#ive always thought of the will as something each voice contributes to

[tai-janai]

i hate to be that guy but i cannot get behind the idea of the Hero being LQ's "agency" or "will"

[sweethartlullaby]

you, among the art iv

word count: 1760 genre/theme: fluff and angst later, sculpting series, graduate student and her professor/supervisor, female and male pairing as always, imagine whoever you would like... find part v here sweethartlullaby ꕤ masterlist

He looks at the ticket again and a groan leaves his throat. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks and he shakes his head as he slips it under his notebook.

“It’s nothing.” He shrugs before standing from his desk. 

“That’s what people say when it’s definitely something.” She scoffs before she walks over and in one swift move, she pulls out the ticket. 

“A gala?” She reads before he gets the chance to snatch it back from her. He sighs and rolls his sleeves back up as he sits back down on his desk.

“Yes, but I hate those.” She turns to him and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s just an excuse for the faculty to not do their work.” He says and she just rolls her eyes at him. 

“I bet you’re great at parties.”

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t go.” He smiles but she starts shaking her head. “Says here you can take a plus one.” That’s the tone of her voice when she is about to suggest something she knows he won’t agree with.

“Well?” Her eyes sparkle as she asks. It takes him a second to realize what she’s implying. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we have to work on your project.”

“It’s just one night!” She begs, moving to face him. She juts her lower lip out and he can’t help but chuckle. 

“We’re staying for one hour and that’s it.”

“But what about dancing?” He crosses his arms and looks down at her, holding her gaze for a few seconds. He scoffs when she finally looks away. 

“I don’t know how to dance.” He shrugs, stretching his arms above him.

“Then I’ll teach you!”

“Why do I need to know how to dance?” He tilts his head as his arms fold in front of his chest again. 

“Because…” She chews down on her lip as she thinks about it and his heart skips a beat.

“Because it’s just what is done! I’ll stay late if you dance with me, even if it’s just once.” She pleads, joining her hands in front of him. He looks at her fingers, intertwined with each other, and laughs.

“Fine, one dance, and then we’re leaving.”

He feels as though he can’t breathe.

The ballroom does have its contributions but he’s certain it’s the suit. He pulls at the collar and gulps. There are just so many people.

“Here,” She returns with a small plate of cakes. “I got as much as I could.” He looks at her mumbling to herself about the delicacies and smiles a little. 

“No wonder you were gone for so long.” He says before he takes a sip of his drink.

“Is that alcohol?”

“No, it’s colored water.” He says and she scowls at him. 

“For someone who always looks so tense, you are surprisingly a very sarcastic man.”

“Only when I want to be.” 

“And I’m supposed to be flattered that you chose me to be your victim?” She asks before taking another bite of the tart. Before he can answer, he hears someone clear their throat next to them. He feels his heart drop as he speaks.

“Son.” 

He takes a sharp breath in before he turns to his father and he shows the most polite smile he can muster.

“Father.” He feels as though the entire room has turned their attention towards them, silent yet watchful, like watching a prey.

“I thought you weren’t a party person.”

“I’m not.” He’s trying his best to not sneer at him. “I just…thought I’d try it one time.”

His father doesn’t respond, but instead looks at her, the girl standing so close to his body, it was no mistake that they knew each other. Before he even asks, she introduces herself, bending her body over just a bit. 

“He’s my supervisor for my graduating project. It’s nice to meet you.” He had never seen her so nervous before.

“I see, it’s nice to meet you too.” His father says promptly and then turns back to his son. 

“If you can make time to come to this gala, I’m assuming you’ll have the time to come home this Winter. Your fiance is waiting for you.” He lied, his heart didn’t drop before but it is doing so now. One earth-shattering word is enough for him to make him crawl back inside the shell of the man he is. It’s enough for him to make him think of all of the horrible things he has desperately tried to expunge out of his brain. 

He is frozen. 

Even when his father leaves, his knuckles are still white from gripping the glass too hard. 

“Hey,” She whispers.

“Are you alright?” She asks and even though he feels freer to breathe, he still feels funny. He takes a drink and exhales. He didn’t think his father would bring it up. His fiance, how long has it been since he has heard that word? 

How long has it been since he has spoken to his father?

He turns to her and laughs a little but she only looks at him like he’s on drugs.

Of course, she would look at him like that.

“Are you-”

“We should dance.”

“But-”

“You wanted a dance, let’s dance.” Without another word, he takes her arm and leads her to the floor, leaving behind the pastries she was enjoying before his father. 

“Sir, I don’t-” He whirls her in front of him and takes her hands.

“Don’t call me that.” He whispers and leans in close to her ear. “You can call be by my name, you know.” When he pulls away, he thinks her cheeks are redder.

The music starts and they begin. He’s always been a quick learner. As they glide across the marble floor, she constantly smiles and raises her eyebrows, impressed that he knows how to do thi albeit their short practice session.

He can’t stop looking at her. Even though she keeps avoiding his gaze, all he does is look at her. He notices all the small things he usually doesn’t. For one, the small curl in her hair, resting on her cheek. Another is the way her cheeks are redder than before, and she hasn’t gone to the bathroom to reapply anything. He leans in and breathes in her scent. She smells of the ocean back home. 

“Are you having fun?” She whispers before he spins her and he laughs in her ear.

“I think it might be the alcohol, but this dancing is making me feel good.” He mutters. She squeezes the hand in hers.

“You look really beautiful tonight, by the way.” The alcohol is consuming him. When she pulls back and smiles at him, he has to stop himself from pushing his lips onto hers.

“You look quite dashing yourself, si-” She stops herself just in time and purses her lips into a smile.

Three minutes couldn’t have gone by quicker. After they bow, she takes his hand and pulls him to the side, away from the spotlight.

“Well, that’s one dance for you.” He smiles, a little sadly. He wishes he wasn’t so adamant on tonight. “Will you leave now?” 

He might be imaging it but she almost sounds hopeful that he isn’t. He chews down on his lip as he thinks for a moment. 

“Let me get our coats. Stay here.” He says quickly and then he immediately runs. His face must be flushed from the amount of adrenaline that’s pumping through his body right now. His hands are shaking from how excited he is. 

He yanks the coats from the hangers and runs back to her, chest heaving when he stands in the same spot and she isn’t there. 

She finally returns after about ten minutes but all he feels is the creep of anxiety dawning on him. 

“I’m so sorry I left. I thought I could take a quick bathroom break.” She reasons but he just nods, trying his best not to seem down. 

“No worries.” He passes her his coat and watches her put it on. When they walk outside, he debates saying something to break the tension. All the thrill has been washed off in the ten minutes she was gone, imagining that she left him. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” She says and he thinks it’s about them. But there’s a grin on her face when he turns to look at her.

“Alright, during my little bathroom break, I actually spoke to…” She pauses, for anticipation, he assumes.

“I spoke to the one and only Madame Aki!” He stops in his tracks, feeling as if the air has stilled around him too. 

“That’s…”

“I know! She’s basically my idol and I never expected to run into her at all! I couldn’t stop myself from going up to her. We spoke a little bit and she said she would love to keep in touch!” She almost shrieks from excitement as she jumps and waves her arms. While excitement might not be back in his system, he still grins for her.

“That’s amazing. Doesn’t she have a museum too?”

“Yes! All the way in Japan, which I think will be where I spend my summer next year.” She sings and he chuckles as they pull to a stop.

“I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” She says, eyes softening when they finally look at him. “I would’ve never gotten this opportunity if it wasn’t for you.” He shakes his head and takes a step closer to her.

“You’re the one who invited me to a dance remember?” He says softly. From this close, he can see the slight tint on her lips, cheeks, and nose. The winter air is blossoming her cheeks and he can’t imagine seeing anything more beautiful. He searches her eyes, drinking in her gaze as he steadies himself. His fingers brush the hair away from her face and he tries his best to stop leaning in. 

This can’t happen.

As much as he wants it to, it can’t happen. 

His breathing is heavier and she’s not pulling away. Is this consensus? Is this a yes? His eyes move down to her soft lips, inches away from his.

“Hey!” A child nearby yells and he immediately pulls away, just realizing how close they had been. A group of children run by and he blows out a breath. She clears her throat and they stand in silence for a moment. 

“Your car is close by right?” She suddenly speaks up and his words tumble out of his mouth.

“Y-Yes, I’ll drive you home. Come.”

a/n: finally!! part iv is out! i've been struggling to find the will to write lately but i'll try to keep at it as much as possible. thank you for reading and i apologize for any mistakes! i'll try to get the rest out asap so readers don't really have to wait. thank you again!

[wickedpact]

You can't just drop that "I read Forces Multiplied" bomb on us and not give a ten page written reaction.

[cracks knuckles] if u insist

nicky cant drive hc: destroyed. rip. also i loved how andy and nile stole those sports cars and were being badass and driving off the bridge & meanwhile joe and nicky were just absolutely vibing in the van

'heres the thing about power: people who have it think they deserve it' [shot of police car] i see u greg

5 whole panels being dedicated to booker not being able to unlock his door. booker not even seeing noriko sitting RIGHT THERE in the window at first. incredible

noriko being 24/7 horny was surprising. like wow all of the stuff i saw she did out of context was 100% equally horny in context as it was out of context. love that for her

i didnt think the 'andy + slavery' thing was handled as badly as everyone made it out to be when telling me about it. tho from the way it was talked about i had kind of figured the conflict between andy and nile re: slavery would be really racially charged (esp considering nile is a black american and would obvs have Thoughts on the subject in that regard) but like,, done in a cringey 'a-white-guy-obviously-wrote-it' kind of way? but it wasnt that. i mean. it makes sense that andy would be implicit in slavery through the years

i mean, like she says, is that not what people just did to each other in the aftermath of battles for thousands of years? and i really like how its pointed out that it was what she was raised with (in the beginning when you see her put shackles on that guy after the battle) but she also accepts responsibility for it and acknowledges that it was wrong and not just 'what people did'.

i like how from her expressions you can kind of tell baby andy knew it was off but she sets those feelings aside bc she felt angry. it explains how she felt but didnt make her out to be blameless in it. plus i mean. i dont know, the fact that andy was involved in a lot of morally shady stuff for 7000 years is not that wild for me. if you live that long youre just Going to be involved in some shit, and she didnt even have other immortals with her as positive community influences, she literally just did whatever the fuck she wanted for thousands of years

'i was worshipped as a god once' i mean, yeah no shit she wouldve been involved in some seriously fucked up stuff, gods were fucking scary back in the day

tldr it could use some polish but it wasnt that bad

tho everything people said about moose being boring was unfortunately a little true. sorry king i tried to be interested in you

joe and nicky writing verbal fanfiction about nile and moose was iconic. 'you seeing that?' 'i am definitely seeing that'

it was also extremely funny bc that was like 60% of their contribution to the whole comic, besides kidnapping copley. they came, they wrote some fanfic, they left. kings. at least in tog1 they had an excuse to be useless bc they got kidnapped

joe just found out his old friend who he thought was dead is alive (and also probably wants to murder them) and instead of investigating with andy he stopped to help nile up. champ.

nicky shooting noriko through andy was cool. rip to the concept since it wont happen in tog2

wanna see mr ejiofor deliver this line

on that note imo copley was. weirdly enough, more interesting in fm than in tog1. to me at least. the fact that andy let him live and he was so haunted by what had happened that he came back and sought them out despite knowing they would likely kill him for it bc he wanted to not only make up for what hed done but also to tell them what theyd done for the world was admittedly more interesting than andy just kind of drafting him to the cause and him going 'okie'

i like how nicky was drawn in this one. in opening fire he looks like a blob man but in fm he looks more like a very nice grampa with a very good dye job

'theres no pain like a broken heart' andy 🥺

noriko implying andy's never drowned. .. .idk about that one, she musta drowned sometime

joe and nicky came, they waxed poetic about nile's love life, they waxed poetic about grog, and then they left.

sports bras being a reason humanity is good. i mean..... okay, yeah.

i mean. wild but you cant exactly tell her shes wrong

i liked how noriko telling andy that their purpose is to make people suffer coincides with joe and nicky finding out that they actually did good all those years

joenicky in opening fire: jail for booker jail for booker for 100 years

joenicky when copley tells them he knows where booker is: WE'LL KILL YOU WHERE IS HE

joenicky when copley comes back: if your vibes come off as even remotely rancid we Will destroy you

joenicky 2 minutes later when copley helped them find booker: he made up some ground :)))) <3 lov you j cops

theyre forgiving af

moose: how old are you?? a hundred??? a thousand???

nile [vine voice]: I M 2 7 ?

alright andy you got me there

joe texts like my aunt

i dont know why noriko drowning andy in that car tickled me. Bad And Naughty Andromaches Get Put In The Pear Wiggler To Atone For Their Crimes.

the drowning sequence was cool

copley trying to talk to andy while she was like o_o at him was great

ive hit the picture limit but id seen that panel where nicky goes 'forgive me' as he kills a guy out of context and it was HILARIOUSLY anticlimactic for me to discover that there was literally no context to it. nicky just apologizes to random people he kills. i thought that guy was someone he knew or something. nope its just Some Guy that nicky didnt know from adam

nile's complaint that andy was especially brutal to the guys on the boat... i mean. . , how exactly does one kill a man with an axe and not be brutal about it?

it was funny how noriko kissed andy and the only people who seemed surprised by that were nile and also andy

nicky and joe's complete non-reaction to finding out noriko is alive And Evil Now is endlesly funny. they just left her on that boat and neither cared. i get book and nile not caring but joe and nicky knew her, and they just have 0 input on the subject of what to do with her

pinstripe suit guy!

joe and nicky and booker packing up and leaving with nile

andy blowing up at nile was A Moment tho

i dont know, i get why people didnt like the ending but its. .. . it makes more sense in the comicverse. bc the squad doesnt really. .. interact outside of jobs? i mean, think of the moon landing story in ttt. that was booker and joe and nicky doing a job and andy only showed up a for a couple minutes after it was done. or the brunch in the first issue of opening fire. the squad arent as tight in the comic, and andy often seems to do her own thing outside of work, so andy saying 'i dont want to do work anymore' and the squad being like 'alright bye then' makes more sense in this universe than the movie one

also i feel like greg was Trying to set up a thing where nile becomes the Leader of The Squad after andy dies but like. its not very well done since. . . i mean, nile hasnt spoken to booker since opening fire, (and she only knew him A Day). and shes known joe and nicky all that time, but there isnt really anything that indicates that they have any relationship at all, much less one that's grown. in all the comicverse the only time nile and nicky speak is in FM, and in that scene nicky tells nile about noriko. nile goes from someone who needs to be set aside to have background knowledge explained to her to being the Leader of the group with nothing in between. it kind of... comes out of nowhere.

on the other hand tho... i felt really bad for andy thru the whole thing. well, i always felt bad for andy, but in this one she seemed so miserable, especially since it really felt like none of the others actually.... cared about her. when noriko came back no one asked andy how she was doing (big question ik, but it wouldve showed they cared at least), nobody ever expressed any concern for her, no one even really seemed to want to be around her. in opening fire everyone was more distant than in the movie of course, but there were little moments where she would joke with joe, or nicky would try and comfort her, or stuff like that, but in FM it really felt like they just didnt really care about her. & in opening fire it felt a lot like andy's relationship with nile breathed some new life into her, but in FM it felt like all they did was argue. i get theyre not *as* close in the comics but it really felt like the only person who cared about andy at all was noriko (which was probably also how andy felt) but it just seemed to come out of nowhere. honestly i was reading and i was honestly agreeing with andy that she might just be better off if she did just die. opening fire, on the other hand, never make me feel that way

tho everyone made it sound like when the squad split up it was one of those cursed 'the found family leaves each other at the end of the journey' tropes. but guys i mean,,, this is the second installment out of three. that isnt the End. theyll come back in the third one and Dramatically Reunite to fight some baddies (probably those 'others' noriko mentioned). im guessing yitzhak fits into that too somehow.

anyways it wasnt That Bad but it made me kind of sad and the only Sweet Found Family vibes in it were when they saved booker. also they shouldve beefed up that nilemoose romance, it underwhelmed me. 6.5/10

i also ABSOLUTELY understand all of greg's comments about how you couldnt make FM directly into a movie, he always said that it had no plot and. i get it now. it really didnt have a plot sdfghjkl

[oldtowrs]

˗ˏˋ DROWNING IN YOU - obi-wan kenobi/jedi!reader

SUMMARY - after order-66 has been issued, obi-wan and the reader, a jedi and his companion, exile themselves on tatooine. the reader finds obi-wan practicing with his lightsaber, and they get into a small argument, which ends in fluff.

WORD COUNT - ~2.1k

A/N - i have a soft spot for obi-wan. however, this is my first obi-wan fic so i’m sorry if i’ve missed aspects of his character. it will come eventually though. i promise. anyway, gif belongs to @coredrive. please send me requests if you have any!

WARNINGS - none

   the familiar hum of his weapon seemed to electrify the dry air around obi-wan as he ignited it, the blue light of his kyber crystal illuminating his strong features and the sandy terrain around him. memories from as early as his padawan years raced through his mind. he smiled at the realization that many included you and the many battles you had fought by his side. it was a familiar glow and welcomed buzz, but obi-wan couldn’t help but remember all that he had failed to protect with the sophisticated saber he held in his hands. 

   his heart ached as images of anakin’s golden eyes glaring at him over their crossed, blue lightsabers haunted his memories. the heat of the lava surrounding them almost was unbearable as they dueled, yet his failures burned a whole in his heart greater than the lava ever could.

   but that’s why he had dug his lightsaber out of the trunk he had frantically shoved his few belongings into before you and him had made a frantic escape from coruscant to live out your days on tatooine, hovering just close enough to protect anakin’s son: luke skywalker. he dug it out in hopes that his skills hadn’t faltered in the few months he had been cowering in the little sandy cave that he now shared with you and which he called home. he couldn’t let them falter. he had to protect luke. he had to protect you. he was a jedi guardian, after all. he fought to protect all that was good in the world the brilliant blue of his force signature marching the glow of his saber. he couldn’t let himself fail luke. he couldn’t let himself fail you. he wouldn’t let that failure take hold of him again, not while the images of anakin burnt to a crisp and padme lying, her dark hair carefully decorated with delicate, white flowers, on her deathbed were still fresh in his mind; and he anticipated they would be for quite some time. 

   he readied his lightsaber in one of the traditional fighting stances of form iv. qui-gon’s face seemed to swim in his memories as he began the training sequence obi-wan’s old master had taught him, closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. another face which only existed in his memories now. another failure. 

   with each heavy swing of his lightsaber, the dry air seemed to crackle and buzz about him, his anger at his failures burning up with it as he forced them from his being and into his each swing and spin. anger was not the way of the jedi-although he supposed that didn’t matter now. if he stayed true to the order, to the code, he was a marked traitor and enemy of the galactic republic. the order which he had dedicated so much of his life to could now get him killed. 

   the order. the council. another failure. another swing of his saber. another hum that broke the silence of the quiet desert and the evening which descended upon it as tatooine’s twin suns sunk into the sand. 

   he felt a presence through the force occupy his already tortured mental state, but he elected to ignore it-cut it down with another swing of the lightsaber.

   ‘obi-wan!’ a voice called, its normal tone and sweetness turned bitter with concern. it was your voice. 

   he looked up to see you running towards him from the entrance to your cave home, the linens of your dress-which you had traded your usual heavy, woolen jedi robes for, snapping in the slight breeze behind you. ‘what’re you doing?! are you asking to get caught?’

    somewhere in his confusion, he managed to sheath his lightsaber, the blade of pure light and plasma retracting with a whomsh as he clipped it to his belt-an old force of habit.

    ‘my love, somebody could see you!’ you exclaimed softly, as you stopped before him, arms entangling themselves with his own. ‘or did you forget that the whole galaxy is on the lookout for jedi to report to the republic?’ 

    guilt ravaged his features and an unfamiliar wave of shame washed over his heart. should someone see him wielding a lightsaber whose color was indicative of his rank, of his affiliation with the order, he would be reported to the republic, hunted down, locked in a cell and put on a waitlist for execution as punishment for treason.

    the concern on your face made his heart ache, how your delicate eyebrows furrowed in worry, the way your e/c eyes no longer sparkled with joy-but were haunted by fear instead. he noticed new worry lines had formed around your eyes, and dark circles had begun to collect beneath them. age had seeped into your face and he realized that the past few months had not been kind to you, hitting you just as hard as they did him. you had been one of padme’s closest confidants after all, always waiting by her side during meetings which matters of the senate and council and the galaxy at large were always discussed in dramatic fashion. you had been almost as dark of a shadow as anakin had been, always following her around, protecting her from a galaxy which wished to harm her. his failures had been yours too. 

    yet despite those lines of worry and of age, you were still as beautiful as you had been as a padawan, running around coruscant jedi training grounds and rooms of the high jedi council with obi-wan’s strong, calloused fingers interwoven with your soft ones. 

    your heart ached for the jedi you had formed a forbidden attachment to, to whom you had fallen in love with, as you watched the shining, steely blue of his irises drop to his boots. 

   ‘i’m sorry, darling,’ he said, his precise articulations and elegant accent soft and plagued with the guilt that he seemed to drown in. the sensation of your delicate fingers taking hold of his face, their tips burying themselves in the bushiness of his reddish-brown beard, was enough to pull him to the surface-to ground him in the present. he looked up through the golden spun curtain of his eyelashes, just in time to see your features soften.

   kriff- the way you looked at him made his heart melt.and the way the setting suns caught in your h/c hair made it gleam as though it was spun of the finest metals. you had braided it into a simple tatooine style and the only thought he found rushing through his mind was how beautiful you were-and how guilty he felt. 

   ‘i suppose you are right,’ he said. ‘it is reckless.’

   ‘obi-wan, what’s wrong?” you said, your fingers angling his gaze directly into yours. the concern he saw there made him want to cry, tears welling up in his eyes and inhibiting his ability to speak. 

   ‘i failed,’ he choked out. ‘i fails qui-him. i failed anakin. i failed padme. i failed the order, the council-everything.’ 

   he watched as your face fell and pain seeped into your lovely irises, illuminated by the dying light of tatooine’s suns. but he continued on. he was drowning, and your presence had been his gasp of fresh air. now the seawater couldn’t help but pour out of him, and his thoughts with it. 

   his voice became deadly quiet. ‘how am i supposed to protect luke if i can’t even protect them. how can i protect you for that matter? i thought that, perhaps, if i train, then… i’ll be good enough to at least give you some sense of security, and, when the time comes, train luke to bring peace to the galaxy that i’ve helped destroy.’

