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doctenwho · 3 years

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Gestures and Evasion

Hello! Welcome to a new DT fic! My deepest apologies that it’s been so long, and thank you so much for waiting so patiently! Life’s been a bit of a rollercoaster recently, and I’ve needed a bit to recuperate, but I’m back again!

This prompt didn’t have a specific character mentioned, but luckily, since it wasn’t anonymous, I was able to shoot pistachoz a DM and they’ve confirmed it’s a Tenth Doctor request! :D

Warning: None, I don’t think?

Word Count: 3,514

Summary: Check out the prompt above! :)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the creator! :D)

The Doctor doesn’t really remember the first small act he’d committed to try and get his companion to notice him. To notice him on a... well, on a more personal level?

It’s a general memory, nothing pinpointed, but he knows it happened long ago.

It was something small—mundane. (Y/N) had more or less brushed the gesture off with a light laugh and a smile that made his hearts hammer away in his chest, but (Y/N) had really seen if for what it had been.

It wasn’t very often that the Doctor had these sort of feeling about anything, but there was just something special about (Y/N). Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

He’d been trying for just about as long as the companion had been travelling with him to send little messages, or gestures in hopes that maybe (Y/N) would see what he was doing for what it was instead of brushing it off like she tended to do.

If he’s honest, he’s never really had this kind of problem before. He’s had many companions, and more often than not, those companions tend to want more from him than he’s willing to allow himself to give. Rose, and Martha—Jack, even—they were all looking for more from him, and being what he is, and what he does, it’s not that simple to reciprocate feelings.

They’ll all age and eventually die, whereas he’ll just move on to his next bout of regeneration with a broken heart he’ll have to try his hardest to keep under wraps.

The Doctor knows that maybe (Y/N) showing such little interest in him is almost a good thing. Less heartbreak down the road when (Y/N) decides not to accompany him any longer, or, worse, when old age takes (Y/N) away like every other human before her. It’s inevitable, and he really should have a stronger hold on human life compared to TimeLord life, but the loss always knocks him down for a while.

It should be a good thing, but he just can’t seem to bring himself around to believing that it’s a good thing. Not when every time (Y/N) brushes off a gesture he’s thought over, and put time and effort into, it fills his hearts with an unfamiliar pain he hasn’t felt since losing his family and Gallifrey alike.

It had taken him a while to notice he was even trying to win (Y/N) in a sort of courtship way. And it had taken even longer to realize he’d been doing it for about as long as he’d known (Y/N). It hadn’t seemed like it at the time, but looking back now, he can see how all the little comments and gestures were more than just friendly.

But she’d been brushing his attempts off since early in their travels. Shooting him a smile, but turning away when anything too even the slightest romantic turn. Avoiding his eyes when he stared fondly, or laughing it off when a compliment slipped past his lips.

He really didn’t understand it.

He could see the Gallifreyan romantic gestures confusing (Y/N), but the few earth gestures he’d picked up barely stirred anymore of a reaction than the Gallifreyan ones. He didn’t know where he was going wrong—how it was all being perceived the way it was. The wrong way. He wasn’t getting the reactions he wanted and... well, it hurt.

Both his pride, and his hearts.

It had started small with flowers—or, a flower. They were on a foreign planet, but he knew giving small gifts like a flower was one of the human gestures. So, he’d searched around while his companion was busy exploring, and located the loveliest flower he could find. It was mixtures of blues and purples; native to the planet but incredibly rare considering they only bloomed twice a year, for no longer that three days at a time.

The flower had a sweet smell; one similar to those of sweets from earth. For a while, before he’d remembered Earth didn’t have this specific species of flower, nor were they advanced enough in space travel to find one, he’d assumed they’d used the attractive scent of the flower as a marketing technique to sell their sweets.

The sugary smell Earth sweets had would always come second to the scent of this specific flower.

The exchange had been short, and less than pleasurable if the Doctor’s honest. He’d found (Y/N) sitting on the ground, just taking the calming atmosphere of the planet. His heart stuttered in his chest before he finally took those last few steps towards her, where he settled at her side and cleared his throat to gain her attention.

He’d held the flower out, rambling out facts as (Y/N) took the flower into her hands. She gave it a sniff, and fiddled with the stem and petals for a second before smiling down at it. She stared down at it, before looking back at him with an appreciative smile. He’d thought he’d won her over, but instead, she settled the flower on the ground beside her.

His hearts had cracked as his companion’s hand fell away from the flower, leaving it on the ground as she returned her attention to the world around her. He’d swallowed thickly before sitting himself beside her, not bothering to mention the fact his gesture had gone unnoticed.

It was the same ordeal when he’d ordered (Y/N) a space delicacy from one of his favorite planets, where his companion had taken the treat into her hands and tasted it without a second thought. Smiling down at the treat, before shooting him light smile as she licked her lips.

He didn’t know why he’d been expecting—hoping for—anything more than the usual ‘Thank you’ he always received when he did something out of the ordinary for his companion, but the mumbled words had filled his with a sense of sadness.

It was silly.

But he kept trying.

The gestures just kept coming. It was barely a forethought anymore. An unconscious effort to try and win over his companion—seeking this relationship (Y/N) quite obviously didn’t want. It was a sad downward spiral, but he really couldn’t imagine not trying to woo her. He’d been at it for so long, not trying sounded foreign.

He tried just about anything he could to get any sort of reaction. Any hint that his companion knew what he was trying to do. Any acknowledgment that she understood that he was trying. He’d prefer blatant rejection to this... whatever this evasive attitude (Y/N) was expressing.

Dinner in the stars.

Unique gifts from distant planets.

Various treats and snacks from wherever they happened to be.

He even tried to learn more about human things on earth. How humans went about stuff like this, and how it all differed from his Gallifreyan roots. Human courting was quite the oddity.

He didn’t talk to many humans who weren’t his companions, or people he’d saved in some way or another, but the man who ran one of the shops had taken some time to educate him, but the Doctor had come out of that conversation more confused than he’d gone in.

But on the bright side, (Y/N) had enjoyed the bag of sweets he’d awkwardly bought to stand at the register and chat with the friendly shopkeeper.

He was still at a loss. Nothing seemed to be working. Nothing wooed his companion. He didn’t understand—couldn't see how not one single thing he’d tried had gotten (Y/N)’s attention.

But he still had one more thing up his sleeve.

“Where are we going?” (Y/N) asked cautiously from the seat in the console room. The Doctor was doing his usual laps around the TARDIS console to what should be six TimeLord’s jobs simultaneously. He’d gotten good at it over the years, but there was still, occasionally, some rough kickbacks when he couldn’t be everywhere at once.

“It’s a surprise,” the man shot his companion a grin, pulling a lever. At this point, (Y/N) should be used to the surprises. He never got the kinds of reactions he was looking for, but he was still hoping that... maybe sometime he would. That something he planned would be the special one that could win his companion over.

(Y/N) didn’t reply, but continued to watch the Doctor how around the TARDIS like a madman.

They weren’t far from the next greatest surprise the man had planned. They’d been travelling a little under an hour, and (Y/N) had only joined him in the console room ten-ish minutes prior, but he’d still refused to tell her where they were heading.

(Y/N) was still quiet when the Doctor stabilized his space and time machine, checking everything twice before finally tugging his companion up by the hand and leading her towards the doors.

He threw the doors open, grinning widely as he gazed around. Just as promised.

It was a phenomenon really. A collection of heart shaped carbon monoxide ice chunks. No one was quite sure how they’d been formed, or whether someone had carved the hearts and left them to float in this tiny orbital pull in the middle of nowhere.

It was a sight few saw—the Doctor had only heard of this place from chatter on a nearby planet, but he had to admit it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined. The ice glistened as the light casted from the TARDIS hit it, making them twinkle just as brightly as the stars in the background.

It was about as romantic as you could get.

“Woah,” (Y/N) gaped at his side, and the Doctor turned to look, smile slowly lighting up his face as he watched his companion’s eyes travel from heart to heart. “What... what is this?”

“It’s carbon monoxide ice,” the Doctor informed softly, the smile on his face widening as his hearts thrummed in his chest. His companion had an astonished look on her face, eyes wide with childlike curiosity. “Like that of Mars in your solar system. No one’s really sure how they take shape but... well, they’re quite the sight.”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed out, almost like her breath was taken away by the sight.

The Doctor had been told by many, had seen for himself as beauty takes away people’s breath. He’d been there too, once or twice with his current companion.

He barely even caught his words as they left his mouth—his heart speaking before his brain had a chance to filter his words, “Like you.”

That was his moment of error, the Doctor noticed.

He frowned to himself as his companion slowly pulled themself away, shying away from his side and retreating back into the TARDIS with one last lingering glance at the ice. The Doctor’s hearts froze within his chest, as he watched uncertainly—unsure just how he’d managed to mess this one up as well.

“It’s late,” (Y/N) muttered softly before leaving the Doctor alone in the TARDIS doorway, the man’s gaze locked on one lone heart with a barely noticeable crack down the center. It wouldn’t be long before the orbit around them pulled the frail pieces apart, severing the heart into two.

The TimeLord forced a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as he resided completely with the cracked heart.

He didn’t understand.

The clumps of frozen carbon monoxide made his hearts hurt the longer he stared, so he was quick to follow on his companion’s footsteps, spinning on his heels and shuffling back inside, making sure to shut the doors behind him.

He wanted to flee this place, this failed attempt, but he couldn’t bring himself around to flying the TARDIS at the moment. He didn’t have the energy too. Like expected, (Y/N) had disappeared into the TARDIS, so the Doctor plopped heavily down on the seat.

Maybe it was time to accept the fact that his companion did not reciprocate his feelings. That he was barking up the wrong tree. He’d thought that they were... but maybe he was wrong.

The Doctor stared up at the TARDIS ceiling, his space and time machine giving a little hum as if she could feel his worries and mood. His hand patted the back of his seat halfheartedly as a promise that he was okay.

It had never been this hard with any other companion. There was just something so special about (Y/N). Something he wanted to get closer too, even though he knew he’d end up hurt in the end. Something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get now.

Maybe it was time to settle this once and for all. His gestures were overlooked, or, maybe even ignored. As much as it hurt to admit, (Y/N) didn’t seem very enthused with anything he’d done. Maybe it was the human not understanding what he was trying to do—but humans tended to like words.

The Doctor from (Y/N) in her room, perched on the edge of her bed. (Y/N)’s attention raised when the Doctor announced his arrival with a sturdy knock on the slivered-open door. The knock pushed the door in enough for the Doctor to poke his head in.

“Do you, uh, have a moment?” He asked cautiously, almost ready for the rejection he’d been living with for the better part of travelling with (Y/N). He’d grown used to it, but it still tugged at his heart strings. She’d never deny him conversation, but he could still see and feel her pulling away from him.

“Of course,” (Y/N) sat up a little more, giving the Doctor her full attention. “What’s the matter?”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead, the Doctor realizes as he shifts from foot to foot in (Y/N)’s doorway, mind vacant of any thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head at the Doctor’s odd silence, studying him from her spot, “Doctor...? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” the man cleared his throat. Then did so a second time before continuing, “I wanted to, uhm, know what you thought about the, uh,” he gestured broadly behind him, hoping his companion could piece his question together.

“The ice hearts?”

It was a good thing his companion was so clever.

“Yes, the hearts.” The Doctor nods, fingers tapping awkwardly against his side. “Did you... did you like them?”

“They were beautiful,” (Y/N) repeated once again, fidgeting with her own fingers, “it was a bit unexpected, but... yeah, I did. Thanks for showing me them.”

