Tumgik
#erased my clear lines and told me they were never in their original place in the first place
writing-in-april · 3 years
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Soured Nostalgia
Spencer Reid x Female Reader
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Summary: When Reader moves their stuff in to Spencer’s apartment they find photos that he kept over the years. One photo of the past springs up memories of Spencer’s precious relationship with Elle.
A/N: hey heeeyyy everybody- here’s a fic I’ve been really excited to share with everyone. It’s my eleventh fic for my 30 fics in 30 days!!! This was the original request (I made it a little different lol I hope you like it)I had a fun time with it mostly cause I totally think Spencer and Elle had something going on at some point 😉 Plus I got to incorporate older angsty post prison Spencer and mention how he used to be a little baby ☺️ I’m curious to hear y’all’s thoughts about the Reidaway ship, or really anything so feel free to drop an ask to my inbox here. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!
Warnings: 18+, Smut, Joking about being jealous???, Reidaway in the past, Spencer being sad about the people who’ve left him, Sub Spencer, Only a bit of dry sex, Masturbation, Unprotected sex, Use of a belt to restrain, A few taps on the cheek, Reader’s hand is around Spencer’s throat for a second
Main Masterlist Word Count: 3.2k
Reminiscing on the past was difficult depending on how the story had ended. Memories that may have been happy could turn too painful because of the ending result. Age turned the memories into unreliable accounts as well, unable to truly remember how things had been back then and how you had truly felt.
Memories were still something to hold onto and cherish even though they got twisted with age and opinion. Nostalgia, a sentimental or wishful affection for the past, was an addictive feeling even if it made you cry. It remained addictive even if most of your past memories had hurt you with no sentiment attached. Everyone always chased the euphoric feelings they had when looking at the ghosts of their past. Sometimes even when looking back you can find something that had once soured had turned sweet again.
Spencer had many memories that he was no longer able to look back upon for a host of reasons. Most often it was because he could no longer bear to look back on a memory of someone who had left him. Whether it was his Dad, Gideon, Hotch, Blake, Elle, and many others, looking back at them just made him often feel like everyone in his entire life had left him.
That wasn’t true of course, he still had his Mom- and you. Even with his Mom there were still many of his memories with her were still stained with guilt, though that had gotten better with time and with your help.
You had begun helping him find the benefit in looking back, trying to make the soured nostalgia a bit sweeter again. It was getting easier as time ticked by for him to open up to you about everything in his past, the good and the bad. At first you had been staring at a wall that he had been building higher and higher throughout the years, it was daunting how tall it was. When you helped take a sledgehammer to it, making it crumble beneath your effort, he pulled away for a while. He felt comfortable by himself behind his own Great Wall until you showed him the benefits of sharing the secrets he held behind it. But, you still stayed, helping him as much as you could until he was willing to open up.
It had been many months since you started your effort to help him break it down. At some point in the last months you had both fallen into a relationship, a romantic one. What had once been a platonic relationship forged from shared interests evolved into a romance emerging from the rubble of his wall.
He had even given you a key to his apartment at one point, which he had never done with anyone except the bureau. Emily was the one that really had it, but that was strictly for work reasons. This was a show of trust which was much more helpful than his wall that had reached the heights of a skyscraper.
A simple key soon turned into you staying at his place more often than at your own. You had casually mentioned one day while watching one of Spencer’s favorite documentaries that you basically lived here now. It was a true statement, most of the clothes you wore on a daily basis had been given a spot in his dresser and the toothbrush you kept there was not the one you used for travel- that one was at your place. You had begun to put your mark on Spencer’s life in a more permanent way than before.
When he had spontaneously suggested the next day that you should move in with him, you knew that your small comment had stuck in his brain. It was easy to agree to, you had said you basically already lived here, plus living with the love of your life sounded like a dream. You only had a few things that you wanted to bring over and it was mostly decorative stuff that you could’ve let go if Spencer hadn’t insisted that he wanted you to make the space your own.
While turning the space that was once solely Spencer’s into something for you both, you had found a small clear box with a blue lid, filled with pictures. Spencer didn’t have a lot of personal pictures framed, there was one with you and him by the bed, one with the team by his desk, one with him and Morgan on the living room wall, and one with you two and his Mom also hung up in the living room.
When you had shown him the box he could tell you were curious, letting you look through it without a moment of hesitation. In the past Spencer would have been wary sharing his memories with you, but now he’d let you look. If only you could get him to look at the box with you.
You weren’t surprised he didn't want to look with you once you saw the people littered throughout the snapshots. Varying people that had left were in most of them, even some you never met.
Ones with Hotch and Gideon- even one from a long time ago with his father buried at the bottom. As you browsed through them you were glad he was able to hang up that photo of him and Morgan, at least they had parted with some closure. It also helped that he still saw him regularly, he had never fully left like some of the people from his past.
One picture in particular stood out to you, it was another team photo, they seemed more carefree in this one compared to now. There was baby Spencer, before you had known him, in a birthday boy hat smiling with the rest of the team. You guessed it was around his 23rd or 24th birthday, going by the slick back gelled hair he had sported in his earlier years. He seemed so much more different back then, perhaps more carefree compared to now. But, he also seemed much more unsure of himself, maybe a bit self conscious. In the photo you could tell he was nervous, just by the look in his eyes. He still had that same look in his eyes whenever he felt nervous.
Then you looked closer at where his eyes were focused on, there was a clear line of sight from him to Elle. Elle was way less nervous in this captured moment compared to Spencer, though from what you had heard she had always been like that.
Your gaze on the photo was broken when Spencer then came into the living room where you were sitting on the couch.
You decided to test the waters to see if he might want to take a look at the photo with you, “Why do you look so nervous in this photo?”
He stopped the path he had been taking, then stood still for a second before deciding to sit next to you on the couch. Straining his neck he gazed over at the photo you were holding in your hands. It was silent for a while as he looked over it, stopping to look at his old team. Some of the team still remained intact, namely JJ, but she wasn’t the same as she had been all those years ago. You let him take it from your hands, so he could look at it closer. He cleared his throat a little, though his voice still came out slightly raspy when he spoke, though he didn’t answer the question you had asked him,“It’s the only picture I ever had taken with Elle…”
“I know you guys were- close.” You didn’t ask your previous question again, sensing that it was still too much to talk about in specifics. What he was telling you right now was even more than what he told you, only telling you that she was his first, everything. Any supplemental information was from talking discreetly to JJ about it one night because you were somewhat curious.
Tiptoeing around the relationship you knew that they had previously was like walking through a minefield. You tried the best that you could to avoid making him too upset. When you got him to open up, it wasn’t by forcing him to talk all at once. Busting the wall down was done brick by brick, not all at once.
“I’m glad you aren’t jealous of her.” His comment was said with less sadness than before. It was nice to see a glimpse of the weight coming off of his shoulders, even if it was just for a moment.
“What? Do you want me to be jealous of her?” You teased, lightheartedly so he wouldn’t dwell on the sad aspect of their past relationship. He smiled softly which deepened when you playfully stuck your tongue out and crossed your arms.
“No- you’ve got nothing to be jealous about…” Any playfulness in his voice was erased as his sentence trailed off. You didn’t say anything for a moment in case he wanted to continue his thought. And, after a moment of silence he did, “I haven’t spoken to her since she left…”
“I know- I was just joking about being jealous. I know how much she meant to you…” His eyes moved away from you, at first you thought it might be because he was still feeling the pain of losing her all those years ago. But, there was something else in his eyes, it naturally made you curious, “What are you thinking about?”
“If you were jealous- what would you have done?” His mind must have shifted away from thinking about the ending of his memories with Elle, which was a step in the right direction. At least he wasn’t avoiding the topic all together, he was still talking about her in a sense.
You bit your lip, thinking about what direction you could take this in. You weren’t going to lie, your mind had gone straight into the gutter at his suggestion and by the look on Spencer’s face so had his.
“Hmmm…” You pretended to ponder while you moved from where you were sitting on the couch to sit on something better, Spencer’s lap. Straddling him then with ease you looked down at his face tracing his cheeks with your fingers. His pupils were blown wide now, almost completely devouring his iris that had become a small ring. He didn’t say anything yet, waiting for you to continue your thought obediently, “I think I would do things to you that I suspect she never did.”
He gulped hard, hard enough that you could hear it. You continued to trace your fingers along his face, sometimes picking a lock of his hair to twirl, waiting for him to say something else like you knew he wanted to. It only took a few more seconds of your touches and your eyes staring into his own before he asked, “C-Can you show me?”
You stopped your movements, pausing for dramatic effect before crushing his lips onto your own. He squared into your mouth at first, clearly taken off guard by your sudden kiss. Before he had processed what was going on enough to let you, you forced your tongue into his mouth, earning you a delicious moan from him.
When you moved again suddenly, separating your mouth with his for just a moment, he tried to chase your lips. Pushing a finger to his lips you then used that to push him back into the couch, then answering his question, “Gladly.”
You kept your finger on his mouth to seal them shut. He could have opened it easily to respond to you, but he wanted to see what you might do next.
Instead of going back to kissing him you started to pull his belt off of him. It was difficult with one hand, taking much longer than it would be with two. But, you still kept your finger rested in the position most people use to shush someone.
Once the belt had finally been pulled from the belt loops of his slacks you finally removed your finger from his mouth. He still remained quiet, his eyes following your every move intently. You then went to work, pinning his hands above his head, then beginning to restrain them with his belt.
“Did she do this to you?” Goading him while you looped the belt around his hands. You made sure to go as slow as possible while you restrained him just to make it last longer until you gave him what he wanted. You even began to grind down on his cock a little bit, it obviously ached to be free from its confines in his trousers by how strained the slacks were getting.
“No!” His voice was broken and breathy, exactly how you wanted it as you tightened the belt around his hand a little more.
Once you were satisfied that the belt was tight enough you got off of him to remove the shorts you had been wearing, along with the rest of your clothes. Normally when you were naked and Spencer was clothed it would be when you were underneath him as a sort of power play. In this position, where he couldn’t move without fear of consequences while you restraddled him completely naked was almost even more empowering.
To play with the dynamic even more you had him remain confined in his slacks for a while longer, while you touched yourself. You were already quite wet from seeing Spencer in this position and exerting that power by pumping your fingers in you while he could do nothing had you dripping onto his slacks.
Spencer’s jaw had gone slack while watching you moan above him, completely speechless from your actions. It was almost comical and entirely too easy to tease him about, “Close your mouth you might catch flies.” His mouth clenched shut at that. It soon fell slack again at your next words while you brought yourself closer to the edge with your fingers, “What? Did she never do this for you?”
All Spencer could do was sit there and take it, shaking his head side to side, only a little so he could keep his eyes on you. You decided to be merciful, pulling your fingers out of you just before you orgasmed. You wanted to finish at the same time as him anyway.
Finally, you pulled his aching cock out of his slacks. It was throbbing in your hand as you spread your wetness with the fingers that had been inside you. Because you had edged yourself earlier, you couldn’t take teasing him any longer. You lined the head of his cock that was red and weeping up to your entrance, sinking down as fast as you could take him. While you sunk down you rubbed your clit in slow circles, not enough to make you orgasm, but enough to make it easier to take him.
Once you had fully taken him you wasted no time, immediately beginning to build up a fast pace. And, of course you couldn’t help but goad him again,
“Did she make you feel this good?” Your pace you had chosen was rough, bouncing and rolling your hips with reckless abandon while he had to take it without being able to move. He could have thrusted up into you even without the use of his hands, but he had one too many of your punishments in the past to be willing to break the rules so explicitly. Now if he ever broke the rules now it was him subtly bending them. Though, you could tell by the way his eyes rolled back into his head that he had no intention of doing that tonight. It felt too good to be used like this by you.
He still had not answered you though, not on purpose, but you still needed an answer. Tapping his cheek a few times, just hard enough to get his attention. It caused him to whine, but he still didn’t give you an answer. Since that didn’t work you decided to ask again, “I asked you a question. Did she make you feel this good? Did she use you like this?”
To add an extra edge to your words filled with a deadly tone you reached one of your hands forward to grasp around his neck. To make him look at you directly you forcefully tilted his neck, eyes once again trained on yours. He finally found it in himself to answer, “It felt good with her, but it feels best with you! I love you!”
“Good.” You simply stated and dropped your hold on his neck so you could return it to its place on his chest, using it as leverage to help you continue your fast pace. Your orgasm was fast approaching, his cock hitting you in the perfect spot, all you needed was a bit more stimulation. When you brought your hand down to run fast circles onto your clit, you soon fell apart above him. Spencer couldn’t help but look up at you in awe, speechless at how beautiful you look while you writhed on top of him.
Your own release pushed Spencer close to the edge and he started to beg, “I’m gonna cum! Please, can I?”
His hands had tightened into fists above him, knuckles going white over the effort of keeping them right where you had placed them originally. You were pleased with the way he had begged, glad that he had asked permission before even thinking about cumming. You still left him in suspense for a bit longer as you continued to work yourself on his painfully hard cock. Pressing a few kisses to his exposed skin under his collar was admittedly just to torture him a bit longer before you finally gave the command.
“Cum for me then.” Spencer followed your command eagerly, taking only two more of you bouncing on top of him to release inside you with a groan. While he rode out his release his lips captured around one of your pebbled peaks, sucking hard to get one last moan out of you.
Slumping forward after you had both finished and you had taken the belt off his wrists with the promise you’d lotion them up after you cuddled. You rested your head on his shoulder, wanting to stay as close as possible for a little while longer. He started tracing his fingers up and down your spine, relaxing you even further, almost to the point of falling asleep.
Before your eyes closed shut in post coital sleepiness your mind wandered a bit back to Elle. Elle had been an important figure in his life, his first real connection with someone special. Sure you teased about being jealous, but you thought it was important to tell him that you were ok with him thinking back on her. You knew he loved you. It most likely would take time till he was able to think or talk about her without a sharp pain in his chest, reminding him of how it all ended.
He hadn’t told you exactly what had happened, but it wasn’t hard to fill in all of the gaps. You turned your head, eyelashes fluttering when you nuzzled into his hair. Then you spoke quietly just enough so the sound could travel the short distance to his ear, “You should frame the picture, you look cute in it. And, I meant to say it earlier, I love you too.”
Ask Me Anything
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Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):
All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith
All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie
Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie
Sub Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge @calm-and-doctor @princesssmooshie
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livi-4799 · 2 years
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Reminder (Wall Drawing Inspired Scene)
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(This is a snippet of what I want to do for a fanfiction for ADOW. The scene is based off the infamous wall drawing scene in Book 3. NOTE: Olive and Nickolas are original characters) *The work is a combination of elements of season 3 of the show and book 3*
**Spoilers for the final season and book of ADOW**
Jack
Pencil lead glided across the paper, lines fill the empty space in the middle and fingerprints, the result of staining from smudging the lead were imprinted on the corners. An almond shaped eye staring to the right was almost close to completion with the outline of the second waiting. A rough outline of a face needed lines of where the jaw was going to be, but I needed to figure out the nose shape first before that happened. The drawing was of another face today, I don’t know whose. But a clear image in my head was telling me it was going to be a man. How old was still foggy, the face was there but I can’t make out what are their features, not yet.
I wasn’t in that much of a rush or mood to be that invested about the distortion of the features, this was something to do now, to distract. I reached for the sharpener near my feet on the window seat and sharpened the pencil. Lead smeared more on my fingers, leaving charcoal to stain. The lunch with Father Hubbard had ended early, one of his newest members was having difficulty adjusting. From what I was told by Leonard, he’s only been with Hubbard for a few months. A wrong move had created an unnecessary line that cuts through the half-completed left eye.
“Shit.” I sighed. I reached for the eraser that sat next to the spare pencils and removed the mistake. Brushing off the rubber bits, I quickly fixed the eye before going back to the bridge of the nose, flicking the tip of the lead up from the faint circle where the nose’s tip would be.
I looked up and towards the opened door of my room, where a framed photo of Sept-Tours sat on the wall, I listened closely for anything, no heartbeats but the faint one of my own was audible in the whole house, the vampire hearing did pick up the free-way traffic, but none of the cars used by Dad and Mum, Sarah or Olive’s. Usually the door would be shut but there was no need for it to be, no one was home. The twins were with Marthe and Sarah today at the park, Dad was at the Oxford lab with Miriam and Chris working on more DNA samples, Creature and Human for the paper Mum wants to release, and speaking of Mum, she’s at Oxford university teaching a class till six. Olive was the only one home today with nothing planned, no classes, no work, a day off. But when I arrived home, she wasn’t here. A text message at 1:15 today answered the question of where she was: out. A friend of hers at the university organised a last-minute day out and she’ll be home around 2 or 3ish. About 45 minutes later my phone buzzed from Olive, she had sent a photo of her and her friends at some restaurant outside. So, the house was empty, except for me.
Two eyes completed, now for the nose. Narrow? Wide? The tip of the lead touched the paper and, nothing. Familiarity paused any progress for me to make. I think I know who this face is? But who? Whose face was I drawing? The answer never came as I was interrupted. The phone ringing broke the silence. My phone buzzed on the wooden table across from me where the spare sheets of paper sat and other utensils. I placed the book and pencil down on the window seat and got up to get the phone. I turn the screen around to see who was calling. It’s Olive.
I clicked answer and put the phone to my ear. “Hey.”
“Hi!” Olive’s cheery voice rang through. “Sorry I missed your call earlier. Lost my phone in my bag.”
“That’s fine.” I heard cars in the background and the sound of her car’s engine. “Are you driving?”
“Yeah. And before you jump and say I shouldn’t be driving and calling, my Bluetooth is on, the phone is connected to the car speakers. Hey, listen, I’m on my way to you, where do you want to meet?”
I sat back down on the window seat, feet planted next to the open sketchbook. “Don’t worry about it. I’m home.”
I heard the turn signal, “You back at your parents already? I thought your lunch with Father Hubbard was going to be till 3.” The sound clicks off.
“Cut short.” I told her, “Father H had to help a new member of his flock. He wouldn’t tell me what it’s about. Nothing serious for me to worry about.”
“I hope it’s not Nickolas.” I heard the worry in her voice. The two of them were like siblings, he had her back all these years and she had his for the 5 years they had run. He was her friend and brother. Losing him would do God knows what, possibly worse than what happened when she lost her friend Leah.
I shook my head. “Highly unlikely.” I assured her, “Leonard told me he’s been adjusting well.”
I hear her sigh, “Thank God. I’m relieved. We haven’t spoken in a bit, and I was meaning to call him, Leonard or Father Hubbard to ask how have things been. Anyway, how long have you been back?”
“I’ve been home for a couple of hours.” I told her, sitting up straighter. “And you know it’s your home too. Dad and Mum explained to you this multiple times.” After we had watched her father’s message to Dad and Olive, Mum and Dad decided, with the help of the twins’ begging for her to become their big sister, that Olive would be accepted into the scion, and that the room she’s staying in, next door to mine, is now hers and she can do whatever she wants to it. But no matter what was said, it still hasn’t brought any ease for her. She still believes that one day she will lose that, her bags still packed with her belongings hidden in the wardrobe in case she would be asked to leave, or she would have to run. I won’t allow that to happen, no matter what.
“I’m still not used to calling it home.” She tells me, “And I’m not a de Clairmont, or Bishop-Clairmont.”
“And neither am I, technically. My last name is Blackfriars, Marcus’ is Whitmore and Fernando’s is Gonclaves. Regardless of the last name you have, you’re part of the scion now, and part of this family. Everyone is happy you’re with us: the twins love you like a big sister, Mum and Dad love you, Phoebe and Marcus too and I love you. I love you a lot, since the day we meet I always had and I know you don’t believe anyone else with you staying here permanently and being part of the scion but believe me when I tell you that I will do anything to make sure you have a place here, that you have somewhere to call home. You are home. You’re with me.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone, the only sounds audible were the cars and hers. Worry spread through my body. “Olive? You there?”
“Yeah. I am.” Her voice was shaky. “Thank you. I—I love you too. I’ll be home in 10 minutes.”
“Alright. And when you do, we’ll need to unpack your things. I think you can use that wardrobe properly now. Even if we do one bag today, it’s a good place to start. Baby steps.”
“Baby steps.” She repeats, I heard the turn signal again. “Alright, I better end the call and let you get back to your drawing of the man.”
I laughed, my head leaning back against the wall. “How could you possibly know I’m doing that?”
It was her turn to laugh, I loved that sound. “And reveal my secrets? That will ruin the fun.”
I shook my head and sighed, “You and your Bright-Born gifts are something.”
          “You love them. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”
“Bye.” I put the phone down next to me and picked up the book and pencil and went back to the drawing.
Five minutes later, after adding some shadow to the face and finishing the lips and nose the face was almost completed. A bald man staring to his right, a few lines added age to the face, based on where the wrinkles were, he looked—A face appeared in my head.
My hand stopped moving, the pencil frozen when my mind clicked on who this face was. Something twitched in my head and flashes of the man, the real one appeared. His dark blue eyes, his greying eyebrows, stubble on his face where a beard would be. The pencil slid from my hand and landed somewhere on the floor. My quickened heartbeat became a distant sound to the new noise that surrounded me: screams of all my victims. The white of the page had expanded as far as I could see, taking over my room before fading into a dull black colour. The smell of stale blood and dust replaced the smell of paper and drawing pencils.
His voice echoed in my head. “C’mon Jack.”
I heard my own. “I don’t want to do it.”
I blinked and I was back with Benjamin, the newest victim knelt in front of us. The man, the victim’s face I was drawing not moments ago, stared back at me with wide eyes, terrified of what was to come. Tears clouded his eyes. His mouth was gagged with a white cloth so he wouldn’t scream, Benjamin would want me to take it off him not soon enough so he could scream. It made things more fun in his eyes.
Benjamin stood next to me, I didn’t need to look to know he was smirking. “C’mon Jack. You don’t want to disappoint him now, do you?”
I took a step back. “This is wrong. It’s all wrong. He’s scared.”
The man nodded in agreement, thinking it would help him in any way.
Benjamin leaned in closer to whisper in my ear, “You need to show me. Show me what you can do for Matthew, that you are of his blood. One of his.”
Anger caused the blood rage to surface as I faced him, “I am Matthew’s son! And this doesn’t prove it!”
Benjamin had my hair gripped tight in his fist, “Prove it!” He screamed, voice echoing in my head and memories. His eyes were violent. “Prove it to me that you’re worthy of his respect!”
He threw me back and walked over to untie the man and ungag him, “Prove to me that you are Matthew’s.”
“No! I won’t do it! Please!” I begged.
The man crawled over to me and gripped the legs of my pants, “Please let me live! I beg of you! I—I won’t say a thing. I—I promise!” He was crying.
          Benjamin scoffed before I could do anything. “I knew it. This is why Matthew left you, why he hates you, is ashamed of who you are. You’re not his son, you’re pathetic, weak. You haven’t got the spirit.”
A snarl echoed in the room and fear whitened the man’s face as he scrambled to get away. He ran past and tried to get out, but the door was locked. Benjamin made sure of it. Rage burned through.
The man banged on the door, “Help! Som—” In a blur everything shifted, the man screamed echoed the room along with the sounds of snarling and gulping. Blood filled the air with its scent. Something warm went down my throat. Suddenly the screaming stopped and a heavy weight was in my hands. Benjamin’s laugh ran through, snapping me back to reality. My face was in the man’s neck, mouth full of blood. The blood rage was replaced instantly with guilt. I pulled away when I realised what I did. The man collapsed like a sack, his body limp on the ground.
I scrambled over to him and placed a hand over his heart, it was weak but still beating. Without hesitation I bit into my wrist hard to draw blood and pressed it to his mouth. He coughed up blood, it bursts from his lips and dribbled down. “Drink it!” I screamed at him, my tears fogging his face. “Drink the blood!”
He never opened his mouth, the light in his eyes died. His chest stopped rising and his head limped to the side, facing the wall. I heard the man’s heart beat for the last time, the blood didn’t work. I was too late. Blood coated my skin red, a mixture of his and my own, burning hot and sticky. It coated my hands. My vampire heart thudded in my ears. What have I done?!
I heard Benjamin’s footprints stop behind me then he pats my shoulder twice, “Well done, boy. You will make Matthew proud to call you his son.”
I didn’t look up to see his face or to watch him leave, I heard him sing as he left me alone with the body. “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put poor Jack back together again.”
A female voice called out through the tears, “Jack?!”
Olive
The house was too quiet when opening the front door, one arm carrying four bags. The keys rattling in the door’s lock as I pulled it out. I shut the door with a small kick, it accidentally slammed harder than what I intended. “Hey, I’m back.” I shouted, Jack didn’t respond.
I placed the bags down on the dining table, “Jack?” I called out, nothing.
I was about to say something again when a smell hits me, the air in the house no longer smelt like the English pear and Freesia candle I used this morning, instead, a bitter acrid smell filled the space. My nose scrunched at the smell. Something wasn’t right, my stomach flips. I took a hesitant step forward, the smell was much stronger towards the stairs. “Jack? What—”
A screeching sound cuts through and I groaned as pain crippled me to my knees, my eyes scrunched shut, my hands were pressed hard to my temples to help the pain, the sound was the only thing I could hear for the moment before a flood of emotions rush through me, someone else’s. Pain, agony, a whole lot of guilt, faint anger, sadness. Flashes of images invade my mind. A dark room. A balding man gagged and bound on his knees. Blood. So much blood. Blood stained hands. A little boy in poor clothes. A cunning smile. Dark eyes. The miniatures of Diana and Matthew from 1590. A car in the dark night. A swirl of whispers, screeching, screaming become a giant sound, my eyes snapped open and I felt power surge through my veins, pooling in my blood and my mind, the noise grew distant for another to echo: Jack’s panicked thoughts.
Jack’s thoughts echoed in my head. “No! I won’t do it! Please!”
My shoes squeaked along the floorboards as I ran, my phone fell out of my pocket and smashed on the floorboards, but I didn’t care, my shoes thudded up the stairs. I almost tripped on the final step, my shoe catching the corner. I grabbed the wall before I could fall, my arm scrapping the wall, I ignored the pain vibrating and ran down the hall where Jack and my rooms were.
“Jack?!” I called out again, he didn’t respond. The door to his room was wide open and I skid to a stop at the sight.
Papers scattered the floor in white and grey, the pencils, a mixture of stubs and long laid atop of some drawings of faces, places, Jack’s latest sketchbook laid facing down, the spine pointing to the ceiling. The table where his supplies normally sat was overturned, the legs facing the window. The smell was much stronger in here, I could taste it on my tongue, and it caused my skin to crawl. Sourness coated my taste and I swallowed. I took a step into the room. The white walls were covered in drawings, murals of deep grey covered every inch as far as I could see. Some of the work overlapped the other, I made out a few detailed landscapes like London, Poland, animals and plants but the main thing was faces, some were human, men and women of a mixture of older and younger generations but they all shared the same thing: they were all showing fear, agony. They were showing pain, the other faces, they were creatures. He had managed to capture the intensity of a vampire’s stare. I spotted Baldwin’s face in one corner, staring intensely at me, the man’s face depicting annoyance and anger about something. I saw Diana and Matthew on the same wall, their face’s emitting shock, Diana’s had joy mixed in with her gaze whereas Matthew’s was anger; this must’ve been when Jack and they reunited. On the other wall I spotted another face, whose I didn’t know, it was male. He appeared to be younger than Matthew in appearance, maybe late 20s, maybe early to mid-30s with a beard. His dark hair was styled like a 90s boyband member.
I spotted Jack on the furthest wall, the same wall where that man’s face sat standing atop of a make shift scaffold. Next to him on a scaffold of its own, was a box of pencils. One hand was braced against the wall while the other sketched his newest work, a man’s face scrunched in agony. The skin of his hand told me it was pasty white, I spotted a few veins protruding from the ghastly skin. The tips of his fingers were stained charcoal. He shuddered then picks up a new pencil to work with, the stub of the previous one clattered to the floor and rolls away in a mocked attempt to escape.