   ‘oh, obi-wan,’ you sigh, pain evident in your voice. ‘you have not failed the galaxy, and you certainly have not contributed to the destruction which palpatine helped to foster-both in the galaxy and in anakin. their downfall is not on your hands, my love. do not manipulate it to be so.’ 

   ‘you have protected this galaxy, and put your life on the line so that trillions may live in peace without ever having to experience the horrors of war.’ 

   ‘and as for me, my love,’ you chuckled, smiling up at him and pressing a kiss softer than the petals of the alderaanian flame-rose to his jawline, ‘do you forget that i am a jedi too? i may not be a guardian and a general like you, but that doesn’t mean i’m any less trained in the ways of the force than you, my sweet jedi. we protect each other now, remember?’ 

   maker-when had you learned to be so convincing? it only amplified the love that burned in his heart, melting him from the inside out. a small smile settled itself onto his lips, peeking through the beauty that was his beard. 

   ‘yes, i remember, sweetling,’ he hummed, the endearment sounding like honey on his articulate tongue. it warmed your heart, as you saw some of the light you so dearly cherished found its way back into his kind eyes. he was so lovely, in all that he was. 

   obi-wan let his hand graze the soft skin of your jaw, gently tilting your face as he pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. he wished he could see the blush that he knew was blooming along your cheekbones as he did so. 

    i love you obi wan, your force signature echoed softly. a warmth seemed to cloud his heart, and he knew it was you reaching out to him through the force, transferring as much love as you possibly could through to him. it was something you had been doing ever since you had mastered projections as padawans. 

   i love you too, darling. he felt the familiar entanglement of his force signature with yours, warm and comforting. he had always used his for strength, but you used yours for more emotional circumstances. he found that he couldn’t leave your presence without a piece of your signature lingering with him, a reminder that you were with him always. 

   his calloused fingers found their way to the back of your head, tangling gently in your h/c tresses, as his other arms snaked around your waist, lovingly playing with the softness he found about your hips as he pulled you into his shoulder for a hug. he noticed there was a little more softness there than usual, and he felt his heart swell lovingly at the discovery. he adored you, but the extra softness gave him more of you to love and cherish. exile treated you well, and obi-wan couldn’t help but adore its effects. 

   what would i do without you? the projection was filled with a softness that obi-wan could only ever find in you, his one attachment, his love. 

   you’d be fine. you’re stronger than any one i know, love. a soft squeeze of his bicep accompanied your words and obi-wan knew that while yes, he was strong and resilient, he was only so because of his devotion to you and you to him. 

   perhaps, but i would be terribly miserable without you, my little dove. he felt a surge of warmth radiating off you through the force, and he smiled at the knowledge that he warmed your heart just as you did his. he pulled you ever closer, giving you a gentle squeeze, enveloping himself in all that was you. he couldn’t pull himself from your orbit, even if he wanted to try.  

   ‘perhaps, we can find a way to train without drawing attention to ourselves,’ you pondered, with a kiss to his neck, his jaw, his lips, as you pulled away from his shoulder far enough to admire the way his eyes lit up at what you were suggesting. 

   ‘besides,’ you said, a teasing tone creeping into your usually soft words, ‘i have to train if i am to protect both of us!’ 

   ‘i think you forget, i was the one who fought as general in the clone wars, dearest!’ he chuckled, admiring the way the mirth of your banter swam in the e/c pools of your irises as they glowed in the last of the days golden sunlight.

   ‘oh please, i designed your battle plans,’ you said, gently tapping his chest with one pointed finger in protest. ‘as much as the council loved to boast about their intelligence, you know i was the one behind it all.’

   the velvety tenor of obi-wan’s laugh filled the dry tatooine air with joy, radiating through the force. and soon it was joined by the sweet tones of your own happiness as obi-wan peppered your neck and face with endless kisses, holding you lovingly against the strong, muscular build of his chest. the galaxy may have been drowning in the chaotic wake of the fall of the jedi order, but obi-wan found himself drowning in the deep, warm waters of your being and the comfort of your love. it was an endeavor he would gladly embark upon, for he knew that at the end of it all we would drown with a smile on his lips and your love filling his heart.

— fin

[smoll-tangerine]

hii nini! im a big fan of yours, ive been reading your fics ever since i was introduced to nct by a close friend of mine. i'm a rather young teen who is an aspiring author, and as a person who has never been able to explore the fanfiction side of writing before, i truly think your writing is amazing and is a rare gem. you create magic with your words, you give the reader the feels! (with a few awkward and curious encounters with... 18+ works, which are also works of art!!!1!!1 its just something i am uncomfortable with and avoid as a minor), the incredible writing kpop fanfic writing community your work inspired me create a writing blog on tumblr and i am currently eager to branch out to people with similar interests to mine. are there any tips that you could suggest for a fresh writer on tumblr (how to create au ideas, how to imitate personas we see on cameras through writing, how to decorate your blog to attract intended audiences, etc)? i would be so thankful if you replied to this <3

love,

your aspiring anon

hi aspiring anon!! 💛 thank you so much for this!! i never would have thought that my writing would elicit such reaction from someone, and i'm so honoured that my writing is inspiring to you!

idk where to start, but i can tell you that when i first started writing kpop fanfiction, i was also at the beginning of my teens (literally started writing exo fanfics when i was 13-14 years old on this website called asianfanfics)!! it's a very new and exciting time, and i honestly can't wait for you to start your journey!

i also consider myself relatively new to tumblr, only started posting stuff on this site back in august 2020 and i'm still learning every day. but when it comes to writing, it's always a single scene that prompts me to write and flesh out a whole story.

"the scene" -- the one that inspired me to write the story or an idea that i've always wanted to write about. idk how many of my fics have you read, but here's an example with once again. i've always wanted to write an nct story, so i obviously went with jaehyun because he's my bias, an exes-to-lovers!au, and "the scene" that made me write the whole thing which is:

“Do… do you hate me now?” he asked. It was a wonder how I was still able to discern his soft voice amidst the deafening crowd.

I hesitated, seriously pondering on his question and searching for the answer within deep inside me. My lips trembled upon the realization and I shook my head slightly with a tired smile.

“No, I could never hate you, Jaehyun,” I said. “But you sure gave me a reason to.”

and boom, the whole story just spawned from this scene in particular. it made me think of how i wanted to write each character, their backstories, and what happened that led them to become exes, and what other type of drama i could conjure up, and etc.

writing is such a tricky thing because you want to achieve that perfect balance between description and action. so when editing, i always ask myself -- especially when reading descriptions, verbs, etc. -- are these necessary? what do they contribute to the overall plot? am i droning/waffling/babbling without any purpose or just to reach a particular word count?

i find that the easiest way to improve your writing is to read your favourite authors works! my writing style when i was 13 compared to my current one is so different. but it's also due to how you want to write and what kind of style you want to go for. i consider myself more of a "pretty" writer and i think this aspect really shone through with come morning light where i tried to match the writing style to the story even more than i usually do, as opposed to cerca trova, which was more fast paced, hence the blunt and straight to the point-like sentences and writing style.

my favourite way to come up with new ideas or to help flesh out a story is to discuss my ideas with my (4) best friends jeongvision, sehunniepotwrites, ppangjae, and jaedore. we always message each other with new fic ideas, help each other with editing and coming up with plot twists, etc., and i think this is one of the best parts about writing fanfics and the kpop writing community on tumblr. (granted, given that i'm a very SHY person, i barely interacted with people when i first started LOL).

this is getting LONG BUT BEAR WITH ME kfjskfjs

as for how to decorate my blog, it's really up to you!! it's one of the best things about tumblr and i think that as long as you decorate it the way you like, then it's awesome because it allows your readers to have a glimpse of your personality or what you like!! i also enjoy perusing theme coding blogs because they have nice themes and that's usually where i start when i want to redo my tumblr theme :)

i really hope this was helpful!! and feel free to drop me another message in my ask if you need more advice or just wanna talk hehe (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ♥

also, can you let me know which stories of mine that led you to have your awkward and curious encounters with 18+ works? ksjfksjfs although i don't write explicit nsfw works, i do write some implied/suggestive stuff and i want to tag/write my warnings properly!!

[all-hail-the-witcher]

cuddling

here is my contribution for ace week! im literally squeezing this in at the last possible second (as its 11:32pm on 10/31 as i start this) but better late than never i suppose!!

i dont often talk about my sexuality on this blog, but i do identify as ace and its not something ive ever been overly comfortable with. but seeing the plethora of ace week fics on my dash this past week (mostly by @jaskierswolf, hi, hope you dont mind being tagged) has been so awesome and has made me feel so much more comfortable in myself that i had to write something for this :)

this is some gray romantic/ace geralt with some ace jaskier. warnings for mentions of dubious consent/ not wanting to have sex but doing it anyway. there is no explicit sexual content but it is referenced.

___

Geralt was a Witcher. His entire livelihood consisted of him doing things for humans: killing monsters, bargaining with sorceresses, fighting wars, protecting them from pretty much anything that could hurt their fragile mortal selves. It had been trained into him ever since he was a child. Do what the humans ask of you. It is your job. 

So why would sex be any different?

Humans enjoyed sex. This was something Geralt had come to learn during his time on the path. What was even worse was that some of them especially enjoyed having sex with Witchers. 

Geralt did not enjoy sex. He was not a human, and it was decidedly a human activity. But that did not stop humans from wanting to have sex with him. Some sought him out specifically, wanting to know what it was like to lie with a Witcher for a night. Others insisted on paying him for his monster hunting duties with a round. He never took pleasure in it. Sometimes he would pretend he did. He had gotten quite good at pretending over the years, learning little tricks that humans seemed to like. But the act of it itself made his skin crawl for days on end and he could feel their fingers and lips long after the marks on his skin had faded.

But he worked for humans. He couldn't deny them what they asked of him. 

He assumed Jaskier would be the same. The man was certainly human, so much so that he would flirt with grass if it came down to it (which, admittedly, Geralt had only witnessed once, and Jaskier had been very drunk at the time, but still). But he never tried to bed him, which surprised Geralt. He knew he was good, if the praises of the the people he'd laid with before were any indication Humans generally needed him for a favor and then left him to the wind. Jaskier hadn’t asked him to kill a monster or help him track down an unruly mage, and it had been years at least since they had first crossed paths. The only logical conclusion that Geralt could come to was that Jaskier was waiting for him to bed him and then he would leave, just like everyone else.

The problem was that Geralt had grown quite fond of Jaskier over the years (and his incessant flirting) and while he didn’t want the bard to leave, he also didnt want Jaskier to be miserable following him around anymore. Five years was quite a long time to wait for a round, especially in human years. Resignedly, Geralt told himself that in the next town he would lay with Jaskier and then the whole thing could be over, and they could both move on with their lives. 

He rented a room with one bed, as they often did, despite there being enough coin for one with two. Jaksier hardly noticed, flouncing off to play a few sets for the locals while Geralt went upstairs to prepare. 

He felt the characteristic tightening of his stomach and the shakiness that always came with this particular activity, but he stripped down obediently, even talking the time to rub some of the oils Jaskier liked to much into his hair before laying down on the bed to wait. 

He didn’t have to wait long. “Geralt! You’ll never believe th- whoa, were you expecting someone?” He stood in the doorway awkwardly.

“Just you,” Geralt grunted. They should get this over with. 

“Me? Geralt...did you think I wanted to have sex with you?”

“Well...” Geralt picked at the blanket, feeling foolish for having to explain himself, he thought that humans should understand these things. “Humans always need me for something. And you dont need a monster killed, so I figured....” “Oh dear heart,” Jaskier walked over and sat down on the bed next to him, running his fingers though his hair. “Please do not take this the wrong way, but I do not want to have sex with you.”

“You don’t?” Geralt was shocked. “But...humans....”

“Not all humans like sex Geralt. I certainly don’t. It makes me skin crawl and I feel all weird after. So I don’t do it. I’m still plenty romantic with people, but I dont get into bed with them.” “Hmm.” Jaskier didn’t like sex either? Maybe it wasn't a human thing after all.

“What it Geralt? That was your I’m-Contemplating-Something hum.”

“It...makes my skin crawl too.” He said carefully after a few moments. 

Jaskier’s hand slowed in his hair. “Dear heart,” he began carefully. “Do you like sex?”

Did he? No one had ever asked him what he wanted before. He didnt think he did. It didnt feel pleasant and he usually had to jump in a cold stream after. “No.”

“Then why did you want to do it with me?” “You’re human,” Geralt shrugged. “Humans either want me to kill monsters or want me in their bed. I serve humans, I can’t turn them down. You are a human.” 

"But you dont like sex?”

“No. I’m a Witcher. It’s probably the mutations. But can still get by.” Actually, now that he thought about it, from what he remembered, he’d never been much interested in it before the trials either.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tilted his chin up to look at him and he saw sadness swirling in his eyes. “Not wanting to have sex is not a Witcher thing. Plenty of humans feel the same way too. Admittedly there aren't many of us, I’ve only come across a few in my lifetime, and I think there's a word for it but I can’t remember it right now. Sex does not interest me either, but there are far more other important things in a relationship than just sex.”

Geralt was confused. “But sex is the only thing people ever wanted me for.” 

“And I’m terribly sorry about that, dear heart, but you’re with me now and I will never make you have sex with me. Have you ever- or wait, is there anything else that you dont like?”

Geralt’s head was spinning, and he was still stuck on the part where Jaskier had said that he would never make Geralt have sex with him. For the first time that evening, he felt his hands stop their shaking and something like warmth bloom inside him. “Hmm?”

“Is there anything else you dont like doing? Besides the sex bit I mean.”

Besides sex....Geralt tried to remember what came along with laying with someone. He usually blocked it all out after. “Kissing,” he finally said. “Burns my skin.”

“Alright, we’ll do none of that then.” Jaskier moved from the bed, beginning to take off his doublet and Geralt seized up for a second, afraid that Jaskier was going go back on his word, but then he reached for his nightclothes. “Are you familiar with cuddling?”

“Cuddling?” The word felt unfamiliar in his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Jaskier smiled. “Go put your nightclothes on. I think I have something that you will enjoy far better than that nasty sex business.”

So here it was then, Jasper did need him for a service after all. Geralt got out of bed and slowly pulled on his night clothes, painfully aware this would be their last night together before they parted ways for good, before returning to the bed. 

“Right, so youre just going to lay on your side, yes right like that, and then I lay behind you, see? And I put my arm around you like this, and we snuggle.” Jaskier’s breath tickled his hair.

“What do we do though?” “What do you mean, what do we do?” Despite Jaskier’s words though, he didnt seem angry. “This is it. We hold each other and enjoy each others presence. We can change positions, if you want, like you can take a turn holding me for example or I could lay on your chest, but we just hold each other close. Show each other we care. This is called cuddling.”

“Hmm.” As far as Geralt was concerned, it was far better than sex. But he knew it wouldn't last. This was all Jaskier wanted from him, clearly, which prevented Geralt from thoroughly enjoying it. 

“Where will you go?” he spoke into the silence a few long moments later. 

Jaskier paused drawing light patterns on Geralts forearm. “What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow.” Wasn't it obvious?

“Well I’ll go wherever you’re going. Just like we always have?"

“You...you’re not,” Geralt swallowed thickly. “You’re not leaving?” 

“Leaving?” Jaskier’s voice rose an octave. “Why on the continent would I be leaving?”

“You’ve got what you wanted from me, with this....cuddling business. You have no reason to stay.”

“Oh dear heart.” The next thing he knew he was being flipped around to face Jaskier. Jaskier, who had tears in his eyes that were just barely visible in the low light. Instinctively, he reached up to brush them away. “I’m cuddling with you because I care about you, because I love you. Not because I want something from you.”

“Oh.” Geralt didn’t know what to say. Jaskier loved him? No one had ever loved him before, much less cared about him or wanted him to be comfortable. 

Jaskier placed his hand on Geralt’s chest. “You never have to do anything you dont want to do with me. And if you don’t want to travel with me anymore, I’ll leave. You are your own person, Geralt, even if you are a Witcher. And you make your own decisions. You wouldn't take a contract that you felt unsafe doing, so in the same vein, you dont have to have sex with anyone if you dont want to. You make your own decisions. You dont even have to cuddle with me right now if you want to. You choose what you want to do based on what you’re comfortable doing, do you understand?”

Geralt nodded into the darkness. This was all so much. He hadn't been able to make his decisions in...well ever. And now Jaskier was giving him permission to. “I want you to stay,” he whispered. “I....care about you too.” He didnt say that he thought he could love him, he wasn't ready to say that yet. And according to Jaskier he didnt have to say it if he didnt want to. 

“Good. Now that we've got that sorted, come here,” Jaskier pulled Geralt into his chest, running his fingers through his hair delicately. Geralt closed his eyes, never had he felt more safe in his entire life. Who knew humans could be so gentle?

Just as he was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness he whispered, “Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

Geralt felt a small smile tug at his lips at hearing how own language on Jaskier’s lips. “Can we do more of this...cuddling?”

Jaskier’s laugh sounded through his chest, vibrating pleasantly against Geralt’s ear. “Of course we can, dear heart. Of course.”

___

that turned out way longer than i thought it would and its now 37 minutes late but oh well.

throw me an ask if you wanna be on my tag list!

taglist: @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @barlowarts @eminasan @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @nonegenderleftpain @electricrituals

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part V

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

“‘Justice is Dead’: Inspector Hyrule Loses her Badge for Lying in Sheikah Murder Trial”

This headline, alongside a photograph capturing the catastrophe that had been Link’s trial, was what had made the front page of the Times not long after it had all transpired. And it wasn’t the only one of its kind. Far from it. It seemed every publishing firm in town had released an article covering my epic blunder in court.

My name wasn’t unfamiliar to the masses either. As the daughter of the last pre-Yiga mayor to stand in office, anyone who read the paper regularly knew who I was. Until now, I’d been known all across town as the prodigy detective dedicated to keeping the streets free of crime, but now, all those people would look upon my face and see nothing but a filthy, lowlife perjurer.

I could live with my name being ground into the dirt by the media. What made me truly bitter beyond words was that the few individuals whom I’d once trusted and looked up to would now think the same of me.

I’d tried reaching out to Prosecutor Sigatur countless times in the hopes that she could in some way continue the investigation in my stead, but every time I called, she would never pick up. She probably saw this case as closed now anyway. I had managed to get a hold of Auntie Purah, but all she’d been willing to say to me was that she needed time to think before hanging up. As for Paya, I couldn’t even bring myself to try to contact her.

It wasn’t something I took pride in. Clearly the best thing for me to do would be to apologize to them all for my actions, most of all to Paya after all the needless grief I’d caused her. But I simply couldn’t do it. Just the idea of it felt wrong. No words that I could possibly say to them would be of any use in bettering the circumstances. I couldn’t bring Auntie Impa back. I couldn’t undo what I’d done. I couldn’t do anything. There wasn’t a single thing I was good for other than making a mockery of myself and disappointing those who’d once dared to put their faith in me. Nothing at all.

And now, to put a cherry atop the sundae of darkness and misery that my life had come to, the one person who mattered most to me, the one I’d dedicated myself to protecting, was gone, forever. Just when we’d finally found each other again. There was still so much I’d wanted to ask him, and even more that I’d wanted to say, but...

What I wouldn’t have given just to be by his side at that moment. What we did didn’t matter. Even if he and I were simply in the same room together, I’d feel more at ease. But who was I to wish for such things? I was the one who had failed him. I should’ve just testified that I’d been the one behind everything. I should’ve been the one on death row right then. Not him.

I thought recalling a happier time would perhaps help to restore me to my rational self, before it was too late, but in the end, it only proved to pour more salt in the wound.

“Alright, I’ll see you around.” Both Paya’s and my own ears perked up at the familiar, jovial voice down the hallway. “Great time catching up with you!” No sooner than we’d heard those words did Link come striding out of one of the classrooms on the left.

“Uhh...!” I turned toward Paya, who was suddenly as red as a raspberry. “I j-just remembered I had something to ask one of my teachers about!”

Just then, Link’s eyes landed on the two of us. Paya gave him a wave and a sheepish smile, both worth no more than half a second.

“You two have fun!”

Then she started to turn on her heel.

My outstretched arm just barely missed the strap of her school bag. “No, wait!”

“Bye!”

I gave a disgruntled snarl as she made her hasty retreat. She was far enough now that if I tried calling out to her, I’d only be drawing attention to myself.

“Everything alright, Zelda?”

“Link!” The boy in question was right there, just a foot’s distance or so behind me. “Oh, yes. Quite. Paya’s just...”

“She seemed busy.”

“Yes, yes,” I grumbled. Busy putting me on the spot, more like. As always. “Who was that you were talking to just now?”

“Oh, you must mean Sidon!” he exclaimed. “He and I knew each other in elementary school. He just transferred here last week, or so I’m told. What a small world we live in!”

He spoke animatedly, gesturing with his whole body as he told me tales of the mischief he and his childhood friends used to get up to. Though he himself had only been enrolled here since the start of that year, it seemed he already knew everyone on campus. Even the members of faculty were fond of him.

“So I heard you got in touch with my father again the other day,” he said as we rounded the corner of the building’s exterior on the way to our usual lunch spot.

“Oh, yes, I did!” He took a seat next to me on the concrete bench in front of the greenhouse.

“How’d that go?” he asked, then tore a massive bite out of his sandwich.

I winced in a mixture of worry and amazement. “Well, he didn’t really have much to contribute to my case, but I appreciate his hearing me out all the same.”

“Ah’m thure you ‘o.” He swallowed his mouthful of food before continuing, to my relief. “But he doesn’t take time out of his busy schedule to talk to just anyone, you know.”

“Oh, certainly. If it weren’t for Urbosa, I’m sure he wouldn’t even give me the time of day.”

Then a teasing grin lit up his face. “Aren’t you forgetting about someone?”

“Oh! Of course. My apologies,” I bowed, swivelling in his direction. “You’ve been a great help as well, Link. Thank you.”

A faint crease formed between his brows. “Come on now, I was only joking.” He gave my shoulder a light shove, nearly making me drop my lunch tray. “You should try being less prim and proper all the time. No one’s counting on you for anything, are they?”

“No, I suppose not.” No one amongst the living, anyway. Besides, he already had me eating lunch outside the cafeteria. How much more improper did he expect me to be? “I think it’s just the way I’ve been brought up.”

He gave a slow nod. “That’s understandable.” No doubt he could imagine how strict the CEO of Sheikah Tech. could be with her daughters sometimes. “Still, if you want my advice, try lightening up now and then. Trust me, you’ll be loads happier that way.”