The man gave a nod, but didn’t voice anything. If he thought his voice would’ve come out naturally instead of the anxious waver he was sure would be there, he definitely would’ve replied with a soft ‘My pleasure,’ because it really was his pleasure to introduce (Y/N) to the beauty of the galaxy.

There was an unsettling moment of silence where neither really knew what to say.

It was the Doctor who broke it, staring at his shoes as he finally allowed the words he’d been stewing over out, “do you... not like me, (Y/N)?”

“What?” the surprise was prominent. The word rang out for a second before the Doctor lifted his gaze to settled on (Y/N)’s shocked, tense frame. Her muscles were stiff, body sitting up straighter and more alert than she had been when he’d first asked to talk. “I like you plenty,” (Y/N) assured quickly, “what gave you the idea I didn’t?”

There was a list, really. He could count things off on his fingers, but he wasn't here to be petty. The man bit his lip, leaning against the doorframe to support his weight. He honestly just wanted to know why (Y/N) was so evasive every time he so much as tried to woo her.

“You... well, uh, you never seem to care,” he made sure to word it carefully, “I... I’m not sure if you even notice, or ignore it, or what. I just, I need you to be honest with me. Why haven’t you... reciprocated any feelings?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Doctor,” (Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and one ankle crossed over the other as she leaned forwards in interest.

“Since I met you,” the Doctor swallowed, “I’ve been... I don’t know how to say it but, trying to court you, I suppose? That’s not really something humans do, but it is something TimeLords do. It’s just that... every attempt I’ve made... every try I’ve made to do something cute, or romantic, you brush it off. You’re evasive, and... I’d just like to know if that’s because you don’t reciprocate my feelings. If you don’t feel the same, we can just put this all behind us.”

“It’s not like that,” (Y/N)’s voice was quiet, a near whisper, “please don’t think it’s because I don’t like you. I do, Doctor. I just... I wasn’t sure.”

“Weren’t sure?” The man furrowed his eyebrows, “sure about what?”

“I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I noticed everything, the flower you gave me, the sweets. All the dinners, and the... the dates. Today with the ice hearts even. I didn’t know how to admit I liked you when there was a chance you didn’t like me back the same way. I don’t know what I’d do if I ruined this.”

“But the gestures and dates?” the Doctor frowned, finally stepping into (Y/N)’s room and sitting on the edge of her bed beside her. He’d thought he was being obvious.

“Very obvious,” his companion let out a little laugh, “and I should’ve known, but I was scared. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. This adventure is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I didn’t want to compromise that by admitting my feelings.”

He could understand that, a bit. “So... you do like me too?”

“Of course,” (Y/N)’s smile was soft, “a lot, Doctor. I just... didn’t know how to reciprocate it without there being a possibility that everything could fall through, and we’d ruin our relationship in the process. I know you were offering it, but I was nervous. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” the Doctor chastised quietly. He paused for a second before speaking again, “I’m having a hard time believing this is real,” he admitted with a tilt of his head, “you really acknowledged it all? I... never noticed.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) smiled softly, “and I have proof it wasn’t all in vain, Doctor.” (Y/N) stood up from her spot on the bed, and moved towards her book shelf. It housed a few books, and some trinkets she’d found on their travels and liked. She continued speaking as she searched through the books, “I really enjoyed everything you put together for me since I met you. I wasn’t sure you were really doing it all to be romantic at first but... the hearts today really summed that up for me.”

The man watched as she tugged on one of the book’s spines, pulling it from the shelve and holding it in her hands for a second before she waving to retake her seat. She started flipping through the pages, so the Doctor leaned over her shoulder to watch.

“Here,” she stopped on a page towards the middle of the book. The Doctor refrained from gaping as his companion carefully pulled that singular flower he’d given her all that time ago from the book. The room was instantly filled with that sweet, alluring scent and his hand shook as he took the pressed flower into his fingers by the delicate stem.

“I thought you left this,” he admitted softly, studying the vibrant colours that had stayed even after being pressed into the book. He hadn’t noticed her bringing the flower back. Had really thought she’d left it on that planet and ignored the gesture entirely.

“I couldn’t,” his companion sighed, “it was selfish, even if I didn’t want to ruin what we had, I wanted to keep it to remember the moment. To remember you, even if we did at some point part ways.”

“You’re brilliant,” the Doctor breathed out, finally passing the flower back like it was as precious as a crown jewel or something. “So incredibly brilliant, (Y/N).”

(Y/N)’s cheeks flushed and she ducked her head away from his gaze, but it was different than the usual brushing away of his gestures. Something was different now.

They hadn’t cleared it all up, that was for sure. He still had questions, and she still had doubts. They didn’t quite understand each other yet, but it hadn’t all been in vain like he’d thought. She’d seen it all. Acknowledged it, even if not to him. His hearts swelled as he smiled lightly.

There was still a lot they needed to discuss, but for right now, the Doctor just wanted to spend a bit of time with his companion—without all the hassle of their rightful doubts and insecurities.

“Do you think we could... spend a little while longer looking out at the frozen carbon monoxide outside before we leave? It really is quite pretty, and... maybe we can talk about this more later?”

“I’d... love that, Doctor.”

“Good. Uh, great,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. His companion giggled at him, but he didn’t mind in the slightest, “allons-y, (Y/N).”

<><><><>

Once again, sorry this took so long! I’m hoping to keep this momentum going and keep getting out the requests in waiting! I hope you all liked this fic, it was a bunch of fun to write! I thoroughly enjoyed creating the frozen carbon monoxide hearts, so I hope you all liked that as well!

As always, feel free to prompt me again if this wasn’t what you were looking for (though it might take a while to get around to it if you do!) and thanks once more for requesting. Hoping everyone had a good morning/day/night!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #ten #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #10 #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #TARDIS #writing prompt #writing requests #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

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Impersonal, Ch. 7

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, Rated E

The game had ended and he wasn’t surprised.

He expected this. He prepared himself all day Saturday by running six miles, jacking off twice, and mopping his entire apartment. He didn’t even own a mop; he actually went out and bought one. By the time Sunday morning rolled around he was ready for the inevitable collapse of their precarious sexual arrangement and greeted Scully with aplomb.

And then she paid for breakfast.

That was unexpected. When the FBI wasn’t footing the bill, they usually split the tab, or threw a “you can get the next one” down on the table alongside crumpled bills.

He had been joking about it being a date, but then she paid. And it meant something. Her big blue eyes pinned him to the booth, had him trapped and squirming like an insect on a card as she laid a hand over the check. “I’ve got it,” she said, and his senses were suddenly ignited. He could feel thick sunshine pouring over them, lighting up Scully’s hair like a smudge of cinnamon. Her lips looked so sweet and soft, and the very idea that he might never feel them again stole his breath. He felt dry and empty, a desiccated housefly body lying on a windowsill.

He thanked her for breakfast, and his throat was lined with dust.

Their parting was weird. Hinting that he was still available to her was an insane risk, and she turned it into a joke about Frohike. Unless she actually thought he was the one joking about Frohike, which he has to admit wouldn’t be out of character for him.

He’s tired of joking, tired of hiding, tired of dancing around his intentions. Tired of wanting and not asking, tired of being in his own damn way.

Scully has given him a graceful exit, a neatly drawn map back to their pre-sex starting point. And not for the first time, Mulder wads up the map and tosses it aside. Scully made her move; it was time for him do the same.

What that move would be, he has no idea.

It takes him eleven days. No wonder Scully took matters into her own hands the first time around. Inspiration strikes him during his drive from Alexandria to D.C. the next Thursday morning, when he crosses the Potomac and gets a glimpse of faraway blossoms.

He waits until 4:47 that afternoon to say anything.

“Hey Scully, you doing anything tonight?” he asks, rifling through a stack of papers as though he’s attending to FBI business and not trying to work up courage like a schoolboy.

Her glossy red head is bent over a file, pen at her lip. “Besides folding an obscenely large pile of laundry, my schedule seems fairly empty,” she replies. She looks up at him suspiciously. “Why, Mulder?”

“No reason, really. There’s just something I wanted to show you, get your opinion on.”

“Is it related to a case?”

He opens a desk drawer, pretending to look for something. “Well it could be a totally natural phenomenon, but who can say for certain without proper investigation?”

Scully sighs. “Fine, I’ll bite. And speaking of bites, I’m starving. If we’re going to work off the clock, can we at least eat?”

“Wanna stop for Chinese? We can take it with us. We’re not going far, the food should still be hot when we get to our secondary location.”

They take Mulder’s car, picking up several cartons of food from a restaurant in Chinatown a few blocks up from the Hoover building before making their way towards the National Mall. Mulder parks in the lot near the Washington Monument.

“You weren’t kidding when you said we weren’t going far,” Scully says, gathering up the bag of takeout. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“That,” he replies, pointing ahead.

Hundreds of cherry trees line the Tidal Basin, their leaves almost entirely obscured by tufts of blossoms. Scully steps onto the path, open-mouthed.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs.

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Pretty fantastic, huh?”

“Mulder,” she says in awe, looking sideways at him, “What are we doing here?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to see them.”

“At night?”

“Daylight’s for tourists, Scully.”

———

They’re sitting on the damp grass, endeavoring to split the last egg roll using only their dueling pairs of chopsticks.

“This is impossible, Scully. I’m going to use my hands.”

“Then I definitely don’t want the other half,” she says.

“Are you implying something about my hygiene?”

“I’ve seen some of the places your hands have been, Mulder.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Not what I meant,” she says softly. “But the point still stands.”

Mulder lays back on the lawn, his long coat fanning wide. Scully pulls an edge of it towards her, scoots closer so she can rest her pantyhose-clad calves on it instead of the grass.

“I’ve always preferred the blossoms at night,” he says. “There’s something ghostly about them, all pink and white against the dark sky. Not an ominous kind of ghostly, however; if good spirits exist, I think they’d look like these trees. You know most early European religions feature some sort of reverence for trees or forests, whether as spiritual gathering places or deities themselves-“

“Mulder.”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to eat that egg roll, or can I have it?”

He passes her the carton. “And-”

“Why did you bring me here, Mulder?”

He glances at her and is surprised to see a tenderness in her eyes. His gaze returns to the branches above.

“I just figured I owe you a nice trip to a forest, and this one won’t require any paperwork.”

Scully smiles. “That’s a very considerate choice, Mulder, especially since I’m always the one doing said paperwork.”

“You’re more succinct and readable than I am, apparently. And Skinner clearly likes you better.”

“Didn’t you punch him in the face once?”

“That’s beside the point. I think he has a bit of a crush on you, Scully.”

She rolls her eyes. “What?” Mulder asks.

“I just… it’s nothing, It’s been a long day. And it’s cold out here.”

Mulder sits up and withdraws his arms from the sleeves of his overcoat.

“No- Mulder, don’t, I’m fine.”

“Move your legs,” he instructs, pulling the edge of the coat out from under her. He stands and drapes it around her shoulders before plopping back down on the grass next to her.

“Thanks,” she says. “Still, it’s getting late.”

He glances at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty on a Thursday. You got somewhere to be?” His arm bumps her shoulder companionably. “Come on, just a little longer. Maybe we’ll see something unidentified in the sky.”

He grins at her and the corner of her mouth twitches in reply. “Well, I guess I don’t have a choice,” she sighs. “You drove us here.”

He feels a slight increase of pressure against his arm and realizes that Scully is ever so slightly leaning into him. A gentle warmth glows in his belly, and he glances sidelong at her.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch, he thinks.

“How so?” Scully asks.

Oh. He said it out loud. He clears his throat, tries to steer his thoughts back into safer waters.

