Finnair, and victim of the blog condor. Because they never operate flights under their own name, there is absolutely no reason for them to have their own livery. Indeed, it makes more sense not to, since it would be easier to leave their planes blank in case they want to repaint them into another airline's livery for a longer-term lease.

If you fail the Star Alliance Test, I think you would be better off painting your entire plane white.

SmartLynx has no identity because their entire point is to assume that of others. They basically do the airline equivalent of paying somebody to take an exam for you. This is a SmartLynx plane with Saudia logos on airasia color-blocking. It's a bit weird-looking, sure, but it betrays nothing about SmartLynx because their entire job is to not have a brand. Nobody has ever seen a SmartLynx plane because they exist literally but not philosophically - the job of a SmartLynx plane is to fly for a different airline. They are the stagehands of aviation, scurrying around in all black to stand out as little as possible.

But SAS isn't SmartLynx. SAS is a big airline, a flag carrier, and to say that they fail the SAT means that I would prefer their planes all be wiped from existence in an apocalyptic flood of liquid paper. I do not think the 1998-2019 SAS livery deserves to exist. I keep repeating myself because I need to stress how profoundly difficult it is to get me to this point. I would rather a livery be clumsy, bare-bones, poorly executed, cowardly, genuinely ugly, absolutely dismal, than it be non-existent. It takes something absolutely tremendous to bring me to the point RESAS has, where there is nothing, no vision, no meaning, no direction, no design, that justifies its existence.

...so what about condor?

condor was the first airline to get a grade of F. The second was the aforementioned red engined SAS livery, now mercifully retired and thus reduced to a footnote in a post about how far SAS has come. The reason I brought up the SAT in SAS's post and didn't in condor's is that condor emphatically passes the SAT.

I began with the assumption that the SAT was a good measure of if a livery deserves an F, and maybe it still is, but it's definitely not all there is to it. condor is different from Copa and RESAS, it just is. And I think the best evidence of this is that, of all the reviews I've posted, condor is the only one where a significant portion of people who reblogged it disagreed with me. I do understand that at the end of the day everything I say is subjective, and I don't mind when people have opposing views on something, but combined with my own thoughts on the livery, and the process of researching and writing my BWIA post, it pushed me to an epiphany about what makes a truly great and truly terrible livery. And, partly out of curiosity and partly to follow this new path of personal evolution, I asked survey-takers what they think of the condor livery. Maybe I should have left it as a free-response question, but I wanted figures, numbers. So here's what I got. (Free responses have been merged into whichever category they match closest for the sake of simplicity.)

These results are fascinating. First, you may notice that this is missing two options. Not a single person said that this livery was boring, or that they felt neutrally towards it. Even people who are still making up their minds are a dramatic minority.

Second, people who had a clear-cut opinion of the livery, positive or negative, made up just over a fifth of respondents. Most people were at least to some extent conflicted, although which specific variant of conflict varied. There are people who appreciate the idea but do not like the appearance of the livery, and then there are people who find some charm in it. Around 2/3 of these people cannot force themselves to fully insult what they see as a sort of goofy creature, while the other third cannot allow their emotions to sway their rating. If my post on the matter didn't fully convey it, this is probably the closest to my own opinion.

If I was condor, and I saw these results from a focus group (replicated on a scale far larger than my survey, of course) I would probably say to go ahead with this livery. All press is good press, as they say. You're going to end up with a livery that sticks with people, and they're going to respect that even if they think it's hideous. At the very least, they're going to notice you.

Condor's livery is ugly. I will not change my stance; it does not look good. It is unpleasing to my eyes. But it is not the opposite of an A+ livery. In fact, it has a lot in common with them. The reason I love PSA, BWIA, and Amakusa Airlines so much isn't just that they make good use of the plane's shape, have pleasing colors, and generally look nice, but because they are built on the bedrock of a concept which goes beyond designing an airplane. In BWIA's review in particular I discussed the fact that it takes the approach of building a livery around an idea rather than an idea around the concept of what a livery should be; this is what distinguishes an A+ from an A, and the gulf is far larger than the gulf between any two other grades. The difference between 'it's on the better side of okay' and 'I somewhat tepidly like it' can be rather small compared to the difference between 'it's very good' and 'it's genius'.

In the 2022 film "Nope", protagonist OJ asks if there is such a thing as a 'bad miracle'. To me, condor is something similar: bad genius. condor takes a once-in-a-decade great concept and executes it incomprehensibly poorly, and now they're the infamous ugly stripe planes. It has failed spectacularly but it has failed in perfect harmony with itself. It is unlikely that someone attempting to make an ugly livery as a joke or a parody could come up with something quite this sad. I've struggled for a little bit to think of a way to convey what it means to me, and I think I might have finally found it.

The town of Borja, Spain has a population of under 5,000. Although it was largely unremarkable as far as this sort of work goes, they were quite fond of a fresco painted on their church wall around 1930 by the artist Elías García Martínez. All art begins to deteriorate over time, and frescoes are notoriously difficult to conserve. In 2012, an octogenarian with no relevant training had a vision of a gorgeous restored painting. She definitely should have thought before acting. Just because you see something in your mind's eye doesn't mean you can make it real. And if you rush into it you might make...well, you see the picture on the right.