Jack’s mind and his own voice repeated one line over and over, “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Jack back together again.” He shuddered again then repeated the words again. Tears flooded my eyes. Was this his blood rage surfacing? Or was it something else?
I took a step and froze at the crunching sound under my shoe. I froze as the sound made its presence known loudly. My teeth clenched hard as I cursed at the sound. I looked down and saw that I stepped on a pencil. A low growl made my skin go cold and I looked to see that Jack had stopped drawing. His body froze, the pencil stopped its latest work and he turns his head to look at me. Tear streaks ran down his face from his eyes, the inky black colour caused my blood to go ice cold. My heart thudded, hard. I could feel the beating in my throat and my ears. His teeth were clenched into a snarl.
I could feel his emotions a thousand times more: guilt, regret, pain.
"Jack?”
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aries-writingblog · 3 years
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Whatever It Takes
Summary: When Sam gets injured on a mission, YN will do anything to fix her mistakes. While she worries about fixing Sam, Bucky picks up on her guilt. Picking up the pieces of herself she dropped in her frantic efforts.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2322
Warnings: panic/ anxiety, mentions of blood and character injury
AN: This was one requested by the lovely and wonderful @cherry-season who gave me so much inspiration to write! I hope I did it justice. Happy reading!! GIF is not my own, credit to original creator.
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Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to break free of its skeletal cage. Anxious adrenaline flowed in her veins as she paced. Hand rubbing across the back of her neck, impatiently waiting for answers.
It had been an hour since she and Sam returned from their mission. The mission that went completely and horrendously wrong. It started off fine- it started normal. Then it got twisted in a way YN couldn’t even comprehend.
She had been watching his back. She always watched her partner’s back. So what went wrong? What went so off rails- what did she do? How could she have let this happen?
“Miss LN?” YN’s head snapped to the source of the noise. A doctor- still in their surgery gear. She took a shaky inhale, her nerves were decimated. “Why don’t you take a seat- just… try to relax a bit.”
“How- how, where is Sam? Is he okay?” She demanded, moving a step toward the doctor. The woman eased her backwards, gently settling her into a chair. Latex covered fingers pried in between her own glove covered hands. Unclenching the tightly wound fists she had created.
The doctor gave a small, apologetic smile. It quickly fell, giving way to a pressed line of condolence. YN’s stomach plummeted, nausea crawling across her organs. Turning her stomach. Bile rising in her throat. She knew that look. It was the one she had to give to victims when they weren’t going to make it.
“There’s been a slight complication.” She reported quietly, her gaze soft as she studied the agent before her. She was unraveling and quickly. Hands shaking, goosebumps raising on her arms.
“I don’t understand,” YN swallowed, throat aching as her nose burned. Eyes watering from unshed tears. Blurring her eyesight. She blinked them back roughly. “You said you would fix him- what complication?”
“Both kidneys were compromised during the mission- he made it here just in time for us to stabilize him but he is going to need a rapid organ donation to survive.” The doctor informed steadily, keeping her voice even and low. YN’s fingers curled again, trapping her hands between her own. The doctor didn’t blink, unfazed by the strength in her grip. “It’s a difficult task but we have everyone we can working on finding at least one quickly. It’s more complicated due to his blood type- we haven’t been able to find anything available nearby.”
YN sniffled, her nose stuffing up as water slipped down her cheeks. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste coating her tongue.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It had been an easy mission- what did she screw up? Why did it have to be Sam? It should’ve been her, she should’ve-
Her eyes snapped up, meeting the doctor’s concerned features. She could still do something. It wasn’t too late. YN released her hold, wiping across her face. Erasing the remnants of her distress. Her bottom lip trembled but she forced the sentence out anyway.
“What’s the type?”
“He’s O positive.” The doctor didn’t hesitate in a response.
A heavy weight began to lift from her chest, she swallowed back the rough, scratchy feeling in her throat.
“I’m O negative- does that work, can that match? I’ll give whatever he needs.” Her words tripped over themselves, rushing out. Any way to compensate. She was the one who got Sam hurt, she was responsible. She should clean it up.
The doctor’s face brightened almost instantaneously, her eyebrows lifting. Eyes wide.
“It can-“ She cut herself off, pulling YN to her feet. “We need to run a tissue sample test to make sure that you’re compatible. While it’s running, fill out the paperwork just in case.”
YN rushed after the woman, hurrying through the hallways. She could save Sam. The guilt burned in her chest, sinking to meet the rising anxiety in her stomach. Creating a turbulent, vile mixture of self loathing. It had to match… this has to work. Otherwise… she would forever be known as the person who killed Sam Wilson.
~~~~~~
The first thing she became conscious of was a tense pressure on her hand. Then came a muted, muffled noise. It was familiar, albeit distorted and distant. A small groan fell from her lips. In response, the pressure became more intense. A firmer hold. Her eyes blinked open slowly, her head felt light, as if it was floating a thousand feet above her body.
“There she is.” YN turned her head as far as possible, which wasn’t much distance, eyes cutting the rest of the way. She tried to clear her vision, blinking to wear the groggy remnants of sleep away. “How you feelin’?”
“Like shit.” She groaned, throat scratchy and dry. Bucky released his hold, standing to pour a glass of water for her.
“Well, it’s to be expected.” He sighed, stepping closer to her bedside. He grasped her chin gently, angling the lip of the cup to her mouth. Tilting the glass slowly, allowing her time to swallow the water down greedily. “Unlike a major surgery cause, there’s no need to tell the people you love you’re having surgery. Especially not if it’s emergent.”
YN’s lips quirked at the corners. She hadn’t really been thinking of anyone but Sam in the moment. It all happened so fast, the whole day seemed to have been but a blur in her memory. She couldn’t recall details, her thoughts crashed against a hazy wall as she glimpsed back.
“Sorry… didn’t really know what was happening until it did.” She spoke slowly, words felt like molasses on her tongue. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, gently brushing her hair back before returning to his previous seat at her bedside. He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.
“I understand…” He told her, a soft smile playing on his features. There was a melancholy glimmer in his irises. They betrayed him, as usual. “I was just scared that you… left.”
All Bucky had received was a phone call from the medical wing. Just that he was written down as YN LN’s emergency medical contact and that she had been in surgery. Granted, it had mainly been his fault- he didn’t listen any further for more details. The phone dropped from his hand and he bolted from their shared apartment. Rushing frantically toward her. Panic sloshing, ripping into his chest. Shredding his last hopes of sanity as his thoughts raced.
YN moved her fingers up to his wrist, the bass of his heartbeat thumped prominently into her own body. In response, Bucky’s fingers curled over her wrist, searching for the same feeling. It was slightly weakened, her heartbeat, but it was there. She was alive. A gentle, sleepy smile appeared on her lips. Eyes almost closed again.
“I’m never leaving.” She promised, applying pressure to his wrist. Bucky returned the smile and the gesture, the knot of emotion in his throat unraveling in steady increments. Allowing him to breathe easier.
He reached over, tugging her blankets back up with his free hand. Over her torso in an attempt to contain some of the heat the flimsy hospital sheets provided. He sniffed, clearing his throat. Turning his face away from her view.
“Get some rest, daredevil.” Bucky instructed, sliding his chair closer. Head resting beside their entwined hands. His blue eyes twinkled with tears he had kept bottled away. All YN wanted was to reach over and brush them away but she felt unconsciousness creeping up from behind. Waiting to drag her back into the darkness. Her mouth wouldn’t open, tongue wouldn’t move. Her eyes drifted closed; her last picture was Bucky’s beautiful face resting beside her.
~~~~~~
Bucky sighed gently, curling closer into the warmth she provided. They couldn’t sleep like they used to. He was accustomed to wrapping around her like a vine, keeping her body close to him. The weight, the pressure and warmth, kept him present. Kept him calm. Even if he awoke in a panic, which had eased in the past few months, the feeling of YN’s figure pressed to his always seemed to relieve his frazzled, frayed nerves.
But now, after the surgery, he couldn’t hold her the way he wanted. He couldn’t provide the comfort he craved to give her. And she needed it. He wasn’t blind. Bucky knew exactly why she had rushed into that surgery. The blame that she had placed on herself was too vast. Much too heavy for her to bear alone.
So he tried to convey the comfort in other ways. Helping her to the bathroom and to the shower. Making her meals and sitting with her while she ate. Reading to her, going through as many pages as it took for her to fall asleep. Keeping her distracted from her bed rest. Bringing her presents, mostly just notes that Sam had written and asked Bucky to deliver.
Sam didn’t blame her. Especially not after she saved his life like she did. Bucky had visited when he woke up, explained the situation. How she felt, how it was eating away at her. And he couldn’t get out of bed yet- he was still being heavily monitored by the medical staff. So, for the past few weeks he had resorted to video calls and notes to her. An attempt to cheer her up. Bucky was relieved to see it was working.
“Buck?” YN’s voice was muffled by their shared comforter. He hummed in response, not fully committed to the idea of waking up. His senses were still slightly dull, lulled into submission by the warm body at his side. “Your arm is really heavy and I really have to pee.”
Bucky grunted, shuffling to slide his arm away from her hips where it had lain. YN shimmied over to the edge of the bed, groaning as she pushed her weight over the side. She stumbled, her hand pressed to the gauze padding on her abdomen. Bucky scrambled out of the bed, sheets tangling around his ankles.
“You’re not suppose to do it on your own.” He grumbled, his tone was sleep- laden. His eyes weren’t even fully open yet. YN scoffed, accepting his arm anyway. Together, they crept toward the bathroom slowly, most of her weight against his side. “You coulda asked, doll.”
“I can handle going to the bathroom by myself, Bucky.” YN insisted, her side glare was fatal. Eyes narrowed and full of frustrated fury. “You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”
“But I want to.” He replied simply, leaning against the doorframe, gazing into the bedroom to give her privacy. He didn’t need to, he had already been witness to every inch of her skin. Every mark on her skin, every freckle and scar. But he figured she would appreciate it none the less. Give her a controllable amount of autonomy. “I like doing it.”
It was the honest truth. Bucky reveled in the fact that every ounce of his attention was placed on her and her alone. He liked to care for her. He liked making her coffee and meals, helping her up and down. It was something he knew the old Bucky did often. The old Bucky took care of Steve when he was sick, and Steve’s mother when he could help. When his sisters were under the weather. It was something engraved in his bones: caring for those he loved. Providing comfort.
“It’s rotten work.” YN’s voice was quiet, the running water almost drowned the words out. But Bucky heard them. He turned slowly, giving her a hand towel to dry her hands. Her eyes were down, staring at the fabric between her fingers. Taking her time, hoping he would move past her sentence.
“Not to me,” Bucky responded. His fingertip brushed against her cheekbone, wisps of her hair passing through his fingers. He tucked them gently behind her ear before tilting her chin up. Persuading her watery eyes to meet his. He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes portraying the overflowing kindness he couldn’t vocalize. “Not if it’s you.”
YN chuckled, a weak smile on her lips. Shaking her head, she carefully shuffled forward. Wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. Bucky’s response was instant. Instinctively holding her delicately to his body. Molded against the other. He inhaled deeply, the smell of her shampoo overwhelming his senses. YN pressed closer, the swell of his chest was achingly comforting. His t- shirt soft against her cheek.
“What do you say, I steal a wheelchair and we go up to Tony’s floor. We can bribe his chef to make some of those pancakes with the…” Bucky’s nose scrunched, brows furrowing. His fingertips that had been tracing shapes on her back stilled as he wracked his brain. Mouth twisting with frustration when he came up blank. “What’s the… those color things, again?”
“Sprinkles?” She suggested, pressing her chin to his chest. He glanced down, their noses almost pressed together. Bucky grinned, leaning forward to smack a kiss to her nose.
“Those. How bout we get some of those and we can meet Sam for breakfast?” He asked, squeezing her hips lightly. She nodded, successfully distracted from her thoughts that had been rampant in her head.
“Can he eat those yet? Isn’t he on, like, a hospital diet or something?” YN inquired, wrapping her arm around his waist.
Bucky hummed, helping her hobble out of the bathroom. He had tried carrying her places but she vehemently disagreed. Claiming she would never get better if she didn’t exercise. Eventually, as always, she would get tired and most of her weight would be on him anyways. He didn’t mind it.
“That sounds like a Sam problem.”
“You’re ridiculous, James Barnes.” He grinned at her laughter. His fingertips digging into her side teasingly.
“It’s all for you, sugar. All for you.”
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Cozy Sweaters
Jackson Neill x Reader
Sequel to Cold Hands, requested by @detectivebarba​ & written for @storiesofsvu​’s Fall Bingo! 
Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Fluff? 
Summary: Oh my god they were roommates.
3,350 words
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September 8th
The living room of your apartment—what used to be your apartment—was abuzz with heated voices.
“We’re sorry, but you said you were moving out!”
“So you just gave away my room?! I’m allowed to change my mind!”
Your roommates glanced between each other, awkwardness thick in the air.
“Ed is moving here all the way from England on the promise that he would have a room. He already bought his plane ticket. We’d really be screwing him over.”
“But… where am I supposed to go?”
Jenny sighed and shook her head. “Listen, if this wasn’t so last-minute, I’d understand, but you were supposed to move in with your boyfriend next week. We already made plans to fill your spot…” She really was sorry, in other words, but you were stuck.
“Can’t you still move in with him?” Todd added, and Jenny shot daggers from her eyes.
“He cheated on me!”
“Yeah, but you said he didn’t want to break up, right? Just work things out.”
“I am not,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “ever taking him back after what he did.”
September 13th
Every one-bedroom apartment listing in the greater NYC area was out of your price range. You tapped your friend group, colleagues, and acquaintances for roommates and came back empty. You went on Craig’s List and met with a few strangers seeking roommates. The ones who weren’t terrifying never called you back.
Meanwhile, Jackson Neill had been blowing up your phone.
Well, not blowing up—the first night he got drunk and filled your inbox begging you to come back, sobbing and slurring into your voicemail, spamming indecipherable text messages. The next morning, a single text read: “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and it won’t happen again.”
And it didn’t.
But he sent another message a few days later telling you he’d found some more of your stuff, if you’d like it back. That you were always welcome to talk if you wanted to. He wanted to be there for you. You didn’t message him back.
September 14th
It was a cold, rainy day on campus, so you risked taking a shortcut to the dining hall. You turned the corner of an old brick building, and there he was, walking out of the Department of Religious Studies, jacket collar pulled up over his neck because the forgetful fool could never remember his umbrella.
He froze at the same time you did.
All you could hear was your pulse drumming inside your skull like rain. You knew you’d run into him eventually, but you hadn’t decided how to react, and your body wasn’t offering any suggestions.
He gave you a pitiful smile and lifted his hand. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
One leaden foot shuffled in front of the other, and you kept walking. He nodded with a wan smile and sad eyes and didn’t chase you.
The outdoor seating was closed because of the weather, so the dining hall was crowded and buzzing. You snatched a small two-seat table just as another student left, brushing a stale French fry off it onto the floor. Sinking down to enjoy your cheap sandwich, you glanced around the crowd.
A middle-aged man with a soggy jacket and salt-and-pepper hair, who had no right to be so breathtakingly handsome, was searching desperately for a seat while precariously balancing a tray of soup and coffee.
He felt your gaze on him, and you were fixed with a beam of frozen green eyes.
You waved him over.
“I wasn’t following you, I swear.”
“I don’t know, eating lunch? At lunchtime? That can’t be a coincidence.”
The corner of his lip wanted to smile, but he didn’t seem entirely sure you were joking.
“Just sit down and eat,” you sighed. “There’s nowhere else.”
He sat.
Silence crackled between you like the sky before a thunderstorm as you ate your lunches.
“So,” Jackson started cautiously, “how have you been?”
You gave a dry snort. “Oh, just fucking peachy. I’m going to be homeless in two days, thanks to you.”
“What?!”
Jackson listened with a deepening frown as you told him about your roommate plight. Then he offered you a room at his house.
“Go to hell. I’m not going to move in with you like nothing ever happened!”
“No, it wouldn’t be like that. I have a spare bedroom. It’s a big house, and I could use help with the bills. Please—it’s the least I can do. Just until you get back on your feet.”
September 17th
It wasn’t like you had much choice.
You moved into Jackson’s house as originally planned, albeit under different circumstances. Instead of sharing his bed, he cleared out the spare room he’d been using, in theory, as a “gym,” and in practice as a storage closet. There was plenty of space, and with how late he always worked at the university, you’d barely see him anyway.
This might just work out.
September 20th
This was never going to work.
Your heart broke all over again every morning you walked downstairs and saw Jackson in the kitchen making pancakes, because every time, you had to fight the urge to come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist like you used to do.
God, you wanted him back. If only you could erase the image of him with her from your mind.
October 7th
Jackson begged you to take him back.
One thing after another had gone wrong after he publicly confronted the Meyerist Movement. The cult pressured the publisher to pull his book. The university put him on leave while they investigated his alleged relationship with a student. You wandered into the living room that night and found him curled up on the couch, and his resolve broke.
There were tears in his eyes as he tried to pull you into a hug, and when you jerked away, they cascaded down his cheeks. He kept saying he was sorry over and over.
“Please. I need you. Everything is falling apart—if I could at least have you to hold onto… just one thing that wasn’t broken. Please, just tell me how to make it up to you. Haven’t I done enough? If I could take it all back, I would. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me? Please let me hold you?”
This was hard for you, too. Part of you wanted to give in, tell him it was all OK, let him kiss you, and see him smile. The worst part of all of this was that you still loved him, but you could never trust him again. He put on such a sweet, innocent act—he was a wonderful boyfriend—but now you knew he was a manipulative liar.
You should never have moved in.
“There’s no undoing the past. We both need to move forward, not back. I’m going to start looking for other places to live.”
October 8th
Morning brought a more sober Jackson knocking at your door. Dark circles hung under his eyes, but he hadn’t been crying recently.
“Please don’t feel like you have to leave. I can get my shit together. I’m calling a therapist today.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Yeah.” He stared at his feet, shifting on the hardwood floor.
“Jackson… I’ll only hurt you if I stay. This is too hard on you.” For us. “Besides, I can’t freeload here forever.”
“You do pay rent, you know.”
“I know, but—”
“I only have the kids every other weekend, and it’s a big house. It gets lonely. You’re doing me a favor being here.”
November 10th
In the last month, Jackson convinced you there was no hurry to move out.
He was a great roommate. He cooked, cleaned, respected your boundaries. He was a truly decent man, if an unfaithful lover, but since you were just friends now, it didn’t matter who he fucked. The biggest concern was that he wanted you back, and living together was a constant source of emotional pain. But on that front, he finally seemed to be moving on.
Whenever the topic came up, he assured you that you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted.
“It’s just so hard to find a decent place in my price range.”
“I mean it,” Jackson reiterated, adding emphasis. “If you want to stay, I enjoy having a roommate.”
You searched for hidden motives in his voice, his expression. Was this part of a long game to get you back? But his tone was friendly and open. Knowing how quickly he jumped from his ex-wife to you to Sarah, there was no way he didn’t already have his eye on someone new. At this point, you were just roommates.
“You mean permanently? Isn’t living with an ex a recipe for disaster?”
He chuckled. “The last few years with my wife were much worse than this, trust me. We were trying to stay together until the kids went to college, but emotionally, we were already divorced. It was awful… sharing a room. Constant fighting.” His eyes took a dull, faraway look as he remembered.
Worry lines creased your brow. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through that again?”
He grinned, snapping out of it, and patted you on the head like you were one of his kids. “You are nothing like her. We’re friends.”
You liked the sound of that. Friends.
November 14th
The sound of screams greeted you as you opened the front door and hung your keys on their hook next to your jacket. Jackson was watching a scary movie marathon in the living room, apropos of the foggy autumn weather.
“Candyman. Care to join?” He patted the cushion beside him.
You stayed up past midnight in your pajamas, sharing popcorn, laughing, and hiding your eyes from the gory parts. Jackson remained on the opposite side of the couch, careful not to touch you.
November 19th
You caught Jackson having lunch with an attractive student. It made your blood freeze, then boil when he walked with her back to his office.
Alone.
Fists clenched, you pressed your ear to the closed door, and heard… an essay on the role of religion in perpetuating homophobia. He was helping her edit a paper. Like professors do.
You followed them all the way from the dining hall just for talking.
When did you become a crazy ex? Why would you care if he was schtupping a hot student? You wanted him to move on—you were glad he didn’t tear up every time you walked into the kitchen anymore. But you knew then that you weren’t over him yet.
If you saw him out with someone new, it would sting like he was betraying you all over again. So you tried hard to be the one to move on first.
November 30th
A car honked outside.
“Oh, that’s my date,” you apologized to Jackson. “Gotta go.”
You got a little rush of schadenfreude from the kicked-puppy look that flashed across his face as you left him mid-conversation, sitting at the kitchen table across from your abandoned teacup. It felt like a big fuck-you, letting him know you’d be fucking someone else. A dare: let’s see if you really meant it when you said we could be friends.
But the look had barely contorted his features when he swallowed it down and smiled, “Be safe.”
He was probably going on plenty of dates himself and just didn’t tell you out of consideration for your feelings. He didn’t want you to feel used, betrayed, and immediately replaced. You were both moving on.
After a string of Tinder hookups, you felt like Jackson was out of your system, romantically speaking.
December 17th
A light dusting of snow floated down through the pale morning air. Jackson woke up on the left side of the bed, as he did every morning, and as he did every morning, turned to his right hoping to find you there. The blankets were cold.
He shivered.
You had a date last night and didn’t come home. He waited up, but never heard your car in the driveway, your keys in the door. Since you weren’t there to see his red eyes, he allowed himself to cry.
February 14th
A dull, rhythmic thumping carried through the walls. The creaking of a mattress. You cried out a name, voice cracking as you came for the second time.
It was the same guy again.
Casual hookups he could handle, but it had been the same guy for weeks now. Jackson told himself he deserved this. This was what he did to you, only while you were together. When you trusted him not to. He deserved to hear the one he loved being taken by another man.
As much as he wanted you to be his, you weren’t. He had no right to feel burning bile rising in his stomach at each of your moans and gasps. You were doing nothing wrong.
“You live here. Of course you can have dates over. No, it’s not awkward. We’re friends.”
A hot tear slid from his eye as he buried his head in a pillow.
This guy better take care of you.
May 1st
He didn’t have a roommate anymore. Not really. You spent all your time at Rodney’s apartment.
Soon you would move out, and he’ll have lost you forever.
He wanted to warn you not to move so fast, but what right did he have to judge? He let you move at the same pace with him. Let you trust him, fall in love with him, have a spare toothbrush on his sink within a few months. All the while, he figured a little action on the side wouldn’t hurt. Did he think he could chase two of you at once and get to keep the winner?
Idiot.
Sinner. That’s what his mami would say.
The few times you were home, he didn’t express his concerns about your boyfriend. He would only sound jealous, and it would push you away. If he wanted to be someone you would still answer the phone for when you moved out, he had to be a good friend, not a jealous ex.
Fuck. He hoped it worked out between you and Rodney. He really did. He hoped you were happy.
October 2nd
You came home for the first time in weeks crying. Heavy tears rolled down your face, legs shaking as you crawled up the stairs to your bedroom. Jackson was off the couch in an instant, spring up to follow you.
“Hey… Hey, what’s wrong?” He gingerly touched your shoulder, palm spreading out to make comforting circles when you didn’t shake him off. “Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”
You shook your head, sniffing as you slumped down onto your bed. Jackson sat beside you, worry etched into his features. He was so cute. After all this time, he still cared about you. You thought about all the times he’d begged for you back, in the beginning, desperate to hold you again. Fuck, you just wanted to feel that wanted again.
“Rodney and I broke up,” you mumbled.
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear th—”
You gripped the hair at the back of his head and tugged him roughly into a kiss. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders tensed. A surprised noise was muted between your crushing lips. You could have sworn, for a moment, he started kissing you back, but then his big hands clamped like two vices on your shoulders, and he pushed you away.
“What are you doing?” His eyes were wide.
“What does it look like?” you purred, fingers clawing at the buttons of his cardigan. “I want you to take me, Jackson.”
His hands stopped you from leaning close again. “No. Stop it.”
“Come on, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“We can’t… I won’t take advantage of you like that. You’re just upset, and—”
“Fuck you! So you’ll fuck anyone and not give a shit—you’ll fuck around on me and break my heart, but you won’t fuck me when I’m asking you to?! The one time I just need you to be there, and now you’re on your high fucking horse, pretending to be a good guy?! I bet you’d screw Sarah! Fuck you. Fuck you!”
Your shoulders shook as your tirade broke down more and more into sobs. Deep down, you knew he was right. You’d regret it in the morning. But you couldn’t he just… want you?
“Why? Why not? Am I that… am I that unlovable?”
“Because you crying.” Tears were shimmering in his eyes as he said it, softly wiping a tear from your cheek. “You’re crying.”
With a gasp, you threw yourself down on the bed and buried your face in a pillow. You screamed into it, your own breath hot and wet against your face. Jackson’s weight shifted the mattress beside you, and your hand shot out in panic, blindly groping toward the movement. You felt pathetic. Needy. But you didn’t want to be alone.
“Don’t go.”
The mattress sank back down under him. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t take advantage of you, but if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. As long as you want.”
That was all you wanted to hear in that moment, to know someone wouldn’t abandon you. His warm hand rubbed your back in slow circles as you wept, patiently listening as you told him everything in disjointed, broken pieces. How you were just being paranoid—invading Rodney’s privacy when he left his phone unlocked. You were paranoid because your last boyfriend cheated. Then you found the lewd messages, and it didn’t seem real. Plans to meet at a bar downtown. You didn’t believe it until he was toweling off, telling you something came up with his mom, and he’d be out for a while. And you followed him down to the bar and saw them together.
“He was an asshole,” Jackson said.
“Am I doomed? Cursed? Why does everyone cheat on me? Is it my fault?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Shut up! You did it, too,” you snapped. “I’m just not special enough to hold anyone’s attention. I’ll never be enough.”
“No,” he growled with a ferocity that startled you, “You’re wonderful, and anyone would be lucky to have you. That guy was an asshole, and so was I for taking you for granted. You did nothing to deserve this. One day you’ll find someone who appreciates you… who learns to treat you the way you deserve to be treated before they lose the best thing to ever happen to them.”
You shifted to press yourself closer to him. The tears didn’t stop, but a warmth spread through your chest. Jackson felt like a cozy sweater—warm and familiar. Easy to cry into. His arms were surprisingly solid and thick, but gentle when they closed around you.
He was a comfortable old sweater you could slip back on after leaving it in the closet for a year.
***
Hours passed by, and you had no more tears left. No energy left to move. Jackson was still beside you, keeping watch, as promised. You were curled up with your head in his lap, his fingers in your hair.
When he was sure you were asleep, he carefully extracted himself from under you, gradually shifting your head onto the pillow so you wouldn’t wake up. He breathed, heart aching as he looked down at your sleeping form. You deserved better than tear-stained cheeks. He knew he had no right to be so angry, but he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt again.
You wouldn’t have been if he had just…
He let his tears fall silently. This was about you, and he didn’t want to make you console him, but you were asleep now. He could let go.
He ran his fingers through your hair one last time. Then, with a furtive glance, he bent and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”
• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •
Tags: @beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @detectivebarba​
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jaskiersvalley · 3 years
Note
Heya! For your consideration: Miri didn't stop at the wolves. He fucked his way around all of the schools, I mean at least one witcher per school but we all know he didn't stop there . Also, Miri/Gux is endgame and I love the way you write them! ✨
This is such a wonderful idea! While I don't know enough about all the other schools and their characters to write Miri's Magical Menagerie, I do have another idea to offer up for you that hints and Vesemir's colourful history.
Nine Lives
It had taken Lambert a lot of courage to ask Aiden whether he wanted to winter at Kaer Morhen with him. If he was being honest with himself, he had anticipated Aiden being rather over the moon at the prospect and throwing himself at Lambert in gratitude. Needless to say, that wasn't quite what happened.