“Well, for one thing, I’m not dead,” he says. “Not for lack of trying.”

Scully nods solemnly.

“I’ve seen incredible things, things people spend their whole lives looking for, hoping for, believing in. I’ve tasted proof, held the truth in my hands. And in spite of everything, I’m still here. We’re still here. That’s pretty goddamn lucky.”

“I don’t feel very lucky,” Scully says softly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve fucked up every good thing I’ve ever had a chance at. My father certainly thought so, at least for a long time.”

They sit silently for a moment. “Without you, I’d be long dead,” Mulder admits.

“I know,” Scully replies. “I’m always awed by your resilience, actually. I can’t take all the credit for your continued survival.”

“Yeah, you can,” he says, getting to his feet and dusting stray blades of grass off his slacks. He holds out a hand and helps her to her feet. Her fingers are cool against his palm, and he wonders if she’d notice if he didn’t let go. Probably.

He wants to pull her in by the lapels of his coat, gather her to his chest, hold her for no reason other than he can. Kiss her brow, smell her hair, feel her small hands sliding under his suit jacket. He wants her just as she is, for exactly who she is.

But he’s a chickenshit, so instead he just walks beside her along the Tidal Basin, under the cherry blossoms, and doesn’t hold her hand.

They spend the five minute drive back to the Bureau in comfortable silence. Scully leans her head against the car window, and Mulder briefly wonders if she’ll fall asleep. He loves when she nods off while he’s driving; it makes him feel safe. She makes him feel safe.

He parks a few spots away from her car in the Bureau parking garage, turns off the engine. Scully gathers up her briefcase, leaving Mulder’s coat draped open on the passenger seat.

“Why are you getting out?” she asks, seeing Mulder unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I need a file from the office,” he lies. He exits the car and goes around to her side. “I’ll walk you to your door, it’s on my way.”

It’s twenty feet from her car to his. “Thank you, Mulder,” Scully says sardonically, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. “If I weren’t armed, that would have been very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. He takes a step forward.

“What are you doing?” Scully asks, one hand on her car door, keys in the other.

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” God, she’s so small, this could so easily go wrong-

He pitches forward, bending down, and presses his lips to the fullness of her cheek. His nose brushes the soft skin under her eye and he inhales sharply, drawing back.

They blink at each other. “Bye,” Mulder offers.

Scully nods. “Yes. Goodnight.” She glances to the elevators. “Was there actually a file you needed?”

He just looks at her, and she presses her lips together in understanding. “Right. Well, I’m leaving, so… see you tomorrow then.”

Right. Despite recent events, the earth was still spinning.

Later, when he hangs his overcoat, he notices the faintest scent of her shampoo on the collar.

#awwwwwwwww they're so awkward and dumb #impersonal #my fic #txf fic #xfiles #msr #slow burn #also pls listen to 'Agape' by Nicolas Britell while reading this chapter it's the Vibe

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pyxisblue · 4 years

Text

I’m Home

This is what could’ve been if Sakuya never had a chance at his dream.

|| A3!: Sakuya Sakuma // Angst: accident, family seclusion

Growing up in different households, even if they’re his relatives, Sakuya couldn’t help but feel...unwanted. For so long, he never felt he was ever part of the families he lived with despite the fact that they have some blood relations.

But family is not about being connected by blood. Sakuya learned that the hard way.

Nobody truly cared or even tried to form a deep connection with him; hence, he was passed to any household who’d take him up for the sake of family obligation.

This time, he’s with an aunt who couldn’t even subtly express her disdain for having another mouth to feed in her house, even though she lived alone.

He never asked nor begged anyone to take him under their wing, and if he’s to be asked, he’d rather be left to himself to fend for his own. But his relatives wouldn’t even allow that, saying something about being held responsible if he’s found dying on the streets.

The cherry-haired young man stepped out of the house just as his aunt went on a rant about how useless he is and how he should be thankful for whatever she’s putting up with him. This day, he resolved to find a part-time job, thinking it’s the only way she wouldn’t treat him as a burden at least.

As he strolled down the street of Veludo Way to check posters of job openings, he happened to pass by a dilapidated theater building.

“Mka” it said, with some letters missing in its big signage above the entrance.

A torn paper of what seemed to be an audition poster was posted on its board outside. Sakuya gave it a downhearted glance. He imagined what the building could’ve looked like back then if he ever saw it before its ruin. Maybe he would’ve pursued his dream of being a stage actor if fate has brought him here earlier. But that’s only wishful thinking now. It’s no use hoping for it when obviously, the theater already met its end.

He was about to step away when he noticed the door was ajar. Curiosity got the best of him, and maybe his desire to see an actual theater had taken over, that he found himself stepping inside even though it spelled trouble.

The young man’s eyes grew wide as he indulged in the view of the theater hall. Despite looking old and rundown outside, the hall looked well-kept even with a few cracks on the walls and the worn-out fabric of the seats. Overall, it seemed like it can still be operational.

Why would anyone abandon the place?

“Hey, kid. You’re not supposed to be here.” Sakuya almost jumped out of where he was standing when a voice suddenly echoed behind him. A blonde man wearing a pair of eyeglasses with a black coat was staring at him with threat.

That should be the cue to leave. But somehow, Sakuya didn’t want to.

“Leave now. We’ll be tearing this place apart in a few minutes. We don’t want any casualty in the process.”

He should just nod, leave, and forever forget this place as he move on with his life. He has no business being here anyway. Besides, he already got a look of the place he longed to see even in his dreams.

But why?

Why did his heart feel heavy at the thought of stepping out of here just before it’s about to be torn down?

This is the first time he saw the place.

Why did it feel like he knew it forever?

“What are you still doing there? Get out of here, or I’ll drag you out myself,” the man in black started to get really scary as his patience grew thin. But Sakuya had this determination to stay, something he couldn’t explain.

“The show must go on.” There was a whisper in the back of his mind. Wherever it came from, at this moment, he wanted to hold on to it because if he didn’t, he felt like he would lose something important, even though he didn’t know what.

“Uhm. Can I stay for just a few minutes?” He said timidly, still couldn’t point a finger as to what it is he was feeling.

“Huh?” This time, the man threw him a menacing glare. He was about to stomp his way towards him when Sakuya blurted out...

“It was my dream to become an actor.”

The older man halted on his tracks with surprise on his face. But it wasn’t long until it was replaced with a grim expression.

“Well, you’re many years late, kid. Maybe if you got here before it went down, then you might’ve had a chance,” the blonde man spoke in disdain, the regret in his voice sounding more of his own than for the younger one.

Sakuya could see the sadness in the man’s purple eyes through his glasses. He got the feeling that this person didn’t want to let this theater go either, but for some reason, he was the one to tear it down. His heart felt heavier.

“I’m sorry. I just want to experience standing on the stage even if it’s just for a short time,” he gave his best sunny smile to him. “I promise after that, I’ll leave.”

The blonde guy frowned at him for a few minutes then turned on his heel before saying, “Ten minutes. If you’re not out before that, I’ll tear this building down with you in it.”

Relief washed over the young man. He smiled to himself, feeling a bit giddy to have the place even for just another few minutes. He stepped down to the stage area with haste.

Before climbing up, he took in the view of the stage from the audience seat. Scenes of what it could look like during plays came to him, and somehow, they were plays with him in it.

He downplayed the thoughts as part of his wishful thinking, imagining it would’ve been like that if he joined a troupe.

Unable to contain his excitement, he helped himself up and stood at the center of the stage. With the dusty side curtain tied, he could see the full view of what actors see during their plays.

An overwhelming feeling of sadness came over him. Tears ran down his face as a ghost of a full-house audience replaced the empty worn-out seats.

“This must’ve what it felt like to act on this stage,” he thought to himself.

But it wasn’t just that. There was also this longing, this feeling of missing something he always had, lingering in his heart. Sakuya couldn’t figure out why the place felt so familiar.

Did his desires and wishes manifest as a reality within him that his heart couldn’t distinguish whether they’re real or not?

He tried wiping the tears away, but the stream just couldn’t stop.

“Let’s go on a journey together, Julius!” An image of him in a royal suit with a red cape appeared beside him, looking at someone he couldn’t see. “We can ditch this cramped town and travel the world together!” This version of him carried the lines with confidence and emotions, acting a little bit clumsy but trained.

Sakuya’s lips formed another smile. It was nice to see his self living the dream even if it’s just a daydream. But it bothered him that he wasn’t even familiar with this play he was imagining.

Julius? What character is Julius?

“Romeo, you’ve got the brawn, and I’ve got the brain,” a different voice resounded from the opposite side, and it scared Sakuya when he found no one there. But it didn’t stop, “If we put our heads together, we can do anything.”

Romeo? Was this some story based on Romeo and Juliet?

But who was this other person in his make-believe play? He gulped as he felt a little creeped out. Was this place haunted?

“Romeo? Romeo Montague?” There was an evident surprise in this unknown voice. A man in another royal suit with a blue cape appeared on his left, a person he’d never seen before.

“Forsake your house and name, Julius! Because we have even grander dream to share!”

As he thought, this was based on Shakespeare’s infamous play. The lines were a bit familiar, but he didn’t know what this Julius character was. Was he coming up with random story as he imagine himself in the stage?

“I can’t. I can’t forsake my family,” the guy in blue spoke with a convincing sadness.

Sakuya couldn’t take his eyes off the scenes unfolding right before him. It was like his imagination took off on its own and made an entire play to show him.

He could see himself interacting and exchanging lines with people he hadn’t met. This black-haired guy in blue seemed to be a co-lead. There was also this brown-haired one who acted as Mercutio, his supposed childhood friend, then, a different blonde man acting as Tybalt, brother of the other lead. A priest also appeared, someone who looked like a foreigner.

Clueless as to what was really happening, he watched as the play went on like he wasn’t on the stage. They sometimes went through him like he was the invisible one. It also occurred to him that somehow, Juliet’s character was turned into Julius and that the story was a different take of the popular classic.

His mind still couldn’t process what was going on, whether this was just a dream or a borderline illusion, when another play begun. This time, he was wearing a cat costume and was talking to the same guy in blue who is now called Alex.

Was this Alice in Wonderland but with a male protagonist?

The scenes seemed to fast-forward as everything moved in thrice the speed of time. Eventually, another set of faces entered, none he could recognize, and somehow, he saw himself watching in the backstage area with glee.

The speed of events went another notch that he couldn’t keep up anymore. They played as if they were his memories, playing in hasty flashbacks.

Terrified of the peculiar phenomenon, he unconsciously stepped back from it, wanting to get away, until he found himself falling from the stage.

But instead of meeting the ground, he fell into an abyss of darkness.

It was an endless pit of pitch black. Sakuya thought this must be the end of him. This nightmare must be him finally dying under the rubbles of the theater being destroyed after his time was up without him realizing.

As he was being pulled down to whoever-knows-where, flashing scenes appeared on his sides, showing moments of a life he never had: him dragging the same guy he was with in the play to school; him saying “I’m home” with a wide smile as he was welcomed with a lot of people smiling back to him, telling him “Welcome Home”; him reading a script in a practice room with other people exchanging lines with him; him talking to three other guys in a living room like they were discussing something important; and there was him, talking to a woman who looked at him with pride and fondness.

They were faces that felt so close to his heart, but he still couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

It was like he was with them forever, and not with the relatives that never wanted him.

It was like, with these unfamiliar strangers... he was at home.

Home.

It’s a word someone can describe as a place where family is.

But in his case, ‘family’ was not even what he has right now.

There was a pang in his chest as the scenes of this other life continuously played around him. He was falling into this loop of memories he knew he didn’t have but showed how he was a big part of.