This picture is hideous. And it has brought in crowds of tourists hundreds of times the size of the town's actual population. Their money has funded pensions and built infrastructure. It has become a cultural icon. Nearly everyone with an internet connection has seen it. It's by far the most memorable thing about this tiny town. It is a work of bad genius.

Say what you will about condor's planes - and I myself have said many mean things about them. They are ugly and they are iconic. They are condor's grand statement, and no matter how ugly I think they are the world would be losing something if they were assimilated into identical Star Alliance liveries.

This striped livery is terrible, and it is great. It is worse than many liveries are good. And it does not fail as a livery. It is fundamentally condor's, and there is nothing like it. Distinctive, coherent, unique...and also ugly.

I've realized that condor belongs as a fundamental landmark in my understanding of liveries, just like Lufthansa or BWIA or PSA. Now that I've said all of what I've said in this post, I think giving condor an F just doesn't work. It doesn't belong in the same category as liveries which fail the Star Alliance Test. It doesn't deserve a better grade though. Something so bombastically, almost elegantly hideous requires a rethinking of the scale I've been using.

condor gets Runway Runway's first ever Z rating.

It does a tremendously poor job at being good, but a fantastic job of being a livery. In order for the Star Alliance Test to retain its meaning and the F tier to retain its coherence, condor needs to be reclassified. It is awful, hideous, sloppy, a waste of potential, but it is potential, and 'awful' originally referred to something which inspired awe.

#tarmac fashion week #grade: z #condor #scandinavian airlines system #long haul #questionnaire 1

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onelungmcclung · 1 month

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mota for the meme!

the first character i ever fell in love with: I liked DeMarco early on but I was sort of predisposed to (supporting character, was already familiar with Adam Long, I root for little known actors). however, he does suffer from a severe shortage of dialogue. I found myself warming to Kidd early on, too. Crosby & Bubbles's friendship is a highlight of the early episodes. in the opening scene I wanted more of Crank and Blakely.

a character that i used to love/like, but now do not: Brady gets an enjoyable introduction but not much else. (not quite in the spirit of the question – this isn't me going off the character – I just want some good, economic characterisation stuff in later episodes too. some follow-through! but if we're going to talk about lack of follow-through we really need to talk about Westgate)

a ship that i used to love/like, but now do not: I'm still working out if I have any ships, and the show hasn't been around long enough for me to go off anything

my ultimate favourite character™: I like Crank, Blakely, Doug, DeMarco, Bubbles, Kidd, Hambone, Macon, Crosby, Brady and Rosie (and Claytor and Biddick, brief acquaintances both). if I were to pick one, it would be Kidd – but, as I have said, he is the only supporting character I have a really strong sense of, so it doesn't feel like a fair contest.

prettiest character: Peggy is very beautiful. throw over your man, I say. Paulina, I'm available.

my most hated character: I hate nobody, but I wish the series weren't told from a small number of POVs. BoB manages its large cast better. I would like fewer scenes with Egan &/or Cleven and more scenes centring other characters/dynamics/friendships. (I like the Tuskegee Airmen scenes for this reason; no single POV is centred. also the lack of narration.) I do have sympathy for every character who gets annoyed with Bucky – not because I'm disposed against him, I just think, in context, they're right 🤷‍♀️ (I did want to see him wearing a narwhal horn, though)

my OTP: possiblyyy Kidd/Rosie. possibly. thinking it over. in terms of canon, Helen/Nash had some of the best chemistry in any of the three shows. in terms of friendship possibilities, I want to see more of everyone and everything. and as I think I have made abundantly clear by now, my favourite among the crews we get to see is the Blakely, Kidd, Doug & Crosby lineup of ep 3.

my NOTP: I don't get that invested and I don't read much. the mainpairs, as usual, don't really appeal.

favourite episode: maybe episode 7 or 8

saddest death: I was genuinely upset by Hambone's 'death' (which seemed both horrifying and terrifying) except he turned out not to be dead. probably Bubbles.

character that everyone else in the fandom loves, but i hate: I'm relatively uninterested in Buck and Bucky; I blame the script; I've glanced through Miller's book and find the real guys more compelling. I'm rather indifferent to Lemmons, although I'd like to like him more. (also I like Crosby but I dislike narration unless absolutely necessary and a lot of it wasn't. and he's not a cinnamon roll, he's an everyman, come on now.)

my ‘you’re piece of trash, but you’re still a fave’ fave: I think these shows are fundamentally quite optimistic about people. but I think MotA does a slight injustice to the British forces. and I have already defended Huglin.

my ‘beautiful cinnamon roll who deserves better than this’ fave: that's the nature of the genre / this is a woobification-free zone. but the Tuskegee Airmen got short-changed. so did Westgate and the Allied intelligence subplot (at least include a glimpse of her in ep 9 so we know she's still alive? during the 'war is over' announcement mayhap? if u really don't have time for more actual subplot, which is just bad planning). a little bit more of Solly would have been nice (maybe a Solly & Rosie scene?).