"You sure you want me there?"
"No. I invited you home with me in the hopes you'd refuse and I could feel better about myself for offering a bogus opportunity that sounded alright." Lambert rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course I want you there. I wasn't taking the piss when I said I love you."
Aiden still didn't seem convinced. "It's just, I'm a Cat. And you know how Wolves tend to hate us. Especially the older ones."
That was another grumbling point between them. Despite his youthful looks, Aiden liked to remind Lambert that he was older though he never said how much by.
"Look, -" Lambert had run out of patience, "-come with me or not, I don't care. Just make up your fucking mind."
Except he did care. Deeply. But Aiden must never know. They stared at each other, masks firmly in place to hide any hint of emotion other than annoyance. In the end Aiden broke and looked away.
"If you're sure my appearance wouldn't cause undue distress, I'd love to spend the winter with you."
"You weren't involved with the sacking, were you? So everyone will be cool with you coming." It was a bit of an assumption but Lambert had to hope.
Grinning, Aiden shook his head. "I had nothing to do with that shit show. That was the winter I spent with Guxi and Miri."
Lambert had learned a long time ago to not be jealous of Aiden's past. He had many lovers by the sounds of it but, since the two of them got together, Lambert was the only one Aiden had eyes for. That was good enough.
The fact Aiden seemed to know the way up to Kaer Morhen was only mildly disturbing. He picked forks in the road without even thinking and Lambert hadn't said anything about which road to pick.
"They really did a number on her, didn't they?" Aiden said with a low whistle when the keep came into view.
"You saw Kaer Morhen before?" The question Lambert really wanted to ask was 'am I not your first Wolf?' but that sounded foolish and petty.
Aiden cast him a sad little smile. "I've seen a lot, Pup. Don't let my dashing looks fool you."
It made Lambert want to ask just how old Aiden was. He had so many questions swirling in his mind but none of them felt like the right question to ask. So he stayed quiet and watched as Aiden seemed to grow sombre as they approached Kaer Morhen, memories of who knew how long ago coming back. He saw a hand ghost over the stones as they passed through the gates, almost wistful.
"Lambert," Eskel greeted him as he stepped into the hall, "And friend."
"Eskel, this is-"
"-Aiden," Vesemir finished from the other side of the hall. "I thought you'd died."
Lambert could only watch as Aiden marched over to Vesemir and enveloped him in a bone crushing hug. "Miri, I thought the same of you. Gux was certain you'd succumbed to the aftermath. I left him in Touissant for the winter."
Head spinning, Lambert glanced helplessly to Eskel but there were no answers coming from him. At a loss, he cleared his throat.
"Guess you two know each other."
Aiden giggled, a hand still on the small of Vesemir's back. "Lamb, my darling, you didn't tell me Miri was still around. I would have brought Gux with me too - my favourite couple from a past life!"
For some reason Vesemir rolled his eyes before pinching Aiden's side. "Don't tell me you're still on that whole nine lives bullshit. Just admit that you're frozen in time. You're well beyond nine by now."
"You wound me, Miri!" Aiden clutched at his chest but was smiling. "Just because I settled for someone younger and more beautiful that you doesn't mean you have to be bitter."
Mind blank, Lambert squeaked. "What?!"
The admonishing look Vesemir sent Aiden had the Cat laughing. It didn't deter Vesemir from a stern press of his lips into a thin line. "Did you not tell him?"
"Tell me what?"
"Aiden here is one of the first Witchers ever. The mages' original trials made near enough immortal beings. That scared the shit out of them, they needed warriors who were mortal, that time would erase so, if they ever went rogue they wouldn't have to be dealt with."
Jaw slack, Lambert stared at Aiden who seemed both sheepish and proud at the same time.
"I-" There were no words. "You're-"
"Yeah," Aiden agreed softly. "Sorry."
Not quite sure what Aiden was apologising for, Lambert looked between him and Vesemir. Horror dawned on him as he thought back to the few hints at the mysterious Miri and Gux Aiden had told wild stories about, often of a sexual nature. Turning on the spot, Lambert marched towards the kitchen. He could not suffer those thoughts sober. Thankfully, Eskel joined him.
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fruityutas · 3 years
Text
strike to the heart
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taglist ~ @puppywritings , @xiaojours , @svchengss , @prettyjaems​
part of @du0tine​ ‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab
unstable!yangyang x psychologist!reader
not proofread
wc ~ 5k
genre ~ angst, ttiiinnnyyy fluff, thriller
warnings ~ the following writing is FICTION and has very heavy and unsettling themes like murder, suicide, and toxic relationships. if these themes are triggering or otherwise uncomfortable to you, do NOT read this story. there are also themes of religion.
synopsis ~ you were the best of the best, no one could bring an end to your golden career until he came along
note ~ i based yangyang’s personality in this off of his turn back time persona, making him very obviously mentally unstable. the plotline is based loosely off of harley quinn’s origin story, except of course, the reader dies. i also used the concept of purgatory in this story.
i realize that purgatory is apart of various religions, and i hope i made use of it in this story in the way it is intended to be portrayed as. i am not familiar with the subject, as i am non religious and have been for many years, so if i wrote anything that was disrespectful, please let me know and i will educate myself more on the topic. please note that if i do write something disrespectful, i will not be changing the writing in any way, unless necessary, because i feel that changing/erasing the mistake prevents anyone from seeing my growth as a person. 
here is the link to the website i used to read up on purgatory -> https://historylists.org/art/9-levels-of-purgatory-dantes-purgatorio.html
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your parents always told you to aim for first. probably why you’re here now. you sit in the chair, watching your life play on what seems to be a screen. you can’t tell either way, everything is stark white and blends into one. the scenes are the only thing providing color to your eyes. are you dreaming? no, no that can’t be. the last thing you remember is…pain. and betrayal. how could he do this?
he was a fucking criminal. he had no true love for you, you were his final act. how could you have been so naive? every thought came too fast, it made your head hurt. a noise brought you out of your thoughts. a tall man stood off to the side of the screen. his features were sharp, and he looked angelic. “you must be y/n. you must also be wondering where you are.” you struggle to find your voice, so you nod at the man. he gives a sympathetic smile and strolls over to you. 
“you’re in purgatory. well, this is the judgment room. here your memories are played and the most influential ones are used to go to their corresponding terraces.”
“do i pick them out?” he shakes his head. 
“no, the council does that. you just sit and watch.” you shift in your chair, the hard material uncomfortable against your skin. “don’t worry, i’ll be here while it happens. you can call me sicheng.” his voice was hypnotizing, calming your mind. you turned back to the screen, and what you assumed to be the first memory started to play.
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a burst of yelling snaps you from your thoughts. looks like we have a new patient. it was like this everytime a new patient arrived. yelling, taunting, sometimes as far as physical assault. it was like the right of passage for ‘newbies’ as the currents like to call them. you leave your office to peek downstairs. this one is surrounded by four guards. that’s unusual. two guards was standard, why does this patient need four? a danger to himself and others i assume. i should ask joy if i can take him. you hadn’t had a new patient in months, and all your others were making such progress they moved to a new unit. one of your patients, named chittaphon, had been released back into society. you were one of the best, even at such a young age. 
“joy! have you assigned the new patient to anyone yet? i’d like to have him.” you plopped yourself onto the couch in her office. her soft laugh brought you comfort. 
“of course you can have him, i was probably going to ask you anyway. you haven’t been busy with any others lately. yukhei is moving to a new unit next week you know. you did good with him, he asked me to tell you thank you.” your heart aches at the thought of yukhei missing you, the boy had become important to you. you would sit and let him talk about his family, his friends, and even his - what he called - soulmate. he would always gush about them and their relationship. you never suspected he could have killed them in such the way he did, or that his ill brain would rewire itself into thinking they were waiting for him to get better and be released from the hospital. the day he found that out was burned in your memory, chairs being thrown and yelling from the entire floor. it broke your heart to see him in such a state, even more when they had to lock him in isolation for a week.
but things change and he got better, and now he’s moving up a unit. more yelling snaps you out of your little thinking session. you and joy peek out her office door to see the new inmate arguing with the guards. you sigh and head down the stairs, as much as joy protests it. one of the guards notices you and tells you to stay back, and that this inmate is dangerous. you shake your head at him and push through to get closer. the inmate didn’t look much older than you, albeit a bit taller than you. he was still yelling at the guards when you came up to him and cleared your throat. he rolls his eyes and turns to you to start yelling, but you shut him down with a stern look at a shake of your head. 
“now, now, you don’t want to come in and be the hardass on the first day do you?” he says nothing, but the lack of arguing from him tells you he is agreeing. you tell one of the guards to follow you to his cell. it comes to no one’s surprise that his cell is in the lower level, it’s where all the worst patients stay. the guard that accompanied you stood directly outside the door of the cell, ready for any assistance. the inmate sat down on the cot provided but faced away from you. “are you going to speak to me?” he spares you a small glance, unwavering in intimidation, but it didn’t phase you. his face was young, yet it somehow seemed to be worn and exhausted. you wanted to open him up and see what his troubles came from, to fix him into a model member of society.
“wouldn’t you want me too huh?” his tone was annoyed and sarcastic. you stay collected and just nod at him. “why don’t we start with your name?” he stays silent. “if you don’t want to cooperate that’s perfectly fine but just know i’m the only one you can talk to if you want out of here.” you stand up and leave the cell, knowing that even though it didn’t look like it, progress was made. your last statement would sit with him until the next time you visit him, and he would talk eventually.
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the screen fades away and into a new image. the only thing on the screen is the word ‘stubborn.’ you are confused as to what it means. sicheng makes his way over to you, his long legs making the distance short. “it corresponds to the first level of purgatory, stubbornness. although it wasn’t you who was being the most stubborn, it seems.” he snaps his fingers and a seat appears for him to sit. the screen lights up again and another memory begins to play.
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“what do you mean he wants to see me? i just spoke to him this morning and he refused to say anything?” joy shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. you sigh and make your way towards the lower level. the guard at the security door greets you with a nod of the head before letting you in. the inmate’s cell was at the end of the hall, dimly lit and dingey, with a slight smell of mildew. the underground location made for cold air and small windows, so there was never enough light in the place. as you made your way to your patient’s cell, a few of the other inmates down there whistled at you. they whooped and hollered to your dismay, bringing unwanted attention. you recognized one of them, guanheng was his name. he had been a patient of joy’s before she was promoted to her managerial position. no one else wanted to take him on, so they sent him down here to rot. you had expressed the idea of taking him, but joy wouldn’t have it. she simply said he was too unstable for anyone, and deserved to be down there. you disagree with her to this day, but she is still your superior and you can’t just go breaking rules just for your liking.
you knocked on the door to the cell, and a gruff “come in” came from the other side. entering the cell, you saw everything in disarray. “now, why is the cell in this condition?” he huffs and crosses his arms, almost in a cute way. you shake your head and continue in, shutting the door behind you. “are you going to tell me your name? i think it would help me connect better with you.” he looks at you with a blank stare. you don’t change your facial expression, remaining stoney faced. he sighs and starts muttering to himself, as if he was arguing with someone, before looking back up at you and finally speaking. “yangyang. at least thats what i’ve been told.” you hum lightly before asking him a few more questions.
“is it alright if i call you yangyang?” “yes” “alrightly then, do you remember anything from yesterday?” he ponders for a moment, his face going through a group of different expressions before he looks back to you. “i only know that i woke up and felt like hurting someone. but i can’t remember who or why. do you have any pens?” the last question catches you off guard. you hand him an extra pen from your coat pocket. he takes it eagerly and looks to your clipboard with expectant eyes. you tear a blank piece of paper from the back and hand it over. he immediately draws nonsense doodles, the paper quickly being filled. when he fills it, he flips it over to do the other side. “you can keep asking me things, you know. i like to draw, though i don’t know what. the other voice tells me to just make lines and things.” you’re jotting down notes when all of a sudden he throws the pen at you. it hits you square in the head, and you look up at him in surprise. he starts giggling and throws the crumpled paper at you. you remain calm as this can be a common occurrence among patients. his giggles become… unsettling very quickly, the tone and manner of them turning to a deeper octave. you slowly reach into your pocket to grab the help button, but you don’t press it just yet. yangyang stops his giggling and it becomes muttering. his words are difficult to make out, but you pick out a few, ‘kill’, ‘why’, and ‘forget’. you jot them down along with a note stating he was mumbling them in sentences that were not understood. “yangyang, are you hearing anything? do you know the other voice’s name if they have one?” he peeks out of his arms at you nodding. “they tell me that i shouldn’t have forgotten why i killed her.” you had notes on him that his previous institution gave to you, but you wanted to earn his trust by asking various questions. “who did you kill?” you knew he killed his mother, left her body hanging from the porch for everyone to see. the question cause him to tear up a bit. “i, i killed my mother. she just wouldn’t shut up, always nagging me about the house and bills, as if i could help it. she was a bitch.” “mmm, yes. but you loved her still, no?” he nods shakily as if he was unsure. “and did you forget why you killed her that morning?” another nod is sent to you. you keep taking notes on his behaviors.
you end the session on a positive note, telling yangyang that he did good today and that you’d be back tomorrow, but if he needed you to ask.
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the screen once again went dark before the word ‘repentance’ appears. sicheng whips a pen-like object from nothing, grabbing your arm harshly to turn you towards him. “now, you might not like this next part but it has to be done. i have to carve five p’s into you somewhere. they aren’t permanent but it still hurts.” you panic slightly, trying to get away from his grasp.
“why?!” his face is stoic and cold, the seriousness setting in. you continue to struggle until he grips your face with vigor, causing you to stop moving. “stop. moving. it has to be done. now, where do you want me to do it?” you just point to your arm and look away as he does it. the pain is searing but bearable. “what is this for?” he makes the pen disappear before clearing his throat to speak. “for each of the sins that lead to your death, there is a ‘p’. the council shows a memory that corresponds to a sin, and you must figure out which one. if you get it right, you move one to the next one until the end, where you are allowed into heaven. if you get them wrong, you have another chance with a different memory. you only get two chances for each sin, though, and if you lose both of them a ‘p’ stays and it’s harder to get the next one correct. if you get more than two sins wrong, you spend 100 years here and then you are banished to hell. so please, be careful and choose wisely.” and with that he turns his attention back to the screen, as do you.
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your appointments with yangyang were productive and you got to know him a lot better within the past few days. he hated dogs, they were too noisy and energetic for him. he really wanted to paint and draw all the time, so you gave him a few paint markers to decorate his cell with. when you had your next appointment, the walls were pretty full. he liked the texture of orange peels, he hated the taste. a lot of the things you learned intrigued you, why was his brain wired this way? you needed to dig deeper, and you knew you could. you had many awards and praises from seniors, your ego was swollen from it all. you took pride in your work, and you weren’t exactly humble about it. you would always brag to others about your accomplishments, and sometimes you made it a competition between you and your coworkers. joy was the only one that didn’t pay attention to it, she always let you go on rants about how you accomplished so many things this young.
the door to yangyang’s cell was the same grey color as usual, though on the inside, the room was filled with markings and random drawings the boy did. “yangie? what’s up?” he excitedly jumps from his spot on the bed over to the corner that the sessions took place in. two small chairs and a table were tucked in it, but it was cozy to you. a warm smile took place on your face as you sat in front of him. “well, today i really tried my best to not get angry with anyone like you said, and it worked! all i did was think about what you said to me and it helped so much. no one messed with me either.” there it is, the rush of pride in yourself. your ego is boosted, refilled for the day. you knew he could do it, with your help of course. you were the best in the field. “that is really good to hear, yangyang. i’m glad you remembered what i told you so you could control your emotions.” his hair bounced with each energized nod he gave you. you opened your clipboard and handed him a small stack of blank paper. “this is for you. now you have something clean to draw on again.” he took the papers excitedly. 
the rest of the session was yangyang rambling on about how you were the only one helping him and how he really liked seeing you. you observed him and from time to time you’d write notes down on his info sheet. every time he caught you staring, he’d blush and look back at his drawings. a smirk carved into your face, and a wink was all it took for him to turn into a stuttering mess. you left the session that day glowing in confidence and pride.
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the screen fades away, and you feel a tingling on your arm where one of the Ps is. sicheng’s voice whispers into your ear, “figure out what sin you just witnessed.” it makes you jump a little, but you quickly regain your composure. all you could think about was yangyang. but deep inside your inner conscious, you knew the sin here wasn’t about him. it was about you. “i have my answer.” sicheng gives you a small nod and when you turn back around, a dark and windy figure stands in front of you. a voice not belonging to you enters your mind. “which sin is it, y/n?” with a shaky voice, and sweating palms, you manage to garble out your answer. “it’s pride. i was prideful in my ways, never backing down from challenges that weren’t meant for me.” the dark figure nods before wisping away. the tingling returns to your arm, and as you look down at it a P swiftly disappears. sicheng’s footsteps bring you back up to the screen, which begins to play a new memory.
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 the continuous sessions with yangyang proved to be well. his condition was getting better, and he seemed to be taking well to the exercises you gave him. you were on your way to an appointment when joy came up beside you. “have you met with the new doctor yet?” you shake your head. “no, what’s their name? where are they located?” she tries to hide a mischievous smirk, grabbing your arm to stop your walking. “he is absolutely gorgeous! his name is kunhang and he’s actually gonna be on your unit, which means you’re training him since you are the best.” you chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’d always been trying to hook you up with people. she winks at you and runs off, probably to her next appointment. she’d conveniently stopped you in front of yangyang’s cell. you walk inside and see him on his bed pouting.
“what is wrong with you?” his eyes look up at you and shine with the beginnings of tears, worrying you. had the guards or an inmate said something to him? while you’re lost in thought he jumps up and pulls you on the bed with him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you snap out of it and sit frozen in his arms. the feeling of butterflies in your stomach erupt and you know it’s because of the man in your arms. he lets you go and you stand up to fix your uniform. “what had gotten into you, yangs?” his pouting doesn’t go away and he speaks softly. “who is kunhang?” so that’s what he’s being clingy for. he’s jealous. “he’s a new psychiatrist here. i have to train him.” yangyang didn’t get rid of the pout on his face, and he didn’t let your hand go for the entire session. the jealousy he had even after you told him that nothing was going to happen between you and kunhang was noteworthy, though you didn’t specify why he was jealous on his chart. 
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the surrounding air had become cold, and you shiver harshly. sicheng sits beside you, tapping impatiently on the table. the shadow figure returns, and before it can speak you do. “the sin was envy. but why did you show me a memory of someone else being envious? i thought this was about my sins.” the figure doesn’t move from its spot. sicheng sighs and throws a stick at the figure, causing it to grunt. “that was unnecessary, sicheng. you are the reason for this sin. you let yangyang get attached to you, causing him to become jealous and protective of you. you may not have committed this sin, but you had the first hand in causing it.” you nod in agreeance, you had let him get close with you. too close, in your opinion, because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t be in this whole situation. it’s a bit ironic, you always told your coworkers to be wary of patients, yet here you are, stuck in purgatory because of one.
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in the days leading up to your death, yangyang requested to see you nonstop, and he would ask so many questions about the outside world. what was surrounding the building, how many people were in the city. in hindsight, you should have suspected him to be trying to escape, but your mind was apparently on other things.
the last day you were alive, yangyang requested you only once. it was around eight in the evening, and this was going to be your last trip to his cell, quite literally. “are you ok, yangyang?” he nods and makes his way over to you. he might be younger, but his height is not small. “i’m just fine. but i wanna ask you something.” you nod to let him continue. “i’m planning to leave, and i want you to come with me.” the words come out of him in a hurry, but you catch them. a pit forms in your chest after hearing them. what in the world was he thinking? your job was important, and he still needed the therapy sessions you were giving him. “no, absolutely not. yangyang you can’t leave without proper check out from me and my superior. you know this.” he sighs in annoyance, grabbing your hand and dragging you to sit. “that’s not the type of leaving i meant. i mean we sneak out and never look back. we leave here and head north to my good friend ten’s house. he has this bigass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and we can lie low there for a while before going somewhere else and starting new!” you can’t bring yourself to say anything, the shock of how much he’d thought out this plan sitting heavy on your shoulders. the courage to say something before he thinks you’re agreeing with him bubbles up. “yangyang, under all circumstances, you and i cannot do that. do you know how many force tasks they’d send out for us? how much trouble we’d be in when they caught us? plus, you still need these sessions that i’m doing. the real world is harsh, and doesn’t take kindly to you. i wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting hurt.” his face contorts into sadness at your statement. he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, not letting go. “but i thought you loved me, don’t you want us to be happy together?” your blood runs cold at his confession. love was never on the table, the flirting you’d been doing was just to open him up to make it easier to talk. you knew you were taking a risk doing that, but never had you anticipated him to fall in love with you and think it was mutual. you separate yourself from him and walk to the door. “yangyang, are you being serious? you- you don’t actually think i’m in love with you, right?” his face falls, going completely straight. no movement comes from either of you for a good minute, the situation at hand causing hesitance. “you’re not? i just thought… you were.” you scoff at the boy sitting in front of you. “y/n, i don’t think you realize that i’ve already planned for this. we’re gonna have to leave.” you start to argue with him but a flurry of gunshots and screams ring out from all around you. you turn and pull the door open to see patients and guards frantically running about, a breach in the facility causing this. “jesus fucking- yangyang why in the hell would you do this!?” you turn to see him getting up from the bed and gathering a few items. “yangyang!” he doesn’t respond, only grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. you’re too much in shock to resist the boy, and on top of that he’s definitely stronger than you. the run towards whatever exit he’s taking you to seems surreal. the amount of trouble you’re going to be in for this is astronomical. you can hear the words “you’re fired” repeating in your mind. outside the door is an alleyway that connects the facility to a power plant. it seemed like they’d had a breach too. yangyang really wasn’t lying when he said you’d have to leave to someplace far away. he drags you into the plant and heads for the large vats of chemicals. “yangyang where the hell are you taking us? what are you doing?” he glances over his shoulder at you, a deathly look on his face. “this wouldn’t have been in the plan if you had just done what i needed you to do. now you have to pay the price.” what in the fuck did he mean. 
the vats were in sight, glowing and hot from the chemicals in them. your surroundings loud from combat, you’d assumed from runaway patients attacking. yangyang stopped in front of the largest one, looking down in it and smirking. he turns to a very shaken you, giggling like a madman. “i think you know what’s in store for you my love. you betrayed me! you gave me all the signs, and carelessly flirted, acting like you liked me.” tears were pouring down both of your faces, but for different reasons. the end of your life was staring at you, loud and proud, and you knew this. you had many goals in your life, and to see none of them get achieved hurt you. you take one last look at yangyang, who is inching closer. “i’m sorry for making you feel like that. i just hope that in the next life, you’ll be a normal person and get to experience life in a positive perspective.” he doesn’t seem to care, because as soon as he gets close enough to you, he grips your face and leans in. “and now, my love, you leave me with a kiss.” his lips lock with yours for a brief second before he shoves you hard, taking the breath out of you. you fall backwards into the vat, the acidic chemicals eating you. yangyang stares at you as you perish, the smile slowly dropping from his face.
one would think this whole tragedy could be easily resolved, but this was not a villain origin story, it was real life, and you were dead. yangyang knew what he had done was fatal, but make no mistake, you knew it was what he wanted. he did love you, but his brain was not the same as a normal person’s. the wiring was simply not supportive of any form of morals, no right or wrong could be detected. all he knew was that you were in the way of him getting out, and he needed you removed. so he did.
and as reality set in for him, yangyang realized that you were the only one who understood him. you were the one to listen to his problems and not look at him like he was crazy, to help him through the intrusive thoughts, and you did that all while loving him. 
he breaks down, dropping to his knees at the harsh reality that you were gone forever, and no longer able to make him happy. the salty tears running down his face provided a blunt sting to the cuts and scrapes adorning his face. his shoulders shook with sorrow and his sobs were melancholic. yangyang can’t even think straight, all his mind is screaming is you. your name, face, your soft hair, warm skin, and the way you laughed at all his stupid jokes. he wants an escape from the voices in his head. the grate walkways that line the perimeter of the vats are loud with yangyang’s manic running. all he wants is freedom from his personal hell, he’s had to deal with people looking down on him all his life, saying that he was never going to be able to be normal, berating him for all the fucked up things he’s done, but never helping him to be a better person, always leaving him to rot in different psych ward cells.
gun. there’s one somewhere.
the one voice in his head that wasn’t screaming made him worry no less than before, but he knew to heed his own advice. it was the only coherent thought at the moment so what’s the harm. yangyang finds himself lost, and begins to get angry until he sees a guard coming his way. attacking him, he easily finds a gun and wrings it from the man’s grip before shooting him dead. the body slumps over and yangyang decides that he’d rather not die next to it. he is far too lost to try and get back to where he pushed you to your timely death, so he just runs until he finds a room. unlocked and unoccupied, he slips in and locks the door behind him. 
the leather chair that he sits in is worn and comfortable. the desk has various papers scattered around, and the computer is off. yangyang takes one good look at himself in the reflection of the screen before pulling the trigger.
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the judgement room is even colder than before. you sit in the uncomfortable chair, tears streaming down your face and sobs ripping through your chest. sicheng sits, unaffected by your pain. the shadowy figure appears in front of you, so close you can hear whispers of a large multitude floating out of it. “y/n, you must finish the trial. what was the last sin?” you try your damndest to compose yourself, wiping the tears and hiccuping. “i- he was…” “no, y/n. no excuses. what is the sin displayed here?” you didn’t need this figure up your ass about it, the answer was obvious. sighing, you look up at it, seeing it slightly resembles a man. “wrath.” the figure hums in response, moving over to show the screen again. in large font and bold letters, the word “repentance” is shown. “you have passed judgement, and you shall be going to heaven. are there any questions?” 
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traitorousheroes · 3 years
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and she greeted the End as an old friend
(Hannibal/The Magnus Archives Crossover. I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, and its technically finished, although originally it was going to be part of a series.)
Case #0170723
Statement of Abigail Hobbs, regarding her fathers and her subsequent deaths at their hands. Statement given directly by subject on July 23rd, 2017 to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins...
The London streets were cold in the early morning, very different from the warmth of Italy. In a way they reminded her of Lithuania, of the dungeons beneath the old Lecter estate. The moth that Will had left was still beautiful, even as the skin sloughed off and spiders spun their webs in the empty eye sockets. There had been echoes of death that clung to the very stones of that place, but nothing that was unique, except for the fact of who it had affected. Those that it was continuing to affect.
Abigail pulled at the braid that covered her missing ear as she walked up to the Magnus Institute. Pressing her hand against the door, the feeling of being Known overcame her. The Eye focused on her as she stepped through and into the foyer, and she could feel that it wanted what she had come here to give. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Unlike her own patron, the Eye was unused to waiting.
“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the main desk.
The woman who sat behind it looked up at her in surprise. Her name tag read Rosie, which seemed to fit the woman.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Elias Bouchard?”
“I’m not sure that Mr. Bouchard has any openings in his schedule for the next week,” Rosie said, flipping through a planner. “If you’d like, there looks to be an appointment open in a fortnight-”
The phone on her desk rang. Rosie gave her a small smile and held up a finger as she picked up the receiver. Abigail could hear the sound of a male voice on the other end, though what he was saying was indistinct. Rosie looked back up at her, confusion on her face as she listened to whatever the man on the line was saying.
“Of course, Mr. Bouchard,” she said. “I’ll let her know.” Rosie put the phone receiver to her shoulder and turned her smile back to Abigail. “Mr. Bouchard says that he has an appointment open at around noon. In return, he asks if you would be willing to give a statement to the Archives.”
“Of course.”
Rosie relayed her acceptance to him, giving a perfunctory goodbye and hanging up the phone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you down to the Archives.”