My heart swelled at his kind words. If it were anyone else, I probably would have dismissed them as just another naïve optimist. “You think so?”

He shook his head, correcting me with, “I know so.”

I’d bumped his knee with my own when I’d turned to face him a short while earlier. It was then that I finally took notice of our sustained bodily contact, which in turn made me notice how little distance there really was between where he and I were now sitting.

He must’ve realized this as well. While I was still in a flustered rut about what to do, he caught me off guard and scooted even closer, until our thighs were just a hair’s breadth away from touching. I, of course, was a gawking, red-faced mess at this point, but he didn’t seem to mind. He simply kept looking at me with that disarmingly sweet smile of his.

Never in my life had I met someone more determined to keep smiling in spite of all the world’s cruelties than he was. It wasn’t ignorance; his father was none other than the district’s chief detective. He was simply, genuinely, fearless.

“Hey, so...” His mannerism had shifted out of nowhere from confident to slightly less confident. “Will you be coming back here for the horticulture club meet this afternoon? I just remembered you mentioning that the other day, and if you are going, it’d give me a reason to go.”

A rush of giddiness took hold of me, causing my heart to thrum wildly within my ribcage. “Really?”

“Oh, wait. Did I just—” He laughed into his palm, then groaned. “Did I say, ‘a reason,’ just now?” I nodded, perplexed. “I meant, ‘more reason.’ That’s what I meant to say, obviously, because I was already thinking about going before you mentioned it.”

He seemed to be telling that more to himself than to me. I did my best to reciprocate his forced chuckle. “Alright.”

“Yep...”

The bell rang in the distance, signalling five minutes until the start of class.

“Oh, dear. I’d better be off.” In a rush, I stood up and gathered my things. “My next class is on the other side of campus. Bye for now, Link!”

“Wait, Zelda!” I halted. “So...are you going?”

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my lips. “That’s what I had planned for today, yes.”

“Oh, spiffing!” His crow’s feet appeared adorably at the corners of his eyes, making my own smile grow. “I’ll see you then!”

By the time the memory had reached the end of its reel, there was a knife situated in the trembling grasp of my hand. Though the cuts were already a great deal in number, I’d barely even felt them until now. Now they stung like venom. In truth, it was most likely a result of the tears that had begun to fall upon the marred surface of my inner forearm. With this realization, my silent tears were only magnified into sobs of insurmountable extremity. The blade in my grip clattered mercilessly onto the desk. I was never going to see him again, was I?

As the salt of my tears mixed together with the little puddles of red that had formed, I caught myself staring blankly at the ball key sitting on the far end of my desk: the one Link had found at the scene of my godmother’s killing and had kept secret until the day before his conviction, when he’d entrusted it to me. Its dim, tangerine glow was just another painful reminder of how hopeless this situation really was.

Of course, being the spectacular mess of a person that I had become, I’d made the oh-so-wise decision to cut myself at the place where I carried out my chemistry experiments. With grandiosity, I oafishly spilled an entire beaker’s worth of fluid just as I’d finished wiping away the blood.

But just as I was about to go and fetch the mop, something happened that I never could’ve expected.

In the darkness of my apartment, the area on my desk where there had once been blood was glowing a strikingly brilliant blue.

I picked up the beaker that I’d knocked over. It bore the handwritten label, “5-Amino-2,3-dihydrophthalazine-1,4-dione.” Scanning the desk’s surface, something else caught my eye—something that could potentially be the “key” that I’d been searching for since the moment I’d discovered my dear godmother’s dead body.

The orange glow of the ball key, which had just so happened to find itself square in the middle of the splash zone, was being obscured by spots of blue light.

[mccnyoongi]

buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate. 

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey,  you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor. 

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman. 

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

                    ..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not. 

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. 

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive. 

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention.  You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.” 

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy. 

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs. 

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties. 

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist. 

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks. 

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess. 

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting. 

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt. 

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit. 

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.” 

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him. 

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?” 

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans.  If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture. 

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick. 

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm. 

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe. 

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable. 

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

                     ..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon. 

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year. 

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

[contrivedcoincidences6]

Obstacles

Continuing in my Dirty Hands series! Thank you as always to @otterandterrier​ for being my beta! And huge shout out to writer sprints aka the reason I finally was able to write. 

Han tossed and turned in his bunk, unable to get his fight with Leia out of his mind. The evening had started out so well. Leia’d had dinner with him, Luke and Chewie on the Falcon and it had been nice. Even nicer was how she left with Luke but circled back a few minutes later, jumping right into Han’s arms.

It was a rare quiet night for the rebels and she’d been giving him eyes all day. The foreplay of hidden looks had lasted all day, from the moment she’d greeted them at the Mako-Ta docks and until she’d snuck back onto the Falcon and finally climbed him like a tree. 

He’d been away for a week and seeing her made Han’s heart beat faster than he’d admit. The whole time they were away he’d missed her, which was against her very strict rules. 

She’d set the rules hours after their first time sleeping together, writing them up and handing them to him on a datacard to make it as impersonal as possible. He’d agreed, of course. No matter how infuriating he’d found the interaction after touching her, kissing her, being inside her, he couldn’t say no. 

She was worse than spice and twice as powerful. 

Han loved that he knew things about her that no one else did, that there were parts of her that would always be his. He wanted to find out all those hidden little secrets and collect them just for himself, to know Leia better than anyone; every scrap of information he found, he hid away for himself. 

Leia would have never admitted to missing him but he could feel in the way she held him. It was a big night in Han’s opinion—she’d surprised him by letting him be on top, which put them face to face for the first time. Han couldn’t get enough of watching her face as they moved together, unravelling so close up. This time, she hadn’t pushed him away as soon as they were done, either. 

Afterward she’d laid in his bunk with him and they’d actually talked. Han had asked her about what she’d done while he’d been away and she’d filled him in on some hilarious stories of the exploits of Luke and the other X-ing pilots. She’d been laughing at something he’d said when a lock of her usually neatly done up hair had fallen into her face. Before he could think about what he was doing, Han had pushed her hair back behind her ear. 

Something expanded in Han’s chest as she looked up at him with her large liquid eyes. He’d traced his thumb along her cheekbone and moved his fingers into her braids. Han had kissed her then, and she’d hesitated for just a moment before returning his affections. 

Their kisses had remained sweet and slow. Han’s fingers had moved on their own accord into Leia’s hair and he’d begun to undo her braids. 

She’d frozen and, after a moment, Han had stopped. 

“What?” he’d asked when she pulled away from him.

“Don’t touch my hair. Ever.” She faced away from him, holding her hair in place. She’d covered up her half-done hair the way most people would cover their nakedness. 

Han was without words while she’d dressed, but found his voice before she left. 

“Yeah goodnight to you, too, sweetheart,” he’d grunted out snidely. 

“If you can’t follow the rules I’ve set out, then this is over.” 

She hadn’t looked back before leaving the room, and a baffled Han, behind.

Hours later, he still couldn’t sleep. He rolled over and buried his head into his pillow before quickly throwing it to the ground and pounding a fist onto the bunk. 

It smelled like her. Stang, how did it still smell like her? 

Leia haunted him like a ghost. 

Knowing he was in for a long sleepless night, Han decided to take a walk, maybe train with his blaster for a bit, shooting something might make him feel better. 

Mako Ta was the fanciest base the Rebellion had. It was state of the art, fitted out with a gymnasium that catered to all manner of sentients, and Han, though not usually the most athletic type, decided he wanted to work off some energy. The simulated battle course would suit him nicely.

Despite how late (or early really) it was in ship time, the gym had a good amount of beings using its facilities. A pair of Mirialans jogged past him on his way in and he could feel their eyes on him as they passed. He looked back over his shoulder and one of them was still admiring him. She was pretty, with yellow skin and dark matching tattoos on her cheek. She smiled at him in a knowing way and he took a moment to admire her, wink, and pretend he was interested in anyone but Leia. 

He’d just passed a large swimming pool where all manner of aquatics were gathered when his attention was drawn to a growing crowd over by his planned destination. Han had no interest in running or swimming but he liked the obstacle courses that filled the back of the gymnasium. They required use of his mind, body, and blaster in concert, and exhausted him thoroughly. On this night, though, a small crowd was gathered around watching two people leaping and shooting in one of the holo simulations designed to look like a jungle from Yavin IV.

The course was set to look like the jungle planet and it featured holo Walkers and Stormtroopers, making the participants run through the simulated landscape while under attack.

Han stopped in his tracks when he identified the two humans as Luke and Leia. They worked perfectly together, almost like they were reading each other’s every thought. There were no words between the two, but they covered each other from the fake blaster fire as they ran on the fast treadmill turned jungle. 

The courses were beautifully done, created to feel truly real. The user could even add heat, cold, precipitation, and adjust the pain level for the blaster fire. Leia’s brow was covered in sweat, flyaway hairs plastered to her face, which was filled with intense focus, but also a type of exhilaration he’d come to look for in her. 

The Leia Organa who always acted so serious actually craved adventure and excitement. It was the look she wore when they were sneaking around, but here she was wearing a similar look as she ran the course with Luke. Han wanted to walk away, but the strange battle dance that she and Luke were performing was difficult to look away from. 

Leia in particular was a wonder as she leapt over surprise barriers and dodged oncoming hits like a born warrior. 

Force, he was falling for this woman. 

The end of the course was signified by two X-wings waiting in the holo hangar, and when they reached their goal the small crowd cheered. Luke and Leia waited for a score to come up and, unsurprising to all who’d been watching, they took the top spot. Leia let out an uncharacteristic whoop and launched herself at Luke, who spun her around. 

The onlookers moved forward to talk to them as Han decided it was time he left. 

She looked happy; he didn’t want to ruin that. 

He was so deep into his own self-pitying thoughts that he hadn’t heard the running footsteps behind him. 

“Hey, Han.” 

He was so shocked to hear Leia’s out of breath voice that he stopped fast. 

“Good performance out there, Your Highness,” Han spat out as she came into his vision. 

Her face transformed from curious, to irritated, to forced calm in a matter of seconds and he watched her take a deep breath to calm herself. 

“Listen, Han, I’m sorry.” 

Convinced he’d not heard her right, Han just gaped at her. 

“Did you hear me? ‘Cause I’m not saying it again.” 

After that he was sure he’d actually heard her and he rolled his eyes. 

“Look I’m trying to apologize, it’s just—” her voice lowered and she looked around, “Hair, specifically, unbraiding a woman’s hair, is very… intimate… on Alderaan.” 

When she realized she’d referred to her home planet in the present tense, she flinched. 

“Was intimate on Alderaan, and it’s still that way for my people. I realize that you were not aware of that custom, so, I’m sorry for getting angry.”

Her face was red from the running but he could tell the apology was also contributing to the blush, and hearing her actually talk about her lost homeworld caused a pang in his chest. 

“It’s alright, Princess, thanks,” he waved it off, as if he hadn’t been losing sleep over the whole thing. 

“Right, um, thank you.” 

They stood there distinctly uncomfortable for a few seconds, Leia still catching her breath, until Han hooked a thumb back over his shoulder, indicating the course she’d just finished. 

“I meant it, by the way, nice work out there. You guys are a good team.” He really hadn’t meant for the last part to sound bitter but somehow it left his mouth that way.

If Leia noticed the slight venom in his voice, she didn’t show it. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not really fair when I’m teamed up with a Jedi in training; of course he’s going to win.”

Han shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve seen Luke run that course with others and even alone, he’s never done so well.” 

He didn’t know why he persisted; it was like the need to push on a bruise or pick at a hangnail, he couldn't help digging his grave deeper. 

Eyebrows drawn, Leia looked away and said, “I guess.” 

They were silent again for another moment until Luke’s excited shout broke them out of their awkward spell. 

“Han, old buddy! How are ya? Did you just see that? Leia and I broke the record!” Luke’s face was pure joy and Han couldn’t help but return the smile. 

“Yeah, good work, kid, they’ll have to invent a new level just for you two!” 

“Join us next time! I bet with the three of us we can beat the trio round too!”

Han chuckled and didn’t meet Leia’s eyes. “Sure, next time.” 

Both Han and Leia noticed Luke’s eyes trail away to see Wedge entering the gym. 

“I’ve got to tell Wedge, he’ll be so mad! Night guys!” Luke looked down at his chrono and shrugged. “Or morning I guess,” he corrected, and jogged off. 

Han and Leia’s eyes met then. 

“I better….” 

“Yeah—” 

They nodded at each other and hurried off in random, opposite directions. Han looked back over his shoulder for just a moment to catch her retreating back, but he turned away before he caught her own last look. 

She’d be the death of him.

[sneakystorms]

Criticisms of gbbo episodes ranked on their validity based on my uneducated opinions because it's past midnight and i can't sleep:

"Someone who consistently underperforms shouldn't get to stay while a person who's consistently great goes home because of a bad week" - invalid. It's explicitly the premise of the show that they decide who stays and who goes based on weekly, not overall, performance. You can argue it's unfair and creates situations that are unsatisfying to watch, but it is the rule of the game - at least this season it has been, ive seen someone say that it was different in previous seasons but ive only seen this one sooo

"Even judging solely by this week's performance, laura should have went home instead of hermine" - hard to say for sure but I'm inclined to agree. Since I'm not a pro chef who knows exactly what is important in each bake, and i wasn't there to try the flavours and texture, and we're shown a version of the events that is edited and incomplete, there's no real way to give an objectively correct verdict from my couch. But considering that laura failed the technical pretty spectacularly AND did poorly in the showstopper (yes apparently her flavours were great but it was repeatedly stated that presentation matters a lot in this round) whereas hermine only did poorly in the showstopper (and I'd argue should have been first in technical) i think it would have been fairer to send laura home

"Feels suspicious that the last person of colour got booted and left three white people in the final" it does! But we shouldn't focus exclusively on this person of colour just because they were the last one - every booting of a person of colour contributed to this end result equally. So this criticism is valid, but somewhat misdirected/overly narrow

"That pond pudding looks disgusting, i can't believe they made them do that" i thought the same at first, but reading an explanation of the process makes it actually sound kind of tasty? Apparently the lemon is cooked so long that it caramelizes a little, and it's super soft and delicious

"The technicals are getting ridiculous with how little time and directions the contestants are given" - valid. This was especially obvious last week as they were simply not given enough time to comfortably complete the challenge. I understand the underlying assumption that less room to breathe equals more tension and drama, but it should be carefully balanced to ensure that this kind of situation - where everyone fails - doesn't happen, because it is incredibly unsatisfying to watch.

"The two comedians are unfunny" - 100% valid i hate their stupid bits with a passion

"Paul and/or pru are too mean" - i don't see it? Sure, Paul has a stern, intimidating show persona and they both try to look like they're always giving it straight, but they rarely seem overly mean and when they praise someone (which happens often) they do it quite kindly. The only time I'd agree wholeheartedly is those occasional moments when paul takes someone's bake and disimissively throws it on the plate or pokes it around the display, harshly criticizing it but doing so in this faux unaffected voice. Yeah it generally only happens when the bake is really bad but that shit is mean and unnecessary. But even then it's kind of like... It's reality tv. I feel like you shouldn't get so upset over something that's such a staple of the genre? Some people seem to really be out there getting genuinely furious at paul the human being for being occassionally mean in a reality tv show when that's basically in his job description

The colour correction is too much - havent seen anyone else complain about this but oh my god. Oh my god. Peter looks like an anime character. Half the ppls faces are the colour of a lobster. Prus glasses make ne want to claw my eyes out. Christ.

[eveafray]

Percabeth Headcanon #1

In the dark!Percy AU, Percy and Annabeth’s relationship is similar to Achilles and Patroclus. Percy is a powerful demigod, a monster, who’s rage could change fate (something which has never been done before) and bring down the gods, similar to Achilles. Annabeth, like Patroclus, ties Percy to his humanity. 

-

In light of the recent announcement of the new PJO adaptation on Disney+, I have once again fallen into Tartarus. Anyway, I know the fandom has different views on dark!Percy, but personally, d!P to me is an uncontrollable force, and honestly vaguely reminds me of Achilles.

okay hear me out

For some reason (which we all know to be Percy’s own self-deprecating thoughts), the fandom sees Percy as this goofy, dumbass kid who relies on Annabeth (dependent, really) most of the time which is not true?? Percy and Annabeth are both strong, wonderful characters who are together because they choose and want to be together, not because they necessarily need each other. They have formed a bond of deep intimacy and love and passion over the 5+ years they have known each other that not even the gods could break. Furthermore, they’ve always proven their own worth and contributed to quests and improved each other because they are a team.

Percy is smart as fuck, and I think the reason the fandom views him the way they do is because we have the entire PJO series in Percy’s point of view, where he constantly puts himself down and believes himself to be stupid (not surprising, seeing how Gabe abused him and how his teachers have given up on him). Not only that, Percy is also overpowered as fuck so like...

Anyway, in a dark!Percy AU I don’t believe he will ever actually be abusive or anything of that sort (he will never become like Gabe). Instead, d!P is always just filled with rage and madness and bloodlust that he can barely control and the one who helps him help himself is of course...

Annabeth

Who else could it be but Annabeth? His best friend, his person... One of the main reasons why he’s so filled with rage in the first place.

The gods have put her, and countless others before her, through pain and suffering time and time again. They raise children to be warriors, robbing them of their childhood because of the blood they did not ask for. (a voice constantly whispers “luke was right” and every time something dark brews in percys eyes)

Annabeth is not pure in Percy’s eyes. She has killed, just as he had, and she had been through Tartarus with him. She had always been there, by his side. Even when he got his memories taken away from him, Annabeth was still there, in his heart, and goddamn if she’s ever gonna let her go. But even though, even when she had suffered just as he had, her eyes are still clear and bright and gray and unwavering. She is a constant in his life and it is only her presence that serves as a guiding light for him to clear his thoughts and control himself. 

Idk Percabeth just resembles Patrochilles so much and ofc their (percabeth’s) relationship is not entirely healthy in the dark!au 

and yeah i dont really know where im going with this but ugh its been so many years since ive read the series but im still so mad bc fuck the gods honestly

might add a second part with annabeths relationship with d!p and honestly annabeth might even be a little dark herself

[ladylooter]

ladylooter’s guide to watching Lupin III

I was inspired by @despairfiles​‘ guide to watching the Fate series as well as mutuals who have expressed interest in interacting with my Fujiko muse but were either completely unfamiliar with the Lupin III franchise or hadn’t seen any of the shows/movies/OVAs/TV specials in awhile. So I’m going to use this post to share my recommendations of where Lupin fans (and soon-to-be fans!) can start with the franchise. I’ll make a note first: these opinions are my own and there’s no ‘correct’ way to watch the various anime offerings. Some Lupin fans may disagree with me, and that’s great! Personally, I think there’s something in the Lupin fandom for every fan to enjoy, depending on your tastes. This is just my personal recommendation, based on the vast (seriously, a lot) of Lupin I’ve watched over the years.

But first, the basics:

Lupin the Third (often stylized as Lupin III) began as a manga in the 1960s by creator Monkey Punch. It spawned a media franchise featuring the manga, two pilot films, six television series, countless movies/OVAs/TV specials, video games, live action movies, a CG movie, and more. It stars Arsene Lupin III, the grandson of the original Arsene Lupin, who is considered the world’s greatest thief. He often teams up with the likes of Daisuke Jigen (expert marksman), Goemon Ishikawa XIII (expert swordsman), and on occasion, Fujiko Mine (expert seductress and betrayer). The four (though mostly Lupin), are constantly pursued by Inspector Zenigata of Interpol, who will stop at nothing to apprehend Lupin III.

A note about this guide: While the thoughts are my own, none of the images are. I tried to pull photos that represent the various recommendations I give here.

Where to watch: I’ll always advise to find legal copies of Lupin III shows and films. With so much content, there’s a variety of ways to watch. If you’re in the United States or have access to US-based streaming services, I’d recommend checking Hulu (Lupin III Part II is on there still, I believe) and Crunchyroll (Lupin III Parts I, II, III, IV and V are there). Movies and The Woman Called Fujiko Mine are a little more difficult to find nowadays, but you can often find out of print Funimation discs on secondhand sites as well as a variety of licensed Lupin movies from Discotek. But if you have your own means to track down content, I’m not going to judge you. 

Onto the guide!

Part I - I’m completely new to Lupin III…

...And I only want to watch one movie to see if I like it!

If you only want to commit to one movie, I’d recommend choosing Lupin III Episode 0: The First Contact. Lupin as a franchise has negative continuity, so there’s multiple ways the cast meets and interacts with one another. First Contact does this in a very succinct fashion while not losing a lot of the more traditional, common Lupin tropes. You’ll be introduced to the main five characters, see some heists, and get an idea of what the franchise is (mostly) about. 

In short, the plot revolves around a story Daisuke Jigen retells to a reporter about how Lupin and the gang first met. The main five members of the cast are also supplemented by interesting side characters (who aren’t just there to be plot devices. This happens a lot in the Lupin franchise unfortunately). 

I really liked this! What do I watch next? Almost any of the movies/OVAs/TV specials you want, as well as Part II or Part IV. If you don’t mind a darker take on Lupin or with more questionable plots, then Part I or The Woman Called Fujiko Mine could be for you. But I’d suggest Parts II or IV if you want to watch a TV series.

...And I want to watch a few episodes! I love humor, wacky hijinks, and don’t mind older animation.

Look no further than Lupin III Part II! This Lupin series is what you may remember being broadcast on Adult Swim in the early 2000s. It consists of 155 episodes and aired between 1977-1980. But don’t worry, you do not need to watch all of them, or even watch them in order! Most plotlines are contained to one episode, so you can skip around and watch what you’d like. The content is light, most everything is focused around crime capers, and there’s a lot of humor and pop culture references (well, pop culture for the late 70s). Episodes 145 and 155 are particularly highly regarded as they were directed by pre-Studio Ghibli Hayao Miyazaki. 

In short, the best way to figure out which episodes to watch are to read the titles or see thumbnails and see if it interests you. Or you can watch from the beginning, but that’s a lot of anime to go through!

I really liked this! What do I watch next? I’d recommend the two following movies: The Mystery of Mamo and The Castle of Cagliostro. Mamo was Lupin III’s first feature film and is a bit darker and mature in tone than Lupin III Part II (as well as some rough animation), but the plot is fantastic. Cagliostro is a classic, and Hayao Miyazaki’s first feature film. It’s just a great movie in general and has one of the best car chases in cinematic history. My only advice for Cagliostro? Know that the Lupin gang (especially Lupin and Fujiko) are far nicer and altruistic than their portrayals in other Lupin media. Watch it with the mindset of it being a Miyazaki/Studio Ghibli take on Lupin and being very family-friendly.