my ‘this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul, but i still love it’ ship: I am a fine upstanding citizen (has anyone considered Biddick/Bryan... not that I consider it wrong and nasty, I just think they could work out their differences/competitiveness some other way... but I am aware the answer is 'no') (this is merely a fleeting thought)

my ‘they’re kind of cute, and i lowkey ship them, but i’m not too invested’ ship: could have probably got into Alex/Buck or DeMarco/Macon if they'd had another scene or two. I do not put it past myself to mildly ship Marge/Peggy. I don't really ship it but I think Chick and Red have good chemistry considering their lack of conversations – they seem very used to each other; not sure if JM and SCM had worked together before but their characters genuinely come across like two people with a close longterm working relationship. (I could believe they're together.) Biddick/Snyder deserves a little attention even though I don't have anything to contribute.

#ty for indulging me #replies #ask meme for ts #mota spoilers

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voiceofsword · 1 year

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sry to bitch in your inbox abt this but im so glad you pointed out how so many modern enstarries Dont read the stories and base everything off fandom perception.. i saw these users joking about which character would say slurs and someone was ADAMANT rinne would and tho i knew it before it Really struck me then

a) none of them have ever engaged with this text in any meaningful way, ESPECIALLY not the first games' stories, because surprise! characters in es! did Canonically use slurs! and back then Nobody Liked It. we didnt joke about it. most people i know completely stopped paying attention to the characters who did until they apologized. (tho ofc its more a problem w the writing than the characters, but still. we were young. we had the spirit.)

b) people really like using rinne as a punching bag because they dont read the stories and know literally nothing about him except funny drunk drugs gamble man "fuckboy" who harasses niki and the other bees and its. infuriating.

i dont understand how anyone can claim to like a media without ever properly engaging with it, i dont understand how people have fun misunderstanding characters so drastically, and i also think joking about slurs has gotten wayyy too normalized where people feel comfortable saying these things about these characters they allegedly like. and characters like rinne (with a constructed mask of obnoxiousness and such) are the perfect target for these people. which SUCKS. all of it sucks.

NEVER BE SORRY!!!! i hope this is alright to post i thought your ask was good and insightful and i'll add onto it a little bit with my own thoughts (heart emoji)

yeah um ! was definitely a ride. i wouldnt recommend it to everyone but at least we have hindsight and things like slurs and general offensive terms/behaviors can be warned for, so that much is nice. i remember being really upset about a few of these, and then getting back into enstars earlier this year and reading a few of the more current stories + !! stories i was happy to see that the writing has developed CONSIDERABLY in terms of this especially after beasts. something ive noticed a lot of newer fans do (referencing my previous post irt the feeling morally superior) is that if you like a specific character for whatever reason youre actually a horrible person because that character said something awful once. of course youre allowed to dislike characters for whatever reason but dont tell other people they should perish because they like them (as if liking them means you implicitly agree with said views, more often than not One line in a miriad of stories that you might not even have read). but like you said, characters making ignorant comments (an unfortunate occurrence, although rare, it still happens) is not a reflection of 2d pixels on a screen but rather a team of writers..... idk. its a complicated situation. i see both sides and i think people are justified in liking or disliking but this is a game about idol boys (and girl) got dam

yeah i hate how people treat rinne a lot. like because characters like him and eichi are villains that means everything that they do or say is, at worst, a straight, physical threat to everyone around them, or at best, an annoyance that can make the fandom feel justified in making them the butt of reoccurring jokes. idk what else to say about him that i havent said already but its also 3 am now and i SAID i was gonna go to sleep an hour ago but i think i might just be a filthy liar

ALSO its probably because enstars is long, there's a lot to read and although tl's arent necessarily hard to come by you actively have to seek them out. again i understand how this might be a nuisance but instead of sitting down and listening to summaries or analysis ive noticed that a lot of short form consumption content lends itself to people just. posting the most reactive interpretations, and people playing a game of telephone with said information until a lot of the fandom has come to accept this misinformation as true. LIKE SOMEONE ON TIKTOK SAYING HAJIME AND WATARU WERE RELATED? IDEK IF THAT WAS A JOKE OR NOT? and yeah the use of slurs is like ridiculously normalized now im not one to say whether people can or cannot reclaim slurs and people are free to do as they like if they can. i see this one thing specifically with tatsumi a lot where people jokingly bring up how said character is homophobic or make homophobic comments towards characters even if theyre being like. excited or happy. and idk. personally it makes me sad. like maybe its fandom culture now maybe im old (is 23)

WHY WOULD RINNE SAY SLURS HES LITERALLY GAY AND IN LOVE....COME AWN NOW

#i prommy i will stop putting walls of text on everyones dashboards soon and ill get to actually posting drawings and reblogs...maybe #im not posting this one under a readmore bc i dont think. its That long in comparison to my other posts?#but if it is i might add it retroactively? can i even do that #we'll see i guess LMAO #mimthinks

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effervescentdragon · 7 months

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Hi! I just wanted to say that this week I chose to read some of the fics you have up in AO3 ( and by some of them I mean a lot) and I'm obsessed with your Sebchal Old Guard AU.