The pain in his heart had made his tears ran again.

The thought of not having the memory of being in them made his heart drop faster than he was into this never-ending hole.

An unexplainable emptiness spread within him. A desire of having these illusionary moments become real bloomed in his heart.

He wished and hoped they were all real...

That in the real life, he has a family to return to... a home.

His eyes shut closed as he tried to whisper a silent prayer...

A prayer that was answered as he opened his eyes.

When he lifted his heavy eyelids, his vision opened to a white ceiling. Everything was still blurry, and he couldn’t seem to move his body. He could hear a repeating loud “teet” sound somewhere, but his senses were still disoriented. An oxygen mask was covering his nose and mouth which made his heavy breathing easier.

“What happened?” was what he wanted to ask, but no one was around to answer.

He tried to rack his brain to get a clue. However, he could only remember the part where he was falling into a black hole. The trail of dried tears on his cheeks was evidence of the nightmare, but it told no tale of how he ended up motionless in bed.

The door swung open, revealing one of the persons he saw in those flashing memories. She was struck with surprise and halted in her place, still holding the door knob.

“S-Sakuya-kun. You’re awake!”

The brown-haired woman approached him with haste. He felt the warmth of her hands through his as tears started forming in her eyes.

“I thought...” Her words were followed with a quiet sob, his hand held to her forehead.

Another person came in, seemingly in a rush after hearing her exclaim. It was the same man in eyeglasses who told him to leave the theater in his dreams.

“Sakyo-san, he’s awake,” she said smiling while her tears continued to stream.

His expression was far from the same threatening one Sakuya remembered. This person has a relieved smile that it almost seemed he’s about to cry as well when he approached the woman by the bedside.

“Stop crying now. You’re going to scare him,” he said in a soft tone, patting her back gently.

“It’s just that... I’m happy,” she said after wiping the last of her tears. A wide smile formed in her face in contrast of her swollen eyes, “Welcome back, Sakuya-kun.”

Despite his difficulty to move, he used all his might to open his lips and said, “I’m home... director.”

And it was in that moment when he really felt he’s back at home, where he belong.

After that, the people he met in his surreal dream appeared in his hospital room with food, gifts, and objects that would keep him occupied.

His troupemates were the first and came the others on the succeeding days. Izumi made it her role to be his guardian and was always staying in the room to take care of his needs. Sometimes, Sakyo, or Sakoda, came in so that the director could rest. Tsuzuru often dropped by from work to see how he was recovering. Citron was always telling him adventurous stories like he used to. Chikage continued their daily coin toss. Itaru introduced him some games he can play for whenever he’s bored. Masumi didn’t usually come by due to his busy university life, but when he did, he brought him books. He even gave his troupe leader a headset to use, so he can listen to music as he waited for the day when he’s finally discharged.

Even though everyone showed how happy they were that he was finally awake, it didn’t slip past him that they were completely devastated when they found out he was in an accident. It was a whole three months for them, waiting and hoping he would come out of his comatose state. Summer, Autumn, and Winter plays went by and everyone, especially his troupe members, were dreading they had to do a Spring play where he won’t be able to appear.

The thought of them having a play without him made Sakuya feel like he was pulled back to his nightmare, to the world where he didn’t join the troupe and witnessed the Mankai Theater’s end, to a life where he didn’t have anywhere to belong.

It gave him an anxious feeling of losing the place where he finally found home. This reality he woke up to was very pleasant: he’s living his dream as an actor, he’s part of a company he can call his family, and the place where everybody is waiting for him to return to is what he could call home. But to lose all of these...

He stared at his hand, sitting on the white bed as the passing raindrops casted shadows over it.

It still felt surreal for him, that he’s here, and the fear of waking up to another reality came along with it.

What if he wakes up again and he finds himself back in that life without all of these precious people?

“Sakuya-kun?” Izumi’s voice brought him back to his senses, and an automatic smile appeared on his face in an attempt to not make her worry, but the director didn’t miss the sad look he had, “Is something bothering you?”

He stared at his hand again, afraid he’d start disappearing if this was another illusionary dream, and then looked back at her concerned face.

The young man started pouring his heart out, telling her about his nightmare and his anxieties. The director sat beside him and listened attentively.

“It must be silly of me, but I feel like everything could disappear in the next second,” the dark sky outside the window seemed to also loom over his heart.

“It’s not silly. You know, that’s how we felt when we found out about the accident,” his head whipped to her direction, but her eyes were already set on the depressing scene beyond the window, “It felt like we took your presence for granted.”

Sakuya could feel her words heavy with regret. He wanted to tell her how he felt loved and cared for with them, but he wanted to hear more of what she had to say.

“We were used to having you around, smiling brightly, and working hard like you always do. But when the days passed by and you weren’t around because you weren’t waking up, we couldn’t help but recall the days when you were. We didn’t know until then that we could lose someone that easily in the next second. Everyone tried to go on normally, but none of us couldn’t hide the worries and fears we had if ever you...” Her voice cracked, and her fists clenched over her lap with frustration.

If she was his aunt or one of his relatives, she wouldn’t feel this way. They wouldn’t even glance his way if he ever died. To them, it would be a relief of burden from their shoulders.

“Thank you, director.” Sakuya wore his usually bright smile which caught Izumi by surprised. It was the smile they all missed to see.

“No. Thank you, Sakuya-kun, for coming back to us.”

“Of course I came back! You are my family, after all,” the happiness he felt spread to the director, chasing all the fears she had. Relief came like a calming breeze to embrace her heart, reminding her that finally, Sakuya was back and well.

With a light heart, Sakuya counted the days until he was finally back to the dorm. On that day, when they arrived, Sakyo parked the car while Izumi accompanied him to get inside.

Once he stepped in the door, there was a loud pop in the darkness and suddenly, streamers flew in the air as the lights were turned back on. Everyone was there in the entrance to shout, “Welcome home, Sakuya!”

The scene made him tear up. He had this overwhelming emotion with the warmth of welcome spreading through his chest.

“Ah. This is what family is,” he told himself as he looked at the smiles on the faces of the people who are all part of his family.

Before anyone starts to worry, he rushed to wipe his tears with his long sleeve. Then, he met them with a beaming smile and proudly said, “I’m home!”

-------------------------------

I thought of this while I was listening to Avril Lavigne’s Innocence and Taylor Swift’s Innocent. Both reminded me of Sakuya. This was supposed to be just angst, but I don’t want a tragic end for the boy who deserved everything. ;_;

I’m glad I was able to turn it around.

Also, I used this as an entry to #a3enfirst event facilitated by the Twt account @a3anniversary, with the concept “found family”.

Hope you enjoy~

#a3! sakuya #sakuya sakuma #a3 fanfiction #a3 angst #a3!#a3 #a3enfirst #found family

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svtxsoju · 4 years

Text

02. morning glory fizz | dear miss soju

ღ Synopsis: College is hard. Love is even harder. Good thing the students of Mansae University can write in to Miss Soju, the campus’ very own romance advice columnist! The only problem is she’s never been in a relationship. Ever. There’s no telling what kind of chaos she may cause in the love lives of several of MU’s most eligible bachelors. Too bad no one knows who she really is! ღ Characters/Pairings: college AU! Seventeen & OC’s, Joshua x baking major!OC, and more TBA! ღ Genre: Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life ღ Warning(s): Mentions of alcohol, suggestions of sex, language ღ Word Count: 4.9k words ღ Binu’s Note: a week late but better late than never i guess 😌 i’ve been avoiding tumblr to finish writing this, but i just kept getting distracted by choi seungcheol. hit that mf like button if you relate. i’m so excited for the special album y’all the teasers and concepts are so sadkfklsj i love seventeen

anyway, i apologize not only for the late update, BUT ALSO bc this chapter is also a lot of exposition again 😔🥺 i promise i’m done setting it all up and that some real shit will go down in the next chapter!! hopefully people will still be able to enjoy this chapter huhuhu 😭💗 if you’re reading this, i love u and i hope u have a good weekend!!

《 ⊛ Author’s Note & Credits ⊛ Disclaimer ⊛ Masterlist ⊛ 》

《 Previous ⊛ Next 》

Having already completed the first half of her college career, Joohyun was well aware of the value of sleep. And yet, like most college students, she could never seem to manage a decent sleeping schedule. She had only slept 2 hours when her alarm went off at 5:30AM. She groggily rolled out of bed, mentally cursing her past self for thinking that this was a good idea when clearly, the best idea at the moment was to snuggle back up under her covers and sleep in until afternoon. Only one of her eyes seemed capable of staying open as she pulled on her clothes and got ready for the day. When she suddenly heard the front door close behind her roommate, she cursed out loud, throwing her laptop into her bag before she rushed out the door. She half-wobbled, half-hopped along the second-story walkway while she tried to get her shoes all the way on.

“Bok Bongseon! Wait for me!” Joohyun called out in an aggressive whisper.

“HOLY SHIT! You scared me, Joo!” her roommate, a shorter girl with full cheeks and pouty lips, screamed at full volume. She clutched at her racing heart and leaned against the wall while she caught her breath.

“Shut up, people are still sleeping!” Joohyun linked arms with Bongseon and dragged her down the steps leading to the street. It was still dark outside, but she could already hear the faint bustling of the mart located below their apartment. It was nice to know that they weren’t the only two people in Seoul insane enough to be awake at this hour.

“I thought you were the ghost of my grandma, you bitch! You know she visits me in my dreams to tell me how disappointed she that I’m a baker,” Bongseon said indignantly, though she still cuddled closer to Joohyun when they were hit by the morning chill. Once they reached the street, they both headed towards the train station without having to say a word. “What are you even doing up?”

“I am simply accompanying my favorite roommate to work to make sure that she gets there safely,” Joohyun crooned sweetly, and made kissy faces at the girl, who in turn pinched Joohyun’s lips between her calloused fingers. She tried to protest but could only let out pained whines until she was mercifully released. “Ow!”

“Sorry but I cannot fulfill your roommates to lovers, 12k slowburn fantasy,” Bongseon continued on nonchalantly as they climbed down the steps to the platform. “You had your chance, but I am a taken girl!”

“Oh, so you and Josh are together today?” Joohyun teased. Although it probably wasn’t the best idea, considering her lips were slightly throbbing from the girl’s attack. “I’ll just wait until tomorrow then.”

“Wow, bold words coming from Miss Fish Lips.” Bongseon raised an eyebrow and smiled tauntingly. “Understandable, considering that that was probably the most action your lips have gotten in your entire life. I could probably set it up on a blind date with my fist, if you’d like.”

Joohyun’s laughter echoed off the walls of the mostly empty station, startling the only other person waiting for the morning train (an old woman, who was still half-asleep prior to being rudely awakened by two very loud girls). Bongseon often made some colorful threats, morning or not, but Joohyun was one of the very few people who could be assured that her words were empty. “Don’t you know that it’s rude to stare, lady?” she barked at the old woman, who was openly glaring at them. Everyone else, on the other hand, was subject to Bongseon’s sharp temper.

This even included her boyfriend of approximately 4 years. ‘Approximately’ being the key word, because the two often took breaks-- a natural phenomenon when one partner was easily provoked and the other loved to do the provoking. Jihoon had told Joohyun that the two had met at the cafe in their freshman year, when Bongseon came in as a part-time baker and Joshua was merely a barista trainee. They started dating within a month and moved into an apartment together in two. That went just as well as anyone would expect. By the grace of whatever entity that was chaotic enough to keep their relationship intact, they made it 7 months before nearly breaking things off for good. As luck would have it though, a new hire and his roommate were in the same exact predicament as them. Kind of.