...And I want to watch a few episodes! I love heists and capers, but I prefer more contemporary animation.

You can’t go wrong with Lupin III Part IV! Also known as “The Italian Adventure,” this series takes place mostly in Italy and San Marino. It opens with Lupin’s marriage (yes, marriage) to Rebecca Rossellini, a wealthy heiress who has way more fun being a thief. It aired in 2015 in Japan and 2017 on Adult Swim’s Toonami block in the United States. 

It has plenty lighthearted moments similar to Part II, but unlike Part II it does need to be watched in full. Some episodes are self-contained capers but there is an overarching story that spans the entire season. Luckily, it’s only 26 episodes. The animation is stunning, the main cast is very much reminiscent of the gang Lupin fans know and love, and Part IV also has the addition of a more consistent female member of the cast other than Fujiko in Rebecca (and the two play off each other rather hilariously!). 

I really liked this! What do I watch next? You could watch the TV special Lupin III: The Italian Game, but a good amount of the film will rehash content from Part IV. Instead, I’d recommend watching Lupin III Part V. Taking place mostly in France, it’s the natural successor to Part IV. While you don’t see much of Rebecca, you do get another female member of the main cast named Ami. Part V also recently aired on Adult Swim’s Toonami block in 2019.

...And I want to watch a few episodes! I want to start at the very beginning to see how the characters have evolved and changed over time (and I don’t mind older animation).

Then you should start with Lupin III Part I.  Originally broadcast in 1971-1972, it’s one of the interpretations that’s closer to the original manga. It was the first anime series in Japan with a mature feel and aimed at an adult audience, so don’t be surprised if there’s a bit more lewd humor and violence. There’s a lot more sinister organizations for the gang to rob and far less of an emphasis on the happy, upbeat Lupin portrayal that’s found in later installments.

I really liked this! What should I watch next? Lupin III: The Fuma Conspiracy. It still features green jacket (Part I, when it was released) Lupin and is overall a good movie. The Japanese dub of this will be a little jarring if you’ve watched other subtitled Lupin: the entire voice cast was changed for this specific movie only. Otherwise, I’d recommend checking out Lupin III Part II or The Woman Called Fujiko Mine.  

Part II - I’m a returning fan to Lupin III...

...And I want to see a darker, grittier Lupin gang.

The Woman Called Fujiko Mine. You will not get a darker, gritter take on the Lupin franchise in anime than The Woman Called Fujiko Mine. Tone and design are very close to the original manga and it’s the only series that has Fujiko as the main character (I’m also a bit biased: this is one of my favorite contributions to the franchise). The 13 episode series details how Fujiko met Lupin, Jigen, Goemon, and Zenigata (gotta love the Negative Continuity!), and the various missions she undertakes while she tries to outrun her past. 

You’ll get some very different characterizations for some of the main cast (especially Zenigata) and as the series is much more dark and adult in nature, it has copious amounts of nudity (mostly for Fujiko. She’s completely naked for the entire opening credits), drugs, alcohol, smoking, and implied sex (among other things that would be considered spoilers). 

Literally. I cannot stress the nudity, drugs, and sex aspects enough for this show. It’s also the only entry into the Lupin III franchise to be directed by a woman. I’d say that if you’re a fan of Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo, you’ll likely enjoy this addition to the franchise.

I really liked this! What do I watch next? You’ll want to watch the trio of films meant to follow TWCFM and have a similar art style: Jigen’s Gravestone, Goemon’s Blood Spray, and Fujiko’s Lie. None of them necessarily reference the series, but they have similar tone and design and are meant as spinoffs/continuations. They’re all relatively short films (an hour or less). If you’re already pretty familiar with Lupin, don’t miss the shoutout to The Mystery of Mamo in Jigen’s Gravestone. 

...And I want to see some great heists and overall fun that reminds me of Lupin III Part II!

Scroll up and see everything I wrote for Lupin III Part IV: The Italian Adventure. :) If you haven’t watched Lupin in awhile but love the red jacket era Lupin, you’ll want to start on Part IV. It has nicer animation with a similar feel. 

...And I want to watch some movies/OVAs/Specials! What do you recommend?

Beyond everything already recommended on this list? There’s a lot of movies out there, but here are some of my favorites:

Generally good story/art contributions to the Lupin III franchise:

Tokyo Crisis

Dead or Alive (This was directed by Monkey Punch himself!)

Voyage to Danger

Island of Assassins

Alcatraz Connection

Green vs. Red (this one is good for fans who’ve seen quite a bit of the franchise already. It was made to celebrate Lupin’s 40th anniversary)

The Travels of Marco Polo ~Another Page~

Lupin III: The First (The newest addition and the first CGI Lupin III movie! It’s coming to theaters in the USA shortly and will arrive on blu-ray in January 2021)

So bad they’re good at times:

Farewell to Nostradamus (I’m biased towards this one for a reason. Also, the opening sequence is great)

The Columbus Files: Fujiko’s Unlucky Days (Look I’m here for amnesiac Fujiko and I admit it)

Dragon of Doom (Great if you like Goemon, a little basic otherwise)

So there you have it. I hope you enjoy getting into Lupin III!

[atinytokki]

My Way

iv. Best Case Scenario

There was no point in trying to sneak back into the Hall. 

Hongjoong had left the familiar comfort of his former home behind, scared out of reading his mother’s diary by a group of strangers who had been arriving to cart away their belongings, auctioning them off to who knows where.

It was all he needed to know his relatives had gone through with selling the cottage.

So he hid the book in the floorboards, walking back to Jangwon on tired feet, nowhere else to go, and took the verbal beating he knew to expect for running off like he had.

Except it wasn’t just Aunt Minkyung. It was Aunt Ajung, and Aunt Sohee, and even Sohee’s son Myungsoo and his fiancée Bora.

Hongjoong sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation, slowing to a stop in front of them.

It looked like they would be causing a scene in the entryway. One Hongjoong should’ve expected. 

“Where have you been all night?” Minkyung snapped. Hongjoong didn’t even get a chance to answer.

“And the night before the funeral, no less!” Aunt Ajung muttered, clearly more upset about the inconvenience than anything else.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were? We thought we’d have to send a search party—” Sohee began but was interrupted by Aunt Minkyung again.

“You could’ve died, do you realise that?”

“Well, sorry to disappoint,” Hongjoong finally shot back, trying to get around the imposing gaggle of relations.

Scandalised gasps went up all around him but he kept walking.

The pair of gardeners tending the front lawn were wide-eyed and whispering to each other.

Suddenly someone yanked on Hongjoong’s arm, pulling him back. He was confronted with Aunt Minkyung’s incredibly red face, arm raised as if to deliver a slap.

“How dare you show such disrespect, you ungrateful—”

“Let me through!” Cousin Seyong’s voice broke through the chaos as he pushed past the crowd and pulled Hongjoong out of his mother’s firm grip. “No time, he needs to get ready.”

Confused but grateful to be whisked away from the confrontation, Hongjoong followed Seyong into the private wing occupied by the master of the hall and his immediate family, where Hongjoong had spent the night previously.

Yujung was there waiting and shushed Hongjoong before he could ask anything, scanning him up and down.

“Look at you, you’re filthy.”

He had nothing to say on the matter, so he let himself be scrubbed, washed, rinsed, and dressed. He had to admit as he stood in his best clothes and let Yujung wrangle his hair into something presentable, that it felt kind of nice. Something he had missed.

“You’re taking care of me.”

It sounded like a statement but underneath the emotionless exterior it was a question.

“Well, nothing’s decided. Not until this evening.”

They still had a funeral to get through. 

Hongjoong nodded quickly and steeled himself. There was no guarantee of anything anymore. He knew that the moment the storm split their boat in two.

...

The sky was grey. No sunshine, and no rain. Just another average overcast day.

Everyone was assembled behind Jangwon on a hill facing east, the highest point in the town.

They were there, bathed in incense and dressed in grave clothes. They had already been bound in shrouds and waited to be lowered into the ground, with a final nail driven into the coffin lid symbolising the finality of their departure from this world. Those bodies weren’t Hongjoong’s parents anymore.

Uncle Ryeowook was reading off a speech about them, their achievements and contributions to Panhang, their dedication to their family and community, and most of all their tragic reminder to be cautious on the sea.

He said nothing about their kindness or their sense of humour. He wouldn’t remember them by their patience as teachers or their example of bravery. He didn’t know those things about them.

One by one, visitors came up and bowed twice to pay their respects. Hongjoong recognised nearly everyone, and tried not to make eye contact with his former friends and classmates. 

His old neighbour Bosung placed a hand on his shoulder silently but left without saying anything else. Hongjoong was glad for it- the fewer awkward conversations, the better. Who knew what would become of those relationships, cut off and fizzled into nothingness once he became prisoner at his family’s behest. 

Tuning out the loud wails of the women and turning away from the solemn faces of the men, Hongjoong’s eyes went to the ocean, imagining his parents waiting for him to hurry up and get on the boat so they could set sail and start their day.

When the guests dispersed to drink and stuff their faces with ceremonial food, Hongjoong lingered to bow one last time.

It was deep and long and full of emotions and apologies. The tears he kept at bay.

As he stood, he pictured them casting off without him, leaving him behind to explore fairer shores.

But it was alright, he could be patient.

He’d join them when it was time.

He wasn’t overwhelmed with sadness anymore; he was quietly but fiercely angry. 

Nothing Mother and Father needed to know about.

... 

“I know about the gossip.”

An embarrassed Yujung turned from where she had been scolding a whispering servant and faced Hongjoong.

He kept talking, mindlessly slicing into pieces of fruit but neglecting to eat them.

“They throw the word orphan around, they say I’ll never inherit anything. That I’m no better than a servant in my own home.”

“It doesn’t matter what they say,” Yujung insisted, shooing away the servants before they could do anymore harm and sitting down across from him, grabbing his arm with conviction.

The action shocked him into slicing himself, flinching at the small trickle of blood coming from his hand. The wound barely registered as Yujung hurriedly snatched up a handkerchief and pressed it to the cut. Hongjoong simply shook his head and went on, “But it’s true. In the best case scenario, I’ll be granted some form of independence until I can escape and take care of myself.”

“Don’t speak like that,” Yujung scolded quietly, with a lot less vigour than anyone else in the Hall would’ve. “We want what’s best for you.”

“Maybe you want what’s best for me,” Hongjoong chuckled dryly. “No one else in this house does.”

He had been snacking on leftover fruit from the funeral all afternoon while his aunts and uncles entertained their guests and then shut the study door again so they could discuss his future living arrangements.

Eventually even Yujung had to leave and give them her opinion. Hongjoong didn’t have much hope in her ability to better his situation, not after what happened last time.

One of the servants came and called him to the room at half past six.

Now was the part when they stopped talking about him behind his back and invited him to the face to face conversation.

Uncle Ryeowook beckoned him forward around the side of the desk and so he went, ignoring the eyes he could feel on him.

“Assuming you don’t want to be sent to an orphanage, we’ve come up with a solution, Hongjoong.” 

He said it like he should be grateful for such merciful intervention.

“We think you’ll like it,” Aunt Minkyung added from behind her husband. “Very much in fact.”

Aunt Ajung got straight to the point, reading from the legal document the assembled family members had drafted up. “Technically, you’ll be in the custody of the master of the hall, that’s Ryeowook, but Seyong and Yujung will be your primary caretakers until they have children of their own, as Ryeowook and Minkyung have little time and patience for another child.”

Well, that was a relief.

“Your education will continue under the family tutor, but at your age we’ll be expecting you to work for your keep. In the fields, or the mines, or the kitchens— wherever you’re needed. It will depend on the day.”

It was bare minimum provision, with the slight advantage that he’d be in the care of the least abhorrent of his relatives, but bare minimum nonetheless.

Aunt Minkyung smiled a tight smile at him like she was confused why he wasn’t on his knees thanking them. “It’ll be useful to have someone so flexible helping to run Jangwon!” She explained cheerfully.

Hongjoong knew what they were playing at.

He was old enough to take on responsibility but young enough not to be granted freedom.

He was well bred enough to be taught social graces but low enough on the ladder to work for free.

So he simply bowed to each of his superiors, extra deeply to Seyong and Yujung, and padded upstairs silently like the outcast he was.

Minutes or hours later- he couldn’t be sure- his new guardians came to find him sitting by the window watching the sun shrink behind the clouds.

The mysterious stranger’s prediction had been right. The second storm was arriving after all.

Cousin Seyong cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried to offer some condolence. “I’m sorry, it’s the best we could do...”

“But I did push for them to give you more time,” Yujung broke in. “Time to, you know, grieve and... and integrate with the routine here... all of that.”

Hongjoong turned to face them and forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. The meeting could’ve turned out a lot worse. “Is there any way I’ll be allowed out on my own from now on?”

The couple glanced at each other indecisively. They’d never been parents, they hadn’t the first clue how to proceed with respects to a boy already approaching his teens.

“Well, you’ve run away once, I wouldn’t put it past you to do so again,” Seyong sighed honestly. “Perhaps as long as you stay away from the cliffside and the beach...”

“Provided you tell us when and where,” Yujung amended quickly. “And you’re always encouraged to bring someone with you.”

“Not that you’ll have much time for wandering anyway,” Cousin Seyong pointed out, pulling the curtains shut, blocking Hongjoong’s view of the coast, and preparing to leave the room. “You’ll be busy with lessons and work and such.”

Keeping him occupied so he couldn’t cause trouble. That was the plan.

Hongjoong nodded his acceptance of the conditions and bade both of them goodnight. 

They were worried about him, he could see that, but things were off to such a clumsy start, Hongjoong didn’t put much on their ability to control him.

Not when he already had a destination in mind.

For most of the day he’d sat alone while chaos ensued around him. There would be a small window of time for him to get away unseen but he knew the road well.

As he lay awake, he thought of the family moving into his cottage tomorrow morning. They would have no idea what it had once been like. Maybe they would even move the furniture or change the decorations.

It wouldn’t hurt to simply observe the proceedings from a safe distance, he decided. 

Rain was falling on the windows, and his pillow had grown wet, but only from his own tears. 

His aunts always told him not to cry, but they weren’t around to admonish him.

For once, he was happy to be alone.

...

A/N: Another sombre update from me :,) Forgive me if the chapters are sparser because of school. Don’t forget to like and rb <3

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[eternalcantarella]

Entropy - Chapter 2: Horseman of The Apocalypse - Joker/Reader

Entropy

  Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 17.9k

  A/N: Medical specifics - I know the rod of asclepius is more for professional healthcare usage and caduceus is for commercial usage, but I chose to use a hybridisation of both asclepius and caduceus rods instead because its symbolism was slightly more in line with what I want to portray. Sorry for the inconsistency with practical usage! This chapter took me a while to write, and I didn't expect it to turn out this long. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! 

  Inspirations: Trafalgar Law’s speech on the new era (One Piece), Amaya & Aiko no Akatsuki's Deisaku writing - Pinky Bruiser (Deisaku fans should totally check this out), Town of Salem's Plaguebearer role.

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

###

He sat in the long corridor, his legs crossed. His posture was laid back, with his tablet propped up on his lap. He tried to get used to the stiff teal plastic seat, secured to the wall behind him, but it was extremely uncomfortable and he kept readjusting his position. He tried to distract himself with the forthcoming plans for the week ahead with Gotham Press Holdings, refreshing his email to check for updates from his superiors. Unfortunately, he could not find the urge to open those mails. He leaned forward in his seat, his hand instinctively searching for the familiar spot on his chin.

  The thin and bitter smell of antiseptic and cleaning products was invasive, acrid and stinging as it caused him to look away and stare at his other hand, twisting and knotting it as if doing so would hold back the unrest threatening to break within him. A man was whisked on a hospital bed right past him down the narrow corridor, and he was greeted with the disturbance of coughing, hacking and wheezing in the Emergency Department waiting room. He found the closest antibacterial hand dispenser, which was fortunately right beside him, and started working it like a gambling addict hitting up a VLT machine.

  In a disorienting ambulance ride earlier, claustrophobia had closed in on him. He stood hovering over the stretcher, trying to rationally articulate the details surrounding your predicament, trying to discard feelings of his rising worries for you. However, with every bump the ambulance made, his unease peaked higher. As expected, the paramedics had briefed him that prompt delivery to the Emergency Department should be a priority, and had administered their prehospital care procedure onto you. 

  While otherwise appearing to be asymptomatic, the fact that you lost consciousness was alarming. They had secured the airway as required, delivering high-flow oxygen by cupping a respirator mask over your face, obtaining IV access simultaneously. There was a tenseness to his muscles, his head a violent whirl of confusion, trying to organise the newly found chaos in his life. They had also administered a beta-antagonist as a nebulised treatment for bronchoconstriction, a paramedic explained to him as she spritzed short bursts of liquid spray up your nostrils. 

  And here he was, waiting. A suspense ate at him internally while he awaited the ED doctor’s examination results.

  While he was willing himself to check on instructions from Gotham Press Holdings, his hands betrayed his line of thought, and he instead found himself looking through his archived emails. His eyes glossed over the subject title.

  ‘Application for Blake Accounting Consultancy - Junior Data Analyst Applicant; Resume Included’

  He crinkled his eye, his lips stretching against his index finger resting against it. He always found himself unknowingly going back to this fateful letter, at different, random times with no real reason connecting them with each other. He didn’t like to express it, both visually and verbally, to you that he had come to care for you deeply. And he was wondering if he was regretting ever holding back and hiding his actions to show that care. With the current uncertainty, and your life at stake, it’s always easy to see in hindsight that there were many things he could do differently. He clicked onto the email he archived, going through the motions that took him back to simpler and more pleasant times. He indulged himself in the light breeze of familiarity and nostalgia. He would always have a sentimental longing and affection for the past, especially when it came to you.

  He remembered looking at your application and how absurd he thought it was at first glance. He vaguely recalled the contents of his job listing on Craigslist, having clearly stated that a bachelor’s degree in Computing or Data related fields was a prerequisite and lowest qualification one must have at the very least. Yet your highest form of education was trade school and coding bootcamps.

  This was almost ludicrous in his eyes, that he found it to be amusing. He was about to dismiss your application to sift through the others, without even looking at your resume. However he felt compelled to click on it, probably out of some sick sense of curiosity and humour, he supposed. He wanted to see what laughs or kicks he could get out of this.

  A condescending sense of jest bubbled in his chest when he started reading it. Perhaps this was just a joke applicant, he thought. Well, humour me. However, he found that the more he read into it, the more his smile started to falter. Being a data analyst requires very specific skills. You had recorded a very all-encompassing list of individual qualifications from courses painstakingly taken and they were all relevant to the job scope. Technical, analytical, math and creative skills. This was impressive for a non-uni graduate. You had also taken the initiative to contribute to opensource projects, demonstrating a fire and drive for the role. Not to mention the attention to detail and the amount of work put into organising this resume, to frame and market yourself in the best way possible. You had done a lot of research into this, evidently.

  From this, he could sense that being a data analyst was something you wanted to be strongly at this point in time. And while strongly wanting to be one is often not enough for a data analyst, you had the puzzle pieces arranged and chops to back it up. Perhaps what sealed the deal to offer you an interview over coffee was the thing that set you apart from other applicants. Other candidates wrote about what they wanted from this job. No one cares what they want. No one cares that they want to “leverage their skills working with a highly effective team”. Yours was focused solely on the employer’s benefit, rather than for personal gain. And one thing in particular had caught his eyes to show you were perhaps a best fit for the company.

  ‘To build an ethical and positive culture for the company from the ground up and inspire change in Gotham.’

  Given the current legal and political climate in Gotham, especially with the battles between parties of power going on, no one would care to write statements like this. No one even knew if they were submitting applications to companies deep within the mob, entrenched in corruption, or held hostage after having had debts to repay them. The mob had an iron grip on affairs at every nook and cranny of Gotham City. These types of statements were too fluffy, too idealistic, and often were not considered on job offers. However, things were changing. In a world where caped and masked vigilantes were jumping off roofs and Falcone was locked up in Arkham, he had hope. Politics were becoming more transparent, as candidates like Harvey Dent stepped up to the plate. And he would stop at nothing to make the most of this hope for a better Gotham. He had to believe in a better Gotham. He clenched his wrists and swallowed. He wanted to realise this idealistic vision he had. 

  “This mask for the anger I’ve been hiding… It’s not enough.”

  “Then channel that anger to something good, I dunno. Frankly speaking, it’s not that hard.”

  You two were sitting around a mahogany coffee table, with two plush sofas clad in burgundy fabric offering you two the luxury of sinking back into the comfort of its softness. However, you two were on the edge of your seats, not allowing yourselves to be lulled into its false sense of security and let your guards down. Your eyes were trained on each other, the air electrifying. You took a sip from the mug of your macchiato, eyes never leaving his as you tilted your coffee mug. You looked at him through your lashes, hiding behind a coy smile. Intrigued by your boldness, he quirked a brow in amusement. He sighed and pushed his laptop away from him on the table, finding no real need for it.

  “Charming. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you tell me why you hadn’t attempted college?” 

  This definitely did not feel like a job interview. He leaned back, arms folded, a smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was challenging you. You sure as hell weren’t one to back down.

  “Well, maybe it’s because some of us aren’t so lucky to have our parents afford our college fees, just so we can chase our dreams.”

  In a saccharine voice, you leaned forward, tilting your head, no longer smiling. Your lips showed the hints of a pout. John Blake stared at you, slightly confused for a moment. Was this a personal attack or something?

  “That’s very valiant of you. However, Miss, if I had to remind you of something,”

  He maintained his composure, leaning forward with a slight tension in his jaw, his smirk not falling.

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, darling.”

  You remained neutral, staying in the same position.

  “Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.” 

  He had been the one to poke you first, you thought, slightly indignant. You bit your lip and spoke again, treading dangerously.

  “If I had to take a guess, I would say you feel threatened by me.”

  John Blake raised his brows at you, possibly in disbelief at your brazenness. He lightly clenched through his teeth. Were you perhaps right?

  “Far from it, kid.”

  You glared at him for this obvious condescension. If you were anyone else, the blatant disrespect you showed him earlier would have immediately gotten you rejected. But the chemistry between you two was palpable, even then. His eyes looked at the laptop in front of him. His eyes avoided yours. He looked away, and nonchalantly he asked you.

  “Don’t you think it’s impossible to really foster an ethical company in Gotham? I mean, it’s a pretty corrupt city.”