I haven't watched the movie yet, but I've been tempted in the past and your writing was the last reason I needed to do it.

That scene when Sebastian has apparently died and Charles holds him while praying in Latin, and he is so devastated about losing Sebastian because immortality is only a gift if Charles gets to share it with him.

That was..WOW..Yeah. No words. Tens across the board.

Those dreams of Lewis and Nico. The ending in Suzuka when Charles is wearing red again. People choosing to spend immortality together just really gets to me, I guess.

That fic really did something for me, and I have to thank you for it.

PS: your Nico/Jenson Soulmate fic made me see why people ship those two.

PS 2:"Red Gods of Old" is so phenomenal. I had to keep pausing to look at the wall and think about every paragraph.

PS 3: I was blown away when I saw you posted again, and blown away again because I had already read the Piarles piece, but didn't realize it was part of a series. I loved your first chapter. So angsty, and I hated the fact that you made me relate to Lando, but also thank for that.

Thank your for sharing your writing, and I know sending this right now seems so convenient because of your post earlier, but I really enjoyed the reading sprint I had on your stuff and I wanted to say so. Sorry for writing so much this got a little bit longer than the single paragraph I had intended it to be. :)

anon this made me so happy. like so so so happy, insanely happy. the answer is gonna get long because i cant not ramble about all this, so, cut.

my sebchal old guard au is my favourite thing ive ever written and i love it so much and people dont often go for it, though i do have some wonderful asks in my inbox that im saving for a rainy day and i just. thank you for coming here to tell me this and i hope you watched the movie because its MASTERFUL. i put so much into that fic, for example i tried to figure out how to make two white boys be joe and nicky without being insensitive or appropriative about race, and how not to apply the fundamentality of joe's loveliness of being an arab man (gentle and kind and a poet in his soul) to this german dude. that one kept me up for a while, so i decided not to mirror it perfectly but to apply seb and charles' personalities into the context, except adapting the other way around. it was a challenge to write, because i wove so much little ideas and nods to other people in there, not the least lewis and nico as andy and quynh, and then in the end i just really wanted them to come a full circle and somehow tie it in with f1. i always do this in my au's, give a little nod to f1 somehow, just to show my love for it. anyways, thank you so much for reading it and just. i love that you liked it.

oh god the princess cake soulmate fic - i saw the prompt and i couldnt resist! it turned out to be a prompt by a tumblr friend so that worked out even better. i love nico and i love him with jenson and i need to get back to writing him some more soon tbh. he is such a complicated and interesting character and he has twists and turns and i just love him insanely much. (if you liked the soulmate fic, i refer to this fic as my princess cake master thesis, so you may like that one too, maybe.)

oh my fucking god. this part. this part had me stopping in the middle of my corridor when i saw it because like. nobody reads that fic? nobody knows it and its my first proper rpf that i wrote and i love it so much and i just. im just heart-eyeing you now, because that was me trying to figure out some things about seb and about ferrari and to make it work in my head so i know how to proceed, so, thank you for reading it, and especially mentioning it!

thank you also so much for reading my carlando, im very excited about it because i never wrote them and im a bit nervous about the characterisation but so far it seems like it has a positive reception. i made it angsty on purpose because lando is just a ball of anxiety and i rly tried to show it. im super hyped about the next chapter two, but please keep all your limbs crossed for my uni work, which i have to do tomrrow on penalty of death.

please, never think its inconvenient to read something as lovely as this ask, no matter if its because of a post i made or just because, it literally doesnt matter, because you took the time to come and tell me these lovely things anyway. it made me happy and it made me hyped up and thank you. and there's never ever too much rambling, i dont see this as rambling i see this as something lovely. thank you <333

#can you tell how excited i am to talk about all of this?#THANK YOU #lovely anons <3 #wholesome wholesome wholesome #akira answers asks #about my writing. i ramble a LOT.#some shameless self promotion too bcs if i dont #who wil :D

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knockyasocksoff2022 · 5 months

Text

More Than You Know \\ soukoku

Chapter VII: The Funeral

POV: Chuuya

(4,636 words)

(A/N: sorry the wait has been so long)

I didn’t dream at all. (Well I know I must have dreamed, because humans always dream, no matter what, but I don’t remember whatever it is I dreamed, so it doesn’t matter.)

Kouyou was surprised when I was already up and ready before she came to wake me.

It’s an early morning funeral, the sun isn’t even up yet, but we are, because we have to drive all the way outside the city to get to the chapel. Thanks Osamu.

Kouyou looks beautiful in the billowing fabric of the kimono. It ruffles in the wind as we wait for the car Akiko sent to pick us up (sometimes I catch myself forgetting just how rich the Moris are, and then something reminds me), but my suit clings uncomfortably to me. Clothes like a second skin? As if! I only ever needed one skin anyway.

The car ride is quiet, the only conversation being the driver introducing himself to us as Natsume-san.

When we step out into the cemetery, I can barely see my feet from the fog covering the ground. We’re some of the first people here besides the Moris of course. I see Akiko and Mori-san in front of the chapel, standing next to a group of people I don’t recognise, but they all look related to the Moris, except for three, a kid and a man with white hair, and a young guy wearing a cape and a hat, like he’s some sort of news boy from England.