Joohyun shuddered to recall her freshman year when she and Jihoon somehow convinced themselves that it was a good idea to share an apartment. In principle it made sense; they had lived across the street from each other since they were in diapers. Two exhausting months into trying to irritate the other into breaking the lease first, they met Bongseon and Joshua when Jihoon started working at Smile Flower. It didn’t take long for Joohyun to suggest the switch— she would move in with Bongseon and Joshua with Woozi. Just like that, she saved both Bongseon and Joshua’s turbulent romance (temporarily) and her and Woozi’s fractured friendship (now thriving).

She and Bongseon have been roommates ever since, and Joohyun knew her life was a little easier for it.

“Joohyun, you better stop looking at me with those heart eyes before I really act up,” Bongseon warned. They had boarded the train, but hadn’t bothered to sit down since Mansae University station was only two stops away.

“But I just love you so much,” Joohyun pouted, affectionately resting her head on her friend’s shoulder. “What does Joshua have that I don’t?”

“A dick. And that’s about it.”

“Damn you, heterosexuality!”

Bongseon snorted out a laugh. “Seriously Joo, how are you awake right now? You’re only ever this lovey-dovey when you’re severely sleep deprived. I know you don’t have classes until 3PM today. You also don’t have your internship today,” Bongseon narrowed her eyes when Joohyun visibly tensed up at the mention of her current occupation. “Also, since when do you watch Youtube videos until 2am? And don’t think I didn’t notice that all of them were titled ‘Relationship Q&A’s’ and ‘I confessed to my crush and he said this!!!’. Got something to tell me, missy?”

It was so quiet on the train that Joohyun worried that Bongseon could hear all the wires in her brain short-circuit. With Bongseon’s cross-examination skills, it was a wonder why she pursued baking instead of joining her family’s firm. Come on, Joohyun, just tell a white lie. Easy, simple. Don’t need to overcomplicate things. “Oh, uh I— um— well, I j-just thought they were entertaining?” She was done for.

“Right. You thought random couples self-indulgently talking about their love lifes for 40 minutes with default iMovies effects were entertaining.”

“Y-yes?” Joohyun threw in her most convincing smile for good measure, but it did nothing to soften Bongseon’s hard gaze. “It’s my new guilty pleasure, haha!”

“Hm, interesting,” Bongseon was momentarily interrupted by the sound of the arrival bell. Joohyun eagerly pulled her friend towards the exit, hoping that the distance from the train could also get her further away from the topic. Unfortunately for her, Bongseon did not plan on dropping it so soon. “You sure you don’t want to tell me anything, Joo? About your internship?”

Joohyun began to sweat. Was she really that transparent? “Okay, don’t get mad--”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m super jazzed that you’re getting into relationships and everything, but really Joo? Youtube? You could just talk to me if you need help talking to your new crush at your job!”

“Oh.” Joohyun would have let out a sigh of relief if she wasn’t out of breath from climbing the mountain of stairs up to the sidewalk. “Right. Confessing. To my crush. That I definitely have.”

“It’s okay to admit you have one, Joo. I’m no stranger to workplace romance,” Bongseon said, her breathing completely even. A measly flight of stairs was nothing compared to eight hours of kneading dough. “Who’s the lucky bastard, Joo?”

“Well, I’m not sure I would call it a workplace romance, per se…” Joohyun laughed nervously. There was no way she could stick another clean landing if she kept talking.

“Shut up, I bet that guy is in love with you already. Who wouldn’t fall for the only editing intern at The Front?”

“Haha, I don’t know…” Probably no one, because the only editing intern at The Front doesn’t exist?

Joohyun could not be more relieved to see the small store front of Smile Flower Cafe. It was one amongst the many cafes located near campus, but Joohyun felt like nothing really matched its comforting home-like ambience. But that probably had less to do with the soft wooden floors and pastel ceramic mugs, and more owed to the three years Joohyun had spent hanging around there, usually bothering Jihoon and joking around with Josh.

The two boys already stood waiting at the cafe’s entrance, too bleary-eyed to notice Joohyun and Bongseon quickly approaching. “Hey, ugly!” Joohyun called out, snickering when both of them turned to look at her.

“What the hell, why are you awake?”

“Good morning to you too, Jihoon,” she answered, blowing him a kiss. “I’m actually here to see you, believe it or not. Don’t you feel special?”

“Oh? That’s interesting, because you told me that you came here for me,” Bongseon broke away from exchanging actual kisses with Joshua to look between Joohyun and Jihoon in a way that Joohyun did not like too much. “I guess it wasn’t a workplace romance after all.”

Joshua mirrored his girlfriend’s implicating expression as he unlocked the front door, simply because he knew it made his friends squirm. “Wow Joohyun, you woke up this early just to talk to Jihoon? You really couldn’t wait to see him, huh?”

“Uh, yes because I need his help—”

“Ah, his help, gotcha! Come on, Bongseon, I’ll go help you in the kitchen while these two help each other out here,” Joshua snickered. Before Joohyun or Jihoon could roast the couple in retaliation, they had already disappeared behind the counter.

After years of similar taunts, all Jihoon could do was shake his head. “Okay Joo, what is so important that you need my help at 6 in the morning?”

“I wrote my first response last night!” Joohyun whispered excitedly, taking out her laptop from her bag. “Well, a few hours ago. I wanted to show you before continuing on with the rest! Here, look.”

① Dear Miss Soju,

I just started my first year at MU and she’s an exchange student from New York. We met at a party and talked for two hours about comics, aliens, anything we could think of. It was perfect. She even asked me to walk her home. When the time came for me to make a move though, I kind of dropped the ball. Since we had just met that night, I didn’t want to come off too strong. Now I really regret it - I don’t even have her phone number. I feel like such an idiot! I can’t stop thinking about her, but I don’t even know if I’ll ever talk to her again. Did I make myself seem disinterested? Will we meet again? Will she even remember me?

Sincerely,

Big Cringy Idiot

She let Jihoon read the asker’s message first, then scrolled down to show her answer.

Dear Big Cringy Idiot,

You and your crush seem to have a lot in common. There is nothing wrong with being nervous around someone you like. In fact, it is fairly normal and is a good sign that you like this girl very much. She also seems open to any future possiblities, since she did ask you to take her home. You need not worry about coming off too strong in this situation, although I do admire your dedication to respecting women’s boundaries. I hope you are able to find this girl again so that you can truly tell her how you feel. Best of luck to you!

Sincerely,

Miss Soju

“Joo, that was…”

“Poetic, beautiful, life-changing?” Joohyun grinned, and nudged her best friend with each suggestion.

“Boring. It was boring.” Joohyun’s face fell, and Jihoon could only offer the girl an apologetic smile. “Dude, you’re gonna put people to sleep if you keep it up like this. I almost took out a pillow to take a nap on the floor.”

“But this is how I write my articles— Informative and concise! How else am I supposed to write it?”

“I mean, that’s great for reporting articles, but this is an advice column. It’s supposed to be fun, sarcastic maybe. Like your promo piece! That was good.”

“I wrote that as a joke, hoping they would fire me for it,” Joohyun admitted, eyes wide in panic as she looked at her best friend.

“Huh. Well, I think it would sound better than this Wikipedia article you got going on,” Jihoon shrugged. “Try to be fun!”

“I am fun!” Joohyun cried out defensively, her nostrils flaring with passion. When Jihoon responded with a doubtful look, she let out a dramatic gasp and snatched up her laptop, stomping over to her favorite corner in the cafe. “I can be fun! I’ll show you fun!”

“Atta girl,” Jihoon’s signature cackle filled the cafe, further fueling the girl’s aggressive typing.

Just another morning in the life of So Joohyun.

To the surprise of the cafe’s current occupants, a student already tapped at the glass entrance, clearly in desperate need of his morning americano. He had walked all the way from the freshman dorms after a restless night of tossing and turning. When his phone screen told him it was already 6:05AM, he decided to just give up on sleep altogether. So there he was, trying to start off his day right, at Smile Flower Cafe, only to be stopped at the door by the grumpy barista with the red hair. He always felt like the other one was way nicer, especially since he would go out of his way to sneak him free cookie samples and made pleasant small talk while ringing him up (what was his name? Jonathan?).

All the red-haired barista ever did was scowl at him when he asked for a student discount. Now, he scowled at him as he gestured at the sign that indicated that the cafe would not be open until 7AM. The fatigued freshman had half a mind to make some choice gestures of his own, but he refrained and just whipped out his phone instead. He gave the mean barista one last pout before turning around and walking towards the 24-hour convenience store on campus.

➠ [ to: vernonie 😌😎 ] Good morning king. Are you still on your shift ?

➠ [ from: vernonie 😌😎 ] gm seungkwan pls k*ll me

Seungkwan took that as a yes. It didn’t take long for him to arrive, the entrance bell ringing lightly when he stepped into the small store. At the register sat his roommate, who was clearly fighting to keep his eyes open. “Wol-cuh ‘n—” he tried to greet through a wide-mouthed yawn. “Excuse me, welcome in! Oh, hey Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan answered with a grunt and headed straight for the refrigerated coffee section, choosing the largest can.

“Uh dude, you good? You look like—”

“Like I haven’t slept all night? I am aware,” He immediately opened his coffee and took a long gulp of the beverage in hopes of feeling even a little better. When it did nothing after 30 seconds, he frowned at the concerned cashier. “Vernon, I will not be paying for this drink, because it is clearly defective. Coffee is supposed to fix everything.”

“Is this about your audition today?” Vernon asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Your monologue sounded really solid last night though. Your audition songs were great too. You totally got this in the bag!”

“It’s not just about the audition, sweet Vernon,” Seungkwan sighed. “It’s about who I’m going to see at the audition. I still don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.”

“Oh yeah, you are probably going to see them later.” For the past week, all Seungkwan could talk about was the theater tech sophomore that he had met at the theater department’s welcome party. They had sat beside Seungkwan and had helped him through all the fast-paced drinking games, and even took some of his shots when he kept losing. Surely, this was what love felt like.

That was what Seungkwan hoped anyway, because whatever it was made him feel all warm and tingly inside (or it could have just been the alcohol). Nevertheless, he had made big plans to confess to his crush as soon as possible. His dilemma for the past several days was merely a matter of how it would be done. “Not probably! I know for a fact that they will be there, because they told me that they couldn’t wait to see me,” Seungkwan let out a wail and slumped over the counter. “They’re the sweetest, most beautiful person to ever walk the earth and I just want to tell them that I would actually jump off a bridge for them. Why is that so difficult?”

Vernon nodded sympathetically as he always did. “I mean, if you’re not ready today, maybe you could wait?”

“Wait?! No offense babe, but last time I checked, waiting didn’t get you anywhere,” Seungkwan said, patting his roommate’s arm. Vernon cringed as he was forced to remember his own romantic blunder from the past week. “Clearly, we are both in major need of help. That Woozi guy’s show didn’t do anything for us! Also, we still haven’t heard from that Miss Soju character and it’s been what? Two days? If she’s such an expert, she would know that love is time sensitive!”

“Ugh, I know. I keep refreshing The Front’s website just to see if she’s posted it yet.” Vernon sighed forlornly, which was a common punctuation to his sentences lately. “It’s getting me really antsy. What if she doesn’t even choose to answer our emails this time?”