  He stirred his coffee to feign apathy. This question wasn’t important to him. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, your voice raising in tone. You felt your indignancy rise. Affronted and outraged. What kind of question is this…?

  “What? Gotham is full of people ready to believe in good and compassion.”

  You had his attention now. And he stared at you, his eyes hard.

  “Hey, don’t you think that’s pretty naive of you?”

  “You can say that all you want about me. I don’t gain much from being an idealist, but I have to do the best I can.”

  Your voice softened towards the end. This was perhaps the first time you allowed yourself to be vulnerable in this… “Interview”. The man in front of you shifted his weight in his chair and stood up. This prompted you to stand up as well, befuddled and just mindlessly mirroring his body language.

  Satisfied with his find, he stared down his nose at you with an unreadable expression. He stuck his hand out towards you.

  “Well then kid, I believe we have a deal.”

  Dumbfounded, you took his hand hesitantly, and he gave your hand a firm squeeze, bobbing it lightly in the process. Your jaw was slightly ajar and you were confused. After all that, you were in a state of doubt. Did you really just pass this… interview?

  “Check your email for updates.”

  He picked up his coffee, downed the rest of it and held his cup up towards you, a last gesture signifying his leave. He set it down against the table with a clink and left swiftly with his laptop. 

  You will become my weapon. My tool. You will fight for me, and in exchange, I will ensure that you realise your vision, and sate your burning desires.

  He smirked. A diamond in the rough indeed.

  He was stirred out of his daze when he heard the sound of the sliding doors of the emergency ward. It revealed a doctor dressed in blue short-sleeved scrub top and pants, with a white lab coat. She held a clipboard and wore a surgical mask. The mask could not hide the sunkenness in her eyes, fatigued from being overworked during her residency. Blake stood up immediately seeing her, desperate to know the outcome of your medical evaluation.

  “Sir, I’ll cut to the chase. She will have to remain under our observation for the next forty-eight hours, and we will periodically image her with serial chest radiographs.”

  Taking a moment to take this news in, he nodded, signalling for the doctor to continue.

  “We seek your understanding, patients may develop significant signs and symptoms for as long as thirty-six hours after exposure. We checked for burns in the nasal cavity and tested for particles.”

  She sighed and stared at her clipboard, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her tennis shoes squeaked.

  “Burning was spotted, but minimal. Her airway functions are still relatively stable. Our test results revealed in her system a complex of zinc chloride and the fear gas toxin compound found in our water supply months back.”

  “I understand. Her condition is stable enough and she will recover, right?”

  He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs that would betray her jaded features.

  “I’m afraid nothing in this world is certain, sir.”

  Her voice was somber. His brows knitted. What was that supposed to mean? Realising what she uttered out, she quickly switched her expression to mask what she just said, to a more amicable one for professionalism.

  “But of course, nothing is likely to happen to her. We have databases storing synthesised antidotes and counteragents to the compounds we found.”

  He sank, his muscles losing their tension as he deflated. At least there was some solace in this situation.

  “You can check back around the same time after two days, if you’d like. She will be placed under our care til then.”

  He nodded and took that as a sign to take his leave. He grabbed the laptops from the seats and gave himself another couple of pumps of hand sanitiser solution. He sighed and felt the tension in his forehead subside a little. You always had to cause trouble for everyone involved, didn’t you? He turned his head and looked at you through the glass panes, lying unconscious on a hospital bed. He gave a snort and didn’t slow down his pace. 

  Luckily for you, you had someone who didn’t find you to be more trouble than you were worth.

###

He found the darkness strange. In the heart of Gotham city, he had grown used to having the warm, yellow-orange glow of streetlamps outside his window, light filtering in through the gaps in the curtains and seeing them whenever he walked down the street. It felt safe. Come to think of it, it was a privilege. When he took a first drive through the Narrows, there were no such safety blankets in the form of regularly spaced streetlamps. He continued staring up at the Bat-Signal, its rays projected an emblem. 

  It was shrouded in darkness. Gotham City is a bustling, urban metropolis. The signal was alone in the night sky, not a single star there to accompany it. Light pollution makes us unable to see stars in big cities. The bat was cursed to be alone in the dark. It was the only way he could exist, anyway. After all, most sightings of him caught on tape were filmed around the Narrows.

  He combed a hand through his honey blond hair, while the balmy breeze smeared against his face. He heard footsteps. Immediately, he whipped his form around, hands affixed tightly on his hips.

  “You’re a hard man to reach.”

  He walked forward, trying to seem cordial, as much as he could be. His posture was strained, however, his neck craned forward from waiting too long. He walked forward, closer to the figure and swung one arm loose, by his side. He sized him up. This was the first time he had seen him up close, and he simply remained silent. They regarded each other for a cold moment. He couldn’t expect much from him, even a response would be too much, not without Gordon around.

  He almost blended in with the darkness. His suit mirrored the plated armour of specialised jousters, but with a much more modern and practical design. He looked rigid and reminded him of a man from medieval times, a mounted warrior with ideals of chivalry and a code of conduct befitting for a nobleman. The difference was, he did not work with the state, and was in no way a perfect courtly Christian warrior.

  I believe in Harvey Dent. People needed to believe in something, just as he believed in the Batman.

  His presence, despite being mostly subdued and shadowed, did invoke a bearing to be idolised. If he weren’t Gotham’s District Attorney or the up-and-coming choice political candidate, he might have even been star-struck and giddy-headed at the sight of him. He scoffed at this. They were of the same standing in the city of Gotham, on equal footing, and they both knew it. He could feel it in his stare.

  They waited.

  The jarring sound of the door clicking open broke the uncomfortable silence. He studied Gordon, who looked just as miffed as he did. He tried to get Gordon’s attention.

  “Lau’s halfway to Hong Kong.”

  Gordon ignored him, storming forward to switch off the Bat-Signal. This rubbed Harvey Dent the wrong way. He was a little vexed.

  “You’d asked. I could’ve taken his passport―I told you to keep me in the loop.”

  Gordon was aggravated by his unpleasant overbearing insistence on being involved in the Gotham City Police Department’s investigations. He raised his voice.

  “All that was left in the vaults were marked bills. They knew we were coming, as soon as your office got involved-”

  Gordon was motioning with his hand. He waved it around temperamentally, emotion clearly clouding his judgement and choice of words. Dent felt his blood pressure rise and he definitely would not stand for these accusations against his team. He felt a vein jutting in his neck, tensing as he matched his voice level to reach Gordon’s.

  “My office? You’re sitting there with scum like Wuertz and Ramirez and you’re talking-”

  He jammed a strained finger at the ground as he stressed his words. He paused for a moment. Realisation in a recent finding gave him the upperhand. He sneered. This was turning into a full-blown argument.

  “Oh yeah Gordon. I almost had your rookie cold on a racketeering beat.”

  He jabbed more accusatory fingers directed at Gordon. God forbid his argumentative habits from the high court show through now. This was making things a lot worse.

  “Don’t try and cloud the fact that clearly Maroni’s got people in your office, Dent.”

  Gordon’s statement was final and harsh. They stared each other down. This was going nowhere. The night breeze blew against them. The Bat was silent. Quietly, he stood and analysed whether he could really trust both of these men to solve crime in Gotham together. The wariness and doubt was palpable. What makes them think they could make him trust them, when they couldn’t even trust each other?

  Dent didn’t know how to respond to this. He went silent. He couldn’t dispute or disprove this. The Maronis’ got their reigns deep within all walks of this city.

  Gordon sighed, giving up. If they couldn’t have transparency at this point, they could forget about asking for Batman’s help. He would not accept this if they were to only hinder his goal. It was embarrassing, to say the least. They would only appear to be a joke to the man. He had to relent, for starters.

  “We couldn’t detain him. He has too much power. We can’t conclusively accuse Lau at this point, and we were denied prior warrants on him. We have no data on him aside from pure speculation.”

  Looking down, Gordon bit on his bottom lip, his facial hair caught between his lip. He tugged at his pocket with exaggerated movements, looking like a jovial dad who thrived on telling dad jokes, pulling out a scrap of notes. He skimmed through it. Harvey Dent’s hands were still on his hips, gripping at his hipbone. He turned to look at the man in the dark suit.

  The three of them stood in formation, on the rooftop of the Major Crimes Unit, circling each other. They formed the three pillars of justice in Gotham. All unyielding in their beliefs of their methods of crime fighting, and their ideals. Coming to a compromise seemed near impossible moments ago.

“We need Lau back. The Chinese won’t extradite a national under any circumstances. Not that we even have the right documents to prove his involvement with the mob.”

  Batman took this chance to respond, for the first time.

  “I have no jurisdiction. I believe I personally have enough proof to track that rat down.”

  Harvey Dent raised his brows a fraction. The gall of him to talk about legal power or authority having no control over him, right in front of the DA no less. If he didn’t know better, he would say he was boasting about operating outside the law. Even if he was a vigilante, that was a bold statement. He liked that.

  “If I get him to you, can you get him to talk?”

  Batman’s voice was deep and raspy. Dent did not expect his voice to be like this. The corner of his mouths tugged a bit. This was his area of expertise.

  “I’ll get him to sing.”

  Nodding for further assertion and poise in confidence, he said so knowingly. Gordon unfolded the scrap of notes handed to him by his officers. They had brute-forced their way into the systems of the recent bank heist at Gotham National Bank. Apparently, they had digital tracks of code and graphs as potential sources of evidence for this case from a foreign system. The department, however, was not specialised enough to interpret this data definitively.

  “The GCPD only recently uncovered leads to prove Lau’s dirty work in the mob, but I suppose it’s better late than never.”

  This caught Harvey Dent’s attention. He signalled for him to elaborate.

  “We traced the source to be devices registered under the Blake Accounting Consultancy company.”

  Bringing a finger to his lip, Dent bit against it lightly. He pondered

  “We can do this concurrently while Batman forcefully extradites Lau. We need to do this fast, however. Set up an interrogation with this company, as soon as possible.”

  Dent and Gordon looked at each other. For once, they saw each other eye to eye. Gordon took in a deep breath, and nodded, this time with a lot less hesitation than before. The Bat looked at them, his focus flitting between the two, and pressed his lips together. Maybe there was hope in this after all.

  “We’re going after the mob’s life savings, things will get ugly.”

  Gordon inclined his head, indicating the urgency of this harsh truth. Gordon gave Dent a hard stare, a direct warning to the man. A pretty-boy working high up in the office, who had never gotten his hands dirty like that in the life of a city cop. He had to know what was in store for him, and Gordon wanted to see if he really was all that serious about this, rather than being purely concerned with racking political points.

  “I knew the risk when I took this job, lieutenant.”

  Harvey Dent leaned back, seeming a tad bit offended by his warning. As if he didn’t know already. Hell, someone had even pulled a gun on him in the courtroom. In Rachel’s words, as Gotham’s DA, if you’re not getting shot at, you’re not doing your job right. He decided to let it go.

  “How are you getting back in-”

  He directed his attention back onto Batman. He vanished into thin air. Dent was at a loss for words. How dysfunctional this agreement between the three of them seemed. He dared Gordon to give him an explanation. Do I really want to know, he scoffed. Gordon cocked his head derisively, a wry smile in place.  

  “He does that.”

  Pretty crude sense of humour, even for someone flying from building to building with a cape. He relaxed his upper body, hands still on his hips. He looked at the ground. He gave an audible groan. He was going to need a cold shower after all this―This absolutely baffling and absurd confrontation. It almost seemed comical. Well, he couldn’t complain. After all, he did ask for it.

###

It had been a while since you’ve woken up from your blackout. You could only see darkness. 

  Distant static noises from the television muffled in and out through your ears. When you cracked open your eyes, they still felt raw and fluttered back shut repeatedly from your drugged up state. You had no idea where you were.

  “-according to eyewitnesses, each man wore a clown mask.”

  You gripped the bed sheets. This news was… unsettlingly familiar. You felt a mild stinging pain on top of your hand with the restricted movement. It felt like plastic taped against your hand.

  “-used grenades to intimidate the hostages into submission.”

  Suddenly everything came flooding back, the feeling of fear re-imagined. You tore your eyes which were sealed shut open. You remembered the clowns. And the clown beneath the clown mask. And the sight of a live grenade beside you. You stared up at the ceiling wide-eyed, the whirring sound of a ventilator a droning hum beside your ear. You reached up to your face and touched the plastic sterile respirator cupping over your nose and mouth.

  Oh. You were in a hospital. It took a while for you to register this.

  You looked at the television and saw Gotham Tonight News. Your thoughts immediately shifted to John Blake. He had saved your life. Your eyes desperately searched the room, darting around all corners. You only saw other patients as you were in a public ward, and in your movement you unknowingly hit a button on your hospital bed with your elbow. Distant beeping noises of machines could be heard, with the occasional coughing and hacking. The feeling of grogginess was slowly subsiding. You heard footsteps coming.

  In your silent hope, you half-expected it to be John Blake. But much to your dismay, it was a doctor. She held a clipboard and wore a mask that was tucked under her chin, and a white clinical lab coat. She offered you a warm, hospitable smile, despite the tiredness that dragged down her sunken eyes.

  “Miss, I see you have woken up. We can let you rest for a while before we discharge you, you slept for longer than we have expected.”

  Longer than they had expected? How long were you out? You needed answers. You resisted and slowly tried to sit up. You gestured towards your respirator and flailed your hand around slightly. She seemed to understand you.

  “Ah, I understand. Eager to get out?”

  She continued smiling tiredly. She dislodged the mask from behind your head and took it off your face. You felt a drastic change in pressure as you tried to adjust to the current atmosphere, taking even deeper breaths and sputtering slightly. You suddenly felt breathless. She let you take a while to get used to this before working on the tube that went up your nose and down your throat. She pulled it straight from your nose, much to your horror, and you felt the friction of it sliding against your pharynx. You could have sworn you felt blood trickling down your throat. Excruciatingly, you let out a prolonged sob the more she pulled onto it. When she was done, you panted, using the back of a hand to wipe against the saliva that dribbled around your mouth.

  She took your other hand in hers and tore off the IV access, effortlessly and with little pain around that area. You stared at her behind tearful eyes. Nurses and doctors were so amicable yet did actions like this with that much intention and precision. It was daring, courageous and you guessed it took a lot for them to not be squeamish. You licked your chapped lips and proceeded to thank her.

  You looked at the golden badge pinned on her breast pocket. It was the Caduceus symbol. The omnipotent Staff of Hermes. A staff once carried by Hermes in Greek mythology, slender and splendid, entwined by a serpent coiling around the body of the staff in a downward spiral. The wand of healing. It was beautiful, magnificent, if not a bit eerie and otherworldly. You sucked in a breath. You were lost in thought. Must we really fall prey to the deceptive trickster of Eden in order to achieve greatness? Medicine is a holy tome, the all-encompassing, for the most glorious knowledge in the world. 

  Break the rules.

  To achieve greatness, you must know the truth, and to know the truth, you must take the forbidden fruit for the knowledge of all things good and evil.

  And that means walking away from the lies you were told your whole life.

  Your eyes glazed over, starry-eyed over the dreams of a past life. You stared at the healthcare worker with eyes of green. 

  No, that dream simply isn’t possible.

  Disillusionment tore at your eyes. No, it really wasn’t.

  She returned you your set of clothes from before and you changed out of the hospital gown. You were given a brief rundown of your condition, as well as pictures and radiographs of chest scans. You had suffered minor burns down your air passages and suffered from acute zinc chloride and fear gas poisoning, but the counter-agents had already been administered. Luckily for you, the actions taken against the fear gas were swift and that prevented long-term effects from creeping into your system. You would hate to be plagued with images of that darned clown for life. Soon, you found yourself at the counter, ready to be discharged. You groaned inwardly at the hospital bills this stay would rack up. You would experience mild discomfort and difficulty breathing for a while, but it wouldn’t be anything serious. You guessed that you really did owe Blake one for this time.

  Speaking of whom, you would have expected him to at least pay you a visit this one time, seeing as it was in fact a weekend. If you hadn’t gone through that terror that previous day, you would have felt a petty disappointment in him, for you felt that you were important enough for him to do that much for you. But this time, you felt a bit worried. You chewed at your cracked lips, hoping that nothing bad had happened to him while you were out. 

  You signed the relevant documents and walked towards the entrance, ready to head out when you suddenly saw a head of familiar, clean cut chestnut hair walking towards you. He wore a navy suit with a cool-toned pink tie. You felt a warmth bubble inside of you when you smiled at him. Boy were you glad to see him, and he had made it to visit you after all. You were about to reach out to him and say something, but he stopped you in your tracks only to turn you around and walk you in the same direction as him.

  “Hey kid, glad to see you’re out and all, but we have no time right now. You’ll understand when we get there.” 

  His jaw had a greater tension to it than it did normally, and his dark features were serious and silent. He didn’t really have a smile gracing his lips, but his eyes showed a hint of relief seeing you well and recovered. You were confused by this and felt a slight dejection constricting at your chest. What was with him and wouldn’t he be happy seeing you? You furrowed your brows for a moment and avoided his gaze. He handed you your laptop he stowed hastily by thrusting it into your hands. You fumbled with it and nearly dropped it. You felt your blood boil slowly, you thought to yourself, oh no you’d better not expect me to work overtime like this. You stopped in your tracks.

  “Hey―You really think I’m going to work for you at this hour, under these circumstances? You’re out of your mind.”

  He simply continued walking, not slowing down his pace. He only turned his head behind indifferently, regarding you coldly, then returned his gaze in front of him.

  “You’re not working for me today.”

  Your jaw agape, you stared at his back that was getting smaller by the second, incredulous. You’ve had it with this caginess, he was tight-lipped. Why couldn’t he just tell you anything at all? You pulled at your hair and ran ahead to catch up with him, the heels of your pumps clacking against the hospital floor. At this, you felt a fiery burst pulsating down your throat and windpipe. You ran out of oxygen very quickly and sputtered for more, the friction of air against the burn marks up your nostrils raked mercilessly through your nerves. It was obvious you couldn’t do much physically for a while. Your footsteps slowed down, but Blake’s did not. You guys had perfect communication most of the time and today was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You pleaded again, between agonising hacks, clearly vexxed.

  “Could you... at LEAST tell me what’s going on-”

  He stopped suddenly, at the west-wing entrance of Gotham General Hospital. You caught up to him, about to lose your mind at him. You gawked, your gaze landing on the sight in front of him. Your brain stutters for a moment and your eyes seem to betray you. To say that you were shocked was an understatement. You wanted to turn to Blake to confirm that you were indeed working for these people, but you couldn’t find it in you. There stood two of the most authoritative men in Gotham, hands on their hips, feet tapping impatiently. They weren’t facing each other. The vibe felt a little off. Gotham’s White Knight, Harvey Dent, and Lieutenant James Gordon. 

  “This is your Junior Data Analyst, Consultant Blake? I hope you had a speedy recovery, Miss.”

  Jim Gordon adjusted his spectacles and nodded at you, his brows frowning, a sorry expression written on his face.

  “We uh, apologise for bothering you on such short notice, but we hope you can understand.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, the name’s Harvey Dent. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you,”

  Harvey Dent stuck a warm hand out, smiling affably as you took it to give it a firm shake, shifting his eyes onto Blake at the last sentence. He was charming, just like the clips of him you’ve seen on television. You expected no less, but this level of charisma was unprecedented. You introduced yourself and smiled hesitantly, unsure, before you turned to look at Blake, hoping for an explanation. He looked at you and nodded reassuringly, the first time he had shown any real emotion to you this whole time. That made you feel slightly more relieved. The two men still didn’t exactly look at each other. Did they have some kind of beef with each other…?

  “We’re not going to waste your time and get to the point,”

  Gordon ushered you out of the hospital and into a cop car. This was your first time in one, and you were sure that you weren’t in it for illicit reasons, after seeing how John nodded at you earlier. It still unsettled you a little bit, you couldn’t be too sure. You had a read on the atmosphere after your initial shock subsided, and it was grim and urgent. You did not like this energy, no one says anything unnecessarily, probably to save time. It’s no wonder Blake was acting so unusually secretive, and uncommunicative. You felt bad now for blaming him. Blake and Harvey Dent sat to your left. Gordon took the front passenger’s seat.

  You looked up outside the windows. It was dark outside much like the way the cop car’s leather seats and roof were painted black. A return back into the concrete jungle was imminent.

  “We need your combined efforts in decoding whatever work you had on Gotham National Bank.”

  You loosened your grip on your laptop. At least you weren’t in trouble for anything. You tried to maintain eye contact with Jim Gordon through the rear-view mirror, his kind yet profound looking eyes looking deep into yours. You could almost feel his burdens undoing into you. He had a weight on his shoulders and immense responsibilities you could not even dream of imagining. Gordon was the open-book type of person, evidently.

  “Oh, is it the one proving Lau-”

  “Yes, Lau’s fraudulence and involvement with the mob. He’s still in Hong Kong. Your data could really help us with his case and get him to talk. We need to take out the big dogs.”

  Harvey Dent interjected. You turned your head towards him, and you saw his profile with his strong nose and golden hair. The golden boy of Gotham. Normally, you would be rather bothered by someone who cuts you off like that, but it felt different with Dent. Even you would defer to such absolute authority and apparent righteousness at a pressing time like this. From all his campaigns and court hearings, you could tell he was sincere in his pursuit of goodness in Gotham, he just overflowed with integrity and honour. He embodied that All-American charm, handsome, deep blue eyes monumental with some form of knightly honour. A heroic presence, almost like the kind Robert Redford sort of had. He shifted his cleft chin in thought, a hand to his temple, before he looked at you.

  “Can you present us a full analysis of your findings and write out a report by tonight?”

  He raised his brows a fraction, looking at you pleadingly with his blue eyes, lips stretched slightly with a gentle half-smile. 

  How could you say no when he had asked you with such sincerity? While he appeared to be brash at times, it was a quality that came with the job of being the city’s persecutor. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed.

  After all, wasn’t this a dream of yours? To serve in the movement for change in Gotham.

  This city is dying. It’s rotting.

  No, it was rich land for the seeds in the car sitting right beside you. And you had a part to play too, a golden opportunity had presented itself.

  “I already planned to expose that little rat, I didn’t need to be told.” 

  You looked away, snorting. You felt a slight tightening in your chest, and you cursed at the breathing difficulties caused by the smoke bomb. Blake eyed you from the corner of his eyes, trying to hide that twinkle, and his cheeks aching from holding down the pull of the sides. Harvey Dent paused, lightly taken aback by your statement, quirked his lips downwards in an arc, nodding his head unexpectedly.