Abigail nodded. Rosie turned and walked further into the building, her heels clicking against the stone floor; Abigail’s own shoes, a pair of comfortable flats, made no sound in comparison. They walked past a set of large wooden doors, above which sat a plaque that read Artifact Storage, before coming to a set of stairs that led down. At the basement landing there was only one door, which sat innocuously against the left hand wall. The plaque above it was similar to the one upstairs, but read Archives instead. It also appeared to be damaged with what appeared to be some sort of fire suppressant caked on the upper right hand corner.
Rosie opened the door, revealing a surprisingly large room with two chairs on the wall next to the door. Four desks sat in the middle of the room, each one stacked with paper and knick knacks. On the far left hand side of the room there were offices, one of which had a plaque next to it stating Archivist. A piece of paper was taped over the name holder below it, with the name Jonathon Sims printed on it. There were another two offices beside it, though neither of them had any designations. The door to the furthest one was cracked open slightly, letting her see what appeared to be a cot wedged against the wall. A small kitchenette sat against the back wall, the sink filled with what looked like used mugs.
“You can wait here if you’d like,” Rosie said, gesturing to a chair. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” Abigail replied, taking the seat. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you need anything before they arrive, I’ll be at the front desk.”
Abigail nodded, letting her smile drop as the woman left. She let out a deep breath, all the air leaving her body in a deathly rattle. The air in the room was silent as the grave, not even the spider spinning its web in the corner making a sound to disturb it. She could feel the cold as it overtook her limbs like an old friend embracing her, her sight disappearing behind clouds of milky white. The echoes of death that lingered in the Archives were tantalizing in their amount. There was the faint tang of Corruption to them, a hive mind bound to flesh screaming out in unison as their lives were snuffed out.
“I think she’s dead.”
“Christ, not again.”
Abigail drew herself back from the deaths of the Flesh Hive, a curl of satisfaction settling itself in her chest. A faint whirring caught her ear as she acclimated back to her body, the sound like the VCR from her childhood. She blinked, clearing away the clouds that had settled over her corneas. One of the men who had been talking yelped, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor as he stumbled away. Abigail rolled her neck and stretched her fingers, chasing the torpor away.
As she focused on the two men in front of her she smiled. The one who yelped was braced against a desk, his eyes locked on her. The other had drawn a knife, the edge pointed at her chest. It was obvious that he had never used one before, not only for the slight tremor that transferred from his hand to the blade. Abigail took a deep breath, feeling her lungs reinflate with a wheeze.
“If you wanted to kill someone, you need to point the blade a bit lower,” she told the one with the knife. She raised her hand slowly and wrapped it around his own. He flinched at her touch, but didn’t resist as she pulled him closer and set the knife right below her sternum. “Press in and pull down to disembowel them. If you want them to suffer,” she said, dragging his knife down lower to her abdomen, “you can cut across and perforate their intestines and let them bleed out.”
“Let go,” he said, trying in vain to pull his hand from her grip.
Abigail didn’t, pulling it up so that the edge of the knife rested against the scarf that wrapped around her neck. “Of course, you can also cut the throat. It’s a bit harder than they make it look in the movies, but your victim is aware the entire time they choke on their own blood. Though the blood loss makes the pain feel almost non-existent. It’s almost peaceful.”
“Please,” the larger, terrified man said, “let him go.”
“Of course,” Abigail agreed, releasing the hand that held the knife. The man stepped away, the knife clattering to the floor between them. He rubbed at the skin she had touched, as if doing so would erase the feeling of it.
“Are you okay Tim?”
“Fine,” Tim spat. “Just dandy in fact. There’s only something else that wants to kill us here, Martin. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“I’m not here to kill you,” Abigail said.
They both looked at her sceptically. She sighed, bending over and picking up the knife from the floor. Both men flinched as she did so, but neither made any movement to get closer to her. It was a passable knife, though the edge was a bit dull when she tested it against the tip of her finger. Folding it back, she stood and held it out to Tim, whose gaze had turned wary. She waved it, and he reached out and took it like a snake striking at prey.
“What are you doing here then?” Martin asked. “How’d you even get in here?”
“Rosie let me in. I’m here to make a statement for the Archivist.”
“You’re here to make a statement,” Tim said, his tone disbelieving.
“I need to give it to the Archivist,” Abigail said. “It’s very important that I do it now.”
“Well, Jon isn’t here right now,” Martin told her. “We could set you up with some pen and paper if you’d like-”
Whatever he was offering was cut off as a man stormed into the Archives, almost running into Tim. He looked between the three of them, his eyes cataloging the two men before looking at her. Abigail felt a tingle of power spread over her skin as the Archivist focused on her with the full weight of the Eye.
“What are you?” the Archivist asked, a thread of power snapping out at her.
“Someone who came to give a statement,” she said, neatly sidestepping what he intended her to answer with another truth.
The Archivist grimaced, accepting what she said while still knowing that what she said wasn’t what he wanted. His shoulders slumped as he let go of what little power he had mustered against her. He rubbed at his eyes with a scarred hand before letting out an annoyed breath. He stalked over to the office marked as his, leaving the door open behind him. Abigail looked at the other two, who seemed unsure of what they should do. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her remaining ear, she went to the Archivist’s door.
“May I come in?”
“If you want to give a statement, yes,” he said shortly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure you can find the way out.”
“I’m sure,” Abigail said, passing through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. There was a click-whirr as the tape recorder on the Archivist’s desk turned on. She raised an eyebrow which he returned drolly. “I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you here, Archivist.”
“As long as you aren’t here to kill me, I’m sure we will get along fine. And it’s Jon, please. And you are?”
“Abigail Hobbs. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”
“At least one of us is happy about this. You said you’re here to give a statement?”
“Yes.”
“What about?” Jon asked. For all that his tone implied disinterest, there was a hunger behind his eyes.
“My deaths,” she said simply. “Should I just start, or...”
Jon nodded, his posture straightening as he looked her directly in the eyes. Abigail met them directly, letting the Eye in. She took a deep breath, letting the memories flow out.
“I knew from a young age that my dad was different. He wasn’t too different, not in any way that would make anyone suspicious. He worked a blue collar job, but a lot of people in my town did. It paid well enough, and we were happy. Or, at least, I was.
“My dad never really let me out of his sight. I just thought he was overprotective, especially when I hit my teenage years. It wasn’t until I caught him sitting outside my junior prom that I thought it was weird. He played it off, saying that he was worried about someone spiking the punch. Which, I mean, someone did, but that’s part of the high school experience. But it was soon after that when he got super weird.
“I wasn’t a fan of hunting, but my dad was really into it. He always bagged his allotment during deer season, which meant that we had enough venison for the winter. I think throughout my childhood I ate more deer meat than hamburgers. But that year he took me with him during deer season. He said it was important that I learned how to hunt. He had this weird look in his eye when he said it. Like he was sizing me up like one of his bucks. So I went with him and bagged one. I didn't like it, and I don’t think he liked the idea that I didn’t like it. I thought it was just the fact that he wanted to share it with me.
“After that, he never took me back to his hunting cabin. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it, because it honestly creeped me out. Mom had put her foot down on the amount of antlers and hunting trophies in the house, but the cabin was absolutely stuffed with them. The upstairs was full of antlers and hooves. I thought he would have sold some of them to collectors or hobbyists, but I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think he thought that would be honoring them.
“That was a big thing with him. He used every part of a deer. You would think there would be some kind of waste, but he was very careful to limit that. It's probably what stopped him from being caught for as long as it did.
“I guess you don’t really pay attention to a lot of American news over here. Which is fair, since I never really paid attention to what happened over here. Plus, there are a lot of serial killers in the States. And I’ve met more than most people. Including my father.
“Like I said, my father was really overprotective. The therapists I talked to, afterwards, said that it wasn’t my fault what happened. That he was just sick in the head and that it manifested in him hunting girls who looked like me and eating them. And they were mostly right. Only they didn’t know that he used me to pick them out. He was a good hunter, you see. And a good hunter knows how to stalk his prey, how to use bait to get them where he wants them. I was his bait. And I knew it.
“I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t think any of the therapists understood that. Even after everything, I never was afraid of him. It wasn’t even fear of what he did when he was hunting. Because the only thing I wanted to do was survive. I wanted to live past whatever happened. If that meant helping him choose his prey, I would do it. In his own way, I think he thought I was close to him, close to the Hunt that drove him. He didn't realize that I was already marked for something else.
“From what I’ve learned about the Hunt, my father wasn’t fully under its influence. Certainly not enough to become something... more. I think that’s why one of the Web’s agents decided to press. I think he was curious to see what happened. He called our house, and when I picked up the phone he asked to speak to my dad.
“He told me afterwards what he said to my dad. That the F.B.I. was onto him, that they were coming for him. But my dad just hung up the phone and continued cooking breakfast. My mom didn’t notice anything different, which I guess is a small kindness. When we heard the car pull up outside he grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. He walked her to the front door, slit her throat, and tossed her onto the front porch. She bled out not knowing why it was happening.
“I should have run the moment I saw him grab my mom. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid, but it wasn’t because of him. Even when he came back, the knife in his hand wet with my mother’s blood, I wasn’t afraid of him. He whispered how sorry he was in my ear, that he loved me, and I still wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t until the man from the F.B.I. rushed into the kitchen and my dad slit my throat that I realized what I was afraid of.
“It was the same reason why I had picked out the girls for him to kill. I didn’t want to die. The man from the F.B.I. killed my dad, and still the only thing I could think of as I choked on my own blood was that I didn't want to die like this.
“I did though. For less than a minute on the operating table, my heart stopped. It was enough for the thing that had marked me to deepen it's hold, but not enough for it to claim me completely. That came later. Instead I was dragged into the Web’s games.
“His name was Hannibal Lecter, and he became my father. If it’s a manipulation of the Web for me to think so, I don’t really care. He did do that, of course. It’s in the nature of those who weave. But he cared for me, cocooned me in safety, for a given value of the word. Of course, I was simply a pawn in a game to get him what he really wanted.
“The F.B.I. agent who killed my dad was like me, marked. But the one who held claim on him had more of an influence. I think he would have happily gone through the rest of his life being a conduit and repository of fear if Hannibal hadn’t caught him in his machinations. The Web is always interested in what the Eye does, after all.
“Will didn’t know what Hannibal was. Anything of what he was, really. Remember how I said I’d met more serial killers than most? Hannibal was one as well, and fairly prolific. The Web’s influence helped, letting him make horrific displays that fed it and let him express himself. That same influence let him blind Will to the fact. Not that he needed to do much, other than let Will’s brain cook itself. I’m not sure when he decided to let him live, but I played a part in what came next.
“Hannibal took my ear with my permission. Or, at least, as much permission as the Web needs. We faked my death and framed Will for it. Then he left me to my own devices in a house by the sea. He told me that when the time was right, I would come back and meet him and Will. That we would leave and go somewhere far away to be a family.
“It was a lie, of course. A pretty lie, but a lie nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’ll have to ask Hannibal when I see him again.
“It always comes down to choices. And Will chose to stand against Hannibal. He saw the manipulations, the cocoon that Hannibal had put him in, and chose not to become what he wanted. It made him angry. You probably think that monsters can’t get angry, but they were human once. And under everything, they still are. It just depends on how much they want to acknowledge it.
“I asked Hannibal how he would kill me once. He said he would slit my throat like my father had. And he did. He severed me from his web; the same hands that had saved my life, ending it. And I felt the same fear. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.
“Will tried to save me, but Hannibal had gutted him. The last thing I saw was myself reflected in his eyes. And my life Ended.
“I don’t remember making my choice. Of giving myself over to the power that had claimed me. I know that I made the choice. And so I woke up in a body bag, my own blood caked across my face and clothes, breath rattling in lungs that did not need it.
“I’m still not sure how I got out of the morgue without someone screaming about a dead girl returning to life. There wasn’t ever any news coverage about someone stealing my body from the morgue. I do know that the grave that bears my name is empty; they held a closed casket funeral to hide the fact that they don’t know what happened to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Hannibal took it. I hope no one ever asks him about it. I want to surprise him.
“That’s part of the reason I came here. He’s up to his games again, from what I’ve seen, and he’s dragged Will back into it as well. So I wanted to leave them a message. I’ll be on the Silver Coast, waiting for them. For as long as it may be until we see each other again.”
Jon blinked, his eyes losing the manic need that had filled them during her statement. Abigail watched as he seemed to sink into himself, a pall of weariness weighing down his limbs. Despite it there was a brightness to his complexion, as if he had just spent the day lazing in the sun.
“Statement ends,” he said. The tape recorder clicked off, leaving their breathing as the only sound in the room.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re of the End, then?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not what I would have expected,” Jon said.
Abigail shrugged. “We can’t all be grim reapers and shambling corpses. Do you need anything else for the statement?”
“No, I think you’ve given us enough details. Not that it would be easy to follow up on, considering.”
“Kind of hard to explain talking to a dead girl?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked with the dead. You seem more at peace than some of the others.”
“I’ve had time to get used to it.”
“Yes, I imagine so. Do you need help finding your way out?”
“I actually need to go speak with Mr. Bouchard. Could you direct me to his office?”
“Um, yes,” Jon said. He looked perturbed at her question, but she imagined he wanted her out of his domain as soon as possible. “Up the stairs, past Artifact Storage, then take the stairs to your left and it will be on the second landing. You can’t miss it.”
“I’ll leave you be, then.”
Abigail stood up from her chair and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up as she left the office, with Martin getting up from his desk as she walked past. She heard him say something to Jon as she exited the Archives. Unlike when she had entered, the doors to Artifact Storage were open, with what looked like a few people examining pieces on long tables. Following the instructions Jon had given her, she went up two flights of stairs. As she began to walk across to the door marked Head of the Magnus Institute, it opened.
“Ms. Hobbs,” Mr. Bouchard said. “Please, come in. I do believe we have matters to discuss.”
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Monachopic Énouement
I remember the original post for this in September and gushing over this haha. I'd wanted to write something then, but always had a million things to do.
Today and yesterday were, uh, fun days with stupid doctors, and well, no matter what I wrote, I was Trevor trapped in this vicious cycle of this nightmare. I keep forgetting that there's the art dump account now and ran across this again only for something in my brain to click, telling me it's time. I need to do this. So my apologies. This was born. As Marina and I said then, sometimes your brain just won't shut up until the damn thing is done.
(Monachopic Énouement just means that he's stuck in this sense of being him older and wiser, knowing he doesn't belong in there but wishing just the same that he could somehow influence the outcome.)
Sweat-soaked mattress and pillows were nothing out of the norm on a sweltering summer day in Sandy Shores, but the gripping chill of those Yankton winter nights haunted the recesses of a brain that just fucking refused to turn off no matter how much shit he threw at it, and no, it couldn’t be blamed on the meth. Not the one thing that had yet to fail him in life.
No, that rested in the face of the ghost creeping into his vision at the cusp of sleep. The one hiding behind his lids and reaching into his nightmares. The one named Michael Townley.
Michael Townley was less of an apparition these days as he had been reincarnated out in the Rockford Hills bullshit splendor in the form of a fat snakey shadow of what he formerly was, but recognizing that the dead were, indeed, living didn’t stop the undead from pursuing him every time he shut his eyes.
His body shifted restlessly on the bed. Hands clenched at a soiled sheet and yanked it toward him, desperately searching for warmth on the outside as the body functioning on the inside of his mind was freezing in the snow where it was already left behind, so many miserable years ago.
The cold felt as real to him as it had felt then. It had that same bitter edge to it which settled into nagging bones if straying outdoors for too long, and there he was, much older, but back then without even a jacket to defend him from this fucking mess.
Beautiful snowflakes fell both as serenely and brusquely as they had in the gale of that cataclysmic day he had struggled so damn much to erase from his muddled head. He could just barely make out the buildings in the shithole known as Ludendorff and had the sinking suspicion he was retracing his steps which had carried him away from there in a tumultuous scramble, longing to flee undesirable emotions, death, and the Feds.
Worn boots knew the direction they were heading. This wasn’t blindly at all. He hissed as frigid slush came through the open parts which needed badly repaired…or he knew he should just actually buy a new fucking pair, but he wasn’t Michael Motherfucking Rockefeller sitting on his pompous ass, and that couldn’t be him. Never. No, he’d just deal with it or go thrift shop hunting. He was instructed to be frugal, after all. Be as cheap as feasible or five-finger discount what couldn’t be managed, that had been the idea. The big corps wouldn’t miss any fucking money, nor did they need anymore.
But right now, it all seemed real enough, even though it was firing off all sorts of warning flares in his synapses because there was no way it could be real. No goddamn way. He just had to continue convincing himself of that until they vanished, until the false specter rescinded back into the snowy grounds of yesteryear…
…and yet there was part of him stuck here too in this ghoulish nightmare. Forever here because this Mikey had been his, and he was constantly seeking him out in these dreams.
Where else was it safe to be him, to genuinely be him, to be unburdened by everything life had flung unwanted at his fucking face and up his ass, where it was completely fine to reach out and hold a piece of someone he’d loved so much? Where no snide gestures, no sideways stares, no strained sighs, no defensive posturing existed?
Long gone were the days where he had tagged along beside Mikey, of them making plans together through a haze of drugs and spilled booze, half-assed nights of careless fucking and clueless emotions coming together in motel beds over TV movie marathons…no, he was no longer that same stupid fuck with his heart on his sleeve sometimes and almost out of his mouth on others. Nine years had devastated him, but they had also shown him a valuable lesson about himself: fuck others; don’t let yourself get fucked.
He’d relearned how to drive those worthless feelings down internally and seal the shit away with a subconsciously constructed key, and after that had been fairly accomplished, he’d educated himself on mastering the ideal of “never let them see you sweat” because he sure as hell hadn’t. In the decade since, he’d instead preferred to force others to do the sweating.
So why the shitting fuck had it all worked so goddamn well until Michael’s played-out movie lines had come across that broadcast and into his tired ears?
Why was this asshole still so efficient at making him crack apart at the seams after all he’d achieved? Jesus yes, there was rarely a fucking day or night without a journey back to the purgatory where he’d been cast into the hellfire to be reborn into this version of himself, but he faced these frigid nights, shrieking at the devil many times since, so why now? What did Michael de Santa’s fat snake of a face have to do with the terrors returning?
Why did the man make him feel so many things that couldn’t be? Never fucking ever be. Michael had plainly said so, himself. He’d loved that fucker, goddammit, even if in his own casual way, but he had. After Ludendorff, he was repeatedly left wondering if the guy he’d known since they were just two youths baptized by a flare had ever experienced an actual emotion. Or were they just buried so far beneath the icy ground, he’d forgotten how to get in contact with them?
But nah, Mike had been a slithery fucker then too, but it hadn’t been clear to see. They’d all been had by the movie good looks and charming wit mask he displayed. He had several he put on in those days, and it was still quite conceivable that the only honest ones were those he wore while during a job. The egotistical bastard had always been proud of his aim and get-shit-done personality — still was — but there was also a gleam in Mikey’s reptilian eyes whenever he offed someone he didn’t like that was so incredibly comparable.
They were so much alike; it intimidated and troubled them both.
Somehow, Mike had ended up the one everyone liked because he was personable, but behind closed doors, away from everyone else when he was stripped bare, he was no more delightful than a festering boil on a hairy ass when he wanted to be fucking cruel, and oh, how he could wound thoroughly with his actions and remarks. Didn’t even need a gun to finish the job, truth be told.
And he, of course, maybe tried to spare a feeling here and there depending on the person, but he was facts and honesty. Goddamn, he detested being deceived, and that’s just how he’d always rolled, but that had twisted him into someone most fucking foul in everyone else’s eyes, and here it still did.
Michael was the radiant burning star of heat in that wintry white death he’d never been capable of embodying. Still couldn’t. He flailed each occasion he tried. Why did he try?
His feet came to a gradual crawl as the scenery changed and was all too familiar. A dark figure shambled toward him through the midst of the whiteout conditions, and a bead of perspiration trickled down his forehead even though his senses screamed impossible!! as the wind chill had to place it well below zero outside.
There he was, nevertheless, without a coat. No protection. Getting so fucking cold, as stiff as the pathetic deceased, but this wasn’t rigor mortis, and he wasn’t hypothermic. Nothing was right. Everything was all damn wrong.
The haggard dead flesh hesitated before him, appearing as ageless and handsome as Mike had been those many seasons ago. Clammy skin gripped him, and he was caught in-between the abject panic of “this is like touching a fish straight from cold water” and “this is what he must have felt like after” to the peculiar reality of “wait, he’s not really dead” to “this is what it must have been like for brad, actually,” and suddenly, there was an astonished confusion as the ghoul before him brought the hand toward his mouth, and it was at that point where Trevor waited curiously, wondering if he was about to be eaten. Could he be devoured here like this?
Why was the idea of Michael cannibalizing him reassuring instead of agitating?
The ghastly version kept pushing his hand past, however, and rubbed it against his cheek in such an affectionate manner, Trevor could probably count each time he’d witnessed if he sat and tried. His lips stretched into an oddly fond smile, mirroring the one in front of him…
…but paused as instantly as crimson oozed, and the words were maliciously whispered, “Didn’t need you.”
Down in the pit of his steaming pile of shit and guts, hadn’t he always known this? God, it hurt, it fucking hurt hurt hurt to hear them, and he wanted to rip his own ears from his head, but fuck, it had always been this feeling.
He’d never saved Mikey that night — no, he’d been the one getting saved from a career of apathy. Michael had been the sparkling flare in that moment and throughout their entire union. He was charismatic. He was intended for better things.
The eyes jerked open, and Trevor gazed into colorless voids, powerless to tear free, held fast by a sick fascination, an old fear, and undying devotion.
Those piteous raspy chords spoke again, pesteringly, “Left you….”
Yeah, that’s the way it had always been, the way he could count on it from every fucking one in the end, if Michael “Snake Eyes” Townley had taught him anything at all during their tragic intertwining together. No matter what he thought, he could expect everyone to do the fucking to him eventually instead of the reverse, and holy shit, it pissed him off, but the words drowned in his throat even if he sought to drag them out. He wanted to wail at the shuffling zombie before him, implore Mikey to explain why…why did he do it? Why did he do the one thing he’d sworn to never do? Why had he left just like everyone else? And why had Mikey stopped needing him because Trevor certainly hadn’t stopped needing him?
Nothing would come, and they were left to stare at each other…with only one looking on longingly.
Trevor’s drenched body woke with a start, the sensation of the nightmare still very much with him. His head darted around questioningly, eyes hopelessly scouring for a recognizable bogeyman in each gloomy corner, yet it would have been simpler to locate his dreams because he sure as hell wasn’t turning up the face his whole being urged to see anytime soon. It had been months since they’d driven Weston’s ass into the Pacific, and his position had slowly slunk back to unwanted in Michael’s life.
There was an ample amount of fake bullshit surrounding him to last him the rest of his, and he didn’t need it. He could leave that behind.
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riathedreamer · 3 years
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Sorry for the essay I'm about to submit. I haven't watched any rvb0 yet, but I think the change in direction may be for a few reasons; 1- buying time so they can figure out what to do with the OG RVB cast without rehashing the same stuff, doing justice to their characters AND appeasing the fans who demand a Red based season (am one such fan).
[continuation of ask] 2- To attract new fans into the series. Ye Olde RVB jokes and running gags were considered typical, if not an accepted form of comedy for it's time. Whilst some people will be able to see it as a product of it's time, those jokes definitely will hit wrong with a younger audience now, and We've had the opportunity to grow and change ourselves and our opinions alongside the show. The action heavy stuff has a broader, if not safer appeal, so bringing in new fans will be easier. I miss the dumb idiots playing in a box canyon, and I agree that rvb shouldn't be driven by action. A bunch of idiots with guns and fuck all else to do is the very basis of the show, but those idiots have outgrown their sandbox and the writers seem to be reaching the end of their idea rope on giving them shit to do. Don't be scared to express your opinion here either, you are definitely far more polite about it than some others I've seen. [end ask]
It’s pretty funny to receive this ask today, because literally spent hours preparing a review of Zero today. A review I of course won’t post until after the entire season is out, because I cannot judge anything before that, and I will of course revise due to this and so much of it still needs to be written, but there are main problems I could address already now, or at least prepare a draft for. So pardon me that I copy paste part of the review here, I just like some of the points I made, and then I don’t get to rewrite thoughts I’ve already had.
It makes sense to have more time to prepare for a quality season. I do not know if that’s the case. I hope it is. I get wanting new viewers, but I feel like this doesn’t necessarily means *more* viewers because people interested in the new season are literally being told they don’t have to watch the previous seasons, while fans who prefer the old style of RvB are being told this season is not for them. So if the Reds and Blues ever return, the people interested in Zero are gonna be so confused, I suppose. Urgh. No reason speculating about that until we know. As for the old humor – yeah, I get that, but I feel like there’s starting to be a great divide between “RvB” and “Zero” and that worries me. So if it’s just to make time for planning a season with Reds and Blues, I keep asking if Zero is necessary.
I would feel way better about Zero is it just presented itself as a spin-off, but for some reason, they cling to it not being a spin-off. This confuses me to no end, and so many of the issues would be solved by officially stating this divide from canon material. My main problem with Zero right now is this: [taken from the unfinished, unrevised review] “Zero forces its story into existence by ignoring established content rather than adjusting to it. Let’s call this for the hotdog-too-big-for-the-bun syndrome solely for the sake of the bow-chicka-bow-wow that’s coming now. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.” With this I mean like this story forces its way to exist at the cost of canon content. Examples of this being the sudden new inclusion of AOD which we’ve never heard about before, that sorta takes the place of UNSC, but is so big, but we’ve never heard about it? Another being how the very first lines erase the consequences of the previous season by fixing Wash’s brain damage. It’s literally ignoring established plot with quick-fixes so this new story can work. Another example how I feel like Wash and Carolina are just there for the sake for the new characters. I don’t dig how they’re written, it feels like they are just props the new characters use to build their own story. Carolina’s used to basically introduce and explain the new characters instead of letting them explain themselves, and Wash is just a damsel in distress, holy shit Wash, RvB is never kind to you huh. I just feel like the existing RvB is twisted into something else or ignored, so that this story can exist, and I am left feeling: why?
It’s obvious they wanted something *new* which leads me to another issue for me: [taken from the unfinished, unrevised review] “remember the philosophical question: if you replace all the parts of a ship one-by-one, is it still the same ship when you’re done?” If it doesn’t include the Reds and Blues, if it ignores previous plot, if the old characters feel miswritten, if it values animation over dialogue, if it values fight scenes over comedy, if it wants to be Fast and Furious instead of Red vs. Blue – is it still Red vs. Blue? Because it doesn’t feel like it for me.
As I said earlier, some of this could be forgiven if it established itself as a spin-off, but it won’t despite fighting against the original characters and material. At least, that’s how it feels like to me. We’ve had spin-offs before. With new characters and stories.
 Some people say that RvB should end. I can’t comment on that. Some say the Reds and Blues have run out of things to do. That I disagree with. [taken from the unfinished, unrevised review] “I mean, if we were discussing pretty much any other show, I’d probably agree that they were running of out content. But for the Reds and Blues… I think the PSAs nailed it this year! I’m not kidding, I had more fun watching the Reds and Blues discuss how to do laundry than Zero. You could literally give me an hour of the Reds and Blues trying to bake a cake or clear a gutter or simply setting down with an ordinary life, and I would trust them to make it worth the watch.”
I’m not saying Zero can’t be enjoyed. I’m not trying to spoil anyone’s fun. But for me, there are some obvious problems that I simply can’t come to terms with, and I will post my opinion, of course always trying to stay civil. I’m glad you enjoy my thoughts (so far, at least. I hope I haven’t pissed anyone off with this), and as always: I can only speak for myself.
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Marinette and Anxiety
First, lets count all the things Marinette has that Adrien doesn’t have:
She has a healthy and positive home environment
Both of her parents are living, active presences in her life
Tom and Sabine love Marinette unconditionally
On top of having loving parents she has extended relatives who care deeply for her
she is allowed to go out and have friends over
going to public school is treated as a necessity rather than a privilege
she has, to some degree, or at least more so than Adrien, knowledge of socializing and is able to perceive signals better
she is on good terms and has a history with almost all of her classmates
she is allowed to explore her hobbies
she is allowed to choose her own occupation 
she has the freedom to do whatever she wants with her schedule outside of school and curfew
I could go on but I trust my point is clear? Marinette is blessed with many of the things Adrien has been denied. Worse, everything listed above falls under the category of “normal” “common decency” or “necessity.”