Kouyou walks quickly over to Akiko, but I don’t let the group see me, instead wanding off in between the graves. Eventually when I’m far away enough, but not too far to be lost, I stop, looking around, unsurprisingly there aren’t many good spots for chilling in a graveyard. There’s a lone tree on top of a short hill separated from the rest of the cemetery by a small stream and bridge. I walk across, hoping to rest under the tree, at least for a moment. When I get to the top I see the open patch of earth, a place where someone will be buried soon. The headstone reads: O. Mori.

I stumble backwards, tripping and landing on my ass, almost rolling down the hill, only stopped by another headstone.

How, how? Of all the graves in this cemetery, how did I end up right next to his? I stand up, dusting myself off. I’ve disturbed some of the earth on the grave I tripped over, so I say a quick apology to its owner, an S. Oda, and speed walk back to the chapel.

(A/N: Yeah Oda is dead in this universe too, sorry everyone *evil author laughs*)

But I must have gone farther than I thought because even with my quick pace it takes me a few minutes to find my way again, still shaken from the fall.

When I do see the chapel again, it’s different. Everyone’s here. I mean everyone, Mori-san must have invited the entire grade, like this is some kind of party. No one’s noticed me yet, but they’re bound to. Something about it makes me want to run again. (Imagine it. What would you do if you were confronted with your entire grade all dressed in black, at a funeral for someone you didn’t know better than a classmate. Are you expected to be sad, or happy to see your classmates?) I haven’t cried for Osamu’s death, am I expected to? Will they think I’m a freak if I don’t?

Not that I’m very happy to see my classmates, I still don’t have many friends, figuring it was better to focus on studying since they’re all out of my league anyway. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many designer clothes before today.

There's a low chime of the chapel bells and everyone heads inside the big wooden doors. I don’t see Kouyou anywhere, she must already be inside. I blend with the crowd, hoping nobody will say anything, even if I can’t hide very well because the black suit only makes my hair more prominent.

When I get through the doors I do spot my sister, she’s looking around nervously, probably thinking I ditched. I’m kinda offended that she would think that but I don’t blame her. Then she catches sight of me. She plasters a smile on her face that only I know the true implications of. (“Okay, that’s fine, do what you like, I’ll just beat you later” look) I hurry to sit next to her, she practically presses me flat into my seat, my ass hitting the pew so hard it sends a lick of pain all the way up my spine and into my neck. I suppress the swears rising in my throat.

The proceedings are short, me trying to keep a neutral look on my face the whole time (I guess a look of pain would be appropriate since this is a funeral, but I don’t want to seem like I’m faking to be dramatic.)

A minster speaks, the standard funeral spiel. I think I even remember some of the exact words from my parents’ funeral, but it was 11 years ago so I’m not sure. Akiko is crying beside Kouyou, the same way she did that first night. Kouyou squeezes her hand.

After the official blessing is over Mori-san takes the podium and says something, then Akiko, then two kids, slightly younger than me, who look related to the Moris. They’re all talking about memories they had with him, how he was struggling with bipolar depression (?) Osamu was depressed? I don’t hear the white haired man, or the newsboy, because I’m so busy trying to riddle it out. He never seemed sad, surely I would have noticed, since he always insisted on being around me all the time. He never seemed sad . . . except for last Friday.

I don't hear their tears. I don’t hear anything, just “Goodbye Chuuya” over and over and over again. I know the speeches from friends will come next. Who will they have speak? Osamu had no friends. Maybe those kids he tutored.

Sure enough it’s them, but they all go up at once meaning they don’t have much to say either. Did no one know Osamu, surely someone had to? The four of them crowd onto the small podium and the Tanizaki boy takes the mic.. “Um, hi. I’m Tanaizaki Junichirou from grade 9. I didn’t know Mori-senpai very well, he was only my tutor, but he was always good to me, and the other kids he tutored. He was always doing funny, if slightly concerning things, and he knew exactly how to explain subjects so the concepts made sense and he was so patient when I made even the stupidest mistakes-s-s, I-I’m sorry.” the boy apologises as he bursts into tears, “I just wish that he was still here. I’ll just go.” His sister helps him down and the white haired boy takes the mic.

“I’m Nakajima Atsushi, I’m also in grade 9, but I go to Suribachi High. I’ll be transferring to Kafka Academy for grade 10. ” He's already crying. “Mori-senpai was like an older brother to me, he helped me get settled into school after I moved here a few months ago, he showed me that it was okay to be myself to live freely for myself. He helped me deal with my own depression. And after . . . my dad died, even when he was dealing with the loss as well, he helped me. He was so strong to shoulder all of that grief all on his own, I’m just sorry I dumped all of that onto him. Maybe if I hadn’t . . . maybe he wouldn’t have . . .” He cuts off with a sob, shoving the mic into Kunikida’s hands, and running out the door.

I don’t entirely understand Atsushi’s words. Were he and Osamu related or something?