  “Well then, the youth these days never fail to surprise me. Welcome aboard, Miss.”

  “Listen Mr. Dent, you’re still considered a spring chicken compared to those insufferable old farts we tolerate on a daily basis.”

  You smiled. Harvey Dent let out a hearty laugh within his chest at this joke you cracked. It did well to ease the tension for critical times like these. You did consider him to be part of your generation, at the forefront leading this revolution. John Blake looked over at Dent, adding onto your statement.

  “She’s right, you’re cut from the same cloth as us, you’re our peer. And you are the cream of the crop, the very best of us. Gotham is changing because of you.”

  “Well, I feel very flattered, but I’m not the only one. It’s all thanks to the Batman.”

  You grunted, a rumble through your chest, ignoring the pain. You’d agree to a certain extent, Batman was just the beginning. However, Harvey Dent was the culmination of all this. He was the hero with the face, the hero grounded in reality and tangible change. Batman can only go so far without the help of Harvey Dent.

  “This is inspiring stuff and all, but are we forgetting something? Or someone? Or an entire generation above you?”

  All of you turned your heads to Jim Gordon in the front seat. On the rear view mirror, Gordon had an expectant look on his face, his lips underneath that mustache pressed together in a thin line. The three of you in the backseat felt a light feather ticking your insides, threatening to break free at your throats. You all chuckled weakly, subdued laughter as you all darted your gazes, looking away at all absent corners of the cop car. You hid the humour in your voice with a stinging cough. Heaven forbid you all make light of the situation at a time like this.

###

You cleared your throat, feeling the lingering effects of the smoke on your system, the noise resounding off the washed out concrete brick walls, frosted white with an almost steely-blue. The small room made you feel sick and oppressed, with its air-conditioner temperature set to an isolating sixty degrees fahrenheit. You stepped back, the soft clicks of your heels hitting the concrete, non-tiled floor as you brought up a finger. It shuddered slightly, and you raised it up to point to the projector screen fabric hoisted on the wall, the shadow of your hand looming over the makeshift light projector setup the GCPD had provided, sending ripples through the fabric.

  The room felt like a prison cell, almost deliberately designed to make you feel alienated and scrutinised. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, a fluorescent lighting irradiating through the room with a cool toned jarring brightness that made you squint a little, yet not completely illuminating the dark shadowy corners of the squarish room. A grey rectangular table sat in front of you, with Harvey Dent and Lieutenant Jim Gordon sitting back cross legged in their foldable plastic chairs, while John Blake sat hunched over on the other end of the table, furiously typing out a report on his laptop. You guessed you couldn’t expect anything too fancy from the Major Crimes Unit of Gotham. You needed to push through this presentation, despite the building physical discomfort following your predicament from the day before.

  You made eye contact with Jim Gordon, with a little bit of difficulty, but you still pressed on to make your point. He had his hands clasped together, sitting between his thighs, and avoided your gaze to favour studying the data presented on the screen. Harvey Dent had a hand wrapped around one side of his cheek, and an elbow propped on the table, resting his head against it and listening intently. You had been given unreasonable demands to give impromptu presentations rather frequently at work, but definitely not within an hour of getting discharged from the hospital. Your nerves fired off a little bit and you tried your best not to let your voice betray you. You tugged your blazer tighter around your waist, blaming the cold for this action.

  “I think we have a pretty strong case here. This is all the information you need, reallyㅡto charge Lau, especially with the insights from Mr. Blake. He was a forensic accountant.”

  Gordon and Dent shared a pointed look at each other, expressions unreadable, before Gordon turned back to you to nod a gentle ‘thank you’. You took this as a sign to give them ample space for their own discussion and consolidation, and you let out a huge sigh, walking swiftly over to John Blake after being granted the permission to be dismissed. You dragged another foldable chair and scooched over to sit beside him. You leaned over to look at his laptop, then at him expectantly. He ignored this and continued looking at his screen.

  “Little nervous there, weren’t you kid?”

  You puffed your cheeks and let a stream of air out. You were punished for this motion as you felt searing pain up your larynx and flaring at your nostrils. You were about to lose your mind on him but you remembered the presence of the other two justice hounds in the room. Blake snickered inwardly. You supposed two compliments in two consecutive days was unheard of from the man. You hadn’t been silly enough to hope for that. Yesterday, what he said to you at the bank was possibly the most acknowledgement you had ever gotten from him for your worth as his partner, and you will take that to your chest and run away with it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you try giving a presentation after literally being discharged from the hospital?”

  He decided to let it go and brush this off, his smile still not withholding however. He scrolled down the document he had impressively typed out. It seemed he had been working on it while you were out. It was way too detailed to have been put together in the short amount of time you were here, while you gave the presentation. You raised your brows, he was on his A game tonight, more so than usual. Working behind the scenes, after hours. You wondered what sparked this escalation in work ethic and quality. This little rivalry between you two felt slightly more visceral.

  Covertly, you stared over at Gordon and Dent, who looked cold and calculative under the subtle hue of blue-toned lighting. They seemed to be in some kind of disagreement, brows furrowed and stubborn towards each other. Did this happen often? You chewed your lips and tapped lightly at the table. You could see Blake at the corner of your eyes rubbing his chin again. While you two were confidently secure in your abilities as analysts and consultants, working with public servants required a different form of rigour. It required a different kind of convincing. Not one that was only concerned with profits and risk-bearings, like your previous clients, but something that held ethical weight and certainty. You two had done something that could be classified as immoral, and you weren’t sure if this level of convincing was enough to gloss over that fact. Judging from John Blake’s body language, he shared the same sentiments. You took in a deep breath, despite the pain, desperately needing the extra air to catch up on your shortness of breath.

  Gordon and Dent signaled for the two of you to come over and show them the written report. You could feel your heart beating quickly, hammering against your chest. The desire to please the authorities made your senses go wild, and it would only serve as a testament to your abilities if you could help the highest forms of justice in the city in these respects. Blake took this chance to explain briefly the navigation of the report, and to bring focus to the more important details of your presentation highlighted in the report. This would allow them to utilise the information more effectively and constructively should they ever need to take this to court. This once was his area of expertise, after all. Gordon and Dent gave each other another look and they looked pleased. Well, at least they came to a consensus on something. They had their attention on you again after the mutual confirmation.

  “Astounding work you two,”

  Harvey Dent smiled politely at you. Your erratic heartbeat calmed as you felt heat radiate off your face like a hot pan. Slowly the high of authoritative validation crept within your system. His words definitely felt like honey.

  “I’m gonna need you to come with me to County tomorrow, after hours, to account for certain data and ledgers regarding Lau’s case. Could you spare me some of your time, Miss?”

  You gulped. It was extremely hard to say no to this man. You weren’t going to turn down a request like this anyway, if it meant one step closer to saving Gotham City. A little sacrifice for something you love was nothing. You nodded tentatively at first, charting a rough impression of your weekly schedule in your head. You had work the next day and it would be very hectic for you. Blake looked impassive. You couldn’t get a read on him. Harvey Dent leaned back in his chair, threw the documents on his lap back onto the table and stood up to be eye level with you.

  “Well, that would be all for today. I need to rush back, so I thank you all for your hard work.”

  After Harvey Dent promptly left the room, Gordon shifted the laptop in front of him and stood up. The room felt significantly emptier with Dent gone, he had quite the presence. You looked around the room again, eyes scanning the white brick walls, squinting as your gaze briefly landed on the bare LED light bulb. You silently waited for Gordon to collect his thoughts.

  “Consultant Blake, you're not going off the hook so easily, I’m afraid. The GCPD needs your help in tracing the mob’s money while it is being stowed away indefinitely.”

  Blake pressed his lips into a thin line, giving a single nod of understanding. Gordon shifted his weight to his other foot, pondering. He cast his eyes downwards, then back onto Blake and you.

  “You know, you two enjoy fighting against crime, right? I see something very special in you youngsters. Well, I have a proposition for you... So, here’s some food for thought.”

  Gordon looked a little more intently at you two.

  “We really could use your skill sets for our ongoing and future investigations for our fight against organised crime. We-uh, don’t receive nearly as much funding as we need from the state… So our financial forensics department is not as developed as it should be.”

  He paused. You saw those worn down eyes again, beaten down by the world around him. He was an old soul, and he made no effort to mask the worry in his eyes, his forehead grazed with permanent crease lines, perhaps from constant frowning. You could see however, the silver lining behind his dark irises. The one thing not jaded, remaining pure and undiluted, was his hope in enforcing justice for Gotham City. That is where his true passion lies.

  “We don’t have enough people with the relevant technological or knowledge based capabilities. I know this is too much to ask of you… But the offer is always open―I could negotiate a permanent spot for you two on the team, if you were to change your mind in future. That is, if you want to, of course-”

  Gordon fumbled a little with his words, his hand waving about slightly. John Blake held a hand out, saving Gordon from his apparent awkwardness as he felt it unbecoming. Cops should at least have some pride. It would not do well for a lieutenant to be appealing to two private sector workers for help like this, it was almost completely undignified. Had the cops really been pressed thin to the brink? Pushed into a corner? Here, he had thought that the state of Gotham was improving immensely. Evidently, the fine balance of all powers in Gotham has been knocked over. Something was brewing. There was a storm coming. 

  You interjected.

  “We’re, uh, very flattered! Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon. We will definitely keep your words in our hearts, and keep your offer in consideration.”

  You all regarded each other for a moment, unspeaking―completely aware of the implications of all this. This whole agreement, and Gordon’s open proposal to you. John Blake stared hard, his jaws fixed in position. You sensed the energy in this room and it held an excruciating weight. You didn’t even know what you all were waiting for. You clenched your fingers at the hem of your blazer. You looked discreetly at John Blake, not really knowing what to expect. As if you didn’t want him to catch you staring.

  “It’s been nine months since the first appearance of Batman. Since Falcone’s incarceration.”

  Blake started, his voice sure and certain.

  “Did anyone actually accomplish anything?”

  His voice echoed through the room, piercing through everyone that stood. He stepped forward slightly. His gaze flitting down to the laptop in his hand.

  “All Batman did was end Falcone’s era. The Police Headquarters rounded up new forces. The mob replaced the figurehead at the top. Dent’s attempts to take down the top dogs have been, to no avail. The big-timers didn’t take any action.”

  You adjusted your collar, uncomfortable and unable to stare at him for any longer.

  “Sure, petty crimes have been reduced, one by one. Things have changed. But at the root of it all… Nothing’s been fixed.”

  He pondered wistfully.

  “It was like… everybody was just preparing for something.”

  Blake adjusted his tie.

  “...And now you’re here, Lieutenant Gordon―You and Harvey Dent. Asking us for help, knowing very well that this-”

  He waved his laptop around in his hand.

  “-data right here, was gained unscrupulously. And it’s not too far-fetched to believe you two are corroborating closely with the Bat, despite that official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight.”

  John Blake tilted his chin downwards, looking up at Gordon, a purse evident on his lips. You flinched a little.

  “You are resorting to outlawed measures to fight the outlaws. And you’re telling me.”

  Gordon could not find the right words to this. He responded carefully. He would have to humble himself and swallow his pride for the sake of Gotham’s future, and he had in fact pitched you all a rather unreasonable request. He hoped to be able to earnestly appeal to the parts of your hearts, no matter how small, that cared deeply for the city of Gotham. It had to be there, he assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t have aided in the investigations as readily as you did, at the drop of a hat.

  “The mob had… squeezed us to the point of desperation, as much as I hate to admit it. I realise the first step to having a successful collusion with all parties involved is to drop the act and acknowledge this.”

   You gulped, and finally said something. At this point, the tension in the room had made you forget the slightly debilitating pain in your trachea.

  “Frankly speaking, we crossed the line first. We aren’t the only ones, and soon they’ll be hammered to the point of desperation, Lieutenant Gordon.”

  Gordon grunted, a hum low in his chest.

  “I know very well.”

  John Blake, for the first time in this confrontation, allowed a smirk to grace his lips. He looked over at you.

  “You always told me, kid…”

  His gaze on you was unnerving, and compelling.

  “...that the new era of the daring ones is coming along with an unstoppable swell. Batman is just the beginning. He... broke the gear. And we’re not going to be the only side taking up arms, fighting back.”

  He shifted his gaze back onto Gordon.

  “Expect a storm. Expect escalation. Expect a resistance like we’ve never seen before. There’s no turning back.”

  You watched as their eyes locked, their hard expressions unyielding. Gordon was obviously not new to this line of thought, but perhaps no one had been courteous enough to engage with him in discussing the implications of such. He was at a loss for words, but not caught by surprise. His deeply emotive eyes stirred, and he spoke quietly.

  “I am well aware of all this Consultant Blake. It’s not anything new to me. But I am prepared for anything and will stop at nothing. I do the best I can with what I have.”

  Blake’s eyes softened a little, but still retaining their edge, knowing fully well what all of you had gotten yourselves into. The very moment you had engaged in these investigations and accepted the request in lending your contributions, you had placed all of your lives at stake. He stuck a palm to him out of habit, always one for the conditioned nicety. 

  “We have a deal, then. We will lend you our tentative aid. ”

###

Your teeth gnawed slightly at your lips as you made your rounds around the main office room in the MCU. The administrative office had been closed long since you arrived here. You reorganised your datasets you gathered from Gotham National Bank, and printed out the required evidence for your visit to County the next day. It occurred to you, with the impromptu presentation you delivered earlier, that you needed to revise the formatting of your work before it was court-ready. You stood by the printer, listening to the squeaking of ink running across paper and the whir and buzz of the mechanism inside. 

  You exhaled, the first time this night since being discharged that you could take a brief moment of respite. You had a newfound respect for crime fighters in Gotham, if this was what their lifestyles consisted of. Gordon hadn’t even left the MCU, he resolved to return to his private workspace at the top floor of this building. Justice never sleeps, you supposed. You looked out the window, groaning then pinching the bridge of your nose. It was a special kind of blackness out there, one you would probably only see during the witching hours. You wouldn’t be able to get the rest you needed to recover properly, since you probably only had a couple hours of sleep at best before you had to wake up to head for work. Then, when you were done for the day, you would have to rush over to County, grab a bite on the go for dinner if you were lucky, and turn in late again.

  Never would you have thought that you would find yourself working on the side of justice in this way, having a direct hand in adjusting things in Gotham for good. Although, it did seem like a sort of calling to you, in a way. Things were a little bit too convenient, and pieces fell into place together too easily. It was like a feasible chemical reaction in a way that was bound to happen at any given point in time, so long as time had stretched on. You tapped your fingers against your chapped lips, deliberating for a while.

  You did always wish you had a reliable way of measuring what was guaranteed and what wasn’t. It would provide you with a greater control over your life than what you had over the past few years, one that you sought after.

  Serendipity.

  You weren’t exactly too sure if you could call it that.

  Your thoughts wandered back to your coworker and boss, John Blake. He was pretty much done for the night and didn’t have much else to wrap up on. He would wait for you at the porch of the MCU. He had been acting rather strange. Ever since you first saw him, he had been pretty cold to you. But now, it was currently walking along a fine line of coldness and slight, dare you say, hostility. You supposed that he had always been pretty insufferable to you. God, since the start, he had been pretty provocative even when you were sitting round the coffee table at that one boujee cafe. But it had, well, mostly always been in playful jest, or friendly banter. You supposed you always did feel the strife of competition with him, always needing to prove something to him.

  You groaned again, feeling a pinch behind your eyes. You had to save all this thinking for later when you weren’t exactly sleep deprived. You ran a final check through all your printouts, languidly flipping through them with an index finger. Satisfied, you tapped the width of the entire stack a couple times against the surface of the wooden table, aligning the sheets within. You slotted it in an empty file supplied by the GCPD, and headed to the entrance with the large front doors.

  Harvey Dent and Gordon sure made the impression on you, though you did have your doubts towards them. Their relationship seemed… unnatural, kind of strained. You could even describe it as seeming dysfunctional. And it was obvious to you. You couldn’t really blame them, though. With corruption levels so high in this city, you wouldn’t know who to trust either. You would love to have faith in the system, but if they were so good, they wouldn’t be turning to you and Blake.

  You stepped out into lights cast upon the porch by the warm streetlamps, lost in your thoughts.

  John Blake.

  You squinted upon the intrusion of the flaring streetlamps. You saw two streetlamps in the spot where there should only be one.

  What the hell?

  You rubbed your eyes with your free hand. You couldn’t hear anything.

  Where is he… anyway?

  You strained your eyes open again.

  The streetlamps were like a desert mirage. You saw the two balls of light separate slightly, then start to converge.

  Your hair stood on ends, from the back of your neck to the entirety of your arms. Something scraped along the inside of your ears, a high-pitched screeching that bounced within your ear canal.

  You blinked, your shoulders tensing up. You took a step forward, your breath faltering.

  Your feet wobbled slightly as you made your first descent down a step. You gripped onto your laptop and file even tighter. 

  No…

  You broke into an all out sprint, almost nose diving down the long flight of stairs, the sensation pulling at your lungs disorientating.

  Does it depress you? To know that your reality is based on comforting lies?

  Poor little girl... You think a safe space will actually help.

  You felt something black and long, emaciated fingertips reaching into your ear and scratching lightly. They were charred and felt like the bark of scorched trees. They were lanky and skinny like tree branches, about a foot long and grazed at the walls of your ear canals.

  If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back at you.

  It was a creature of the underworld. One of the most fearsome apparitions, not from the corporal realm. Then… What was he doing here? You bristled.

  Judgement had been passed, and the final fight between good and evil awaits.

  He was the plaguebearer, the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He was the harbinger of the pestilence. When the time was right, he will besiege the world with pure pandemonium.

  Flesh thudded against stone tiled floors. A strangled scream tore gutturally through the streets. These sounds were incredibly muffled to you.

  He barely turned his head to give a brief, uninterested, side glance.

  And all of a sudden, all your senses returned to you in one compounding moment, everything came crashing down dramatically upon you like a surging, symphonic orchestral blare, and you were met with your fears. The scratchy fingertips stabbed and pierced into your eardrums, and a sharp, debilitating throb pounded through your head. No amount of alcohol could make you forget the sight of his gruesome face.

  Here he stood, in the corporeal world, insidious and spectral. The time had come, and his presence heralded the arrival of world’s end, the armageddon before Judgement Day.

  You were unfortunate enough to be caught, dead in the center of this maelstrom.

  You looked death in the eye, watching carefully as you anticipated his next course of action. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “Ah, uninvited guests―Always a, uh, welcome surprise.”

  He slurred the last word. You tried your hardest to react, to at least do something, anything at all really would do at this moment. Ounce by ounce, he filled every space and cavity your physical being had to offer, and then those your spiritual and mental being as well, for there seemed to not be enough space for this surreal and... grotesque thing. You couldn’t breathe, it felt as if his mere presence was asphyxiating. You wanted to move, you wanted to run, you wanted to curl up into a ball, you wanted to move at least one goddamned muscle in your body.

  But you can’t.

  Sighing exaggeratedly, as if the world owed him a living, he trudged forward slowly and expectantly towards you. He put both his palms up, facing you, stretching and spacing out all his gloved fingers, perhaps in mock concession, a friendly gesture showing that he had nothing to hide. He raised his brows at you with his lips in a sulk, derisive in his condolences. All at once, the air was knocked out of your lungs, and your torso was constricted. You could barely comprehend what was happening, and he seized you by warping behind you as quickly as his stature allowed for. You bit into your lips, tears pricking at your eyes that you could allow such a thing to happen without having the guts to put up a fight. You thrashed your head around, struggling against his grasp, his leather gloved hands muffling a yelp that escaped your lips.

  He grumbled about something related to people minding their own businesses, but you were far too busy trying to pry away at his iron clasp around your figure to comprehend what he was really saying.  

  You couldn’t breathe properly. You sucked in as much air as you could through your scalded nostrils. Your lungs burned. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see his face, that you could muster the courage required for this display of resistance to his restraints. Your laptop and files were left forgotten, dropped by the pavement and driven into the soil.

  “Kid, it’s fine, just relax and don’t―urgh! Don’t...don’t do anything rash.”

  You peered down as he rasped, the side of his face pressed mercilessly down into the concrete slabs of the sidewalk. Your shaky pupils searched the scene in front of you. The darkness was illuminated by the mellow streetlamps. John Blake was pushed, head first into the ground with a big, pale, brown-haired man kneeling against his form, restraining his arm behind his back. He was armed. That put you slightly more on edge, and slightly more willing to comply. The wraith behind you removed his hand from your mouth, and just as you were about to let out an ear-curdling scream, you felt a cold smoothness of the point of a knife tickle you lightly at your neck, drawing circles around your pulse point gently. Stubbornly, you slackened your arms a little, but still maintained a hold on his forearms.

  Let… Let go of John.

  You saw another man a couple feet beside him, frightened out of his wits, held at gunpoint by another goon, this one wearing a clown mask. He was quivering slightly, both his arms behind his head, clad in a grey suit, a piece of paper duct-taped at its front with words scribbled sloppily―‘Please deliver to Lieutenant Gordon.’ You scrunch your nose a little, tracing your eyes up to look into his panic-stricken, beady eyes.

  “Lau?”

  You spit out in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the compromising position you were in. The phantom circled his arms around you tighter like a python, a ritual they performed before they devoured their prey. It was no use, your arms were wedged by your sides at this point. You tried one last time to fight it, but it was met with a mere chuckle.

  “I see we’re all, uh, acquainted here?”

  He gestured in sardonic formality with his fingers that weren’t latched onto the trigger. He had an incredibly erratic cadence to his voice. His intonations and inflections were completely irregular, he stressed words in a pattern that seemed completely… random. This made even the way he spoke instinctually threatening, for you didn’t know what to expect from him, a sort of jagged edge that laced his words. It granted him a heightened sense of unpredictability, and a malicious air of danger that felt even more tangible. You felt this, it was all too real.

  “You’re working with the police to sell me out, is that how it is? You would betray your own company’s affiliate.”

  Lau, with as much disdain he could gather within him in his sorry state, glared daggers at you. His hands shook more violently, unable to control the trepidation of fear and anger mixed together in a deadly concoction. The ghoulish man who held you shifted you in his grasp a little, pressing your head closer to his cheek, and you felt the stickiness of his greasepaint latch onto your hair. You cringed and recoiled, lips contorting in disgust. He swiped his tongue against the ridges along his bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t be so ah... concerned with that, if I were you. Seeing that our boy-o over here so valiantly jumped in to save your little-ol life.”