Long post is long and I don’t like cuts because I’ve lost a few posts in the past using them. Please filter the tag “long post” i use it for walls of texts like this one.
But Mari’s life, despite being vastly different and more fulfilling than Adrien’s, isn’t perfect.
In order to understand Mari’s struggles we need to take a look at her history.
We see in Origins that Marinette has been the target of Chloe’s bullying for a long time—three years or perhaps even longer. As is the case with many victims of bullying she lacked the courage and confidence to stand up for himself and more or less suffered in silence until Alya encouraged her to fight back.
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Something to understand about bullying: it drastically warps someone’s perspective. Not only in how they view themselves but the people and environment around them. The end result? Some form of isolation and possibly PTSD. Bullying victims tend to be either physically/mentally withdrawn, or both.
Not a lot is known about Mari’s life before the Origins episode, but given that none of her classmates stood up to Chloe except Alya, we can infer that they have grown accustomed to Chloe’s treatment of Mari and are likely not especially close with her at this point in time. 
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In her “In defense of Chat Noir” video, Toon Ruins states that Adrien isn’t especially close with his classmates yet either, saying he is “that friend that your mutual friends invite along and is just kinda there.” Its not unreasonable to presume that Mari was in that spot before she became Ladybug, befriended Alya, and developed enough confidence to stand up for herself as well as others.
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It would also help explain why her friends were so quick to doubt her when Lila accused her in the Ladybug episode. Despite everything she’s done for them between Origins and Ladybug, they simply haven’t been close for very long and as Alya pointed out the evidence “was stacked against her.” Of course Alya and Adrien believed her because they are closer with Mari than practically any of her other classmates.
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Adrien glaring at Lila when Marinette calls out to him for help. I cannot~~~~
Of course there was another, more obvious reason they doubted her: her feelings for Adrien and how intense she is when acting on them, which as Alya puts it served as her supposed “motive” for “hurting Lila.”
Marinette has often been seen crossing lines that are better off left uncrossed when it comes to Adrien. Her friends, especially the girls, are even somewhat aware of how intense these feelings are. (i.e. Alex’s comment during Gigantitan “Marinette knows a lot about Adrien it’s kinda creepy”).
More often than not, Mari wants to go somewhere mainly for the sake of seeing Adrien. Examples of this are when she’s supposed to wait for Nadja to come pick up her cake and during Simon Says when she is grounded for valid reasons . Often times there is some obligation involved—her promise to show up at Alix and Kim’s challenge and her promise with Nino in Simon Says—but chances are if Adrien weren’t there she wouldn’t want to go so bad (until an akuma showed up that is).
Something to understand about this: Mari has little to no opportunity to see Adrien. Worse, her history of being bullied and her previous status as an “acquaintance” rather than a “close friend” gives her at least some modicum of understanding about his situation. She empathizes with Adrien and cares for him, and is aware of his loneliness. During her life before Ladybug she likely longed for someone who would comfort and console her, and yeah probably found some relief with her mom given how Sabine seems aware of Chloe’s treatment of her daughter.
 But Adrien has no one, and knowing that makes Mari all the more anxious when he doesn’t show up for their social gatherings as well as driving her desire to be the source of love and comfort he so desperately needs.
I won’t deny Mari literally breaking the law for Adrien isn’t okay. Sneaking into his home, stealing his phone, and kissing his statue (its a statue in an important museum. Chances are you’re not supposed to touch those, let alone kiss them) are simply NOT OKAY things to do. A lot of this behavior earns her some hate from the fandom and some well-deserved scolding from Tikki. But rather than making me hate her, or call her a stalker, I’m mostly concerned that she doesn’t understand how bad that is. 
But Chat Blanc was a game changer. Adrien would NEVER have seen Ladybug in his room if she hadn’t taken her sweet time inspecting his belongings, smelling his pillow, etc. Meaning Adrien could have had her present and not known about Ladybug (he may have been curious as to how Mari’s gift got past security though). 
However since Marinette WAS seen by Adrien, he was able to learn her secret identity which led to this:
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This is a scenario she never expected. And as she learns this was caused by her own poor judgement, she wastes no time in saving Chat Noir, erasing her name from her gift and allowing Adrien to believe it’s a gift from his Brazilian fan club instead of from her, Marinette.
Chat Blanc was one of the last episodes of s3. Safe to say she probably won’t be breaking into anything anytime soon (theres some debate over the chronological order of the episodes, but if I recall this one takes place either in the last four or five episodes on most lists). She nearly lost her kitty for good after all--that’s not a price she’s ever been willing to pay.
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This likely wouldn’t have happened at all except Mari’s life as ladybug has caused her to become accustomed to certain behavior in order to keep her secret. Yeah Mari stole Adrien’s phone right out of his locker—and no that wasn’t okay. But remember when she stole her textbook back from Alya? Taking it right out of her bag when Alya wasn’t looking? Just so you know, in the French version, Mari tells Tikki she wrote her name in that textbook. So her secret identity was in grave danger and she had to act quickly.
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You’re damn lucky Alya didn’t crack that book open the minute she got it, Mari.
Anyhoo the point is this: Mari is applying what she has come to know as “acceptable behavior i do to protect my secret identity” to her situation with Adrien and misinterpreting it as “acceptable behavior I do to keep Adrien from possibly rejecting me and crushing my soul.” And in her head, they’re similar even though the consequences of either secret coming out are vastly different.
Really think about the context of that voicemail she sent Adrien—if she had accidentally butt dialed Adrien while taking to Tikki about her life as Ladybug and then had to go steal his phone to keep him from learning the truth the fandom wouldn’t have had nearly as much beef with her over that as she wasn’t the one who created the “secret identities rule.”
The reason the two secrets are equally crucial in keeping, in Mari’s mind, is likely due to her overwhelming anxiety. Which even before she became the Guardian of Paris and then the Guardian of Miraculous she was still an anxious person.
She didn’t have much confidence or even a large support network. But in the span of one day she was entrusted with the safety and well being of every single person in Paris.
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She didn’t believe she was cut out for being Ladybug but was denied the option of refusing the position and told to just do her best.
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She knew going out she would likely screw up the job and given her task failure wasn’t really an option.
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Then her worst fears were realized when she failed to capture her first akuma and many citizens were turned into stone statues. The only way to turn them back was to allow Ivan to be akumatized so she could defeat him and take his akuma. The very knowledge of which crippled her and caused her to give up the ladybug earrings.
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She tried to go back to her normal life but couldn’t. Ivan was akumatized, Alya’s life was in danger and Chat Noir was struggling to the point he got captured and needed her help. So she took up being Ladybug again in order to help them.
What was she supposed to do? Watch?
From the very beginning she had no say in the matter. Her life as Marinette wasn’t and isnt easy—she has plenty of her own problems but she was given a Miraculous and basically condemned to being at war with Hawk Moth indefinitely.
Ever give a thought as to why the French government allow these two vigilante teenagers to handle the situation? Because ordinary people can’t. In other words if Mari thought only of herself she would give up the fight and ignore all the ensuing damage. But she can’t. And she won’t. She has a job to do. She could give up her miraculous but that would mean taking the pressure off her shoulders and dumping it all onto someone else just as it was dumped onto her. She cant bring herself to do that and even if she could—who would she possibly give it to?
Just imagining that kind of pressure makes me want hurl from nerves. And as of the S3 finale its gotten worse as she has lost Fu, the person who could give out Miraculouses to other people in case she never comes back one day.
Hawk Moth would win. Game over. That’s what it would mean.
Ladybug and Chat Noir know what Hawk Moth winning would mean better than anyone else does. Of course they won’t walk away from this fight. But that means they have to juggle their double lives until its over, and apparently have to do it again with a second hawk moth later on in the future.
And again, even before all of this Mari had a lot she suffered from. Chloe bullying her, feeling lonely, being clumsy. Clumsiness is mortifying--it truly means suffering. Being the class clutz is like being the class laughingstock. Mari seems to handle it fairly well.
 Until she’s around Adrien. I mean look at her!
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Poor girl can’t stand looking so uncool in front of her crush. Even though he seems to find her clumsiness endearing.
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Going off what was said in my “Debunking: Adrien is perfect” post, Marinette is hyper-sensitive to Adrien’s situation despite not really knowing the full extent of his suffering. 
Marinette doesn’t know Gabriel is Hawk Moth either, but she does understand Adrien is lonely, isolated and in need of a source of love and comfort. She also understands to some degree that his heart is delicate, so she constantly handles him with kid gloves and looks on him with a perfection filter. We see how Mari reacts to upsetting Adrien in Malediktator when she softly whispers an apology after Adrien expresses his sorrow over everyone celebrating Chloe’s departure. She seems pained and distraught over causing him to be upset. Thus the reason Marinette calls Adrien perfect isn’t that she never sees any of his flaws--she just cannot acknowledge or process them under these conditions. She’s too busy trying not to hurt him. 
Marinette can comprehend Adrien’s situation, couples that with her own past experiences of bullying/ loneliness/ being a clumsy laughingstock. That combined with her love for him and her anxiety-warped common sense, led to the behavior which has earned her some disapproval from the fandom at large.
 But really? Marinette’s not a terrible person. Anymore than Adrien is.
 Adrien’s sometimes-obnoxious-flirting is brought on by his desire to “not look lame” in front of Ladybug. Ergo, his own insecurities are amplified around her because he too lacks confidence.
 Likewise Marinette’s stammering and clumsiness are amplified around Adrien, as is her anxiety and her desire to be cool in front of him.
 They both feel they have to prove themselves to the other in some regard. And they both have past and present experiences that have left them hurting and/or warped their judgement in some ways. 
 This doesn’t make Mari’s irrational behavior any more acceptable than Adrien’s troubles make his leading Kagami on and lying to Ladybug acceptable. It’s not acceptable. But Mari is no more deserving of hate than Adrien is.
They’re just a couple of stressed out kids, folks
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taeminyourmind · 3 years
Text
The Good in Good-Bye (A)
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SHINee x Original Character (OC)
Genre: Angst, Non-Idol!AU
Synopsis: A love here one day is gone the next. Iris Young's boyfriend, Choi Minho, is missing. Fearing the worst, she travels to Seoul in search of answers as to where he could be. In her search, she befriends a kind local cafe owner, Taemin, a strong-minded hacker, Kibum, and an attentive junior detective, Jinki, who form an unlikely team to track down Minho's whereabouts. But as she inches closer to the truth, Iris must decide if there is such thing as a good in good-bye.
Word Count: 7.3k+
A/N: This story does not reflect any of the members in any way, shape, or form. This story is purely fiction.
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The smell of rain engulfs the city as roaring gray clouds hover above the skyscrapers, giving the illusion they’re close enough to touch. The city bustles, ignoring the incoming storm’s anger, as they rush from destination to destination. The growing wind sends drops of rain with each gust causing people to hurry in their strides, afraid to get stuck in nature’s tears.
Among the crowd, a young lady tightly grips a piece of paper in her hands, her face blank and eyes discouraged as people bump past her. She glances at the sky as a drop of rain lands on her face and gives it the smallest smirk. Is this a metaphor come to life? There’s an actual cloud looming over me, she thinks. Leaves are ripped from tree branches and get lost in the wind. The young lady zips her jacket up more and hurries to the safety of a cafe, a place she’s heard about often but never got the chance to visit.
The welcoming bell sounds as she pushes the door open. She wipes her feet on the rug and carefully ascends the stairs. Framed pictures of art and people line the walls while art deco-inspired chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The sound of popular ballads and the smell of freshly brewed drinks grow stronger as she reaches the top of the stairs. The open floor plan brings a welcoming vibe as each piece of furniture shows a different personality, yet finds itself complementing one another.
Ordering a hot chocolate, she sits near a window and rests her head on her palm. The rain is now downpouring making people either run for safety or hurriedly open their umbrellas. Her hand gripping the piece of paper lessens its grip as she watches the rain droplets race to the windowpane. Where are you? she wonders, her eyebrows furrowing as she sinks deep in thought.
“Miss. Iris?”
Iris snaps back to reality and glances up at the voice. The smell of hot chocolate swirls in front of her as a young gentleman holds a mug on a saucer in front of her. He gives her a warm smile before placing the saucer on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he softly begins, “I added chocolate shavings to the whipped cream. It’s a rainy day and it looked like you could use a little sunshine.”
The gentleman’s gentle voice warms Iris’s heart, melting away the building wall of cold that appeared around it. She gives him a smile and slight nod before thanking him.
“Did you need anything else?” He asks.
Iris begins to shake her head before looking up at the young gentleman whose eyes stare at her in curiosity. His eyebrows raise slightly as a way to tell her to say what’s on her mind.
“Actually, I have a question. Have you seen this man?” she asks, stammering over her words as she places the piece of paper on the table. The gentleman takes a seat across from her and studies the paper. Her heart, once pounding with hope drops when the gentleman shakes his head.
“I’m afraid not,” he apologetically says before handing the paper back to Iris. “How long has he been missing?”
“A week, I can’t get to him. He always handled business in Seoul and talked about this cafe’. He never stopped talking about it when he came home.”
“I’m sorry you had to visit under these conditions.”
Iris nods before folding the paper and placing it in her jacket’s pocket. “You’ve been more than kind…” She trails off, waiting for the gentleman to give his name.
“Lee Taemin,” Taemin smiles and reaches out his hand. “I'm the owner - well part owner, I own this cafe with my brother.”
Iris nods and shakes Taemin’s hand. “Iris Young. Or I suppose Young Iris since I’m in Korea.”
Taemin chuckles at her attempted humor which brings a smile to her face. For a moment, they sit in silence while Kim Taewoo’s Love Rain plays from the speakers above. The lyrics “Once someone I loved left me, and I thought it was all because of me” causes Iris to sigh before taking a sip from her mug. The silky chocolate liquid flows down her throat before warming her body, making her forget the coldness of a love believed to be lost.
“Was Minho someone special to you?” Taemin asks after a moment, his eyes peering at her from under his nearly too-long bangs.
Iris hesitates before nodding. “We used to talk about marriage, but then those conversations stopped. It felt like a wedge was coming between us and when he didn’t come home, I thought nothing of it. But one day turned to two, and two turned to three, and before I knew it, a week had passed and I didn’t even get a text. If he picked up the phone and told me “Stop calling me, you crazy bitch,” I would be content because I would know he was alive, heartbroken, but content. He always came to Seoul for business meetings, but never at the same place. So I thought since he always came here that I would get some answers.”
Taemin nods, careful to not interrupt her. His heart fills with sorrow at the tears beginning to well in her eyes. Quickly, she blinks them away and focuses her attention on Taemin. Even with her eyes filled with sorrow, they glisten and innocently shine in the light.
“I wish I could help,” he finally speaks, his fingers playing with a loose string on his apron.
“It was nice being able to speak to someone. Everyone else just ignores me when I show them Minho’s picture.” Pausing for a moment, Iris shifts in her seat and clears her throat. “Could you tell me where the closest police station is?”
“Sure, it’s about two blocks from here. I can walk you there if you don’t mind I mean.” Taemin backtracks with wide eyes. “I mean, it’s getting late and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I would like that,” Iris says with an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Taemin.”
Taemin offers his arm as they descend the stairs. Iris hesitantly holds it with one hand and the rail with the other. Together, they take their time to not slip on the slippery stairs. When they step onto the street, Taemin places a gentle hand over hers as he guides her in the direction of the police station.
“Where are you from?” Taemin asks, his eyes shifting from her back to the sidewalk ahead.
“Is it that easy to tell?”
Taemin shrugs. “You pronounce some words funny, other than that I wouldn’t be able to tell.”
Iris feels her face grow warmer. Her body presses closer to Taemin’s as the crowd multiplies, her hand grips his arm tighter in fear of losing him in the crowd. 
A wave of sadness washes over her as she thinks about the many walks she and Minho would take. She remembers the feeling of the sun shining on her face as she gazed up at him whenever he talked. To her, nothing in the world was more important than Minho and the words he would say. His wise and vivid words would paint her a picture of different perspectives and stories that she never thought about. At night, she would beg him to tell her a story to which he happily obliged. Those days, though not too long ago, seem so far away now.
“I’m from Philadelphia. I studied Korean since I was young and found a love for the language. So, I took a job as a translator.”
“Is that how you met Minho?”
Iris nods with a vague smile. She paints a story of the first time meeting Minho. He was an innocent and wide-eyed junior partner at an architecture firm trying to close an important deal. They met briefly before a meeting where she acted as a translator between him and an American firm. He treated her to sweet rice cakes after the meeting as an appreciation gift. Soon, they would bump into each other more often in the tall office building and began a friendship. Within a few months, they were a couple and madly in love with one another.
“Wow,” Taemin whispers. “Your life is like a drama.”
Iris shakes her head and looks around her. Her eyes immediately fall on the couples she and Taemin pass. She wonders what their lives were like behind closed doors. Did they feel heartbroken like her? Or did they live happily with one another? Her eyes slightly lower as she sinks herself into her thoughts. Taemin looks over at Iris, her serious expression burns an image in his mind - an image he wishes he could erase. For Taemin, he wishes he could erase all pain from the world. They walk another half block in silence until they reach a large white stone building with a police crest placed above the columns.
“We’re here,” Taemin gently says. His voice brings Iris back to reality as she stares at the building.
Iris swiftly slides her hand from Taemin’s possession and digs in her purse, bringing out a pen and piece of paper. “Will you call me if you find out anything? Even the smallest thing would be a lot of help.”
She secretly places a piece of paper in Taemin’s hand with hopeful eyes. Taemin grips the paper tightly in his hand and nods. His honest eyes make Iris smile before slightly nodding and walking through the automatic doors. Before she disappears completely, Iris turns back to Taemin. His thumbs-up gives her confidence as she mirrors his action before disappearing from his sight.
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The clicking of the clock mounted on the cement wall mocks Iris with each passing second. Her hands tightly grip her purse in her lap as she stares at the detective perched behind his desk. His eyes study the picture before pinching the bridge of his nose and sliding the paper back to Iris.
“You made a fuss because your boyfriend is missing?” The detective irritatingly asks. He scoffs when Iris nods. “Look, lady, we have more important cases to solve.”
“He’s a human, is he not? What if something happened to him?” Iris trails off before swallowing her words. The thought of Minho hurt, or dead, makes her stomach churn. 
The detective mumbles something to himself before looking up to the ceiling as if he’s pleading with God to have mercy on him. “You said yourself that there’s activity on his bank account, right?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then it’s probably just a case of cold feet. We see this all the time with young lovers.”
“You mean Minho was afraid of getting serious and decided to leave without a word?” The detective nods. Iris scoffs at his response causing him to look at her with raised eyebrows. “Minho is the same one that calls me to ask what kind of bread to buy or to tell me of a new flavor of ice cream at our local parlor and you tell me to not worry about not hearing from him because he ‘got cold feet’?”
The slight raise in Iris’s voice makes the detective stand to his feet. His irritated eyes and red ears make Iris feel like David standing in the shadow of Goliath. She swallows back her words.
“Exactly. Do you know how many reports like yours we get about missing lovers only for them to be found with a mistress? Too many! We have too many more important cases to worry about than a runaway love.”
Iris’s nostrils flare under the detective's annoyance. She rises to her feet, her lowered eyes burning a hole through the detective’s forehead.
“You don’t want to take the case? Fine. But if he shows up dead or injured, it’ll be your fucking head and career.” She hisses through gritted teeth. Her harshness makes the detective lean back a little.
Iris sneers at the detective and takes the paper before walking out the door, slamming it shut. Tears of anger well in her eyes, stinging them as she quickly brushes past people until she steps out onto the top of the stairs. The cool night breeze soothes her face as gazes at the cloudy sky. A lump forms in her throat - she wants to cry, scream, and laugh. So many complicated emotions swirl within her until the sound of her name stills everything.
“Miss. Young?”
Iris turns towards the voice and comes face-to-face with a young gentleman sporting a police jacket and dark-colored slacks. When he straightens his posture, he stands at the same height as Taemin. He takes a moment to catch his breath before giving a bashful smile.
“I’m Detective Lee. I couldn’t help but hear about your report, and I wanted to help.”
Iris’s eyebrows furrow as she leans in closer. His voice, though soft, is deep and soothing. “Won’t you get in trouble?”
Detective Lee ponders her question for a moment before ultimately shaking his head. “Not unless someone gets really injured or dies. If I get a complaint, I’ll get a slap on the wrist.”
“But don’t you have more important cases? Why would you help me?”
Detective Lee glances around before gently pulling Iris to the side. “My sister’s ex-boyfriend also did the same thing yours is doing. I remember the many nights of crying she did and what it did to her. I wish I could’ve done something. So when I heard your story, I thought this was my chance to help.”
Iris nods, understanding Detective Lee’s motive. “I would really appreciate it, Detective Lee.”
“Please, call me Jinki. I don’t like the whole formal thing.”
“Iris,” she responds, nodding slightly at him “Why did you join the police force if you don’t like formality?”
“Helping others beats formality,” Jinki smiles. He looks at the paper in Iris’s hand and takes out his phone. “May I?”
Nodding, Iris hands Jinki the picture and watches him take a picture of the flyer. With a few quick taps, he places the phone back in his pocket and hands the picture back to Iris.
“I think we should get started as soon as possible. How about we meet at 6v6 Cafe at 9 p.m.?”
Iris glances at her watch and gives Jinki an appreciative nod followed by a deep bow. “I’ll be there.”
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The night air turns humid as the rain clouds above disperse, revealing the stars. The streets are filled with even more people as the city truly comes to life. What was it about the night that made people come alive? Does the darkness give an illusion that what they do and enjoy will be unknown? Is there less judgment as the night gives everyone permission to indulge in themselves? But even what’s done in the dark must come to the light. You cannot live in darkness for the rest of your life, eventually, you yearn for the sweet kisses of freedom from the sun.
 When Iris thinks back on her relationship with Minho, it was plagued with nothing but sunshine, a happier time. Iris approaches 6v6 and peers inside to see all lights off except for the one coming from upstairs. Her heart drops when she reads the closed sign. That crazy detective, she thinks before dropping to sit on the stoop. Her head hangs low as she tightly shuts her eyes, refusing herself to cry because if she cries, she will have to admit that Minho is truly gone.
The sound of footsteps growing closer to her makes her snap her head up. It takes time for her eyes to clear and adjust to the darkness. A pair of familiar and unfamiliar eyes shine at her.
“Iris! I’m glad you’re here,” Jinki exclaims and holds his hand out to her. He swiftly helps her to her feet and wraps his arm around the young man beside him. “This is Kibum, one of the best hackers I know.”
“What are you talking about?” Kibum scoffs while shrugging his arm from his shoulders. “I’m the best and the only hacker you know.” He turns to Iris and offers a smooth smile. “Nice to meet you, Iris. Let’s catch this lowlife son of a -”
Jinki cuts Kibum off by gently ramming his elbow into his ribs. Kibum’s harsh glance at Jinki softens when he turns his attention back to Iris. He offers an apology while rubbing the area where Jinki’s elbow connected with him. Iris reassures him of no harm. She takes a moment to look Kibum over, his hair is crimped and he’s dressed in a plain white long sleeve shirt, basic dark-washed jeans, with converse. The pair reminds Iris of Minho and his brother. Though Minho bickered with his brother, he would always soften his gaze towards her.
“Shall we go in?” Jinki asks with a bright smile.
“It’s closed,” Iris says, stepping to the side.
Kibum immediately steps up and begins pounding on the door. “Hey! Open up! It’s the police!”
Iris nervously glances at Jinki who gives her a reassuring smile. Kibum’s banging grows louder until a figure descends the stairs. Iris hides behind Kibum. She peeks over his shoulder and recognizes Taemin.
“We’re closed,” Taemin says pointing to the sign.
“I’m not blind,” Kibum scoffs and grabs Jinki’s arm to bring him beside him. “Show him your badge.”
Jinki proudly displays his badge that shimmers in the outside light. “May we come in?”
Taemin’s curious eyes study the two men before landing on Iris. He moves his body slightly to get a better look, wondering if it’s really her. But his curious eyes turn frustrated when Kibum stands in his view and impatiently taps on the glass.
“Hey, stop staring and let us in.”
The sound of the lock unlocking causes Kibum to pull the door open and offer a quick ‘thank you’ before storming up the stairs with Jinki on his heels. Iris steps across the threshold and gives Taemin an apologetic smile. He closes the door behind her and locks it.
“I didn’t know they would be so adamant on meeting here,” she says in a low voice. Her eyes fall to the ground.
Taemin pushes his hands in his front pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “If I can help in any way, I’m happy to do so.” He leans in with a playful smirk pulling on the corners of his mouth. “Even if that means turning this place into a stakeout after hours.”
Taemin’s playful tone makes Iris meet his eyes with a small smile. She giggles low enough for only she and Taemin to hear. Her smile makes him chuckle before nodding towards the stairs.
“Let’s go before they think we abandoned them.”
Taemin places a tray of coffee, creamer, and sugar at the end of the table before taking his place besides Kibum, who whines for him to pass him a mug like an older brother. Taemin sighs heavily before passing him the mug. Before Iris can blink, Kibum and Taemin begin bickering like brothers. She can’t help but smile at the memory of Minho bickering with his brother out of love. When Minho’s face flashes before her eyes, the corners of her mouth begin to fall, though she tries her best to keep them up.
“Kibum is an only child,” Jinki whispers, leaning close until his shoulder brushes against hers. “So, he has a way of treating those he meets like his brothers and sisters.”
Iris nods at Jinki’s comment. As an only child herself, she wishes she had a brother or sister, someone she can run to and fall back on. To her, the relationship of siblings goes beyond blood, so even if she doesn’t have one by the grace of biology, she can have one through a deeper connection.
“Alright you two, let’s get to business.”
The boys settle down at the sound of Jinki’s authoritative voice. Even Iris fixes her posture. Pleased with himself, Jinki turns to Iris with soft eyes.
“Iris, tell us what happened from the beginning to now.”
Iris holds her hands together under the table and shifts in her seat. The thought of Minho’s disappearance makes her expression fall. Her eyes tightly close as she recounts the past two weeks. All of the boys listen attentively, nodding along with her story. When she gets to the end, she can’t bring herself to open her eyes to see their empathetic gazes. Behind her lids, a flood of tears breaks free as she brings her hands to cover her face. Her sobs seem to still the room as everything goes silent. For a moment, she feels alone until she feels warmth surrounding her. Arms wrap themselves around her from the sides and behind.
“It’s okay,” Jinki soothingly whispers, his hands rubbing her arm in a nurturing manner.
Iris takes a deep breath and looks at all the boys. Taemin gently strokes her hair and gives her a reassuring smile while Kibum promises to kick Minho in the balls when they find him. Kibum’s comment makes Iris burst into laughter and gently nudge him away. Kibum softly pokes her cheek before he and Taemin go back to their seats.
“Alright, this is what I’m thinking,” Jinki begins. He stands to his feet and places a hand on his hip while the other relaxes on his chin. His eyes narrow as he sinks deep in thought. “We need to begin somewhere. Iris, you give Kibum all of the information you have on Minho, even the sensitive stuff like phone number, bank information, social media, and so on. Taemin, you keep a lookout for Minho, keep a picture behind the counter so your workers can be on the lookout too. I will look into the system and see if I can get any additional information on him. And Iris," his softened expression lands on Iris's face, "if he contacts you or if you remember anything, even the smallest thing, give either Kibum or me a call.”
Everyone nods and Jinki’s plan. Taemin gives Iris a pen and a piece of paper and watches her scribble down all of the information she can think of. He notices her hesitancy and hand trembling before she gives the paper to Kibum. Iris watches Kibum’s eyes move across the paper before looking at Taemin and Jinki with worried eyes.