Seungkwan quickly covered the other freshman’s mouth. “Don’t say that! The universe manifests what we say will happen. We should ask for divine intervention instead.” He cleared his throat in preparation and threw his hands up to the sky. “O Eros, god of love, please shine your blessings down upon my and Vernonie’s love lives for we are but two humble, clueless freshmen in need of romantic guidance. Send down two of your swiftest, sharpest arrows, so that those that we desire may hear your soft whispers—”

Ding. The sound of the entrance bell rang once more, stopping Seungkwan’s prayer short, much to his irritation. “Is this a bad time?” the new customer, an ethereally handsome blonde, asked amusedly. He strode into the store and grabbed two spicy tuna triangle kimbab’s before approaching the counter.

“Jeonghan hyung!”

“Ah, Vernon!” Jeonghan smiled. “I didn’t know you worked here. You should come by my and Cheol’s apartment again soon, that was fun!”

“Hyung, this is my roommate that I told you about-- Seungkwan. And Seungkwan, this is Seungcheol hyung’s roommate,” Vernon said all while ringing up Jeonghan’s food. On the side, Seungkwan bowed sheepishly after unfreezing from his previous pose. “How’s your morning going? You wake up pretty early!”

Jeonghan laughed heartily, shaking his head. “Oh no, I just finished an all-night stream. I just came by to get a snack before heading to bed. Seems like you two have been having a fun morning, though. Do you two always start your day off by praying to the ancient Greek god of desire?”

Seungkwan flushed a deep pink. “Uh no, it was more like a cry of desperation. Vernon and I are having a pretty tough time confessing to our crushes, so I figured we should just try out anything that might help us. Nothing else seems to be working…”

“Wait, that’s so cute,” Jeonghan cooed.

“Would you be able to give us some advice, hyung?” Vernon asked. He didn’t know anything about the senior’s love life, but he did give off the vibe of someone who would know… a lot.

Jeonghan’s eyes twinkled dangerously, a lazy smirk on his lips. “I mean, I could go talk to your little crushes for you, if you’d like. I’m sure I could get some sort of response out of them.”

One look at Jeonghan had Vernon and Seungkwan shaking their heads vehemently.

“No, we’re good.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

“Mm, good call.” Jeonghan took his food from the counter, and winked at the two boys. “I really wish I could help you both more, but I’m sure you’ll get what you’re waiting for soon! Today, if you want it enough.”

There was something in the way that the senior stated those words that made Seungkwan believe him without a question. It wasn’t a naive suggestion or an optimistic prediction; Jeonghan spoke like it was the truth plainly written on the walls. He finally felt a long-awaited wave exhaustion wash over his anxieties, softening them until they fizzled away alongside the ebbing foam. All that was left behind were grains of sand. Suddenly, Seungkwan yawned, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his twin bed at the dorms.

“Well, I should be heading off to bed! Looks like you should be too, Seungkwan,” Jeonghan said, suppressing his own yawn. The freshman nodded in agreement. He definitely needed to rest up— this was going to be a big day, after all.

“Say hi to Cheol hyung for me when you get home!” Vernon said.

Jeonghan hummed thoughtfully as he made his way back to the entrance of the store. “I will if he’s there! He didn’t come home last night.” He turned to leave the boys with one last sleepy smile, seeming to laugh at something only he knew.

“At least one of us is doing something right.”

“Jihoon, why can’t I get this right?”

“I’m sorry! This just sounds nothing like you,” Jihoon shrugged. It had been a rather busy morning, but things slowed down as it approached noon, giving him the chance to look at Joohyun’s fourth draft of responses. “I’ve never heard you say stuff like ‘rad’ or ‘hella’... Like are you aware that you sound like a skater from the late 90’s?”

“That’s because the reference I’ve been using is from 1997!” Joohyun huffed in frustration. She was already backspacing albeit with a little more force than necessary. “I wasn’t even born in ‘97!”

“Exactly, so stop trying to write like that. What if you tried to—”

“Eat my ass, Hong!” The sound of the kitchen door slamming open interrupted Jihoon’s (probably unhelpful) suggestion, and the two best friends watched as Bongseon stormed out of the cafe in a familiar rage. Luckily, there were no customers to witness it this time.

Instinctively, they looked to the kitchen door, where Joshua stood with a resigned smile on his full lips. “Oops,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck apologetically. “Guess it was too soon to joke about our last break. Sorry about that, Jihoon. I’ll try to call in the head baker early to finish up the rest of the pastries for today.”

He walked over to where they sat and plopped himself across from Joohyun. She offered Joshua a look of sympathy, but he responded by twisting his face up in a dumb expression, reassuring her that he was just fine. Still, she couldn’t help feeling worried for both of her friends. No matter how many times Bongseon and Joshua broke it off and no matter how much Joohyun joked about it, she knew that their strong feelings for each other meant that it hurt a little every time they got into a fight. At least, that’s what she gathered from the various nights she spent soothing Bongseon while the girl cried into a toilet bowl, soju bottle still in hand.

“It’s okay, Josh, you probably don’t have to worry too much. Knowing her, she’ll probably be back in 30 minutes to make up with you and then Jihoon will have to find someone to take over your shift,” Joohyun piped up. “But please take it back to your apartment this time, because I don’t make enough money to have every surface of my apartment sanitized again.”

Joshua let out an easy laugh, as though he were not a man in deep shit. “Thank you, Joo. You always know what to say to make me feel better,” he sighed. “I should probably go after her. I’ll be back soon, Jihoon!”

She waited for him to disappear out the door before turning to her best friend. “Wow, that’s gotta be a new record for them, right? I didn’t even know they got back together until this morning.” Joohyun was surprised to find that Jihoon had been silently staring at her for a good minute now. “...Why are you looking at me?”

“What you said to Joshua,” Jihoon simply replied.

“Oh, I was only joking about the sanitation thing. I just walked in on them once in the kitchen—“

“No I mean, how you said it. Maybe that’s how you should be writing your responses.” Jihoon grinned, watching as Joohyun gave him that look again, the one where she looks at him like he’s speaking from a third head. But he knew that this was going to be another Jihoon Genius moment, which seemed to be happening more frequently lately, much to his satisfaction. “Like you’re talking to one of your friends. I mean, it made Josh feel better, right?”

Joohyun’s eyebrows scrunched together and she mulled the idea over. Without another word to Jihoon, she began to slowly type on her laptop, gradually tapping faster and faster as she gained momentum. Her best friend giddily returned to his place behind the counter to tend to the customers that just walked in. He knew that once she got into a groove, there was no hope of stopping her.

An hour later, Joohyun finally pushed away her laptop and waited for Jihoon to finish wiping down a table before calling him over. For some reason, she was anxious to show him the final product and even when he already sat besie her, she hesitated for a beat. Usually, her writing was professional and objective, always ending with a declarative period. She had spent years perfecting her reporting style so that when she presented the facts, that’s all they were. This, however, felt personal, like it was a part of her. And even though Jihoon probably knew her even better than herself sometimes, there was something so vulnerable about showing someone a side of her that she had only just discovered.

And yet, she was curious to know— desperate to know: was it any good?

“Well?” Joohyun watched for Jihoon’s reaction closely, both impatient and terrified to hear his thoughts.

“Joohyun, this...” Jihoon started slowly. She braced for impact. “This is it. I think you’ve found Miss Soju’s voice.”

She exhaled. “R-really?”

“Yes, really. You answered the questions so thoughtfully, so you know it’s not just some generic bullshit you found on the internet. Plus, it was fun to read, like I think I’d read this even if I didn’t send a letter in,” Jihoon gushed, all while skimming over the words again. He turned to smile brightly at her, reminding Joohyun of a much younger Jihoon back in their elementary school days. “Most importantly though, it’s so you.”

Joohyun returned the smile, just as brightly. Warmth bloomed in her chest and across her cheeks. “Thanks, Jihoon, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Honestly, me neither,” Jihoon laughed.

“Um, can I ask you one more thing though?” Joohyun scrolled down to the last two entries, both of which asked for advice on how to make things official with a guy they’ve been talking to. The two letters were extremely similar in detail, but had been sent from two different emails and two different signatures. At first, she thought that maybe her judgement was muddled by her lack of sleep, and as the day went on, she figured her inability to recognize any nuance between the two letters was thanks her lack of experience.

There was just something about the way they had described the boy. She knew that intelligent, funny, kind-hearted, and unbelievably handsome were pretty generic adjectives. But what were the odds for both letters to also mention his infectious laugh and deep, dark eyes? “Do you think these two are from the same person? I’m trying to go for a confession theme for this article, so I included them both, but I’m afraid they’re too similar.”

Jihoon read them over a couple of times, then shrugged. “They do sound pretty similar, but a lot of people go through that sort of thing. Also, so many people describe their crushes like that, but let’s be real, most of them end up being fuckboys. So trust me, both those people probably need your help. I mean, what’s the harm in publishing both, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Joohyun bit her lip, needing every ounce of reassurance she could get from her best friend. She read over her writing once, twice, thrice more. This was it. No more edits and no more excuses. Her finger hovered over the mousepad. “Okay, I”m going to send it in for approval now. Jihoon, you are about to witness me publish my first article for The Front.”

Joohyun took a deep breath and clicked. Finally.

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percywinchester27 · 4 years

Text

About a boy- Epilogue

Word count: 2.3K

Warning: Feels, mentions of physical abuse and child-trafficking. Did I mention feels?

Characters: Dean and Sam, Bobby, Jody, Cas, Gabriel, Benny and others.

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: This is it, guys! The end of the journey. Looking back, it feels pretty sweet to me. Thank you to everyone who read, liked and commented on the story. You guys kept me going! <3

My immense gratitude to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing and @deanssweetheart23 for beta reading this story <3 You both are absolute gems and I love you!

About a boy masterlist

One year later

11th September 1995

“You idjits!” Bobby yelled. “You two had one job!”

Dean came running around the corner hoping that his face wasn’t too red, or hair too messy. The one time he got lucky with Jessie Rosenberg, Bobby had to yell for him.

“What now?” He asked, crossly.

“Look at the fascia,” Bobby pointed. “I asked you to fix that thing two weeks ago. Does it look fixed to you?”

“Sam had exams! He barely pulled his head out of the books!”

“And you could have fixed it by yourself.”

Dean looked at the front yard. The tables and pretty lights hanging over the trees transformed it into something completely else. There were frilly table cloths and blooming, pale roses. Even the cars had disappeared. There were so many people milling around in pretty dresses and buttoned up suits. Looking at that no one would be able to tell most of them were cops. And none of those cops were inspecting the case of disrepaired fascia boards.

“C’mon, Bobby,” Dean said. “It’s your wedding. Shouldn’t you be dancing with your wife instead of yelling at unsuspecting boys? You don’t even care about awnings and fascia!”

Bobby wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was actually looking a bit funny without the usual baseball cap and the jacket. Though Dean couldn’t say the formal suit look didn’t suit him. He was just not used to seeing it.

Bobby sat down on the porch steps. “Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I’m just nervous.”

Dean sat down besides him. “Why’re you nervous? I mean you’ve known Jody forever.”

Bobby made a disgruntled noise. “It’s not that. Everything is moving so fast. You’ll be seventeen in a few months and then Sam will grow up, too. I’ve just gotten so used to you boys being around. Who knows what’s next. College? You both will move on.”

“Oh, come on!” Dean groaned. “Don’t go all sappy on me now. Not you, too!”

“Who else?” Bobby raised his eyebrow.

“Sam,” Dean sighed. “He’s having one of those days again.”

‘One of those days’ was the term Dean and Bobby used to describe Sam’s mood when he felt overwhelmed. During the first week, after Sam had moved in with them, little things startled him. Like how there were no restrictions about bedtime, or how he could choose what food he wanted, and when he wanted to eat. On the first Sunday, Jody surprised them all with movie tickets; Sam was quiet the whole way because he had never been to movies before. The next day they went out to eat. That was a rare phenomenon anyway, but Jody wanted to get to know Sam. Even there he hadn’t talked, barely eaten anything.