Kunikida stands alone on the podium now, he’s shaking. Silence fills the chapel. After a few seconds, there are footsteps. A boy with messy dark hair and big round glasses joins Kunikida on the podium. He says nothing but I see him grab the blond’s hand. Kunikida starts to speak.

“I didn’t know Osamu that personally, but the way I saw him interacting with others told me everything I needed to know. I didn’t like Osamu when I met him. He was lazy and had no pride in himself or his classwork, always cutting class, and flaunting his intellect by still getting perfect marks.

When Osamu first joined the tutoring club I groaned. I thought he was just there to be pervy with the female foreign transfer students who were taking extra Japanese classes, but I was very wrong.

As . . . goofy as he could be, he was an asset to the club. He had a gift for teaching. And whatever care he lacked for himself he showed double to his students. He used his smarts and spirit to help those who needed extra help, the very example of what an upperclassmen should be.

I’m sorry he couldn’t see everything that made him a good person, I’m sorry such a contributing member to society got overwhelmed by the voices in his head.

If I could’ve helped him I would’ve in any way possible because depression is a terrible thing and no one should have to suffer through it alone . . . but the truth is, I had no idea he was depressed. He was so good at hiding it, or maybe I was just too blind, but he always put his students first and if he was having a bad day I never knew because he was always kind. The world lost a quality person and for that we should all be sorry. Thank you.”

Kunikida steps down, still shaking he grips the other boy's hand tighter. I nod to him as they pass my row. He gives a slight nod back. Out of everything that was said I think that was the most beautiful, not because it made him sound like an angel, but because it didn’t. It showed Osamu as he was, (kind of an ass) and made him seem more human. Even if I never saw that side of him I can imagine it better now. It’s true he may have been awful but at least there was a reason. He gave all his warmth to his students, and there was none left over for anyone else, including himself.

When the boys are seated again the minster says we can pay respects. The Moris go fist. There’s more of them than I thought. Mori-san places a red book into his son’s casket, then lifts up a blond girl, so she can see her brother, she kisses her hand and places it on his cheek I think. (I can’t see the body since I’m sitting down). The next child doesn’t need lifting but they still stand on their tip toes. They leave a doll in the casket. Akiko takes Kouyou’s hand when she goes up. She whispers something and places a violin in the casket.

Next the two kids who spoke after Akiko go. There’s a little girl with them, her hair in two pony tails, adorned with white lilies. They leave red lilies. They must be cousins or something.

I look around when they step down, waiting. Where’s Mrs. Mori? Where’s Osamu’s mother?

She never comes. What kind of mother misses her own kid's funeral, no matter how upset she is?

None of the other students in the grade speak, some leave flowers, all white roses from the buckets the Mori’s put outside for those who didn’t bring their own. None of them go to see his body. I can tell none of them really want to, I’m sure I do either.

The chapel bell tolls again, the sound echoing off the white church walls. Everyone disperses, there’s something frantic about it, as if we’re all eager to escape.

I feel shut in tight, like a sardine in a can, pushed and herded towards the doors. In my effort to avoid the crowd I end up next to the open casket. At first I want to bolt again, but there’s a group of girls by the door so I stay put.

I can’t resist it, I have to look, have to see. Just a quick peek.

The casket is set up at the correct height for viewing so I only have to lean over to see him.

He wears a black suit, a black trench coat draped over his shoulder so he’s lying on top of it. The coat is too big, it must be his fathers. I can see the edge of bandages on his wrists. Akiko said he cut himself, they must have wanted to cover it. There’s an eye patch over his left eye, hiding the bruise from my punch. His hair is still a shiny fluffy black, they must have done something to him. No one looks that pretty when dead. It all feels so artificial. Did his younger siblings see his body before they did all this? Is it better they remember him this way?

There's a breeze and I swear I hear him again, “Goodbye Chuuya.” but it’s just the door opening.

An older man appears beside me, he wears a monocle and an old fashioned three piece suit, like something from those western detective shows Kouyou loves so much.

“Goodbye, Osamu. May your soul be forever in peace.” He places a pink flower in the casket, it’s beautiful.

“What flower is that?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He turns to me, smiling, “A pink camelia. His mother’s favourite. Mori-san asked me to place it.”

“Oh. Are you Osamu’s grandfather?”

He laughs, amusement twinkling behind his monocle, “Me, no. I’m the Mori family’s driver. But we are very close, they treat me like family.” his gaze turns curious, “Are you a friend of Osamu’s?”

I don’t answer him right away, I can’t. “I don’t know.”

He smiles again, patting me on the head, “Well I would say you are, if you’re in here. I saw the way most of those children rushed out, no respect for the dead.” He shakes his head, looking sadly at Osamu’s body. “If you’re staying to pay respects he must mean something to you, no?”

“I guess.” It’s a shit answer, and I know it, but I can't exactly tell him I just wanted to see the body. In fact I’m not even sure why I wanted to see it, just that I had to.

He gives a sad smile and starts to walk out but then stops, “I can see why you’d want to stay in here, but you should come out. I think the Moris would like to hear from a true friend of Osamu’s.”

I freeze.

What should I say?

Before I can answer he’s outside, in the crowd of people offering condolences.