“What kind of guy doesn’t have personal social media?” Kibum asks under his breath. He slightly sucks his teeth before locking eyes with Iris. “We’ll get him. I promise.”
Kibum’s stern promise makes Iris exhale in relief. The determination in his eyes and strength in his voice brings hope to a place that seemed hopeless. Jinki and Taemin also promise to catch Minho, their voices filled with the same determination as Kibum’s. The overwhelming support brings a smile to Iris’s face. Standing to her feet, she welcomes the boys into her open arms, wrapping them around their broad shoulders the best she can.
“Thanks, you guys,” she whispers. “I mean it.”
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Sunlight blankets the city in warmth, its rays bouncing off the windows of the towering buildings. Joyous chatter and laughter fill the streets as people flock to outdoor venues and linger outside a little longer before reaching their destination. The early spring weather makes Iris forget her problems for a moment. She tilts her face slightly towards the sun and walks a little slower, enjoying the beauty of nature that surrounds her.
When she left the hotel this morning, there was no destination in her mind. She would walk until she couldn’t any longer she told herself. The fresh air and bright sunlight drive her drowsiness and clouded mind away. But no matter how far she walks, the image of Minho possibly hurt or dead swirls in her mind. She heaves a sigh at the images haunting her mind and quickens her pace. Within a few minutes, her feet lead her to a familiar street. Her eyes widen at the ‘6v6’ sign hanging from the side of a building. She hesitates for a moment, rocking back and forth on her feet, fighting with herself whether or not she should go in.
The familiar scents of the cafe welcome Iris as she ascends the stairs. Her fingers slide on the rail beside her, tapping it every now and then out of nervousness. The sunlight brightens the room giving it an ethereal feel. She stands in the doorway, looking around for a familiar face. She feels herself about to turn around to leave when she meets the friendly gaze of Taemin. He offers a small smile before placing two mugs at a table he was serving. He straightens his back and motions for Iris to come to the counter.
“You’re back,” Taemin beams when Iris approaches the counter. “I’m glad you’re here. I want you to meet someone.”
Taemin calls for a server to take his place before inviting Iris behind the counter. Feeling her hesitancy, he gently holds her wrist and guides her through the double doors that lead to a small hallway. He knocks on a door opposite the employee bathroom and enters. A young man sitting on a cushioned stool playing a game on his phone perks his head up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes land on Iris before looking to Taemin.
“Iris, this is my brother, Taesun,” Taemin says. “I figured maybe he could be of some help since he’s here on the days I’m not.” He redirects his attention towards his brother. “This is Iris.”
Taesun sets his phone down and rushes to the two and shakes Iris’s hand. “Taemin explained the situation to me. I can try to help. Do you have a picture?”
“You didn’t get my text?” Taemin quickly asks before Iris can open her mouth. “I told you I printed out his picture and they’re on the desk in the drawer.”
Taesun’s eyebrow raises as he rushes to the desk. He pulls open a couple drawers before holding up a sheet of paper. He gives his brother an apologetic smile. Shaking his head, Taemin mumbles inaudibly under his breath.
“Choi Minho,” Taesun reads to himself before looking towards a nervous Iris. “The name is familiar, but I can’t make out the face. Normally, the Minho that comes in wears a mask and cap. It’s even hard to see his eyes.”
Iris’s face drops a little before thanking Taesun for his help.
“We’ll keep the picture behind the counter,” Taemin says, his voice gentle and low.
An appreciative smile spreads on Iris’s face as she thanks the brothers for their help. Stepping onto the street, a helpless sigh pushes past her lips as she leans against the side of the building. Her fingers twitch before reaching for her phone. The sight of Minho’s contact makes her heart pound as her thumb hovers over the call button. What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he does pick up? What if someone else picks up? she repeatedly thinks to herself. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses the button. Her hand tightly grips the phone against her ear. Expecting to hear a series of rings, she bites the inside of her lip when she’s met with a robotic message saying the person she is trying to reach is not accepting any calls at the moment. Her heart drops as she slides down the wall, shock paralyzes her body as she zones out. Some people give her a strange look while whispering to their friends. The figure of someone standing in front of her makes her gaze towards the figure’s face. She blinks to adjust her sight against the beaming sun and recognizes the figure as Taesun. Tears well in her eyes as her bottom lip begins to quiver.
“He blocked me,” her voice trembles while Taesun helps her to her feet. “How did you find me.”
Taesun points to the cameras on the side of the building. “I saw you sit next to the stoop and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Iris pauses for a moment before nodding. “I’ll be okay. I’m just going to lie down. Thank you for your concern.”
Iris turns and begins walking away before Taesun has a chance to say anything. He watches her disappear into the crowd. Silently, he prays she finds answers to her question or else they will destroy her, eating her from the inside until she’s empty.
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The darkness of the hotel room brings a sort of peace to Iris as she lies in bed, the covers lying over her head as she holds a pillow close to her chest. She tosses and turns when her mind deceives her, making her think the pillow is Minho by playing once fond memories like a movie. She sits up and tosses the pillow to the ground and hugs her knees. Each breath burns as she fails to control her sobs. Her fingertips press firmly into her skin while she shakes her head, trying her best to rid her mind of Minho. Is this worth the pain? she wonders.
The sound of familiar pounding makes Iris jump. For a moment, she stays still, afraid to move until she hears the whine of Kibum begging her to let him in. Walking to the door, she quickly wipes her tears away on her sleeves. Her hand rests on the doorknob as she takes a deep breath before opening the door to see Jinki, Kibum, and Taemin. Taemin’s bright eyes turn sad when he sees you.
“What are you guys doing here?” She asks in shock. “And how did you know I was here?”
“You weren’t answering our calls, so we got worried,” Kibum says.
“And I may have looked into your bank activity to see which hotel you were staying at and used my power to find out your room number,” Jinki adds.
Taemin throws his hands up in defense. “They dragged me here.”
Iris opens the door more to allow them inside. Kibum goes in first and quickly sets his computer up while Jinki and Taemin file in behind him and take a seat on the couch and chairs. Iris sighs before taking a seat next to Kibum.
“He blocked me,” she says suddenly, her eyes fixated on the floor. “Is it really worth all this trouble? He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me anymore.”
The room falls silent with exception of the light hum from Kibum’s laptop and the air conditioner. Afraid to look up, Iris rises from the couch and goes to open the curtain to reveal the city skyline. The night allows the lights to shine brighter than the stars.
“Iris,” Taemin softly begins. “I think it’s worth a shot to actually talk to him. If nothing else, it’ll give you closure so you won’t have to ask any more questions or think about the what-ifs.”
“He’s right,” Kibum adds. “He’s an asshole that left you and you deserve to have your answers.”
Jinki nods in agreement. Iris chews on the inside of her cheek, her mind pulling in numerous directions. Scenarios race through her mind making her close her eyes tight. Is it worth it? she asks herself. It is.
She turns to face the boys with a rejuvenated determination in her eyes. “What do you guys have?”
Taken aback by her sudden determination, Kibum begins typing on his computer until Taemin hands him a USB.
“My brother got footage from our surveillance cameras and thought this could be of some help.”
“What’s on it?” Kibums asks.
“A customer named Minho getting into his car. He says he wasn’t able to see his face but managed to view the cameras and spot him going to his car. There’s a license plate visible, so maybe that could help.”
Kibum thinks for a moment before his eyes open in realization. He quickly gets to work, his eyebrows furrowing while his eyes dart back and forth against the screen. The others lean in towards him in curiosity when he curses under his breath and leans back a little.
“Jinki,” Kibum says while writing a set of numbers on a piece of paper before handing it to him. “Check to see who these identity numbers belong to.”
Jinki asks no questions and takes the paper and his phone to the bathroom. Iris goes to sit beside Kibum with Taemin bringing his chair closer.
“What’s going on?” Iris asks.
Kibum shakes his head. “I don’t want to say anything until I’m certain. When Jinki comes back, that’ll decide if I tell you.”
Iris and Taemin exchange weary looks. She rises to her feet and takes her place by the window again. She nervously chews on the tip of her thumb as she hides within her thoughts. Death no longer terrifies her, but the thought of Minho alive and possibly well strikes fear in her heart. Which was worse - Minho being dead or him being alive and well after he disappeared?
It feels like an eternity before Jinki exits the bathroom. His lowered eyes make Kibum sit up straight. He takes his original seat and calls Iris back to the couch. He exchanges no words except for a slight nod towards Kibum, who opens his laptop.
“Well,” Kibum clears his throat before taking a moment to find the right words to say. “Let’s start from the beginning. Jinki and I have been working together to compare our findings. I was able to pinpoint his location in Seoul based on his recent bank activities, which have huge amounts taken out every few days. I looked into his records and found he’s in a luxury apartment complex not far from 6v6 Cafe - it looks like he’s had it for the past year. Jinki managed to get his address and we can confirm our findings are the same. I noticed he’s been leasing a car, so when Taemin gave me the footage from the cafe’s surveillance, it matched the description. But, that’s not it,” Kibum trails off, his eyes uneasy. Iris, Jinki, and Taemin lean forward. The trio press Kibum for answers to his findings. “There’s another woman. I managed to look into her social media, email, and other accounts and -”
“Spit it out, Kibum,” Iris breathlessly says.
“According to her and her private messages, she’s pregnant.”
The world stops rotating and begins to close in on Iris. Her heart beats faster while it feels as if life has its foot on her neck, restricting her airflow. Her nails press into her palms as she tightly balls her fists. She hears the boys talking, but it sounds like white noise. A baby, she thinks.
“A baby?” She repeats aloud. She opens her mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out.
“We have the address,” Jinki slowly says. “You can do what you want with it. Just think it through before you decide anything.”
He slides the piece of paper across the coffee table and gives Kibum and Taemin a sorrowful glance. Iris takes the address and looks it over. She closes her eyes tightly only to be met with images of Minho lying with this unknown woman. The way he cared for her, praising her body with sweet words and gentle touches, these things that were supposed to be reserved for her were being used on another woman. How long has this been going on? Iris thinks.
“When did they first begin talking?” She indirectly asks Kibum.
“Iris, I don’t think -”
“When did they first begin talking?!”
The sound of her raised voice brings a heavy sigh from Kibum’s core. “For the past year and a half.”
Iris sadly chuckles to herself while shaking her head. Is this why you stopped talking about marriage? she wonders. Her thumb rubs over the address’s indent from Jinki’s writing.
“Will you guys come with me tomorrow?”
“Are you sure?” Taemin softly asks. His gentle eyes watch Iris’s face soften and her eyes well with tears.
Iris nods. “If I’m going to go on with my life as he has, I need closure.”
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Iris’s fingers nervously tap the top of her legs. The sound of moving traffic fills the car’s silence. Being so close to the building that fueled her lover’s betrayal makes the pit of her stomach drop. She looks at the towering building before looking at the clock on the dashboard - 10 minutes have already gone by. The longer she waits, the more nerves come to paralyze her. She looks at the three boys in the car - Jinki in the driver’s seat, Kibum busy with his laptop in the passenger seat, and Taemin humming to himself beside her.
Iris begins to think about Minho and the love they once shared; the promises that they made; and the betrayal that’s fallen upon them. Then she thinks about her life, what will she make of it when everything is over? Will she dwell on what could have been with Minho or will she begin to heal and enjoy the life that is ahead of her. She takes a breath and places her hand on the door handle. With a swift movement, she exits the car and quickly walks towards the building. Remembering the code Kibum gave her on the ride over, she enters the pin into the keypad and enters the building.
The modern and futuristic furnishings decorate the lobby and hallway. For a brief moment, she stares in awe at its beauty before heading towards the elevators. As the elevator ascends, she looks out the glass windows that show the busy city. Her heart aches at the realization of Minho's promise of a home with a view of Seoul. ‘One day, we’ll own a place in the sky.’ Yeah right, she thinks.
The doors to the elevator open. A tall figure stands at the entrance busy on their phone. When they step into the elevator, their eyes widen in surprise.
“Iris?”
Iris looks up from the piece of paper Jinki gave her and stops in her tracks. Her eyes widen at the view of Minho, dressed in a tailored suit with hair parted on the side with half gelled back. They don’t exchange words for a moment, both searching for words to say to one another. The look of surprise in Minho’s eyes turns to anger as he steps into the elevator and presses the ‘lobby’ button. He doesn’t bother to say a word to Iris the way down, and she can’t find the words to say. When the doors open, his hand wraps around her wrist as he pulls her towards an empty conference room. The touch that was once warm now stung her skin with its coldness. He locks the door behind them and begins to pace the room.
“What are you doing here?” He lowly asks, his eyes facing a wall. When Iris doesn’t answer he turns to her and asks the question again in a stern tone.
“You left,” she finally says. “I thought something happened to you. I’ve been worried sick and you’re upset at me? Why, Minho? Just why?”
“Because there are things you will never understand.”
“When did you stop loving me? Was it when you met that girl?”
Minho stays silent.
“Who is she anyway?” The silence from Minho makes Iris frustrated as she raises her voice to ask her question again.
“Her name is Heejin. We met at a company party in Seoul. She supported my ideas and dreams -”
“And I didn’t?” Iris interjects with hurt lacing her voice. “Minho, I’ve been by your side.”
“You had your own dreams and when I needed you, you weren’t there.”
Iris balls her fists and feels her nails press deeply in her palms. “I wasn’t there? I helped you prepare your pitches, I helped you in meetings as your translator, I did things I regret to get information for you so you could get ahead and I wasn’t there for you?! A relationship isn’t a one-way street, Minho. You need help from both sides and though I lacked in some places, I wasn’t completely absent from your dreams.”
Minho opens his mouth to say something but closes it back. He looks away from Iris and falls into a chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Did you plan all of this?” Iris quietly asks. “Did you plan on moving in together and having a child and leaving me behind?”
The harshness of her words causes Minho to flinch. The severity of his actions being spewed towards him makes him heavily sigh. He remains quiet, having no excuse for his actions. He’s been conscious of his affair and continued to toy Iris along, even if it meant her getting hurt. But there was something about Heejin that pulled him in and trapped him. Each hour with Heejin erased Iris from his mind, and he never remembered her until he came home or her name popped up on his phone. It’s true, he was done with her, but the sight of her face makes memories of happier times rush back to his mind.
“Nothing was planned. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”
“So, you did want it to end,” Iris says. She looks at Minho who averts his eyes to the floor, afraid to face the person he hurt most. “I just came here to get an answer, and now your silence is deafening. Good-bye, Minho.”
Iris turns towards the door and places her hand on the handle. The urge to turn back and lay her eyes one more time on Minho exits her mind as she yanks the door open and walks out the room. The heaviness and anxiousness that’s been sitting on her chest lifts when she walks out of the building and to the car. All of the boys give her a curious look while she settles in her seat. She exhales deeply and gives them a smile to which they return.
“Where to?” Jinki asks, his eyes looking at her through the rearview mirror. 
Iris looks at the setting sun and softly smiles. “Han River.”
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The gentle breeze carries the delicious aroma of street food throughout the area. Jinki, Kibum, Iris, and Taemin lean against the rails of the river, watching the sun paint the water in hues of orange and gold.
“You know,” Kibum says while tilting his face towards the setting sun. “Maybe we should open our own P.I. firm. Jinki can be the orchestrator, I can be the brains, Taemin can be the lookout, and Iris can be the muscle.”
“How do you know if I can fight?” Iris asks.
Kibum shrugs. “You don’t have to physically hurt them. You can use your words.”
Everyone laughs at Kibum’s suggestion while he continues to pitch his idea.
“Are you going home?” Taemin asks, turning towards Iris. The warm hues of the sun paint his face gold.
“Only until I find somewhere else to go. There’re too many memories back home.”
“Hello!” Kibum says with his arms raised. “Come to Seoul! You can’t move far away from us after all we’ve been through.”
Iris laughs at Kibum’s dramatic gesture and promises to give it some thought. The look of satisfaction on his face causes her to smile before trying to wrap her arms around all three of the boys.
“Let’s promise to meet at the cafe every month,” Jinki smiles. “As Kibum said, we didn’t go through all of this for nothing.” 
Holding out his pinky, everyone wraps theirs around his. The sound of the boys’ laughter brings a wide smile to Iris’s face. When she came to Seoul, terrified of what could have happened to Minho, she didn’t expect to not only get her heartbroken but begin three new friendships. What the future holds for her, she doesn’t know, but with friends like Jinki, Kibum, and Taemin by her side, she can find herself looking for happiness in them when darkness nears.
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writingmorsels · 3 years
Text
Prompt: Missing
You suddenly disappeared on the journey between your workplace and your home.
Alex, your current fiancé, is informed about this and wants to be involved with the search. Sullins gets him off the case almost immediately when foul play is presumed, considering Mahone one of the first suspects because of his (lately rocky) relationship with you.
Eaten by the thought of you dead, Mahone launches himself in a private investigation to try and find you.
Based off the song “Where’s My Love” by SYML
It had been Lang, that saint woman, who told Alex the news: you were gone and no-one knew where.
After leaving the administration building next to Alex’s office, you didn’t come home. People noticed only because you didn’t show up at work the next day and the interviewed doorkeeper of your apartment building confirmed never seeing you that night.
It had been also Lang, who kept him in the loop. The first days of your disappearance Alex had been shaking with adrenaline, sifting every video, every photo, every interrogation transcript Felicia gave him after Sullins took him off the case.
“I know that look,” Felicia spoke softly as her hands went to grab his ones. “You were out of State, it’s not your fault.”
Was it not?
The both of you didn’t stop fighting about anything, in the last days before her disappearing. Sullins thought it was obvious proof of Mahone’s culpability and Alex couldn’t but agree with his superior, just on a different note.
It was his fault.
He pushed you, pushed against your love and your presence because it was too good, too warm. You were too good for him and he broke you.
How many times he snapped at you? How many times has he let his work take priority over you?
Did he see the signals and didn’t care?
Or was he so blind he didn’t even notice?
Did you just… run away from him? Or were you in danger?
“How many hours, now?” Alex asked, his voice a whispery, ragged strand of what originally was.
Lang sighed, seeing his friend with his head hung forward and shoulders slouched down. He didn’t even try to hide the lack of sleep and food, at that point. “Alex…” “how many hours...days…?” his voice didn’t stop breaking from time to time, hardly keeping emotions where they had to stay.
Felicia remained silent, thinking about the last time she saw you, waving as you came out of your small little office. “Five days, more or less.” she confessed. “We searched along the road she usually takes, but nothing came up.”
Alex didn’t move, but his brain churned. “Have you checked-” “Looked at the CCTVs, in the park near her home, around the neighborhood...we even asked for security footage from civilians. I went out there myself and found nothing,” Lang exhaled, shifting on her side of the sofa, uncomfortable.
“Search dogs?”
“It had been raining since she disappeared. They can’t find a lead.”
“Interviewed coworkers? Someone that fancied her? Hated her? Or me?”
“He asked everybody, twice. Nothing came up beside office gossip. Listen, Alex, I know you know your stuff, but we know too. God’s know how much I want to find her, but you need to listen to me.”
Mahone went silent again, for a few seconds.
“Have you… looked where I told you to-” “...Alex,” Felicia's voice grew stern. “We looked. Every. Where… You need to start thinking that...maybe... she might be-” “DON’T-...Don’t say it. Please Felicia...just...let me...” and with that Lang couldn’t speak more.
Her chest tightened as she saw Alex curl up, hands gripping his own hair and tremble in what little tears he still had left.
With a small, weak “I’ll see myself out” she walked out of Alex’s living room, leaving the man to be with his sorrows with just a soft pat on his shoulder.
They didn’t search enough, Alex thought as he jumped up from the sofa, starting to pace around. He looked at your face peppering the place with various photos, smiling memories he still could feel, trapped underneath the surface of that agony.
They didn’t search well enough…! She had to be somewhere! If only Richard would listen to him!
She could die!
She could…
She is…
Anger came over him in a wave and Alex let out a pained roar, as he kicked over the coffee table, sending all its nicknacks flying.
A glass vase shattered, papers and flyers and documents flew around, the small piece of furniture rolled to the other side of the room.
You weren’t dead… you were just out of reach of anybody else.
That was it.
Fuck Sullin’s suspects, fuck everybody’s incompetence.
You were somewhere out there and if Alex found killers, rapists and even former military, he would find the love of his life.
He exited his house like a hurricane, not even grabbing his heavy coat to fight the cold of mid-autumn.
He had to check that place again. Even if his colleagues assured him the place was empty when they looked, Mahone had a feeling.
Because if you weren’t there...then you really just up and left him without a trace.
Five Day Earlier:
“What?!” you snapped, pressing your phone against your ear. You barely heard Alex through it, the sound of chatter and keyboards muffling his voice. “But we had plans...you know we had plans!” you whined, making some coworkers turn their heads.
You huffed, storming out of the office and on the emergency stairs, just so you could chew him a new one in peace.
“We found a new lead for the Ragman case-” “Like I care! You’re not the whole fucking Bureau, Alex! Let someone else handle it!” you barked, your free hand grabbing the railing.
It was that or it was crossing the street, up to his office and smacking him to kingdom come.
He sounded angry just like you, his voice cold and strained. “I can’t just step down! I’ve been following this case for weeks, you know it!” “I know that I’m planning this fucking dinner since EASTER, Alex! It’s not even the real Thanksgiving because you ALREADY HAVE that day filled, but no! No, you HAVE to be on the other side of the fucking Nation even tho you assured meー no, SWORE me you WOULD BE FREE!” you found yourself basically screaming into the phone.
It was like a dam exploded and now days and months of pushing down emotions kept pouring out.
It wasn’t only for a missed dinner, it was for the rest. The feeling of being less than his job, being unimportant. Not being enough for him.
Those thoughts gnawed at you for quite some time and now they came back in full force. “You know what?? Fine! Go be a superhero! Go hunt your next bone, good doggy! While you’re there, marry your fucking job too!”.
With that you slammed the phone shut without even listening to his voice anymore.
One after another, his promises kept missing...and you were at your wit’s ends. There was some talking to do, for sure, but before that you absolutely had to cool down or you would totally wreck what was left between you two.
So, after finishing your boring day at work you went out and, instead of going back to your shared home, you got on a bus and straight to your favourite place.
The park was nice even when the summer was just a memory, a thick fog rising from the browny waters of the lagoon.
You walked down a wooden path, feeling the wet earth beneath it shift slightly, and you breathed a long, long sigh; you didn’t need to be so mean, but you were so tired. Tired of battling for every inch of attention. Tired of tiptoeing around Mahone’s always full agenda.
You didn’t mind his line of work, being a federal was a very dangerous and busy occupation, but Alex seemed to always do more of what was expected of him. No one ordered him to travel and manually grab the killer of choice to bring back. No one ordered him to stay afterhours for days on end, leaving you to wait up until midnight with an empty plate in the kitchen.
He was the one going the extra mile for his job...but lately, you wanted him to take some, not all! But some of that mileage and invest it in his relationship with you.
Especially now that he proposed.
You chuckled a sob, remembering the day.
Was it just so you wouldn’t run away? Did he really love you?
Or did he love the cooking, the cleaning, the company?
You stopped in the middle of the wooden road and looked left, seeing a faint path in the tall grass.
That small, invisible trail led you to the best place of the park, where you played cop and thief with your friends.
It was a small, round clearing among the trees, with one L-shaped stone covered in moss you called ‘The Couch’.
You hopped on The Couch and groaned your anger away, laying down on the soft greenery.
You didn’t know what to do anymore...
Mahone stopped his car inches away from the main gate of the park, leaving the engine on as he got off.
He grabbed a torch from the glove box and ran inside, moving the light around like a blade cutting the darkness. His eyes swallowed every little detail as he walked, combing with his gaze through the trees, the grass, the waters.
Frantically he moved along the main path, flashing the wooden boards now dark and soaking wet.
The recent rain erased any single footprint that would have existed, but Mahone knew your favourite place.
You showed him once, making him find a basket full of good food, a blanket and some wine. “Twenty steps from the crooked tree… thirtyfive to the left,” he mumbled to himself, finding the faint trail almost immediately.
He walked like a pirate in search of a treasure, careful to never stray from the path.
“Y/n! Y/n honey!” he shouted.
Alex had this foolish thought, this little movie in his head that, once he overcame the underbrush and pierced the thick veil of trees, he would find you.
Maybe angry, maybe scared, it didn’t matter. He just wanted to hug you tight, to never let go.
As he walked up into the clearing, his already broken heart shattered.
Everything was as he remembered: the long, thin trunks of the ashes, the big green rock, the blades of grass.
Even the smell was the same, humid and woody.
But you weren’t there.
You weren’t sitting on that strange rock or maybe laying in the grass. Not you or your body or any kind of hint you were ever there.
Alex’s hand trembled, the light of the torch vibrating. “No...no no no…” he sobbed. “Y/N! HONEY!” he started to shout, “Y/N PLEASE! Y/N!” his eyes darted left and right as the realization started to really hit him. “Y/N I’M SORRY! PLEASE! DON’T...Don’t...p-please come back...” his voice crumbled as did his body, overexerted by the long days without respite.
The flashlight flew from his fingers in a fit of desperate rage and Mahone wept alone in the woods, almost wheezing in the constricting pain holding his heart.
Tears streamed down his face as his palms pressed against his temples, nails digging into his scalp.
It was his fault, all his fault...if he just said no to Sullins, if he sent Wheeler instead...if he listened to Felicia…
You would be home with him.
Eating a warm, good dinner together and then crashing into bed, holding each other until morning.
Now you were gone and his heart was, too.
c l a c k c l a c k c l a c k s p l a s h
Amongst the sobbing and the sounds of the night, Alex’s ears picked up on something. A sound that seemed to come almost from underneath him, faint and muffled.
Then, raising his head, Mahone noticed he was in complete darkness. His torch was nowhere to be found.
No, there was something: a few strands of grass seemed to shine, but the light was too feeble to be his flashlight...or was it?
He moved slowly, furrowing his eyebrows for a moment...and then his eyes shot open wide, for what he saw there, at the foot of the big green rock.
You lingered in that place for at least a couple of hours, watching the sky turning from grey to black as the night progressed. Your phone pinged a couple of times with messages from Alex, asking you to answer his calls, to stop being childish, to please reply. The last one was a defeated ‘we’ll talk when I’ll be back. Write when you’re home. Love you’ that made you melt a litte. You sighed, closing the phone with a little clack and laying it on your forehead, thinking. Now that you were calmer and level-headed, what had happened seemed a little excessive. Sure you’ll speak to Alex about your insecurities, about how you felt being always brushed aside, but at the same time you had to make peace with the fact that you still loved him, so very much. He had that job before you came into his life, it was one of the things that made you fall in love with him: his stubbornness, his logic, his courage. It was a new point in your life and it just needed adjusting, that’s all… “ehh...fuck me…” you whisper with a strange, sweet tone in it, as you took your phone and started to slowly type ‘Going home. Love you too’ to him. As you hit send, the phone froze for a second before giving you a small error message. “No signal? Where am I, Narnia?” you grumbled as you jumped off The Couch, lifting your cellphone at arm-high in search of signals. You stumbled around in the clearing, eyes transfixed on the little screen above your head. “C’mon, now that I wasn’t that angry anymo-” your voice yelped as your heel sank into rotten wood. Something behind you, on the ground, gave away and your entire weight dragged you down, down deep into the earth. You dropped like a stone, your fingers trying to grab the wet, rough walls as you plummeted down. Then a splash, cold water enveloping you with its sharp claws, but it didn't stop gravity enough for your bones not to break. You heard a snap and suddenly a jolt of electrifying pain shot all along your right leg. You cried in agony, scraping your nails against the rocks like running away from the hurt. After a few minutes of intense panic, your eyes started to watch around, to assess your position after the fall. You recognized it, between tears. It was a well. An old well hidden from everyone's eyes but nature, still filled with a couple of feet of freezing water. “Oh no...oh--ffffuck…!” you wailed as you tried to stand up, letting out another cry as you immediately fell down again, your own body too shocked to manage to stand up. The sandy bottom felt grimy underneath your hands, your phone dead in the water where it fell right after you. “HELP! SOMEBODY!” You passed all night screaming for help, watching the mouth of the well light up with the cloudy sky of the morning after. If you squinted enough, its form could be mistaken for a full moon in the middle of a dark sky. Unable to stand on your remaining leg for more than a few seconds, you leaned against the stone walls around you, trying to stay as far as possible from the water. It was too cold to sit in it without freezing to death and you surely didn’t want to die. You screamed and screamed until your throat felt raw and your voice cracked. Your thirst found solace with the same water threatening your life and you drank it with small sips, feeling its coolness fight your body temperature as you gulped it down. Another night came and went. The light grey sky became black again. It rained, water trickling down the walls and slowly pooling at the base of the well, around her legs. You drank your hunger away, using the rain to quench your thirst now that your small reserve of water got, alas, corrupted by your bodily function. Your voice carried less far away, tired but still trying. Third day and leaning against the wall with just one leg had been unbearable. Your knee buckled from time to time, sending you into the water now one feet higher. You convened with your body that sitting down, even if in freezing water, could be done for a couple of minutes at the time. You tried to scream for help again, but your voice croaked pitifully
and never reached the edge of the well, hidden among the grass. Surely someone noticed your disappearance. Surely there was police involved already...it had to be. You secretly hoped he noticed, too. Would he care, after what you screamed at him? You could not feel your leg anymore and looking at its bent shape made you nauseous. Or was it the hunger? "Please….! Someone…" Fourth day. You could not stand anymore. Water reached your chest now and the only moments of warmth is when your bladder empties itself. Rain stopped flowing down that night and you waved goodbye at your only source of clean water. He wasn't there. No one was. Death was. Fifth. Cold. Light. Alex…?