That night Dean had found him sitting on the roof.

“You know that Bobby would butcher you if he found you freezing your ass out in the cold, right?” Dean asked, easing himself down on the tiled roof.

“I’m being a shithead, aren’t I?” Sam said, hiding his face in his arms where they were resting over his knees. “Jody was being so nice, and I just… I screwed up everything.”

“You didn’t screw up shit,” Dean said firmly. “Jody is a lot tougher than you think. You didn’t hurt her feelings. Hell, you should have seen when she was getting to know me…. That was what being a shithead is like.”

“What did you do?”

“The usual. Threw bitchy tantrums, punctured her car and all that.”

“No you didn’t!”

The incredulous look on Sam’s face was hilarious. It was still taking some getting used to; thinking of him as Sam and not Will.

Dean put his hands out, gesturing a ‘yours truly.’ “Yeah, it was a total dick move. It didn’t phase her in the slightest.”

“Mhmm…”

“Don’t worry about it so much, Sam,” Dean said. “We know this is hard for you.”

Sam leaned back against the tiles, staring into the night sky. “You can actually see the stars from down here.,” he said wonderingly. “See that? That’s the first star of the constellation Orion.”

“I suck at stars,” Dean said, leaning back next to his brother. “You’ll have to tell me.”

They lay like that for a long time, Sam talking avidly about all the constellations he knew of, and Dean pretending that he did not.

Bobby gazed ahead into the yard, where Jody was laughing with Sam. He was dressed just like Dean in a matching tux; for the two groomsmen. Bobby’s eyes softened. “That kid really is something. Anyone would have lost their goddamned gourd after going through all that,” Bobby said.

It was an understatement. Sam had become the apple of every teacher’s eye. He aced his classes effortlessly and the town people just loved him. The little, stupid ray of sunshine that he was.

“C’mon.” Bobby said, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve got something for you kids.”

“What?” Dean asked, getting up.

“Just c’mon.”

Ten minutes later, the four of them, Him, Sam, Bobby and Jody were walking towards the very back of the house. Jody was practically bouncing on her feet which was so uncharacteristic of her.

Sam gave Dean a ‘What’s happening?’ look.

Dean shrugged. He didn’t know either.

“Hey, Bobby, quick question,” Dean said casually. “Are you two gonna bury us in a corner of the property? Cause this sure looks like it.”

“Yeah, sure, smartass,” Jody grinned at him. “I’ll make sure no one finds the bodies.”

Most of the cars had been parked out here, clearing the front yard. Only one car stood out, parked separately. She was so sleek and slender, the black metal almost purred.

“Holy shit!” Dean whistled. “What in name of…”

“It’s yours!” Bobby smiled widely. “It’s a 1967, Chevy Impala.”

“Wait!” Dean said, the realisation suddenly hitting him. “This car is from that picture. The one with mom and dad.”

“It belonged to your dad. He called her baby.”

Dean looked at Sam who had the same awed expression on his face.

“Where was it all these years?” Sam asked.

“Parked at Rufus’,” Bobby said. “Been working on it as and when the money and time came by. I wanted it done before the wedding. He drove it back today.”

Dean ran his fingers along the side of her, and the car seemed to respond to his touch… hummed under it.

Bobby held out a set of keys. “What’re you waiting for? Don’t you boys wanna take her out for a ride?”

*********************************

2nd November 1995

It was a clear day. The sky was blue like in one of those vacation postcards. The engine was purring underneath him and a Led Zeppelin song was playing inside his car. Dean rolled the windows down, the air whipped Sam’s hair all over his face. He made a protesting sound and Dean chuckled.

This was perfect.

“You sure this was a good idea? Not the trip,” Sam said quickly. “Just sneaking out like this without telling Bobby?”

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was ever the responsible one.

“Bobby will be fine. We’re almost there; and if we stick to the plan, we should be back home for dinner, and no one will be wiser.

Sam huffed. “I miss Cas when you get like this. He was the only one who could get you to listen.”

“Don’t you want to go?”

“Course I do. You know I asked for this!” Sam muttered.

Dean missed Cas anyway. Thinking about his best friend made Dean smile. Because of what he had accomplished- helped with exposing the trafficking racket- the state had given him a medal of valour, along with Benny and Gabriel. Deny had detached himself from the proceedings, asking Jody to never mention him in the official records. He wasn’t interested in medals and accolades. He had walked away with a miracle of his own.

The mayor, wanting to bask in the borrowed glory, had funded Cas’s education in a private boarding school for his last year of high school. From there, Cas had managed a full ride into the University of Texas. Benny had opted out to get a job under some chef… who knew he had that talent? And Gabriel was in the wind. Dean didn’t worry about Gabe, though. He would eventually surface as a millionaire in some years for all Dean knew.

Thinking about them always brought up bad memories along with the nostalgia. Memories about Andy and the Stynes. It was little comfort knowing that they had been put away for life… they deserved much, much worse. Dean was hopeful that other states might press more severe charges on the Stynes.

Despite what it had looked like, it turned out that Michael had been the only one who knew. His cronies had no clue what their dear leader had been upto. Dean couldn’t care less about what happened to Gary and others as long as he never saw their faces again. Michael had been tried as a juvenile, and the DA had asked for a reduced sentence on the grounds that he was the one who had finally led them to the warehouse. He would serve 3 years in confinement. Even after all this time, Dean didn’t know what to feel about Michael. He tried not to think about it much.

Cas though, called them at least once a week. More, if he could manage. He and Sam had road tripped to the University in the fall and spent a week with him. Cas had been ecstatic. Dean wasn’t surprised to know that his friend was majoring in sociology and behavioral sciences. If anything, he was proud. Cas would be spending the winter break with them in Sioux falls. Bobby had been cranky about having to repair their guest room, but Dean secretly knew he was happy for them all.

“We’re here!” Dean said, as they crossed into the town. Sam stared out of the window, palms flat against the glass.

Dean made a few stops to ask for directions, and then they were parked along the edge of the sidewalk.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Dean asked apprehensively. Nevermind that he was feeling heavy inside, he couldn’t let his brother see that.

Sam bit his lip, then nodded resolutely. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They stepped out of the car, and Dean wrapped his arm over his brother's shoulder. He’d gained a couple of inches during the summer, so Sam was both much shorter than him, and mad about it. ‘I’m gonna grow taller than you, one day,’ he’d say.

Dean didn’t know exactly where they were, so he and Sam walked together, searching and reading.

“Dean,” Sam said in a small voice. “They’re here.”

The headstones were laid side by side.

Mary Winchester

5th December 1954 - 2nd November 1983

Loving Mother and loving wife

And

John Winchester

22nd April 1954 - 2nd Novemeber 1983

Loving Father and loving husband

Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s shoulder.

“I think they would be proud of you,” Sam said, not taking his eyes away from the plain grey stones. They had weathered with rain and time, the writing had blackened over the years.

“Hey, you’re the smart one,” Dean said. The corner of his eyes were prickling. “If anything, they’d have been proud of you.”

Sam shook his head ever so slightly in disagreement. “You saved my life. Twice. You found me and kept our family going. You’re a freaking hero.”

Dean blinked his eyes in succession. He didn’t dispute Sam’s words. Not because he believed them, but because he didn’t trust his voice to be steady. He hadn’t even thought of getting flowers.

“You think we should say something?”

Dean shrugged, he didn't know what to say and he was bad with words.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Sam said, then kneeled by their mom’s grave.

“Hey, mom. Hey, dad,” he said in that soft voice of his. “It’s me, Samuel William Winchester. Though Dean just calls me ‘Sammy.’ It’s annoying. He’s annoying!” Sam laughed nervously, like he was afraid of what their mom would think about him dissing his older brother like that. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you, to sit besides you… to ever have a family…. I do now, and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. But I miss you. I’ve always missed you even when I didn’t know who you were.”

Sam cleared his throat, “I guess… I guess what I’m saying is thank you… for giving me the best big brother in the world. Dean’s awesome. I love you so much. All of you.”

He looked up then, tears swimming in his eyes and Dean placed a hand over his head.

They stayed there for a while, soaking the moment in. When it was time to go, Dean touched the cold stones, first his dad’s and then mom’s. He brought the fingers to his lips and kissed them in a discreet gesture.

They walked back to the car in silence.

When Dean started the engine, Sam gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Dean, for bringing me here.”

“Course,” he said, eyes on the road.

Sam settled back against the leather seat and hit the play on music. The song continued from where it had stopped-

….Cause I'm back on the track

And I'm beatin' the flack

Nobody's gonna get me on another rap

So look at me now

I'm just makin' my play

Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way

'Cause I'm back

Yes,…

“Let’s get back home now,” Sam said contentedly, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the song.

Dean gave his brother a sideways glance. He had a small smile playing on his lips. In their dad’s old car, with his brother by his side, Dean was already home.

*********************************

Source for the gif used at the top

A/N 2: I cried while writing the epilogue, too! Especially the last part. When I started writing this series about a year ago, I did it as a challenge to myself... deep down knowing that this wouldn’t ever hit off on tumblr like my other series’ had. But I owed it to myself to write a story I believed in, and the love that you guys gave this series was so overwhelming. Y’all ROCK! :*

Please do tell me what you thought of the chapter?

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luckyrockets · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/24 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Momota Kaito, Oma Kokichi, Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Virtual Reality, Psychological Trauma, Hospitals, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change Summary:

Three days. It had been only three days since everything came to an end. At least, it felt like that much time had passed.

Momota stared into his bathroom’s mirror, hands gripped tightly at either side of the sink below it. The lights of the room had been off for a while now to the point that he could barely make out his own features. It didn’t really matter though, even if he could… He didn’t feel like he would recognize himself anymore.

The features didn’t feel like his. Every time he looked in the mirror, something always felt off. Eyes that stared back weren’t the right color and his nose seemed bigger than he thought. His face had speckles of freckles he didn’t recall, while his hair didn’t fall the correct way. It just felt wrong the more and more he saw himself.... He just wanted to feel normal again. Standing in the dark had its advantages. The lack of sight forced his mind to fill-in-the-blanks of the reflection that fixated back from the mirror, piecing together some resemblance of what he knew he should look like … What was that phenomenon called again? … Autokinetic Effect? … Or maybe Pareidolia? Momota wasn’t even sure if those words existed if he were being honest.

Hands moved away from the sink, opting to sit at his sides before turning into tightly balled up fists. It was another repetitive action that he found himself doing during his silent showdown with his reflection. What number was this now? If he had to guess, probably... the hundredth time since he started his solo staring match.

… How long had he been staring in the mirror, anyway? He wasn’t sure anymore. Two minutes? Two hours? Maybe even two days? He hoped it had been long.

Splish… Splash… Splosh…

It dawned on him that the tap was turned on, something he did way before getting distracted by his own reflection. Earlier, Momota had the idea that maybe the sound of faucet could help. The rushing waters that currently sprayed out the tap were meant to help his thoughts from wandering into a dark place. It didn’t work, obviously, his mind instead masking the sound allowing him to continue thinking negatively. Now, he stood, even worse off while the sink’s tub had overflowed.

Water continuously poured onto the floor, easily soaking through his house slippers. With such a sensation at his feet, his mind raced to remind him of the last time he could recall his slippers were this wet, but the water wasn’t warm enough to send him into that thought. It was ice cold... Momota could almost picture it steadily filling the room and drowning him in its freezing temperature.