I look at Osamu again, his eyes forever shut, mouth forever closed. They say the dead look peaceful, but he doesn’t. He looks empty. He’ll never smirk, smile or cry again, he’ll never do anything again. Is this really what he wanted? Does he think he’s free? Is he laughing at me from up there? Or is he sobbing, his soul still unfulfilled?

Shit, I sound like Kouyou now.

I planned to stay inside but I can hardly stay in here with the body after that.

It’s cold, too cold for this time of year. I stand on the church steps (marble, like the ones at school), just under the roof, watching everyone, catching snippets and fragments of conversations.

They talk amongst each other, lots of comments about the food, everyone says sorry for your loss at least once, but they all look confused, as if they don’t really understand why they’re here. They didn’t know him. But still, do they just not care, even after hearing his family and friends speak?

After thirty minutes almost all of the grade is gone.

I note who’s still here. Kunikida, the Tanizakis, Atsushi and a young blond boy I think I saw when I was coming into the chapel. Kafka Academy is big, but there's something about him that tells me he doesn't go there. Osamu’s cousins are standing with them and the young blond boy is holding the hand of the girl with the white flowers in her hair.

Mori-san is still here, of course, he stands with his two youngest talking with the white haired man and the newsboy but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Akiko, stands apart from everyone, her arms are wrapped almost desperately around my sister.

I walk over to Mori-san, and as I draw closer I can hear the child who left the doll in the casket, they’re arguing about something with their father. They stop, mouth still open when they see me. The newsboy walks away to join Kunikida and the others.

“Nakahara-san, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” He holds out his hand for me to shake.

His words make me stop, the “sorry for your loss” dying in my mouth. Did Osamu talk about me?

I must look surprised because he withdraws his hand, “Akiko mentioned that Kouyou had a younger brother, and with your hair I figured you must be the same.”

“Ah, sorry. It’s nice to meet you as well. I’m sorry for your loss.” The words are thick and heavy like paste on my tongue. I’m not really sure I’d call it nice meeting Mori-san, but he seems like a nice man, and I am sorry for his loss.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to make up anything, we all know Osamu could be quite troublesome. We’re glad you're here all the same.” He’s tearing up as looks around at the few people left in the cemetery. He looks tired, weary, the same expression Kouyou wore for months when our parents passed. When you realise grief is an ocean and the earth is 70% water. ANd now you’re going to have to swim through it.

Mori-san’s son may have been a prick (I don’t know anymore) but he seems so normal, so kind, nothing like Osamu. He doesn't deserve this.

The silence is louder than it should be, wrapping around me, making me feel like I’m the one being embalmed, not Osamu. I know if I don’t break it soon, I’ll choke.

“I didn’t know Osamu had so many siblings.”

“Oh, yes. He was such a good older brother.” The white haired man speaks for the first time. He has a wise voice, fitting of his appearance. He’s the only one besides Kouyou in traditional dress, his black Yukta and Haori fluttering in the wind.

I can’t ask who he is before the blond girl chimes in, “Yeah, he taught me all the dirty words.”

“Elise-chan!” Mori-san looks appalled and scoops the girl into his arms.

“Elise?” Even after years of English lessons, the western name doesn’t roll off my tongue easily.

“Yes, she’s named in memory of her mother whom we lost seven years ago. Elise was her last gift to the family, a little piece of her, so it seemed appropriate.”

“Oh, that’s so . . . sweet.” It feels strange to be complimenting Osamu’s father, a man who until now I’d assumed was just as much a snob as his son seemed to be, but it’s the only word I can think of. A heavy feeling fills my chest, I had no idea that Osamu had lost his mother. It’s one thing to grow up most of your life never knowing and not really remembering your mother, but he would have been eleven.

They say emotions make people do stupid things, so maybe I am grieving because I ask: “Is she buried here too?” Regret washes over me as soon as the words are in the air.

Mori-san closes his eyes, tears still flowing, and I regret my question even more. “Oh, no, her last wish was to be cremated . . . I wanted to have both their ashes next to each other, but Osamu left a note saying that he wanted to be buried here, and how could I ignore my son’s last request.”

An image of the note fills my mind, floating across the surface of bloodied water, red bleeding onto its surface from the wrists of the boy who wrote it, ink disappearing into the water, fading as Osamu life does. A risk that his last wish will disappear with him.

Of course that isn’t what happened. He must have put it on the floor beside him or something, like anyone would. I’m just being a dramatic moron.

“Of course . . . I wish I’d brought something . . .”

“Your presence alone is enough.” The white haired man says, his hand on Mori-san’s waist as if holding him up. Who is this guy anyway?

Osamu’s other sibling is glaring at me, hiding behind the white haired man. “Fukuzawa-san, make him go away.”

The man, Fukuzawa-san, smiles softly, “No, Kyu-chan. If Osamu mattered to him he has much of a right to be here as the rest of us.”

“It's okay.” I turn away right as the chapel bell tolls again.

There’s a man in a brown suit coming out of the chapel. Another relative maybe?

I can’t investigate because someone falls into step beside me. Mori-san. His hand is by his side. I take it, maybe to make up for my awkwardness earlier, maybe because even though Kouyou is just over there I feel alone here.