  You snarled at this implication, how dare he mock John? You clawed at his forearm, digging your nails into the velvety textile of his purple sleeve, and jerked yourself against his grasp. Roughly, he tensed his arm against your body. He shifted his lips closer to your ear, his slimy breath stroking the shell of your ear, smearing some hot waxy face paint against your cheek.

  “Ah-tatta… Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”

  He growled that last bit menacingly into your ear, pushing the slender tapered point of his blade deeper into your neck, sashaying side to side ominously as he adjusted his hold on you to expertly elude his arm from your long nails. He played around with the butt of the knife, tapping it and twisting it around absentmindedly. The blade slid against the delicate skin of your throat carelessly, with varying pressure. You froze. Just because you couldn’t see him didn’t mean he wasn’t there. As a grim reminder of his presence, he knowingly did this, intruding all boundaries of your personal space. Your blood ran cold, frosted by the chilling metal digging into your neck, and your sight remained trained on John Blake.

  Events that happened at the bank flipped through your mind like the pages of a comic book.

  Terrorist. Master-manipulator. Criminal. What the hell are you?

  You weren’t sure if you should be more afraid of this more talkative version of the clown, or the dead silent dirt green-haired man under the frowning mask.

  If there was one thing they had in common, you couldn’t fully understand either of them.

  Your life was in the hands of a madman who treated it all like a game.

  You saw John looking straight into you, seething underneath all that pressure. You tried to seek solace in him and calm him down at the same time, trying to convey your emotions through your eyes.

  Tongue in cheek, the man behind you was clearly watching this interaction, unamused.

  “For a couple of party crashers-ah? You guys sure are bor―ing.”

  With a low rumble in his chest, he shoved you forward and seized your hands behind you, pressing the knife against the back of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips, not used to the crassness of which you were being handled.

  “Ooh, I have an idea, something real fun. It wouldn’t do to do this at our, uh, current venue however…”

  He gestured his goons towards the abandoned building in front of you.

  Catching your breath, you twisted your head to the side to look at John Blake, your eyes widening and searching his face desperately. You had no choice but to be subjected to this… sick game of his.

  “It’ll be okay, John. We’ll be okay.”

  You only managed to catch a glimpse of his jaw clenching and his hard eyes looking back at you, before the clown in the purple suit pushed you forward again. The clown smacked his lips together.

  “Make it fast, lovebirds.”

###

Your head spun feverishly. You were sleep-deprived, couldn’t breathe well, and in a… sticky situation. You were just slammed forcefully, thrown head first into a fiberboard office desk. Through a teary-eyed vision, for a moment it was pitchblack, with the dim light of the city at night filtering through the window. Then, you were blinded by the sting of office-grade LED strip lights arranged neatly on the ceilings above you. Your trachea was already burning from being forced to climb up a flight of stairs. You had just about enough. This debilitation and lightheadedness gave you a newfound strength, ironically.

  You thought back on the 9/11 attacks, and on every other occasion you felt this similar genuine terror strike up in your heart. You vaguely remember some quote, to never negotiate with terrorists, or something like that. Terrible advice really, to anyone who was actually in a terror situation where it was life or death, but to hell with it. You were at your limit for the amount of bullshit you could tolerate. Being absolutely manhandled was not in your itinerary this night. You thought back on every good thing you’ve tried to do for Gotham, sickeningly undone by thugs like these. Your hunched form felt an animosity that was like acid, burning, slicing and extremely potent. And luck has it, you’re trying to stop me again.

  Your forehead was propped against the desk for support. Your hands were free, but your world was spinning too much for you to do anything with them. You bared your teeth, and you swear you could feel fangs growing where your canines were rooted.

  Violently, you hurled your voice against the desk.

  “Haven’t you done enough to us at the bank?”

  You squeezed your eyes shut and gritted your teeth, clenching your fists tightly. Your blood was hot, and you could no longer feel the coolness of the blade against your neck.

  “I’m not afraid of you terrorists. Frankly speaking, I am absolutely sick of you little bastards.”

  Venomously, you spit the excess saliva in your mouth against the desk, overwhelmed with emotion.

  You felt him tugging at your white blazer sleeves, and an excruciating force wrenched at the crown of your head by the hair, lifting your body up slightly, with it still looming over the desk. You felt a suppressed rage as you ran out of ways to express your anger in this awkward position, and you prepared to resort to launching a spit at him to resolve this compulsion.

  But the moment you were face to face with him, the hairs on the nape of your neck bristled. Trapped in your own psychosis, you were wheedled into a living nightmare tailor made for your own brain to play on your deepest fears. Two holes gouged out for eyes, and a bloodied smile carved in place of lips, all splotched onto a chalky white canvas. He looked like a corpse, and you felt the urge to puke. You felt your stomach lurch, and you clutched at your mouth to coax the acidic feeling back down your throat.

  He studied you, frowning deeply and narrowing his eyes, straining his head sideways to get a better look at you. God, when he narrowed those eyes, his sclera disappeared and they looked like the eye sockets embedded within a skull. His greasy hair frayed around framing his head stiffly, lifeless with its strands starched and stiffened together with muck, as if it were dipped in formaldehyde, its proteins coagulated rigidly like it belonged to a cadaver that had long been embalmed. They were bleached off of their natural colour and a faded wash of pallid, acid pale green remained. The fact that he smelled strongly of a queasy mixture of many different chemicals definitely did nothing to help.

  “Ah, so you are that little doctor girl back there. I remember you... Who else on earth wears a, uh, white blazer?”

  He snorted at the end, pinched at your sleeve at the same time, causing your forearm to be lifted, before he let it go. Your wrist bone landed, smacking against the table with a loud snap. The bite was sharp and pointed. You quickly grabbed your hand and held it to your chest, rubbing over it soothingly. You had no idea why you felt offended by this.

  “Glad you made it, little girl-”

  “Doctor... What? And says you! You’re-you’re dressed in a purple trench-”

  You cut him off. He regarded you with a slow lick of his lips, gliding languidly over the fringes of his scars. He gets even closer, up in your face. He stares down at you, looking directly into your very being. You try to look away, but you could only see ink black. You could even smell the greasepaint in this enclosed space. You felt the world spinning.

  “C’mere―Hey. Look at me.”

  He rasped, dragging the clipped point of the dagger against your cheek, pressing it against the corner of your lips.

  “Y'know, whenever people say they’re... not afraid of me,”

  He looked away, inflecting his voice. Then he pointed at his face with his gloved hands, gesturing at the distance between you two, etching even closer. You felt an internal score rising in pitch.

  “I do this. I get all up in their face.”

  He nodded at you. To this you sealed your eyes back together. You dared not look. The world had not stopped circling around you. He yanked your head.

  “Hey―come on…”

  Cooing, he sticks the blade in your mouth. It took all your strength in order to keep your eyes open, just to stare helplessly into back his cavernous ones. The straining notes were reaching an unbearable dissonance, tearing jarringly into your eardrums. It was excruciating. Your ears ached and bled. They reached a frequency that was no longer audible to you.

  “And guess what? They’re always silent. Like you, right now.”

  He smiled, patronisingly, with a sympathetic look on his face, shaking his head slightly.

  “People that, uh, put on a show… are spineless, more often, than no-t.”

  He patted your face gently with his leather finger tips, then rubbed loose patterns around. He had you in his trap. You were his prey, no more than a little mouse to a cold-blooded viper. He flicked his tongue rapidly out of his mouth, then retracts it. What he said wasn’t… false. You couldn’t take it any longer. The revolutions around you were excessive.  

  “Hey―Freakshow. Does it feel good intimidating someone smaller than you? Behind a mask?”

  You saw his eyeballs shift to the side with the weight of a boulder, this time jarringly wide, and you could only see the white of his eyes. He really did not look amused. He shifted his bottom lips in a restrained tick, almost like a controlled form of madness. He leaned back slightly, his grip still firm on your hair, wobbling it around slightly. His body bent a little backwards from the hips, and he dramatically gesticulated his hand holding the knife into an open palm.

  “Very well, your dashing knight in ah, shining armour has given us a great suggestion.”

  Your body was pulled towards him and he faced it towards the center of the room, with that familiar careless grace you witnessed days ago. His arm was hooked suffocatingly around your neck, and you were face to face with the setting of an abandoned office room. The only furniture was the shabby office desk before you, and floorboards were uncovered, revealing nails sticking out of the ground. The wallpaper was partially torn, a pale beige staining at the edges with a rusted brown. A few slider windows were spruced along the walls surrounding the room.

  John Blake and Lau were pushed all the way to the windows, both of them still held captive by the two goons, edging dangerously close to the borders. Lau stood on the left, and Blake on the right.

  “Let’s extend this little… game between us,”

  The grisly clown tongued along the scars on his inner cheek.

  “To our guests here with us.”

  He reached around beneath his coat, into his back pocket.

  “You deranged fuck, what you’re doing here is sick-”

  Bones cracked. A fist connected with John Blake’s skull.

  Lau just stared on agitatedly, his tongue curling against his bottom lip as he inhaled deeply, his breathing rate increasing. His hands were still behind his head.

  “Between one life or the other,”

  The clown craned his head into your line of sight, to check if you were still listening. Your chest constricted, and your breathing picked up. The pain escalated.

  “You’ll get to choose…”

  Reaching around you, he presented a gun, glinting silver. You stared at it, horrified. He cackled scratchily, the sound of his voice grating to your ears like sandpaper. From behind, he wrapped his hands around yours as gingerly as he could at first, as if he were handling a delicate little child, teaching them a valuable life skill, such as tying their shoe laces. Soon he gave up on this idea and thrust it in your hand, then unceremoniously clasped his hands tightly around yours, fumbling slightly with the butt of the gun. He made a throaty noise. His varnished gloves rubbed mercilessly against the skin on your knuckles.

  No, no, no, no....

  You squeezed your eyes, an epileptic meditation amidst the prelude of a panic attack. He hunched over, jutting a sharp chin into the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder. You squirmed, and felt purple walls around you constricting further as his arms enclosed around you, your heart sinking further down and squished into a box. You did not like him pushing past your personal boundaries at all.

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  Your voice was barely a crack above a whisper, croaking silently.

  He lifted his chin and pushed back down on your shoulder to get a closer look at your face, making a nasally grunt as he did so.

  “You do know what’s gonna happen to you if ya don’t play along now, don’tcha?”

  He bobbed your hand around slightly, the gleaming danger of the pistol hypnotic. You stay rooted to the spot, coercing your hands into relaxation. You were being lured into its spell, it was like a siren that serenaded, and the barrel of the gun looked like that of a deformed pipe. His arms were caged around you, you were locked in place.

  You followed the sound of the pipe.

  Your eyes were steely.

  He turned his cheek a little, nudging the side of his cheek against yours to direct your attention to the left side. More wax was smeared on your face. You felt stifled.

  “Your… corrupt boss who cares about nothing but money,”

  Your gun was still pointed to the middle of Blake and Lau. But you were bewitched to keep your gaze on Lau, and he stared at you with the same flecks of red in his eyes as he did a couple days ago at the office.

  “You know, my car is worth more than both of your entire life savings combined-”

  “Or…”

  He jerked his head slightly to the right and made another nasal sound to redirect you, along with the disgusting lick of his lips. The walls were slowly caving in.

  “Your tall, dark and handsome squeeze over here.”

  He crooned suggestively.

  “Y’know, he is pretty gallant―Maybe he wouldn’t mind sacrificing his life so that little squealing rat could live.”

  You watched John Blake as he was being jostled roughly by the brown-haired man. You didn’t know how to react, and you couldn’t find the right words to say. For some reason, that statement made you feel somehow… sorrowful. Why?

  “He… We’re not attached.”

  You silently blurted out. You felt a low rumble vibrating against your back, before the clown behind you burst into a fit of light, high-pitched giggles, incredulous. On top of his voice, even his nasal laughter sounded like a cynical, washed out clown who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, who put on a red nose and laughed derisively at childrens’ misery at their own birthday parties.

  This was something you felt the need to clarify? Right before all of your untimely deaths? Oh, how entertaining this was to him. You were beyond foolish to the clown.

  “Talk about ice cold, little girl.” 

  The clown scoffed in disbelief.

  “My brother over there, I’m so sorry. Trust me, I feel for ya-”

  He jeered, wiping a fake tear away from his eyes, letting the last waves of his laughter tide through. You frowned, puzzled and bewildered. You caught John Blake’s gaze, helplessly searching for answers from him. He tensed his jaw further, collecting his thoughts. Clearly, the clown’s antics were getting to him. You couldn’t blame him. You fared no better. He took a deep breath and calmed.

  “It’s fine, just relax. Don’t fall for his twisted mind games.”

  The clown pouted at him. He was pushed even further against the edge of the window, the brown-haired man pointing his gun underneath his chin and painstakingly shoved him further backward. His lower body was the only thing anchoring him to the floorboard. The corpse clown's hands clasped over yours tapped it impatiently a couple of times.

  “We don’t have all day, y’know.”

  He deadpanned. You inhaled slightly and closed your eyes. Your mind sifted through many memories, sharp and bright, of all your interactions with Lau. Of all the conversations you’ve had with John over Lau.

  That man is nothing but scum. He has contributed to the steady crumble of Gotham, peddling drugs, perpetuating murders, and ensuring that the mob ruled the city with an iron fist.

  It was scary how you were able to rationalise this. 

  No hard feelings Lau. An eye for an eye. That’s all it really is.

  You slowly felt anger and vengeance bubbling in your stomach. You were overwhelmed with the savagery of the beast. You sought retribution, reprisal and revenge. This… was you. And you had all the power in the world to take the law into your hands, to play your own judge. You slowly traced the line of the sight of the gun to your left. The music of the pipe resounded melodically. It’s dangerous. But it was so… incredibly sweet. You looked up from the barrel to the man its sight landed on. Your eyes were glazed over. The clown behind you hummed in assent, pleased with the results. Your fingers hooked at the trigger, hesitating.

  “Excellent choice, little girl.”

  He licked his lips. He toyed around with the gun, playing and fiddling with its hammer, flicking it and letting go absentmindedly.

  “If only it weren’t so, ah… pre-dictable.”

  He rested his fingers atop of yours. Your hands shook a little. 

  “Is it because it goes ‘according to plan’? I mean, he’s the obvious baddie over here, and all you… do-gooders. You clearly deserve to live. To bring him to justice.”

  He purred into your ear, his breath fanning you hotly. John Blake struggled further against the man holding him back. He had no hands to grip onto the frames of the window. His fall was imminent. He had to speak up now. There was no better time. Desperately, he wheezed.

  “You know kid,”

  He sputtered slightly.

  “I always told you that you were like a… like a siege engine. I’m only saying this now because it’s a matter of life or death,”

  His words were initially spat out at a fast pace, his voice was very strained from his extreme and awkward position, and his breath was laboured. Eventually, he slowed down to get his point across more clearly.

  “You’re a fine weapon. A valuable asset to my company, and your work is remarkable. I’ve always entrusted you to make the right decisions as my junior analyst… But I’ve come to realise you’re so much more. ”

  He tried to peer down at you from his obstructed view, toiling as his voice was weak from holding this position. For so long you worked so hard for him, and you barely got rewarded with words of confirmation. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked at him, they were glossy and large like a puppy dog. Your heart squeezed gut wrenchingly, for months you pined for this truth. You yearned so deeply to now what he truly thought of you and everything you’ve done for him.

  “You’re always by my… my side. It’s two of us against the world. You’re the only person I want to do this job with. You’re a bright girl, with so much flair for what you do. And that’s not the only part,”

  You felt yourself drift higher and higher, and you were now a lightweight. Drunk on his words, you’ve never heard him speak so personally about you before. It was always sparse little words of affirmation sprinkled around sparingly. He was an incredibly stingy man. He was so ungenerous with praise. It was always snarky jabs at you. He always made you feel the need to prove yourself. But he was the first one who gave you the chance to.

  “That’s not what makes you special. I want you to remember our vision-”

  He implored earnestly. 

  “Our vision… has been tainted. But that doesn’t make it any more invalid. Sometimes... we do have to get our hands dirty, for-for the greater good.”

  He breathed, in between jagged gasps. If this was what he truly thought of you...

  “I’ll trust you again. To do the right thing.”

  Intently, you listened to his words, your eyes watering slightly. You tried internalising the wealth of what he said to you. It was a lot to take in, it all happened so fast. This conversation was happening prematurely. You had no idea who was playing the pipe at this point. Where was the sound coming from…? The alluring music converged from all corners, all directing to the source of the instrument in your hand.

  The clown behind you went uncharacteristically silent. He licked his lips slowly, studying the exchange between the two of you. Siege engine, huh? What a funny word to describe you with. Siege engines were colossal battering rams, castle forged and an exalted war machine that delivered victories to the warring states for centuries. Monumental goliaths, they were the front lines, the fortress breakers, the castle crashers, leading the furious charge on battlefields when zero hour arrived. They were medieval trebuchets of acclaim, a necessity for triumph in war. As glorious as they were, they could only be as great as their role allowed them to be. At the end of the day, they were nothing but a mere pawn of war.

  You slowly looked at Lau, and he no longer looked at you with that malice from before. It was replaced by a look that was… strikingly familiar. He reminded you of the mob bank teller days prior. Pleading, frightened, like a cornered animal, desperate and fighting to survive. His gaze pierced right through to your heart. This struck a chord within you. You observed how his eyebrows knitted into the shape of a mountain, quivering lightly. His lips downturned and parted slightly. His eyes were large. The look of a man whose life flashed before his life.

  Yes, he did cause you a lot of trouble at the office. He did utterly degrade and humiliate you. He made your job hard. The moment he stepped in, he made you hate your job. No actually, that’s the understatement of the century. He made you loathe your job, detest it, abhor it. Pretty much anything to do with a severe hateful feeling you felt for this job, where you used to feel joy or any small amount of excitement, he had killed it for you. But did he really deserve to die for this?

  “I-”

  A croak filed through your dry throat. It felt like a type of flesh eating insect was festering within your insides. Starting at your heart, they feasted at the tissue down into your stomach, and they were coming up through your gullet. The moral conscience weighed inside of you like a heavy pendulum, one swing away from breaking off from its support and crashing through to your very center. You couldn’t bear the moral weight of such a decision. This was not a burden you could carry for the rest of your life.

  “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  John Blake looked at you while he sucked in a breath, unreadable. Lau fell to his knees, a wash of relief coming over him. He continued being kicked and kneed in the face by the goon wearing a clown mask.

  “Ah... you’ve already chosen unfortunate-ly. And you’re not backing out of this one, sweetheart.”

  You flinched hearing the voice that you had forgotten was there. This stirred something within you, and you refused to give into his demands. You would rather die than make a choice like this.

  “No, I am not giving into your stupid, twisted pseudo-social experiment-”

  You twisted the gun barrel to face yourself, and for once, you heard no more music.

  “It wouldn’t even matter who I chose anyway… would it?”

  Shakily, you looked into the head of the barrel, and you felt… grief. It was cold and empty looking. For the second time that night, it felt like you were looking death in the eye. A knot twisted in your stomach. Your tears spilled over your cheeks, flowing hotly. You wept silently. You were stubborn, you would go to this extent just to prove something. Your ego knew no bounds. Your hearing blanked out for a moment, and you vaguely heard Blake shouting at you. You suddenly plunged into purgatory, existing solely on the plane between life and death. You teetered on the edge. Lau looked on from the ground, body tense and deeply perturbed. This turn of events was greeted by silence from the clown.

  The clown stared, wide eyed. His face twitched. His lips quirked into a frown. Why… would you do something like that? His eyes narrowed a fraction. He couldn’t comprehend this. It wasn’t exactly easy to render him speechless. Why on earth would you throw your life away for another’s? This he could not understand. Humans are... selfish creatures. At the core of it, they were all rotten and purely motivated by self-interest. Then… then why?  Why hadn’t he been able to predict this? This ate at him. Got under his skin. It grinded his gears. His arms wrung around you tighter. He observed the pistol pointed at your forehead. This was pathetic. Absolutely ridiculous. Confusion quickly dissipated in his chest and boiled into a seething, frothy rage. His jaw jutted forth and tensed, trembling slightly, his lips pursing together. He cackled through his nostrils, sounding a little manic. If you really wanted death, he wasn’t going to just give it to you, no. Ah, ah, ah… I’m not letting you get your satisfaction out of this. He couldn’t let you off the hook this easy.

  “Well then, little girl. You can’t be a… a sore loser and quit playing our game now.”

  His lilt sounded crazed. He gripped your hands tighter, you felt the leather skirting against your skin.

  “I suppose-ah, I’ll have to finish your job for you.”

  He spat, his words practically dripping with pure spite and malice. He wrenched your wrist to aim the gun away from you. Alarmed, your senses were heightened and you let out a sharp bark. At a speed you’ve never seen yourself move at before, you bent forward and locked your jaw around his fingers, chomping down forcefully. Your teeth sunk into his leather glove, and clamped down straight into his last finger. Squawking, he was caught off-guard. You heaved your foot and aimed a kick at his crotch. He let out a muffled noise of pain, and you tried your damndest to take advantage of this and get out of this situation.

  You struggled in his grasp, elbowing around at the sides, hoping to worm your way out of it. Unfortunately, he was unrelenting. Your hands were still on the gun, your fingers idling at the trigger. He doubled over, sickling an arm around your neck and gripped tightly onto the pistol, a finger slotted between the gun hammer and the rear sight, pulling it back. While he was in his position bent over, he was looming over you, laughing slightly. You were choking, beyond freaked out at this point, not exactly getting the reaction you wanted from him, and now you were completely unsure as to what he would do. The feeling of confinement was too much and you were at your breaking point.

  “Y’know, forget being a siege engine,”

  He grabbed your jaw, forcefully burrowing his fingers into your cheek.

  “I think she’s more of a, uh, pinky bruiser.”

  He tore your head upwards, and latched his hands back onto yours. He yanked at them, and aimed the gun at Lau. Ready, aim... He fastened his index fingers around yours. You widen your eyes, panicked with alarm bells shrilling through your head. Fire!

  “No!”

  He pulled at the trigger. You jerked your arms violently to the left, frantic. Recoiling, you were sent careening further back into the clown. The sound of the gun shot pierced through the air like a firecracker. You saw the goon with the mask fallen to the ground, his denim jeans getting soaked through with a fresh, gurgling red dampness around his thigh.

  Before anything else could be registered in your mind, the brown-haired man on the right side of the room displaced John Blake’s leg, and grabbed his lower torso, flinging him over the ledge of the window sill. You tried to lunge forward, demented and crazed, you were quickly becoming hysterical.