Mahone carefully palmed the edges of the well, double the size of a manhole.
He looked down, the light of his torch now reverberating along stone walls, impressing on them the dance of water. And his heart sank down the same moment he saw you.
You were sitting down with water lapping at your collarbones, your skin so pale you looked like a ghost.
His voice hiccuped a second, before coming out in full force. “Y/N!” he cried, but you didn’t move.
Only a slit of your beautiful, beautiful eyes was open. So were your lips, turned a dangerous shade of blue.
Quickly, Alex grabbed his phone and dialed Lang’s number, knowing full well she would still be in the office. She was leading the search, despite her pessimistic view about it.
The woman replied almost immediately, her voice tense. “Yes?” “I found her!” he hissed, panicked. “Send me the firefighter, now! And paramedics! Please she’s unresponsive I can’t reach-” “Alex, breathe! I’ll send you a backup, but you need to calm down! Where are you?”.
Mahone breathed in, tensing his jaw, before moving his head to search for something to try and pull you out. “She fell into an abandoned well,” his voice was colder, professional. “There’s no time, just track my phone. I’m going down…!” “Alex wait-!”
With that, Mahone closed the call and safely left his phone a couple of feet away from the mouth of the well.
Without a second thought, the man slid one leg into the hole, then the other, slowly lowering himself inside with his feet searching for pursuit on the smooth stones. His fingers found cracks in between the rocks and slowly started his descent. Alex slipped a couple of times, holding on just enough for his shoes to find a ledge again.
The journey you made in a few seconds five days prior, took Alex at least one solid minute of intense climbing. When only a couple of feet separated the both of you, Mahone let go of the wall and fell down into the freezing water, feeling it gnaw at his legs. “Y/n…! Oh God honey...please answer me…!” he panted as he reached you, kneeling down into the stagnant water. His hot hands cupped your frozen face, thumb caressing your cold lips and your damp cheekbones.
For a moment there was nothing. No movements, no reactions but only the sloshing of water around your bodies.
Slowly, then, you came up from the dark, fuzzy place where you were drowning, your eyelashes trembled, stuck, unable to open.
Resuscitated by his warm touch, his presence. “A...lex…” your voice was barely a raspy whisper, but that was enough for Mahone.
He exhaled a deep breath, a smile cracking his tense expression as he lowered his head to kiss your damp forehead. “I’m here love… I’m here.”
For a moment you thought about wrapping your arms around him, searching for more of that scalding sensation against the skin. As you tried, a new explosion of pure agony rebounded in your body.
You couldn't move, almost frozen solid in that curled position. Your stone-cold body started to shake visibly, like a broken machine trying to power on. “h-h-he...reー” you whined under your breath, one hand fighting against the cramping muscles to reach his shirt.
You gripped on him with all the strength you had left, eyes rolling behind the eyelids from time to time.
Mahone immediately wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in his body warmth. “Yes Y/n I’m here. I’ll take you out darling...I’m here, I’m not leaving…” he whispered hurriedly in your ear, a big lump forming in his throat.
You yelped softly when he touched your broken leg, your only functioning hand pulling at his clothes in pain and Mahone furrowed his brows, watching down in the muddy water.
He saw your injury but didn’t say anything about it, only shifting his body to be able to hold you without causing any pain.
Cuddled into his arm, you let yourself mold into him, your heavy head resting on his shoulder and face searching the hot angle of his throat. “I’ll not let you die…” he sweetly spoke onto your wet hair. “You will not...leave me like this.”
You sighed against his skin, your trembling starting to subdue. Oh you were so tired, the weight of entire oceans on you… but you could not stand losing his voice into the fog. “h--urts-…” you let out a soft noise, desperate and scared.
Your eyes finally managed to unglue, lashes thawed and gaze glassy, but you watched his face, crossed by the undulating lights the torch created from the bottom of the water. If you died there, at least you managed to see the summer skies in his eyes one last time. “I let you down so many times darling…” Alex hushed, his voice low and closed in his throat. His hand never stopped caressing your face, brushing away locks of hair and heating up your skin with his palm. “But I’ll get you out of here...this is a promise I’m going to keep...you just...you just have to keep holding on.”
You wanted to speak, to reply to his sweet, sweet words. Transform your groan into words of love and pureness, but your hand felt heavier than ever before and your aching fingers lost grip on his shirt.
It had been difficult to even remain conscient at that moment, focusing on the beating of his heart in his throat. Focusing on your body now split in two: freezing death on one side, burning pain on the other.
“Stay awake Y/n, don’t sleep…! C’mon honey you have to stay with me now. Please..!” you heard Alex as if he spoke to you from the other side of a glass, the voice you always loved now muffled.
As your mind started to drift off again, a thought came into your mind.
You never managed to reply to his message.
You never said that to him. “ ーove... you…” your tired, hoarse voice managed to claw out of your mouth before passing out again.
Red and blue lights pierced through the trees and seconds after a group of men in uniform came rustling into the clearing.
Guiding them was Felicia Lang, her phone in her hand trying to reach out for Mahone without success. “Where are you, you dumbー !” her mumbling stopped as her eyes saw light coming through the earth, then a little mmmmhz-mmmmhz of Mahone’s vibrating cell phone.
“HERE! HERE!” she shouted, waving her arm. Both police and firemen crowded around the well for a moment, assessing the situation.
There was a man on the bottom of the well, standing in water up to his knees. He was holding a woman in his arms, trying to keep her as close to him as possible. “WE’RE COMING DOWN! STAND BACK!” one of the policemen yelled, as one of the firemen wore a harness.
Alex made one step back, watching intently at the man being lowered into the well by his colleagues. “C’mon…! C’mon!” he hissed under his breath, his body trembling with adrenaline while time slowed down to a crawl.
As soon as the fireman reached them, Alex neared him. “She’s hypothermic, unresponsive...I can’t find a pulse but I see her breathing…!” he spoke quickly, agitated and the fireman nodded. “Paramedics are on the surface, sir, don’t worry.”
You didn’t even make a sound as your frozen body passed from Alex’s determined hold to the arms of the unknown man.
Slowly, you were brought up and out of the moist hell you fell five days prior, and while the fireman carried you towards the on-coming stretcher, Alex was given a rope to use as a way to climb up right behind rescue.
He didn’t even feel the pain in his arms as training and fear both pushed him to move quickly, grasping at the edge of the well with one hand and the other being grasped by Lang. “She’s there, go…!” she whispered to him as soon as he came out.
Mahone neared the stretcher the same time the paramedics put it down for you to be laid on and start first aid.
They couldn’t find a pulse for a good thirty seconds, before one of them confirmed that yes, heart beats were present but slow.
“Shallow breathing. Have you temp?”
“25 degrees. She’s gonna collapse, wrap her!”
“On three. One, two, three-up!”
“Gently!”.
Alex walked near the stretcher, watching you being wrapped up in insulation blankets and with one of the paramedics pumping air into your lungs through a mask.
He never left your side, as the little procession sped through the park, towards the exit and into the back of an ambulance.
On the ride to the hospital, Alex never left your hand.
Your fingers never left his, too.
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aros001 · 3 years
Text
First time read through light novel vol. 7. Random thoughts.
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Through some kind of mistake, Rem had completely accepted Subaru, but he knew all too well that the Subaru Natsuki she saw was an ideal far removed from the real thing. Compared with the man she envisioned in her mind, the cards that the real Subaru held were few in number, and poor in quality—
But he learned, now that he stood at the playing table, no one cared about his personal problems.
All anyone in his position could do was try to win with the cards he was dealt.
This is sign I think Subaru has grown a little bit, though he is still growing. It's not about him, and Ferris later seems like he's trying to drill that into him a bit more later when Subaru wants to help with the battle preparations. It's good that he wants to help but sometimes he's unintentionally making things too much about himself, just to ease his own feelings. There are places where he would be getting in the way if he tried to help and Subaru's learning to accept that; to be patient and give his services where he can actually be of use, not just to help himself feel better. And damn, does he put that new maturity to good use in the big battle.
Originally, these negotiations had been Rem’s appointed duty. He could easily imagine how being unable to divulge her task to Subaru and having to speak with Crusch day after day had whittled away at her spirit.
Subaru had continually rotted by himself while the future of the Emilia camp had been entrusted to her—she must have suffered under that burden.
He hoped that in some small way, this victory repaid the girl whose feelings had supported him for so long; if so, then for the moment, that was enough for Subaru to be happy.
I really like this part. Again, it's not all about Subaru. He's acknowledging how much Rem's had to deal with while he was having his breakdowns and indulgences during his prior loops, and how much she still did what she could to support him in spite of it all. We're getting a little more that she does have a life outside of just Subaru and a little more added on to why he feels he's been so selfish. It really feels like he is now doing this for her. It's not like Subaru was completely self-centered before but I imagine there were times, especially with Emilia, where he wanted to help, but he wanted to be the one to help. He wanted good things for her but part of him cared more that he was the one giving them to her, verses her just getting what she needs in general. It's like how he couldn't feel happy that Otto was in support of Emilia first time he met him, though of course that was when he was at one of his lowest points.
And, of course, I'm absolutely reveling in all the sweetness of Rem supporting Subaru through his negotiations. Even if it's just holding his hand and reminding him she's there, he clearly appreciates the strength and courage it's giving him. Obviously they're not a romantic couple but this is the kind of stuff I love to see in romantic relationships. Just the basic comfort and support they find in each other's presence.
“...If I am gone, will you remember me just as long?”
“...I don’t wanna answer that. It’s bad luck.”
Speaking with a voice of dismay, Subaru gave Rem’s forehead a little poke.
When he touched Rem’s forehead, she smiled with a happy expression, almost as if she’d received the reply she had been hoping for.
Given something I believe I've been spoiled on for what happens later in the story (after where the anime leaves off), this feels like a very cruel monkey's paw bit of foreshadowing.
“Subaru.”
“...What?”
“I am fine with being your second wife.”
They were words to make a man unwittingly halt in his tracks.
When Subaru, unable to resist, looked toward her, Rem made a face like that of an adorable puppy, seemingly wagging her tail as she awaited Subaru’s reply.
Oh, good grief, just how far is this girl gonna—?
“If Emilia-tan’s a very generous first wife...”
“Well then, when we get back you must convince Lady Emilia. I shall try hard as well.”
Rem clenched the hand not grasped into a fist, very animated as she spoke with a smile.
Speaking jokingly like that broke all the tension, driving home to Subaru how weak he was. He truly couldn’t hold a candle to the girl.
I'm...going to have to see where the story goes from here, and how truly joking/serious Rem was with that second wife line. Just to put it out there, I don't really have a good view of polygamy. I'm always going to think that, 1st wife or 2nd or 3rd or wherever, someone is always going to be treated like second best and second priority. What they're receiving doesn't feel like real love and that's not fair to them. The only way I can see myself supporting a polygamous marriage in this series is if it's made clear Emilia and Rem are attracted to each other as well as Subaru and want to bang. Then it at least becomes three people who love each other as opposed to just "the guy and his two prizes".
So, first time you read this part in the novels or watched it in the anime, was anyone else afraid of the White Whale not showing up where and when Subaru told everyone it would? Like the world would just want to gut punch him one more time and have everyone think he's a fraud? I remember I was.
One theory I have for why the witch's scent grows stronger, not just when Subaru RBD, but also when he tries to talk about RBD is that maybe the witch likes when he acknowledges her "gift" to him. But she's also quite screwed up and doesn't like it when he tries to "share" what's between them, thus why she punishes him or those around him for doing so.
In front, behind and up above, he saw yet another whale-shaped figure high in the sky, scattering mist all around.
—The infinite mouths of the three White Whales laughed together, drawing out the despair of men.
Subaru, Crusch, the soldiers, everyone, etc.
Though pests had interrupted it, the White Whale’s mission was to cover the world in mist. This, too, was the command of its instinct, and doing so was the purpose of the White Whale’s existence.
One thing I've enjoyed about the various light novel series I've been reading is that, compared to their anime, I get a better idea of various characters' and monsters' mentalities. The best example I could give would be the goblins in Goblin Slayer (that they are not mindless creatures; that they know EXACTLY what they're doing to people and they enjoy it) and this bit with the White Whale is another good one. It seeks to cover the world in its mist and thus destroy/consume/erase everything (maybe?) And it doesn't know why it seeks to do this. It just does, suggesting there is something else, possibly the one behind its creation, driving it.
It's also interesting that, to the White Whale, the witch's scent is described as foul, despite the stories that she's the one who created it. This brings to mind a couple different theories.
Satella didn't actually create the whale. Someone else, perhaps one of the other six witches did or one of the archbishops.
Satella did create the whale but maybe used one of the other witches to do it. Puck did mention something about Gluttony when he sensed the whale approaching in the last loop.
Satella REALLY cannot tell the difference between positive and negative emotions, even more so than we were already led to believe.
Kind of cruel of Rem to trick Subaru into thinking she was dying, but at least we do get Subaru's completely true feelings out in the open. Back to the polygamy matter, I don't have a problem with Subaru being indecisive between Emilia and Rem or being in love with them both. It's not just that they've done so much for him, in which case the relationship would feel just like how Emilia described, just the two of them repaying debts to each other. Both women have been a hugely positive influence on Subaru's life. They've impacted it for the better and helped push him into being more of a man he can live with being, and it works the other way around too. It would be hard to imagine his story without either of them in it. I feel the same way with Code Geass in regards to CC, Shirley, and Kallen in Lelouch's story. It was the only "harem" series I've ever watched where I had trouble saying who the MC should end up with, because all three were irreplaceable in his life and story. Take any of them out and it loses a lot. Emilia and Rem are a similar case.
As Rem looked back at Subaru, now beside her, large tears filled her blue eyes. It was not being left behind that she feared. No, what she feared more than anything was—
“When you are in distress, Subaru, I want to be the one offering my hand faster than anyone. When you hesitate along your path, I want to be the one pushing on your back. When you challenge something, I want to be at your side, stopping you from shaking. That is—that is all I wish for. So please...”
Again, more great parallels between Subaru and Rem, as this isn't dissimilar to what he wanted to do for Emilia.
Wilhelm might just be the biggest example of a tsundere I've ever seen. Married a woman he loved from the bottom of heart for what was assumedly a decent amount of time...never freaking told her "I love you" until he finally killed the beast that killed her.
As for Theresia, it's definitely a case of why context is so important. She never wanted to be the Sword Saint. She only did so because she found purpose in saving as many lives as she could with the insane power she had (the whole "great power, great responsibility" chestnut). If Wilhelm is strong enough to protect and save people, to where her absence would make no difference, then she doesn't have to be the Sword Saint anymore and can live the life she wants. It's what makes it an actual kindness vs. some chauvinistic BS. Probably helps too that she'd already helped put an end to a long war, so she wouldn't have been needed as much anyway.
“So it is said. The existence and origins of demon beasts are mysteries to us. Some propagate in the same manner as ordinary living creatures, but some suddenly appear out of nowhere like the White Whale. Though, properly speaking, the only exceptions on par with the White Whale are the Black Serpent and the Great Hare.”
Oh...I'm so not looking forward to meeting those two. After how much tragedy just the White Whale caused, what the f**k are those things going to do? My money would be that whatever it is, it will hurt Subaru quite horribly.
This book potentially answered a question I had in my last post. The Witch Cult is after Emilia because they see her as an impostor of the Witch of Envy, or at least so the characters in-story are speculating.
Not sure how many people here are fans of Rising of the Shield Hero but after this I kind of want to see the White Whale and the Spirit Tortoise duke it out. That sounds awesome. Mountain Turtle vs. Witch Fish.
Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/gub735/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_7/
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fiction-fun · 3 years
Text
A Hidden History
Fandom: The Simpsons
Pairings: Monty Burns/Waylon Smithers
Words: 4363
Warnings: Suicide mention, child abuse, spousal abuse
The young woman stood outside of the doors to the large mansion clutching a few files in her hands.
'So many people have told me not to come here, but he deserves to know the truth. That’s all I want, is to share the truth.” She thought before squaring her shoulders and knocking on the large doors.
She heard the quick tip-tap of footsteps coming from the other side and smiled gently. The door swung open and a man with a purple bowtie stood there looking at her.
“Yes? How can I help you?” The man asked.
She took a deep breath and held out her hand, barely managing to keep the files from slipping out of her grasp.
“Hello, I’m Kaleyanna King, I was hoping Mr. Burns could spare a few minutes to hear of an old….uhm…acquaintance of his.” Kaleyanna said trying to word it right.
The man paused before sighing and waving her in.
“I can’t guarantee he’ll meet with you, and I also can’t guarantee that he won’t release the dogs on you, but I will go ask him.” The man said turning away from her.
“Don’t worry, I wore shoes I can run in, I’m well used to dogs being released on me.” Kaleyanna said a small bit of self-hating humor in her tone.
The man paused briefly before continuing on. It took a few minutes before he returned.
“This way, he says you have five minutes from when you enter.” The man said as they walked quickly.
She nodded.
“That’s longer then I thought I’d get.” She responded.
He didn’t reply just pushed open the door.
“Smithers! Who is this?” asked the hunched back form sitting at the desk.
The newly identified Smithers took a breath.
“Kaleyanna sir, the one who is here to share details of an old acquaintance of yours.” Smithers said watching him.
Kaleyanna's face softened seeing the love in Smithers eyes.
“Right, Right. You’ve got five minutes, wow me.” Mr. Burns said sitting up.
Kaleyanna stepped closer placing an old dated picture in front of him.
“I believe you knew her as Celeste and then Galaxy. But that is my Grandmother, Marianna King. Years and years ago she used to dance in clubs, back when that was still a new thing.” Kaleyanna began.
Mr. Burns held the picture delicately in his hands, his face softened slightly at the image.
“Yes, I remember her. It was many years ago.” Mr. Burns said voice soft.
Kaleyanna nodded, not looking away from him to see his reaction, but she still noticed Smithers standing faithfully next to him.
“Yes, well this story is a bit long and winding, so I apologize if it takes a little longer than expected. Anyways, my grandmother only danced in one club, and she had nightly conversations with a charming dark-haired man who she never got the name of.” Kaleyanna said voice soft.
Burns nodded.
“I only knew her as Celeste back then, names weren’t important.” He said filling in a small gap.
Kaleyanna took a breath.
“One night, things went beyond conversation and they shared a passionate night together. Unknowingly that night they created a child, a boy she named Morty.” Kaleyanna paused briefly to set down another old photo along with a copy of a birth certificate.
Burns picked each up to look it over, before returning his attention to her, hand resting gently on the photo of Marianna.
“I fail to see what any of this has to do with me.” He said face turning hard.
Kaleyanna nodded.
“DNA testing wasn’t a thing back then. So, my grandmother not knowing the name of her son’s father, couldn’t do anything about it. She stopped dancing for a few years but when her son turned five, she had no choice but to go back to it. At a different club with a different look and name. Once again, the same man found her but didn’t seem to recognize her, and she never worked up the courage to tell him about their son. After a few months, the two started secretly seeing each other, and once her son turned 25, she thought all was clear. The man and my grandmother spent one more night together, as he was leaving in the morning. And unknowingly created yet another child. Her name was Corina, and she was my mother.” Kaleyanna said setting down a few more documents and photos.
Mr. Burns picked up each one looking it over, allowing Smithers to look as well.
“I still don’t understand, why you’re telling me all of this.” Burns said but his face was slightly more open.
Kaleyanna sighed and nodded pulling three pages out of one of the files.
“When DNA testing was new my grandmother had both my mother and uncle tested just to confirm her suspicions. Then she locked away the findings, hid them deep in a safe. They were written into her will when she passed about ten years ago.” She said laying down the oldest document.
Burns picked it up, and read over it as Smithers looked at her.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said voice soft and gentle.
She smiled gently and nodded in thanks.
“We weren’t very close, but it was still rough.” Kaleyanna said by way of return.
Burns sat the paper down.
“How do I know this isn’t falsified?” he asked, face twisting slightly.
Kaleyanna pointed to the stamp.
“That’s the original notary stamp. I have copies for my personal files but I brought the originals for you.” She explained.
Burns nodded and waved for her to continue.
“When my grandmother passed, mother refused to allow me at the will reading, I believe she feared my grandmother would be harsh and wouldn’t leave anything to me although I cannot be certain. I did get a small monetary inheritance from her and a small house in the end. However, I didn’t know about that until recently. My mother died about 5 years ago in a horrible traffic accident, a drunk driver ran her off the road.” Kaleyanna said and laid out the newspaper article, and a copy of her grandmother’s will.
Burns picked up the will and scanned over it before reading the newspaper article.
“My condolences.” He said simply.
Kaleyanna nodded and turned back to her files.
“My uncle never cared who his father was so he never had a second DNA test done, my mother did although I only gained access to the records after receiving a court order to allow me to have the records. My father had me blocked from my mother’s will. My father believed he was doing the right thing, as my mother would have only listed him and I since her brother was already, and still is, in a nursing home, according to the doctors he’s only got a few years left, old age and all. However, my father, 3 years ago succumbed to his depression after my mother died and, he killed himself. Leaving me to take care of my younger sister, Christy.” Kaleyanna said pulling out the second DNA test the nursing home patient record and the news article about her father along with both of their Will’s.
Burns read through them all as Smithers looked at her.
“You still have a few more pages there.” He said drawing Burns eye.
Kaleyanna nodded and opened the last file.
“That’s right, this sad tale of tragedy and loss continues. I was the 5th child of 7 my sister Christy being the 7th and youngest of us all. However, three of my siblings died as children from various things and 2 were either stillborn or miscarried. My little sister is currently attending Yale Law and despite all of the tragedy is pulling a 4.0 GPA. I did do another DNA test as well, perhaps I was beating a dead horse as the saying goes but I wanted to be absolutely certain before I approached you and technology is always getting better. The last line of this tale so far is me telling you that myself and Christy are your granddaughters, and we don’t want anything other than for you to know of our existence.” Kaleyanna finished and handed him the last few pages, detailing her siblings passing and Christy’s success, along with the third and final DNA report.
Burns read over them all before sitting up straight and looking at her.
“You understand my…. hesitance on this.” He said watching her.
Kaleyanna nodded.
“Of course, I do. You’ve got every right to be cautious. You’ve got a lot to protect, but I promise everything I’ve told you Is the truth as I know it to be. And we don’t want anything from you, just letting you know of us.” Kaleyanna said as the papers where shuffled back into the files and left on the desk.
Burns steepled his fingers in thought before turning to Smithers.
“Escort her out. I need a few days to think this over.” Burns said as he pulled the files closer again.
Smithers nodded, moving away from him.
“Of course, sir, this way.” He said turning to her.
Kaleyanna nodded and moved to walk with him. They reached the front door and before he opened it, she placed a hand on his arm, pulling a sheet of paper from her bag she quickly wrote down her number and address, handing it to him.
“In case he wishes to contact me. Or you, as well could. Not many people like him, but spending those few minutes with the two of you, I see how much you both care for each other. Keep caring for him, I feel hardly anyone has in a long time.” Kaleyanna said softly.
Smithers looked at the paper before looking back at her.
“I’ll always care for him, even though he doesn’t seem to feel the same.” Smithers said sadly.
“Don’t forget, acceptance is still something new, and he’s from an older time period. A time when it was easier to lay with the opposite of what you truly wanted. Don’t count him out yet, let him realize his love for you in his own time, besides I can see it in the way he moves.” Kaleyanna said softly.
Smithers watched her.
“You sound like you speak from experience.” Smithers said not really in question.
Kaleyanna sighed softly and nodded.
“My sexuality is still being erased and denied even in the community.” Kaleyanna said voice soft.
Smithers looked at her for a few seconds.
“That’s not right.” He said voice distant.
She nodded.
“That’s the life of a Pansexual though.” She said shrugging.
She looked at her watch and sighed again.
“I’ve kept you to long, I should go. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Smithers.” She said as she walked out of the house.
Smithers caught her arm and passed a card into it.
“It’s Waylon. And it was nice to meet you too.” He said before closing the door.
She walked to her car and climbed in before looking at the card. On one side was Mr. Burns information and on the other was Waylon’s. She smiled softly and started the car. She drove away from the mansion, with a deep sigh escaping her.
‘Now just to see how it all goes.’ She thought passingly, knowing she had left the biggest secret of all out of her conversation.
After a few minutes she pulled up in her driveway, seeing the other car gone she breathed a sigh of relief and climbed from the car. She walked inside and moved to the kitchen where she began on dinner.
*Two weeks later*
“STOP DESMOND! LEAVE THEM ALONE THEY DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” the loud frantic voice was heard from outside.
“Smithers, you’d best go see what that is.” Mr. Burns said from the limo.
Waylon Smithers nodded before climbing out and walking to the door where he knocked. The crashing and banging stopped immediately.
“And who the hell is that!” a loud angry voice shouted.
“I... I don’t know, Desmond, let the children go answer it. Please just let them go.” A soft voice said carefully.
A sharp sound was heard followed by a thud and a small scream.
“P-please, Desmond.” The voice came back weaker again.
Smithers raised his hand to knock again.
“Fine! Go you little turds.” The angry voice came again.
Rushed footsteps where heard and the door opened a crack to show a small girl holding a baby and a boy next to her.
“H-hello?” the little girl asked, as a loud slap was heard.
Smithers looked at the children before pushing the door open more, gasping at the sight he saw.
“RUN KIDS!” the desperate voice came screaming from the kitchen.
The two children jumped and went to bolt out of the door, Waylon reached down and grabbed the children carefully.
“Come with me.” He said leading them to the limo.
Once there he helped each child into the back, where Monty Burns sat.
“What is the meaning of this, Smithers?” Burns asked him.
Waylon gave him a look and turned to the second door on the limo, opening it he let out several large dogs.
“Get them!” Waylon called stalking after the dogs.
Monty watched them before turning to the children who watched him fearfully. He looked between them before realizing what was going on. He took the baby from the girl and passed both of the older children Kleenex.
“it’ll be alright children.” Monty said turning to look at the house worry filling his face.
*Inside the house*
“How dare you!” the angry voice called again as the owner reached out and struck the shaking woman on the floor.
Just then growls from the door way made the other person pause.
“And who the hell are you!” the attacker said standing up straight.
“W-Waylon?” came the soft worn voice.