He squeezes my hand gently, “They’re putting him in the ground now, I suppose this is really goodbye . . .”

I nod.

As we walk someone else takes my other hand. It’s Akiko. Kouyou had her other hand, and when I look to either of my sides we’re all holding hands, like a big chain. Elise, Kyu, Fukuzawa-san, Mori-san, me, Akiko, and Kouyou.

We’re going back to that hill where I first saw Osamu’s grave.

The hill is small so we almost don’t all fit. The children go first. Elise, Kyu and then the blond boy and the girl with flowers in her hair throw a bit of dirt on the now closed casket. “You’re so strong, Kyouka. It’s okay to cry.” The blond boy whispers when the girl's tears start to drip into the hole as well.

The older of the cousins go next. Then the Tanizakis, then Kunikida. When it’s the Nakajima boy’s turn they have to pull his attention from another grave. The dirt is already damp with tears when it hits the casket. He sinks to the ground.

And then it’s my turn.

The minster hands me some dirt, the now bright sun glinting off his silver hair and glasses. I toss the dirt. Maybe I should say a prayer, but I don't know any.

Next Akiko and my sister go, and Mori-san and Fukuzawa-san, and finally the Mori family’s driver.

It happens spontaneously, but we’re all in a circle holding hands when they fill in the grave. I’m holding the young blond boy’s hand. Kenji, he tells me his name is. He has a countryside accent, I was right he isn’t from here.

After a final blessing from the minster we all walk back to the chapel. Kenji keeps holding my hand the entire way, Kyouka holding his other hand.

When the chapel comes into view I hang back a bit.

In the distance I see that man in the brown suit again, he lays a single match box upon the fresh earth. And then sits down between Osamu’s grave and that other guy’s. I watch him take out a glass, one that fancy people use for scotch and whiskey, filled with one of those probably and pours it over the man’s grave. He sits for a moment then leaves the glass, and starts walking this way.

Feeling a little creeped out I head back to the chapel.

Everyone’s saying their goodbyes, hugging. Sorry for your loss is heard once again. I don’t know anyone well enough so I just sort of stand there. Eventually Kenji, who’s been going around hugging everybody, hugs me. I notice the Nakajima kid getting into the car with someone in a brown suit. Isn’t his father dead?

I can’t make myself think about so much death.

There isn’t much to linger and talk about after something like this so within a few minutes everyone besides the Moris are gone.

The second youngest Mori child, Kyu, is marching up to me. Mori-san jogs to keep up with their pace.

They’re holding something but I don't have time to look before it’s shoved right into my stomach. I fall to the ground for the second time today. “It’s not fair!”

“Mori Kyusaku! Apologise right now!” Mori-san’s voice doesn’t sound as threatening as I’m sure it normally would.

Kyu ignores their father, “It isn’t! Why do you get his last words and we don’t? Why do you get to know what he was thinking? You don’t deserve that, you’re no one. We’re his family, not you! You weren’t even his friend! It’s not fair!!!” The kid raises their foot, about to kick me, I’m about to take it. Nothing they said is wrong, even if I don’t have any idea what they’re talking about.

Fukuzawa-san pulls the child back, wrapping them in his Haori as if they were an angry cat. They hiss as if they really are.

Mori-san bows, apologising.

“No, sir, please get up. It’s fine.”

Slowly the man rises to his feet, picking something up off the ground. A black book and a CD.

He has the smallest of smiles on his face, “Osamu willed these to you.”

“What?” I recognise that book. I look closer, it’s the one he was reading in class.

“Yes. The book is locked, we’ve tried to search for the key but we were unable to find it, even with the clue he left.” There's something almost conspiratorial about his expression. I don’t get it.

“Yes, but why would he give these to me? I-I’m not family. You all should have them.”

His smile grows ever so slightly, “I assumed you know the location of the key. Even if the two of you weren’t friends, you meant enough to him for him to will these to you, and that’s enough for me.” I have no idea what he’s implying or why he’s looking at me like that, as if trying to tell me something.

He hands me both the CD, book and a piece of paper, walking off to comfort Kyu.

I’m left standing all alone.

Kouyou finds me quickly. I can tell she’s reluctant to leave Akiko but there’s no point staying in this depressing place any longer.

“It’s been a long day, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go home, Chu.”

Natsume-san holds the doors open for us and closes them behind us.

The car ride this time is silent. I don’t even hear the sounds of other cars on the road. The book and CD feel heavier than elephants on my lap.

When we get home Kouyou disappears into her room to change out of her Kimono.

I do the same, forcing myself not to rip off the too small suit, but to carefully take it off piece by piece. It’ll need washing to get the dirt from my falls out but it’s otherwise unharmed.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I turn 360. Contrary to my fears, none of the suit fabric is in fact stuck to my skin but there’s a bruise forming on my back, blotches of yellow and purple painting themselves onto my skin. Probably from slamming up against the headstone.

I don’t know why, but I grab Osamu’s black book and hurl it across the room. It leaves a dent in the wall and flops to the ground.

I flop into bed, not bothering to put on a shirt. Clothing seems less and less relevant as sleep overcomes me.

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