  “Ohmygod John-”

  Completely out of control, a scream tore through with your whole body like a shard of glass, you took no notice of the pain in your lungs as you were rapidly turning unhinged. The man who flipped John over like he was a light, airy pancake, faced you and you heard the click of a gun.

  You saw the sight of a gun cocked in your direction. You felt tears well up in your eyes at this very fraction of time.

  Bang!

  You screwed your eyes shut, expecting the most intense agony you would ever feel in your life. But the pain never came. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you saw the goon drop unconscious like a fly zapped through an electric swatter, most likely dead.

  “Did I tell you to shoot her…”

  The clown behind you muttered to himself, the smell of gunpowder burning your nostrils and you saw streaks of smoke smouldering and rising from the gun barrel in his hands. You tensed your shoulders, mouth slightly agape in bewilderment. You mouthed something soundlessly, but words could not form. What are you doing-

  The crackle of wood being busted through splintered at your ears, the noise tearing through the room sickeningly. You didn’t even have time to decide whether you should feel relieved or not.

  “Drop the weapon, now!”

  Lieutenant Gordon came bursting through with a team of policemen, their pistols aiming at every figure present in the room. He looked at you and the clown, and kept his gun trained in your direction. He dared not edge closer, in case you got harmed.

  The clown, with his hold still vice-like on you, stumbled backwards pulling you along ungracefully. He still kept you imprisoned under his reign for one final moment in time. You were at his mercy.

  “Drop it now!”

  A pair of lips pressed intimately into your ear. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

  “You know pinky bruiser, you were a lot of fun today. Sorry for, uh, calling you a party pooper.”

  He rasped. A chuckle rumbled lowly in his chest.

  “I think... you and I both know―Fate wouldn’t have it if this was our last time together.”

  He murmured and you were about to pass out from this lightheadedness and claustrophobia. You were constricted for far too long. You were way past your breaking point. A huge force tipped you backwards. You grabbed onto the ledge of the window sills, your veins popping from exerting such a strong force on your arms. 

  All of a sudden, the clown’s hold on you was relinquished.

  Your lungs overflowed with air, and your body was dramatically jerked forward, pain flooding your systems as you dry-heaved. Gordon hurried over by your side, extending a tender hand to rest on your arm. Realisation dawned upon you, and you swiftly spun around, bending over the ledge, looking out the window. You craned your neck as far down as you could see, hunting down and examining the perimeter.

  Gone.

  Gordon was pulling you back, preventing you from falling out the window. He was trying to talk some sense into you, but quickly gave up when he realised your current, panicked state of mind. Your strength was fading, and you allowed Gordon to reel you back into safety. Why didn’t you just… kill me? You thumped, falling to your knees, grabbing your hands to your head, sobbing and whimpering your sorrows away. You finally allowed all the pent up emotions to crash, not that you could control it now, anyway. It felt like a mallet crashing through from behind your eyes and nose, the twinging sensation unbearable as you wailed. It should have been me, goddamn it.

  Gordon knelt down, sighing and furrowing his brows in sympathy. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then closed his mouth. He felt useless in this situation, clearly unable to help clear your head of any type of trauma that resulted from this unfortunate event. He was aware of this. He hated feeling this powerless, he hated not being able to help. He had perhaps felt this way his entire career, with a town like Gotham so rotten, the GCPD was basically made a mockery at this point.

  Lau was about to be taken by the other cops back into custody. He ambled past you, and looked over you and your pathetic form. For once, his expression was not one of scorn. It wasn’t one of anything really, he just looked a shell of the person he was just moments ago. You were pushing it if you said he looked like he felt bad for you, and that he held a thankful expression at the same time. You weren’t sure if you believed him to be capable of that.

  You were escorted out the abandoned office building, swaying and staggering around. You went to pick up the devices strewn all over the soil, with some help from Gordon. When you saw a glowing cop car with shattered windows and John Blake being supported by two cops, relieving pressure off his shoulders, you quickly rubbed at your tear stained face and hobbled over as quick as you could, relief pumping through your chest as you were hopeful that he survived the fall.

  The paramedics were on their way, and from the looks of it, John had a mildly serious shoulder injury and got extremely lucky. He had fallen from a height of 1 story from the ground, but as luck would have it, his fall was broken by the cop car stationed coincidentally below the window. He also fell on his side, which allowed for the best chance of survival and led to the least immobilising injuries.

  You couldn’t help yourself and gave John a quick hug and squeezed him lightly, after hearing him speak about what you were to him, and after experiencing the fright and grief of losing him. You were met with an involuntary wince. That probably felt soul-crushing to him, taking into account that he just fell out of a building. The ambulance finally arrived and they proceeded to bring down a stretcher. You were glad it was over. But something told you this was not the last of the clown you’d see. You thought, I mean… he practically promised you that you’d be seeing him again soon enough.

  “I’ll be fine. Just go get some rest.”

  He assured you, idling around, not really wanting to leave. He tried prolonging his stay with you before they eventually persuaded him to get onto the stretcher.

  “Heh. This time you’re the one sending me off.”

  You smiled, wanting to follow but he refused. You weren’t really sure why he wouldn’t allow that, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. He quickly convinced you that it was too late and you had your own injuries to recover from, not wanting to disrupt the healing process. You were doubtful, but you shrugged away this nagging feeling and tried to take his word for it, mustering a final warm smile on your wary face. Your eyelids were starting to droop. You bid him farewell for the time being and watched as he was whisked away. 

  You hated to admit it, but your mind was still plagued by that sadistic clown. Your mind raced with questions, and you wanted answers. What did he mean by his parting speech?

  You were disturbed from your thoughts as Gordon offered to send you home, but you couldn’t reject his sincere offer. You didn’t want to disappoint him any further. As much as you didn’t like to leech off his kindness, it was the least you could do to repay him with the validation of being able to do something right. You sat in the front seat of the car, preparing to be saddled with desultory conversations on the ride home. However, you realised perhaps things would be different with Lieutenant Gordon. He had a type of heartfelt presence within, and was incredibly perceptive. You rested assured in your car seat. Yeah, he was different.

  You heard the revving of the engine after Gordon slammed his front door shut. You stared out the window. The moon cast a buttery glow over the town, dancing in the velvety black-blue sky. The thought of the clown flashed through your mind once again. You closed your eyes, dispelling the cursed imagery. The blast of the air conditioner was adjusted to a pleasant breeze brushing lightly against your neck. Gordon placed his hand on the gear and recalibrated it. He breathed in, turned his head and landed his gaze uncomfortably on you.

  “So, you uh, from this town?”

  You felt something pleasant blossoming inside of you, being humoured by this awkward attempt at starting a conversation from Gordon. You chuckled lightly. You appreciated the effort.

  “Yes, yes I am. What about you?”

  You looked back and smiled politely. He stepped on the pedal and accelerated the vehicle.

  “Well, no. I moved here some decades ago with my wife…”

  You guessed it would do well to get to know more about your partners in crime fighting. You hummed, patiently listening. 

  Yeah, this wasn’t too bad, you supposed.

  Now, if only you could stop yourself from feeling like passing out in the front seat. 

  That would be great.

###

[carolinesiede]

Reflecting on 2020

The strangest thing about 2020 was how familiar much of it felt: Working from home, extended periods of isolation, weeks and months blending together. To a much lesser degree, those are things I experience each year as a freelancer. And while I suspect it will take awhile before the full extent of the trauma we’ve all lived through this year fully sets in, right now I’m mostly focused on gratitude. I’m grateful for the health of my loved ones. Grateful I already had a work-from-home routine to maintain during the pandemic. And grateful that I was able to quarantine with my family for much of the year—which had its challenges but also its rewards too.

In my 2019 year-end post I wrote about feeling like my career was finally on an upward trajectory after several years of plateauing. This year obviously offered some new wrinkles in that regard. I made significantly less money and felt familiar fears about how sustainable this career actually is. But having less work also gave me more time to focus on the actual craft of writing. I feel like I reached a new level in terms of voice, clarity, and the ability to self-edit. I'm the sort of person who constantly (arguably, obsessively) strives to be better, and it’s rewarding to feel like that hard work is finally slowly starting to pay off.

In addition to devoting my quarantine time to mastering a favorite curry recipe, getting really into the Enneagram, finally learning to French braid hair, and rewatching all of New Girl, I also had some really cool opportunities scattered throughout the year. I interviewed John Barrowman about his surprise return to Doctor Who, which felt like a real milestone for me. I also contributed to the Los Angeles Times’ list of TV shows to binge-watch during quarantine, which appeared both online and in print. And thanks to everything going virtual this year, I was able to attend a press panel for the fifth season of This Is Us, which is the sort of thing I’m not usually able to do as a Chicago-based critic. 

My career is always a juggling act between film and TV, and this year made me appreciate how valuable it is to be able to move seamlessly between both worlds. I took on new TV assignments covering the first season of Stargirl and the second season of The Umbrella Academy, both of which were a blast to write about. And while I didn’t watch quite as many films as I did in my insane catch-up year last year, I did fill in some more major blindspots. I also contributed to The A.V. Club’s list of the best films of 2000 and shared my own ballot over on Letterboxd. Oh, and I set up a Letterboxd this year too!

Elsewhere, I made my debut on Bustle and The Takeout, and ended the year with a Polygon article about “Kind Movies” that pretty much sums up my entire ethos on storytelling. I was also named a Top Critic by Rotten Tomatoes, which was a real honor. But the pride and joy of my career remains my rom-com column, When Romance Met Comedy. I devoted a whopping 49,000 words to analyzing 25 different romantic comedies this year. And I’m really pleased with how the column has grown and with the positive feedback I’ve received.

I have to admit, I sometimes worry that year-end highlight reels like this one can make my life seem easy or glamorous in a way that doesn’t reflect what it’s like to actually live through it. I'm tremendously lucky to get to do what I do, but I also struggle a lot—both with the logistics of this career and with bigger questions about what value it brings to the world. My goal is to approach 2021 with a greater sense of intentionality. I want to be more thoughtful in my career choices, more purposeful in how I use social media, and more active in my activism and politics. I’d also like to do 20 push-ups a day everyday for the whole year, but we’ll see how long that resolution actually lasts.

Finally, on a sadder note, one other defining experience of the year was the loss of my dear internet friend Seb Patrick, who I’ve known for years through the Cinematic Universe podcast. Seb created a wonderfully positive nerd space online, and was a big part of my early quarantine experience thanks to the Avengers watchalongs I did with the CU gang in the spring. I’m so grateful for all the fun pop culture chats we got to have throughout the years, several of which are linked below. Seb is tremendously missed, and there’s a fund for his family here.

As we head into 2021, I’ll leave you with wishes for a Happy New Year and a roundup of all the major writing and podcasts I did in 2020. If you enjoyed my work, you can support me on Kofi or PayPal. Or you can just share some of your favorite pieces with your friends! That really means a lot.

My 15 favorite films of 2020

My 15 favorite TV shows of 2020

Op-eds, Features, and Interviews

Women Pioneered The Film Industry 100 Years Ago. Why Aren’t We Talking About Them? [Bustle]

2020 is the year of the Kind Movie — and it couldn’t have come at a better time [Polygon]

Make a grocery store game plan for stress-free shopping [The Takeout]

What’s Going On: A primer on the call to defund the police [Medium]

Doctor Who’s John Barrowman on the return of Captain Jack Harkness [The A.V. Club]

Episodic TV Coverage

Doctor Who S12

This Is Us S4 and S5

Supergirl S5

Stargirl S1

The Umbrella Academy S2

The Crown S4

NBC’s Dr. Seuss’ The Grinch Musical!

When Romance Met Comedy

Is The Ugly Truth the worst romantic comedy ever made?

Working Girl’s message is timeless, even if the hair and the shoulder pads aren’t

You’ve Got Mail and the power of the written (well, typed) word

Love & Basketball was a romantic slam dunk

How did My Big Fat Greek Wedding make so much money?

America eased into the ’60s with the bedroom comedies of Doris Day and Rock Hudson

I can’t stop watching Made Of Honor

Notting Hill brought two rom-com titans together

It’s time to rediscover one of Denzel Washington’s loveliest and most under-seen romances

Something’s Gotta Give is the ultimate quarantine rom-com

20 years ago, But I’m A Cheerleader reclaimed camp for queer women

On its 60th anniversary, Billy Wilder’s The Apartment looks like an indictment of toxic masculinity

The Wedding Planner made rom-com stars out of Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey

After 25 years, Clueless is still our cleverest Jane Austen adaptation

William Shakespeare invented every romantic comedy trope we love today

Edward Norton made his directorial debut by walking a priest, a rabbi, and a Dharma into a Y2K rom-com

The forgotten 1970s romantic comedy that raged against our broken, racist system

His Girl Friday redefined the screwball comedy at 240 words per minute

Before Wonder Woman soared into theaters, the hacky My Super Ex-Girlfriend plummeted to Earth

Dirty Dancing spoke its conscience with its hips

The rise of Practical Magic as a spooky season classic

In a dire decade for the genre, Queen Latifah became a new kind of rom-com star

Years before Elsa and Anna, Tangled reinvigorated the Disney princess tradition

Palm Springs is the definitive 2020 rom-com

Celebrate Christmas with the subversive 1940s rom-com that turned gender roles on their head

The A.V. Club Film & TV Reviews

Netflix’s To All The Boys sequel charms, though not quite as much as the original

The Photograph only occasionally snaps into focus

Jane Austen's Emma gets an oddball, sumptuous, and smart new adaptation

Pete Davidson delivers small-time charms in Big Time Adolescence

Council Of Dads crams a season of schmaltzy storytelling into its premiere

In Belgravia, Downton Abbey’s creator emulates Dickens to limited success

Netflix’s Love Wedding Repeat adds some cringe to the rom-com

Netflix takes another shot at Cyrano de Bergerac with queer love triangle The Half Of It

We Are Freestyle Love Supreme is a feel-good origin story for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first troupe

Sara Bareilles’ melodic Apple TV+ series Little Voice is still finding itself

Netflix’s sexist rom-com sensation gets a minor upgrade in The Kissing Booth 2

With Howard, Disney+ movingly honors the lyricist who gave the Little Mermaid her voice

The Broken Hearts Gallery tries to find catharsis in heartbreak

Netflix’s ghostly musical series Julie And The Phantoms hits some charming tween high notes

After We Collided slides toward R-rated camp—but not far enough

Holidate is a bawdy start to Netflix’s holiday rom-com slate

Kristen Stewart celebrates the Happiest Season in a pioneering queer Christmas rom-com

Isla Fisher gets her own Enchanted in the Disney Plus fairy tale Godmothered

Podcast Appearances

Debating Doctor Who: “Orphan 55”

It Pod To Be You: The Wedding Singer

Reality Bomb: Defending Doctor Who’s “Closing Time”

The Televerse: Spotlight on Doctor Who Season 12

You Should See The Other Guy: The Ugly Truth

Only Stupid Answers: Stargirl’s season finale

Motherfoclóir: Ireland and the Hollywood Rom-Com

Called in to Nerdette’s Clueless retrospective episode

Cinematic Universe Appearances

Cinematic Universe: Superman IV: The Quest For Peace

Cinematic Universe: Birds of Prey

Cinematic Universe: Infinity War watchalong

Cinematic Universe: Endgame watchalong

Cinematic Universe: Terminator 2

Cinematic Universe: Josie and the Pussycats

Cinematic Universe: The Cuppies 2020 (Cuppies of Cuppies)

And here are similar year-end wrap-ups I did in 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, and 2013.

[desperatelyseekingroleplay]

Searching for Discord 1x1

Hello! I’m looking for some skilled, experienced 1x1 partners for Discord roleplays. Please read to the end as there is a password I won't answer messages without.

•General/Writing Style•

I usually prefer sticking at around 4 paragraphs and up, but quality over quantity for the most part. These days I’ve been favoring a bit of a slower pace and writing 8+ paragraphs, however. I would prefer you write in 3rd person, past tense. Please have decent grammar and spelling, varied vocabulary and sentence structure, as well as decent syntax. Please provide me something of substance to respond to in your responses. Please also be somewhat experienced.

•Age•

18+ only, but 21+ preferred (I'm 23)

•Timezone•

EST. I don’t mind what timezone you’re in- waking up to new responses is exciting :)

•Platforms•

Discord is strongly preferred for the actual role-play. I can be convinced to use kik, Reddit, or Tumblr, however. 

•Response Frequency•

I'd prefer if you could respond at least a few times a week. I'm a pretty busy student can't always commit to much more than that, so I won't ask that of you. Please try to communicate when you will be gone or significantly less active for several weeks or more. I will try to do the same.

Please don’t contact me if you will be gone for a couple weeks plus very early into the role-play. I tend to lose interest very fast if there’s long breaks at the very beginning. Get me invested and I can wait quite a long time for you, though. 

I'm a bit less lenient with this when we're still doing introductions, so if we've barely said hello but a few days pass and I hear nothing, I'll assume you're no longer interested or never were in the first place and close our discussion. You are free to assume the same of me.

•Genre•

I'm a sucker for modern, romantic slice-of-life with a healthy dose of character-driven drama and angst. I also sometimes like to weave other genres in there too such as Supernatural, Mystery, Action, and Adventure. I'm really open to most things if the plot interests me. 

•Gender and Romantic Preference•

I strongly prefer playing a female main outside of MxM. Beyond that, I am open to MxF, FxF, NBxM/F, and MxM. Currently, I'm mostly in the mood for an MxF or possibly F//. My apologies, but please note I do not play male in MxF nor do I double up.

I do not engage in dichotomy personality dynamics and like pairings to be close to even as possible in contributions to the relationship. If a scene gets intimate, I'd prefer we fade to black.

•Plots/Creativity•

While I have plots listed, you're more than welcome to share plots of your own. I'd prefer it if you are open to brainstorming plot points and bouncing ideas off each other too. Let's keep this interesting for both of us so it stays alive.

•OCs•

I would prefer not to roleplay with OCs that are excessively shy, Mary-Sues, or OP. Additionally, please ensure your own OC does not monopolize the plot with their own issues and background. Let's share the spotlight.

I tend to play multiple side-characters and would prefer if you did too.

Please do not control my main OC or any named side characters I introduce. It can really mess with my plans with them if you suddenly auto-kill out of nowhere or something... If necessary, I may permit you to control a side character of mine, but please run it by me first. Communication is key.

•Fandoms•

I am willing to roleplay within the universe of several fandoms, but please note I do not roleplay as canon characters and would prefer not to roleplay with canon characters either. Please recall that I am more than happy to do original plots too if you aren't into any of these.

-Corpse Party**

-Black Mirror*

-Death Note

-Avatar The Last Airbender*

-Downton Abbey

-Call The Midwife*

-Dragon Quest(IV-IX)***

-Miraculous Ladybug****(I'd love to delve into the more subtle, darker elements like the consequences of a broken miraculous and time travel)

-Fruits Basket***

-Soul Eater

-The Hunger Games

(The number of * indicates craving)

•Original Plots•

(Muse I would like to play is bolded. If neither are bolded, I can do either. All of these are open to brainstorming and tweaking!)

(This is an older one of mine, but I’ve recently kinda been in the mood to start it up again.) Marianoh’s Culinary Institute is the most renowned school for culinary arts in the country. Any who truly wish to be a master chef would be foolish not to attend. Unless they don’t have the means- the tuition is insanely high. Muse A is part of the lucky few of humble beginnings that has been selected to attend via scholarship. They couldn’t be more excited. Muse B, on the other hand, comes from a family of celebrity chefs. Their spot at Marianoh’s was confirmed before birth. Yet, somehow, they don’t share Muse A’s joy. Far from it, actually. What happens when the two are partnered up for the year?

 Muse A has always been at the top of their class since early elementary and thrived on it. They come from a family of high achievers where failure is neither seen nor accepted. Proud and arrogant over their achievements, their grades make them, them. All that changed when Muse B showed up, smashing the entrance exams with marks unheard of. Of course Muse A wouldn’t take that lying down, thus, the classic rivalry begins. What happens when the two find they have more in common than they thought? Life on Muse B’s side is not all it seems as well.

They were the voice in their head. The imaginary friend. For as long as they can remember, Muses A and B have always been there for each other when they needed it. But to everyone else, it’s all in their heads. They was saved from that riptide by pure chance and luck, despite being unable to swim. The bullies were coming for them, but they found that little nook to hide in all on their own. Flash forward to current day, the two are attending the same university. Muse A is an upstart, trying to make a name for themself academically and socially, the latter going much better than the former. Muse B is the opposite, the social anxiety fueled by a rocky past relegating them to basically a shut in. Their grades, on the other hand, are phenomenal despite barely ever attending classes. When a sibling suggests they try working as a tutor to get out more, they have their doubts, but decide to go for it anyway. The first student walk-in, however, just so happens to be Muse A...

Please note the idea for this world is not mine, but I unfortunately don’t remember the title of the original story. If this sounds familiar to you, feel free to comment the details and I’ll credit the story! Anyhow, in a smaller country, tucked away from the rest of the world, people are born into a unique system. They are either Energy Givers or Energy Takers. Their ability activates from a young age and they are paired with the most compatible one of the opposite ability as soon as possible, usually early elementary school. Energy is transferred from the giver to the taker via a kiss on the lips and must be done at least once a day. While partners are not necessarily romantically involved, the two depend on each other immensely. Without receiving energy, the taker will quickly tire, weaken and collapse becoming comatose and at risk of death. If they do not give energy, the giver’s energy supply builds up making them suffer from nausea, lethargy, fevers, and other unpleasant symptoms that will gradually worsen to the point where their life is in danger. Should a pair of partners be separated either through death or other means, the lone individual must visit a donation center where they will be paired with a donor that somewhat matches until a more compatible, new permanent partner is finally found.].

Now for the main plot. Muse A and Muse B are a Giver-Taker pair that has been together since childhood. Their feelings grew from platonic to romantic and by high school, the two were a golden, seemingly unbreakable couple. Near the end their last year, all comes to a grinding halt when Muse B suddenly breaks up with Muse A and disappears. Five years down the line, Muse A is a jaded, lonely individual, known for constantly going from donor to donor. Deciding they need a change, they take a teaching job in a boarding school on the other side of the country. Yet when they walk into the faculty office on their first day, they find themselves placed in a desk right next to Muse A. Not only this, the two are in the same department. How will things proceed?

Contact Instructions: Please either message me here @addienadelaide or email me at lisanimealis@gmail.com with BOTH your favorite season and a recently written roleplay sample. If all looks good I will give you my discord and we can move things there. Hope to hear from some of you soon!