The purple bowtie clad man nodded.
“That’s correct. I am Waylon Smithers and I am your worst nightmare.” He said adjusting his glasses.
The tall grouchy person stood up, fists clenched and took a menacing step forward.
“You and what army, Nerd.” Came the angry hissed tone.
Waylon smiled at that and let out a sharp whistle.
“The dogs. GO GET THEM!” Waylon called as the dogs chased the large imposing figure.
Waylon walked over to the woman, where he crouched to help her up.
“Come then Kaleyanna, let’s get you up and out of here.” Waylon said as he helped her up.
Kaleyanna nodded and leaned heavily against the man as he helped her to the limo. Waylon carefully helped her slide into the backseat across from Monty.
“Mommy!” the little boy said and wrapped his arms around her.
The little girl was quick to follow. Kaleyanna pressed kisses to each of their heads before looking up at Monty, who still held her youngest.
“Thank you.” She said softly.
Monty rose a hand and shook his head.
“You are family.” He said quietly.
She nodded and looked to her children.
“In that case, I’d like you to officially meet your great grandchildren. This is Tori and this is Shane and you hold Cameron.” Kaleyanna said smiling at him.
Monty looked at them all and offered a small smile.
“Let’s go home, Waylon.” Monty said with a soft smile.
“Right away.” Waylon agreed getting into the driver’s seat.
It took a few minutes before they arrived at the mansion. Waylon parked the limo before coming to the back and helping Monty out.
“Sir, perhaps you should give young Cameron back to Kaleyanna.” Smithers suggested when Monty stumbled lightly.
Burns shot him a look before sighing and carefully passing the baby to Kaleyanna. Kaleyanna smiled gently and leaned against the limo as Tori and Shane climbed out carefully.
“Welcome home.” Monty said raising his hands to show the mansion.
The kids gasped and looked around; Kaley carefully reached a hand down to rest on Tori’s shoulder. The young girl looked up at her, and Kaleyanna passed her Cameron, as she swayed. Smithers rushed to her side.
“Let’s get you inside and have the doctors come take a look at the 4 of you.” Waylon said helping her up the steps.
Kaleyanna nodded and watched as the kids and Monty walked ahead of them. After a few moments they settled into a nice sitting room.
“Kids behave ok?” Kaleyanna called voice soft.
Tori and Shane nodded settling onto the carpet and looking around in wonder. Monty gave off a gentle version of his evil laugh.
“They’re children, let them play. Go on, explore! Have fun!” Monty said shooing the children, carefully taking Cameron from Tori.
Both children looked towards Kaleyanna, she smiled gently.
“Alright, just be careful.” Kaleyanna nodded.
The kids stood and raced off. Waylon reentered the living room, looking around before his eyes settled softly on Monty.
“The doctor should arrive in half an hour.” Waylon said.
Monty nodded and slid to the side, leaving room on the couch beside him.
“Excellent, come have a seat.” He said quietly as he marveled over Cameron.
Waylon moved to sit beside Monty and looked over Cameron with him. Kaleyanna smiled softly at the obvious devotion they each held for the other, she allowed her eyes to slip closed knowing her children were completely safe for once.
“Kaleyanna?” A voice called to her a while later.
She blinked open blurry eyes and looked up at the face of Monty.
“Yes?” she asked sitting up a bit.
Monty backed a few steps revealing a doctor waiting patiently.
“We would have let you sleep longer but the doctor is here and your health is more important currently.” Waylon said from beside her.
She nodded and adjusted.
“Of course, thank you.” She said moving to stand.
Her and the doctor moved to a different room, so he could look over her wounds.
“I don’t know how you did it, but that’s the nicest I’ve seen Burns ever.” The doctor said a while later while wrapping her injuries.
She smiled gently and shook her head.
“Have you checked the children?” she asked instead of answering not willing to risk Monty’s reputation.
The doctor sat back and nodded putting his supplies away.
“Yes, and all three are fine, nervous but fine.” He said moving to stand.
Kaleyanna nodded and stood as well, still feeling a bit tired but feeling better overall. The two of them walked back to the living room to see Waylon sitting on the floor playing Malibu Stacy with Tori while Shane sat on the couch with a few comic books, Cameron safely held within Monty’s arms. When they entered Monty stood and passed Cameron to Kaleyanna, who smiled gently and pressed a kissed to the top of the baby’s head.
“What’s the verdict, doctor?” Burns asked looking at him.
The doctor laughed a bit and shook his head.
“A few scrapes and bruises along with a minor sprain in the wrist. The children are just fine, a little skittish I’ve seen but alright.” The doctor replied, handing Burns a piece of paper.
Monty looked over it and nodded.
“Yes, yes anything to make sure my family is as healthy as they can be. You’ll be paid, extra to keep your mouth shut. Now leave.” Monty said turning his back to the doctor, moving to sit beside Shane.
Kaleyanna settled down in a chair and watched over her family, seeing Waylon with Tori made her smile softly. Her eyes shifted and she smiled as she saw Monty helping Shane to read over the comic books, her eyes slid down and she saw Cameron sleeping happily in her arms. She let out a soft sigh and let her eyes close again, letting the peaceful happiness of her family wash over her.
*6 months later*
“Tori! Shane! Your lunches! Have a good day at school I love you both!” Kaleyanna yelped as she raced around helping the kids get ready.
She held Cameron close as she handed the other two their lunches and pressed kisses to their foreheads.
“Bye mom! Bye Momma!” they called running out of the house and towards the bus pickup.
She closed the door and sighed softly. Looking down at Cameron, she smiled gently.
“Now time to feed you my little man.” She smiled as she tickled him lightly.
She walked into the kitchen, seeing Monty still sat and eating. She placed Cameron in the highchair.
“Good morning, Grandfather.” She said wrapping a hug around him as she moved passed.
He reached up and patted her arms.
“Good morning, my dear. Another rushed start today?” he asked looking at her as she prepared a small plate for Cameron.
Kaleyanna laughed and nodded as she took the plate and her coffee to a chair by Cameron.
“Yes well, you know children. Always five more minutes.” She said as she fed Cameron.
Monty watched her for a few seconds.
“You know I could help you out and hire a nanny.” Monty suggested and not for the first time.
Waylon walked in and took a seat beside Monty, who slid the cup of coffee closer to him unconsciously. Kaleyanna shook her head.
“Oh grandfather, I don’t need a nanny. Ten minutes of hectic rushing around with the kids in the morning is the best way for me to wake up.” Kaleyanna said with a smile.
Monty nodded as he slyly slid another scone onto Waylon’s plate. She smiled softly at his actions.
“So, any plans for today?” Waylon asked sending a small smile towards Monty.
Kaleyanna smiled at them.
‘One day they’ll stop dancing around each other.’ Kaleyanna said smiling softly.
She shook her head, looking at them.
“Not today, just spending time with Cameron, maybe reading a few books or working on my degree. I may call and see how Christy is doing. How about you two? Going to the Nuclear power plant?” Kaleyanna said smiling.
Monty nodded his face darkening momentarily.
“Yes, we have a few meetings with some of the staff and a few heads of other power plants. Should prove to be a busy day.” Waylon surmised.
Kaley smiled and played with her coffee cup a bit.
“What is it? You act like you have a question.” Monty said drawing attention to her.
Kaleyanna shrugged and looked up.
“Well you mainly spend your days dealing with disgruntled staff, and trying to figure out how to deal with issues in regards to the crew. Why don’t you have someone to handle that kind of thing for you?” She asked.
Waylon looked from her to Monty and back. While Monty sat back, thinking it over.
“Except that would cost me money and require a new position, with a new salary.” Monty countered.
Kaleyanna leaned forward and nodded.
“True, however if you created the position you could probably find someone to take the position for less than what would normally be acceptable. Just find someone qualified who’s new to the business, and needs a quick job. It’ll be years before they actively ask for any kind of raise and at that point 10 years down the line you could give them a 10 percent raise and it would maybe amount to another dollar at most.” Kaleyanna said tossing a full plan out onto the table.
Monty sat back and steepled his fingers looking at her.
“You make a compelling argument.” He said before standing up and walking from the room.
Waylon watched after him with a surprised look on his face.
“Wow, that’s the first time he’s listened about a new position in years.” He said turning to her.
Kaleyanna smirked and sat back a bit.
“I may not have a mean streak but I am still related to him. Meaning I have his cunning. It also doesn’t hurt my degree is in Psychology and Business, so I have a way with words when it comes to salaries and the like.” Kaleyanna said sipping her coffee.
Waylon looked at her and laughed shaking his head.
“You two are more alike than either of you believe.” Waylon said moving to stand as well.
Kaleyanna nodded and turned to Cameron.
“Not a bad thing at all.” She mused lightly.
*8 years later*
“Tori! Shane! Cameron! Your lunches!” Kaleyanna called as she raced to grab the bags from the kitchen.
She looked around frantically when they weren’t where she left then.
“Relax Kaleyanna, we have them.” Waylon said as he and Monty stood up with the bags.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Each of them held a bag and moved to the front door, a routine well established over the last few years. Each child ran into the room, grabbing a lunch and hugging and kissing their mother and great grandfather’s.
“Bye mom, bye Grandpa’s! Bye, bye mom, see you later Grandpa’s! Later mom, see you Grandpa’s!” the three kids called running out.
The three adults laughed slightly before moving back into the kitchen, and settled down with their coffee.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Monty asked looking at them.
Kaleyanna groaned and pulled her planner to her.
“I have several meetings with Plant staff, including…three with one Homer Simpson of 7G. Why he wants three meetings I have no idea. I think he just wants the donuts in my office.” Kaleyanna said.
Waylon nodded pulling out his own organizer.
“I have no doubt that is the only reason, as for us. We have meetings with several other plant owners and foreign dignitaries in regards to the plant, and then several personal meetings.” Waylon said looking up.
Monty nodded.
“Well it seems all of us will have a long day. What of the children?” He asked.
Kaleyanna smiled.
“All taken care of. Tori has gymnastics with Kira and Kim, and Shane is going over to Dustin and Blake’s to ride bikes and Cameron is going to spend time with Bart and Millhouse. I hope those two don’t corrupt my little Cameron.” Kaleyanna said looking up for a while.
Waylon and Monty nodded in agreement with that. After a few more minutes, the three headed outside and climbed into the limo, heading towards the plant.
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sage-nebula · 3 years
Text
Neo: The World Ends With You - Thoughts So Far
I’m on Day 6 of Week 1 and I want to compile my thoughts so far — not in a formal post, but at least all in one place, especially since I feel that jotting down what I think / feel as I go through will help me write my review when I’m done. Spoilers under the cut, obviously — and while it should go without saying, do NOT comment on this post with spoilers from later in the game, so help me. Even if I pose a question that gets answered later on — hell, especially if I do — don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I will find out in my own time.
With that said . . .
So obviously, I’m really enjoying it so far. You can tell that the writers / devs haven’t lost their touch despite it being thirteen years since the first game was made. You can also tell that a lot of love went into this; this isn’t something they churned out just to make money (if they thought this was a moneymaker we wouldn’t have had to wait 13 freaking years for the sequel), but rather something they really, really wanted to make. Not a total passion project, because those aren’t allowed in the world of capitalism, but there is still a lot of love there. 
That said, more specific thoughts:
THE MUSIC. It doesn’t really come as a surprise given that TWEWY’s soundtrack was phenomenal, but god, they brought it right back for this game. The remixes (“Someday”, “Three Minutes Clapping”, “Transformation”, “The One Star” etc) are all excellent, but the new tracks are phenomenal too. Tbh I’m not sure how any of the Players get any fighting done when the music makes you want to just bust a move right there in the scramble. It’s so good.
Most of the characters are great too. Of the Wicked Twisters, I think Fret is my favorite; he is pure of heart, dumb of ass, and I love that for him. I do like Rindo too, of course, and his habit of overthinking everything (since Fret has zero brain cells, Rindo has to make up for it), but him being standoffish / socially anxious and snarky makes him feel a bit like a toned down Neku, so he doesn’t catch my interest quite as much. And while I do like Nagi, the way she speaks in like . . . medieval-esque language is a bit off-putting. In particular it’s weird that Rindo didn’t tell her to knock it off with the “Lord Rindo” stuff since using such an honorific would be considered awkward / embarrassing in Japanese. I guess he’s just too socially anxious / awkward to tell her to stop, but it’s still a bit distracting.  Other than that, I’m really not a fan of Kubo (one of the Reapers) or . . . Susukichi, I think his name is? The leader of the Ruinbringers. I find them both to be pretty annoying, haha. But I love Shoka, as well as Kanon, and Motoi is a good bean, too. As for the Deep River Society . . . those nerds have issues lmao. Especially their leader. Although I can’t fault him for breaking down sobbing when he realizes that he now stands a very good chance of getting erased, which reminds me . . .
HOW ARE WE ON DAY SIX AND THE WICKED TWISTERS STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT BEING ERASED IS?? We have kind of an inverse situation where where Neku knew right away that he would get erased if he failed the missions / didn’t win the Game, but didn’t find out until later that he was dead. Here, the Wicked Twisters learn that they’re dead fairly quickly (and Fret has some realistic denial going on about it at first, though he gets over it pretty quickly), but they’re still completely in the dark about the fact that their souls will get wiped from existence if they lose despite erasure being mentioned at least a handful of times. Like I guess it was never spelled out for them, but especially as someone who played the first game about a million times, it’s a bit maddening to see them be like, “Why is he crying like his life is on the line? lol whatevs no big deal la di da!” Since the Wicked Twisters aren’t aware of the stakes, a new player wouldn’t be either, and so it rather tones down the urgency that was felt in the original game where everyone was very much aware that they were fighting for their right to exist.
Since I brought up Motoi, I want to say that I just played past the part where he reveals that he was An0ther, who is apparently Rindo’s favorite blogger / poet. I feel like this is meant to be similar to how Hanekoma was CAT, Neku’s favorite artist, but it doesn’t carry the same impact because a.) as far as we know An0ther didn’t have anything to do with how Rindo died; b.) we haven’t seen Rindo bring An0ther or his poetry up that much, much less have anything An0ther said be his entire life’s mantra; c.) we haven’t gotten to know Motoi that well either. Like we met him once before this revelation. That said I’m not sure it was supposed to have the same impact as the Hanekoma = CAT reveal, but if it was then it did fall short. (Also I saw it coming the second Motoi quoted An0ther lmao.)
Speaking of Hanekoma, WHERE IS MY MANS??? I know he has to show up at some point because if I’m not mistaken we saw him in the trailers. And if I am mistaken then he still has to show up at some point because he played a central role in the “A New Day” epilogue chapter of Final Remix, what with Coco being unable to control him and him knowing what was going on, plus he was testing Neku for something in “Another Day” and that has to be whatever is going on in this game. I’m sure he’ll come in for some big reveal later, but like, we have a new street artist in this game (MKN) with no mention of CAT as of yet, and I’m just like . . . where is he. Where is my mans. What is he doing. Bring him to me.
That said, we already got to see my #2 mans (Kariya♥) so I am happy about that at least. 
Back to my mans for a hot second: I actually erased my demo save data and started fresh to remind myself of everything when I got the game, and idk if it was in the demo or not, but regardless—at the end of the demo portion there’s this shot of the sky and then this nameless voice is like, “It’s finally starting. I hope you wake up soon. I don’t want you to miss all the action.” My current guess is that the speaker was Hanekoma, speaking to Joshua. Joshua being “asleep” would explain why the Game is as screwed up as it is right now, what with it having been going on for a year and people able to choose to play again and again and again while the rest of the Players—who tbh should also be counted as winners if they survive the week!—are trapped in limbo.
Because that’s the thing: I know that it was partially a lie to cover for the fact that Joshua’s game with Megumi was set to last three weeks, but at the end of the third week Megumi told Neku that a new rule was being put in place that wouldn’t allow repeats of the Game anymore. But even setting that aside, in the original Shibuya UG rules, anyone who survived the Game could get a wish at the end, whether that was to be brought back to life or made into a Reaper. This is why at the end of Week 1, the three winners were Neku, Shiki, and Beat. However, here the Ruinbringers are able to keep everyone trapped and they have been trapped for at least a year, given what Motoi said. It’s completely different rules and I’m sure that this has something to do with the fact that the majority of the Reapers we’ve seen so far are from Shinjuku (at least going by the spoilery trailer, and iirc it was confirmed in “A New Day” that Coco was from Shinjuku actually, but it’s been a while so I could be wrong about that).
Speaking of, has anyone noticed that the possibly-Shinjuku Reapers don’t have wings? No?
ALSO speaking of Coco, at least tangentially: Coco was the one who revived Minamimoto at the end of “A New Day”. However, he’s definitely not how I would have expected. Like despite Coco using the Taboo Noise sigil to bring him back, he’s clearly not in his Taboo form. He’s using psychs as a Player would, rather than a Reaper. And while it’s clear he’s up to some form of nonsense, it’s unclear exactly what form of nonsense he’s up to. I know that he’s here for fanservice and that him looking like Nagi’s bias from Elegant Strategy is a tongue-in-cheek nod to that, but I have too much faith in this series to think that’s all this is. I’m wondering if being revived for a second time fixed whatever screws were loose in his head before? Or if he was revived as a human Player by like, Joshua or something? (Although why Joshua would do that I have no idea. Maybe Hanekoma instead?) Hmmm . . .
Small aside, but we all know that Nagi has put herself into hundreds of thousands of yen in debt for Tomonami merch lolol RIP Nagi. (I’m also interpreting that she’s not actually older than Rindo or Fret, but she just skipped a bunch of grades. Like I feel like this might have been lost in translation a bit, and that she’s a senpai to them because she’s in uni but she’s not actually older than them. I could be wrong but that’s how I’m interpreting it right now. She just doesn’t look or act older than them.)
Oh another minor annoyance, but whether it’s due to the partial 3D environment or something else, I’m SO ANNOYED that some of the streets aren’t connecting as they should now. Like, how going in the direction of Molco spits you out at Spain Hill or 104 or whatever? I don’t remember exactly what area it was, but it wasn’t Molco!! I’m sure if I hadn’t played the original a million times like a loser this wouldn’t be such a big deal to me, but I have and it is lmao. Also, they’ve had the Shibuya Underpass / Cat Street blocked off this whole time and I’m like :( let me go to Cat Street :( let me see my mans
I’m relieved that Ken Doi is still making delicious food and I look forward to his ramen curry fusion. I was really upset about RamenDon being gone at first but as long as Ken Doi is still around I am happy.
My dinner just arrived so this is all I have to say for now, but I will update more as I play more. I love this game and I’m so happy to be back in Shibuya, even if the characters pronounce it wrong sometimes (saying “ShiBOOya” like pls . . . you are supposed to be Japanese . . . get it right . . .)
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panharmonium · 3 years
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next round of in-progress naruto thoughts under the cut
[i actually haven’t progressed that far from where i was last time, honestly, but i could feel myself getting to a stage where i had some things i needed to write up.]
fyi, this one is a little more gripe-y than usual - still enjoying myself, but there are some things in the current arc that are bugging me.
[spoiler policy disclaimer first, as always: I am watching naruto for the first time and have only gotten to the point where naruto and bee break out of the island barrier and leave to join the war.  i am trying to avoid spoilers, so please don’t interact with this (tags included, because the notifications now show them to me automatically) with any spoilery commentary, including even general things like “oh i love this show but it gets less good after X point” or “X season is better than Y season” or any general assessments of quality/likability/etc re: future seasons.  Thank you! <3 ]
anyway, to go ahead with my grousing -
there are a couple things about this current arc that have me feeling "ehhh.”
1) too many dead people
i’ve personally always been lukewarm on the “revive/reanimate dead characters for the Confrontation Value” trope, which is probably due to me having been a comics fan for so long (i was pretty deep into DC-land during Blackest Night, and that’s not even the first/last time this sort of thing has been done there, so).  i’m not saying it CAN’T be done in an interesting way, but most of the time my experience with it has been that it’s kind of cheap/redundant storytelling.  it usually doesn’t add much to an emotional arc, for me, and when it retreads an emotional arc that did have a strong conclusion, i feel like all it does is weaken the original story.  
so like - places where i feel like shippuden does this well are with minato and kushina.  i found both of those scenes with naruto to be powerful moments that added something new to the story/to naruto’s development.  (but they’re not even part of the whole reanimation jutsu plotline, which is what i’m mostly feeling “eh” on, so it’s not even the greatest example.)
a place where i’m kind of in the middle is with asuma.  on the one hand, i really don’t think that this needed to happen, because the original story arc with him was SO strong.  however, they did kind of redeem themselves in a way by focusing the redux on choji instead of shikamaru, so at least they were still saying/exploring something something new.
places where i’m still pretty dubious are pretty much...everyone else.  i’m just not sure...well, i don’t know.  i can’t really say definitively how i feel about it until i get to the end of the arc and see how it ends, but at the current moment, i’m just not sure what we get out of seeing people like zabuza+haku, lady chio, itachi, nagato, etc....ALL of those stories had such powerful endings; it just makes me leery of these “resurrections” invalidating everything we saw previously/weakening the impact of what came before.
2) mixed messaging
this is my bigger gripe, and it’s something i’ve kind of had floating on the edges of my mind for a long time, but this season especially is highlighting it.
the one thing that is guaranteed to make me frustrated about this show (besides its obvious disinterest in female characters) is when it starts to lean super hard into the “Naruto Is The Only One Who Can Do It!” for every single task that needs to be completed.  and i know this is a stupid thing to complain about when the show is literally titled “Naruto,” but the reason it gets frustrating is because the initial message of this show was never “one super special person must do everything on their own and save everyone else.”  the original message of this show was teamwork.  
the very first lesson kakashi teaches the kids (and the foundation upon which the rest of the story has been built) is “you are stronger together.”  if you had all come at me together, you might have been able to take [the bells]!  he specifically criticizes naruto for working alone: “naruto - you do EVERYTHING on your own.  EVERYTHING.”  and that’s understood to be the Wrong Thing; it’s the reason naruto ends up tied to the stump.  but in the last few seasons especially (though there have definitely been previous moments where this has shown up before) the ONLY thing we keep hearing is how naruto has to accomplish everything by himself.  
it didn’t bother me in the Pain arc; i actually thought that confrontation was appropriate and necessary for naruto’s development.  but ever since then, it’s escalated to a point where now it’s like - “naruto is the only one who can fight sasuke!  naruto is the only one who can defeat madara!  naruto is the only one who can stop the war!  naruto is the only one who can erase everybody’s hatred!”  
and that’s the point at which i start to get frustrated, because my mind is like “okay, and the other characters are going to be doing...what, exactly?”
again, maybe it’s stupid to complain about that when the show is literally titled “Naruto.”  but i don’t think so.  title notwithstanding, this story at its heart was, in the beginning, an ensemble show with four main characters, whereas nowadays, the messaging is that only one of those characters can actually accomplish anything.  so i get kind of resentful, when i’m told that the other members of the team can’t do anything but step back and hold naruto up, because the essential message of this story has ALWAYS been “teamwork is more important than anything.  you are NEVER stronger by yourself.  we ALL have something to contribute.”
right now, the other characters feel like they’ve just been shunted off to do busywork.  none of them have grown or changed at all since the end of season 10 (and even the end of season 10 was starting to slide into the “only naruto can do anything about sasuke in the end blah blah” - yes it’s a huge pet peeve of mine but it is what it is; whatever; moving on).  we haven’t even SEEN sasuke since the end of season 10.  there’s been no consideration given to how kakashi is handling being drafted into a second war and being put in charge of 20,000 lives (and his clash with zabuza was just a vehicle for all the characters to reflect once again on how great naruto is).  there’s been virtually ZERO attention given to how sakura is handling things, minus that one scene where she’s looking at gory pictures from the previous great ninja war.  everybody is just marking time, punching a bunch of identical white zetsus until naruto can come solve the problem and wow everyone with his new abilities.
part of my annoyance might just be due to the fact that the timeline is so wonky due to filler arcs - it feels like ages have passed for me, but in-universe it really hasn’t been all that long.  but i also think there are legitimate reasons for me to be frustrated, when the show introduces things and then just unceremoniously drops them without any indicator of when they might be picked up again.  like - the uchiha genocide reveal was (i thought) a Huge Fucking Deal that should have Major Repercussions - but it’s just kind of.....disappeared as an issue???  and yamato - he’s been CAPTURED!!!!!!  but the show has not shown a single character reacting to this, or even being informed that it happened, and i think that’s shitty, actually.  yamato isn’t a minor character.  he’s been naruto’s personal guardian since season 2.  he has done SO MUCH for the kids, and he is kakashi’s friend, and i think it is shitty to have him get captured by the same people who experimented on him as a child and then not spend a second or two making it clear that other characters CARE about this.  
anyway.  this is just something that’s been creeping up on me as time goes on, and the last few episodes of “Naruto is the Savior of the Entire World” talk just made it feel more immediate, i guess.  plus the new intro (which i know may not be reliable; sometimes they show things that never happen) had a shot of naruto fighting itachi, and i think that tipped me over the edge, lmao, because you know what?  enough!!!!!  naruto can’t be the one who gets to do EVERYTHING!  some stories are not about him!  there are other characters who have relationships that are not about naruto.  there are places where other characters should be able to accomplish things naruto can’t do.  the other main characters should be allowed to complete their personal arcs, separate from (not just secondary to) naruto’s journey.
like - just - this is how i feel: this show started out as a story about a group of four people, and the root theme was “teamwork is everything.”  i don’t like how the show has slowly started to mutate into a story about naruto’s “solitary” quest to save sasuke, when we have seen MANY TIMES that: 
a) sakura was the first of the kids who even knew that something was wrong with sasuke, while naruto remained utterly oblivious all the way through shonen jump (and partway into shippuden, tbh)
b) kakashi in the past has connected with sasuke in ways that NEITHER of the two kids have been able to achieve
i just don’t like it.  i don’t like how S10 had sakura say the line “naruto...you were the first one to ever see the darkness in sasuke...” when she’s reflecting on their fight on top of the hospital, because that is a LIE.  it’s a blatant retcon.  of the kids, sakura was the one who knew from the very beginning that something was wrong with sasuke.  she was the one who was with him when he had that semi-dissociative episode during the bells test.  she was the one who was with him during all the curse mark stuff in the forest of death.  she was the one who knew something was off when he challenged naruto to a fight - naruto was just psyched that sasuke wanted to “spar” with him!  and SHE was the one who suspected that sasuke might do something as drastic as leave the village - naruto explicitly told her not to worry; that sasuke was totally fine; he would never ever do something like that!
like - the show already barely gives sakura anything for herself; now they try to take this away from her, too?  and give it to naruto?  to hammer in a kind of connection between naruto and sasuke that demonstrably did not exist??  (i’m not saying that naruto and sasuke don’t have their own important relationship!  but it is just provably untrue that naruto was the person who understood sasuke best.  shonen jump goes out of its way to demonstrate how clueless naruto is about what sasuke is really like and what he’s going through.  naruto is SHOCKED that sasuke would go to orochimaru.  he doesn’t realize that their fight on top of the hospital is anything more than their usual rivalry business.  when sasuke pops out of the coffin behind kimimaro, naruto waves and starts laughing, because he thinks sasuke is still on their side and is going to run right home!  and even in shippuden, when naruto hears that orochimaru is dead, he gets all excited and goes “so sasuke must be on his way back to the leaf village!!! :D”  like.  he just doesn’t get it.)
and i won’t really get into kakashi’s side of things here, because i would end up writing too much, but suffice to say that i am just...wary of the way it feels like recent parts of the show are trying to minimize or...push aside the real, textually-documented connections that kakashi and sakura had with sasuke in favor of “Only Naruto Can Help!”  it frustrates me.  kakashi made inroads with sasuke that neither of the kids ever achieved.  sasuke talks to kakashi in a more honest way than he ever does with either of his peers, even when he’s out of his head with rage.  and i would prefer to see this show taking the angle that all three of sasuke’s team members are going to be indispensable for saving him.  
you know.  like teamwork.
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