He momentarily wondered if anyone had noticed how far the flood had gone out now. From the corner of his eye, he watched as the water trailed slowly , being illuminated by the light in the connecting bedroom. It had a night light permanently plugged in, an obnoxiously bright one at that. He had tried to turn it off, unplug it, hell, even break the damn thing but, he still couldn’t seem to remove it. The brightness had made the floor glisten immensely, though, if that were from the water or how clean it was he didn’t know.

Momota wasn’t sure how far the water had made it and was curious if there would be any lasting damage. Whatever the case, it was nothing he really cared about. It wouldn’t change the fact that his room was an empty place anyways. The walls were a bleak white color with a grey border running along the top edges. There was a bed with a baby blue blanket that he had bunched up into a ball at one point. In the corner, a TV was attached with a singular power button. Momota had yet to find a remote for it… that is, if it even had one in the first place. Regardless, when he had tried to turn it on, it was a channel with no noise and the occasional messages that looked as if they were drafted in a powerpoint program. The words would relay different things such as mealtimes and other information Momota cared very little about. Finally, there was a cabinet for what he assumed were for his clothes.

Rummaging through it the first time, he had found a few sets of unrecognizable clothing and a mystery bag. It was mainly junk filled but out of the search came an important discovery, a wallet. It contained exactly 3200 yen, a stamp card for some grocery store he had never heard of, and... an ID. The photo on the ID, no matter what Momota wanted to believe, was his own. The name on it had been Itō Shiro though, not Momota Kaito. His birthday was correct, April 12th, but the year he was hesitant about believing. If it was right, then it would mean he was currently 22 years old and knowing that was messing with his head … Hadn’t he only been 15 three days ago?

His eyes began to wander towards another door in the main room. He could count the amount of times it opened on his fingers. Nurses or doctors would come in to check on him, ask how he was doing, give him some medicine, and then abruptly walk out. Never had he seen the outside of his room. The most he knew was what they told him and they said he would start therapy soon. Momota wasn’t sure what therapy they could even administer that would make his entire existence being fake go away.

… Or make the screaming stop.

At times, he heard his “classmates” screaming from outside his door, which usually led to a chain effect. The more he heard the screams, the less he recognized those voices screaming, which caused Momota to panic. He would eventually start screaming himself and desperately try to escape his room. It never worked. Someone always seemed to be holding his door shut, preventing him from seeing who was hurt or the potential cause of their screaming. He rolled his shoulders back, watching his facial features seemingly growing darker in the mirror.

Instinctively, his arm jerked back as if to throw a punch. The sensation of the glass already seemed present in his knuckles as he thought about what he was about to do. Maybe, just maybe, if he broke his fist through the mirror, those nurses would let him out of his room... Maybe then he could finally catch a glimpse of ANYONE as he was being carted away out there. Maybe… Maybe.... Maybe he could see Shuichi, or Harumaki, or--

Suddenly, a loud clang rang through his ears, stopping his fist right before the glass could meet it. It caught him off guard and he turned to the side quickly, but nothing seemed to have fallen in his room. With the night light as his only light source for the moment and being limited to the ground, it could have obscured the cause for all he knew. He moved slowly, his still heavily drenched slippers making disgusting slapping noises as he trudged along the ugly, beige floor. He did his best to ignore the noise now, making his way to the light switch in the main room and flicking it on to properly investigate. Nothing seemed to be amiss... well, besides the majority of his floor still being overrun with water. All seemed fine inside, so the only conclusion he could draw was that it was coming from outside his room. … Right?

Momota looked at the exit and wondered if it would let him out. He never once tried to open the door to just open itl, only when it was for the purpose of attempting to save anyone outside of it. Fixating down at the handle, the feeling of being helpless began to manifest, but he tried to remind himself that he wanted to be helpful. The dire necessity to save the people he cared about grew stronger, over taking all other thoughts as he reached for it. There was already that scenario playing through his head. The feeling of the handle refusing to give, frustration boiling behind his eyes at another failed attempt to rescue anybody... He placed his hand on the handle and pushed down.

Click. It opened.

The surprise completely threw Momota off, making him forget all of the frustration and anxieties from the moment before. Hesitantly stepping out, he stared intensely at the new environment that greeted him. The hallway was bright, almost burning his retinas, but seemed empty. He continued to walk further out of his room, slightly dazed, and forgetting momentarily why he even came out here. His eyes slowly moved across the area. What time was it, now that he thought about it? There were no doctors or nurses wandering the halls and all the doors all seemed shut...

Wait, why was he out here again?

The clang, right...

Nothing seemed amiss in the hallway. Maybe he had imagined it after all? Had he been so sleep deprived these days that his mind was starting to make noises due to his lack of rest? He had to be extra sure though… Besides, what if someone was hurt and needed his help? What if they needed him ? Momota began his walk, looking at the doors as he shuffled by. There seemed to be six rooms. Three that lined up on either side of the walls.

Each door had a laminated name on it, none of which Momota recognized either. He momentarily remembered some fun fact he had read once. “ You can’t read in dreams .” He reassured himself while also reminding him that this whole scenario was really happening. An urge to open any of the doors and see who was inside was ever so tempting. He paused for a moment to grab at the handle of the one closest to him, standing in front of it for quite a while, before he let go and continued on. He needed to find out where the clang came from first.

His slippers left wet footprints with every step he made as he rounded what seemed like the third hallway. Once again, Momota started to believe he may have imagined that sound. Maybe he was going crazy. Whether from lack of sleep or from staying in his room too long, his mind was probably making it up. He was ready to start the long walk back to his room when he finally eyed a door that didn’t match the uniformity of the rest. It was slightly ajar, a small bit of light peeking out from the crack that didn’t seem bright enough. If anything, it was more than likely the same night light that plagued Momota’s nights. He wondered if this was a mistake, if a doctor had forgotten to secure the door before leaving. The night light was bright enough to almost blend in with that of the hallway, that the added light may not have even been noticeable. Maybe the person inside hadn’t noticed the door still open.

Momota looked up at the door and saw another name that he did not recognize.

“Mizushima”. It was printed, laminated, and taped on to it.

With the door already open, it couldn’t hurt to look inside, right? The curiosity got the better of him and he carefully pushed the door further open, looking into the room. He had expected it to reassemble much like his own, but his jaw nearly dropped at the sight.

The room was the beginning of a hoarder’s nest. There were so many different items pushed tightly against the walls that some were starting to obscure the path made for walking through it. He couldn’t make out exactly what everything was-- but, he could faintly see a magazine stack, a toy train... and a figure sleeping in the bed.

This person had to have been here longer than Momota, given the mess they had, he was certain. How long could they even keep you here? Could they keep him here for years if they wanted to? Keep him from seeing other people who were not doctors and nurses dressed in white for the rest of his life? Momota gritted his teeth at the prospect. No, he wouldn’t let them. He’d find his escape route and get everyone else out too, even if it killed him.

Momota made his way into the room, flicking on the actual light without even thinking. He winced as soon as he did, looking over at the lump under the covers. They didn’t stir though, they seemed completely buried beneath the blankets. Momota gave a sigh of relief, using the opportunity to look through the room, and headed to the farthest end of it. He figured, given the possibility that if this Mizushima woke up, he could act like he walked into the wrong room. It may at least confuse them long enough for him to make an immediate escape.

He began to pick up magazines strewn on the floor, looking for dates, trying to get an idea of how long this person had been staying in this room. He felt his skin go pale once he realized the dates on some of them were older than 2 years. Could they have really been keeping someone so long? The idea put dread into his stomach. Had he moved from one inescapable prison to another? He shook his head. He couldn’t let that sit with him, not right now at least. Momota continued to shift through the room. There were clothes strewn about, some pamphlets describing different types of medications, and then some crayon drawings.

The drawings seemed childish in nature, but also too elaborate to be so at the same time. Momota looked through them and a sudden feeling of guilt washed over him. He realized how personal this really seemed to be, rummaging through someone else’s belongings while they slept not even 10 feet from you. For all he knew, this was their child’s drawings. He set the paper down, groaning slightly as he began to push himself up off the ground. He could come back when it was presumably morning, or when this person was awake at the least to ask questions.

Momota turned heel, making his way back to the door. His heavy footsteps squelching underneath while his eyes kept steady on the person in bed. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have almost believed they weren’t breathing. He was too distracted and let his focus stray on them for too long. So much so, that his slippers landed on a discarded magazine that had fallen from another pile. His footing lost completely and he desperately tried to regain his stance, instead falling forward, straight flat onto the ground.

Not only that, but while in this midst of falling, he tried to grab at a pile to stop himself, but only succeeded in pulling it down with him. He yelped in pain as his face hit the floor while piles of items quickly fell onto his back. Momota groaned, pain filling his whole body. He struggled to lift himself back up, items falling from him as he did and coughed out violent, suppressed air. Covering his mouth quickly, to try and dull the sound, he looked up to check the person on the bed but they didn’t move. Not once...

Momota began to wonder if the person was either deaf or just a really heavy sleeper. Maybe they weren’t breathing after all, a voice sounded in his mind, maybe they were dead. They hadn’t even shifted at all and he supposed that was lucky, but now he couldn’t even shake the idea of them possibly being a corpse. He took an unsteady breath, calming his coughing down slowly and removing his hand from his mouth. It was time to head back to his room, this night becoming too much for him now.

Then, the sirens were suddenly filling his ears as he looked toward his hand.

Blood.

There was blood seeping between his fingers, sticky and red. It filled his nose with the sickening scent. He wanted to vomit, feeling all the warmth escape his body instantly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They told him he was basically better and that his body would just cough once in a while, right? The doctors told him it was just an after effect, that he shouldn’t have any blood come up. Panic set in, only triggering more coughs to escape from his mouth. He got up and quickly rushed out of the room. The ringing in his ears sounded like the trial room, inside of the cockpit, the squelch of a bod--

He ran straight, hitting a wall in front of him. The world shouldn’t be spinning. It was supposed to be safer now, there shouldn't be any blood. Momota fell to the ground, coughing onto the floor violently. He couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in his ears. Not even the noise that sounded near the end of the hall did he hear anymore. Wheels squeaked their way towards him and a pair of eyes fell onto him.

Momota breathed in heavily, trying to calm down. Just calm down and the blood will stop. Just calm down and you won’t cough. He couldn’t die here, he hasn’t done anything with his life yet. He can’t die here, he can’t die here, he can’t--

Momota opened his eyes, looking down at the blood droplets that had made their way to the floor. He tried to breathe easy, to relax, but the lingering scent and taste of blood was going to send him into another panic at any moment. There were also eyes that he could feel on his back and he wondered if a doctor had probably heard all of his fussing around, coming to finally check on him. He didn’t have the heart to look up at them, whoever they were. If anything, they would just put him back in his room, or another entirely just to find out why he was coughing up blood again. His eyes closed, gulping down saliva mixed with the metallic taste best he could. Maybe he could play this off somehow and recompose himself.

He breathed in and out, trying to relax, but it was futile as a coughing fit erupted from his lungs violently. It burned as he doubled over in pain. A hand made its way to his back. It seemed hesitant at first, like it wasn’t sure if it should be there, before the base of it began to rub circles into the fabric above his skin. Slowly, it brought him comfort, his cough receded, and he slumped slightly against the wall.

The stranger didn’t speak. Once the coughing had finished, their hand was recovered. Momota slowly drew his gaze up, turning his head towards the figure. His eyes widened and stared back in utter disbelief. The figure before him carefully slumped back into his wheelchair.

The young man shifted his torso, his hands going to the wheels of the chair to back up slightly and give Momota more space. Dark hair framed the small, pale skinned face that Momota could compare to being almost as white as the walls in his room. Bags lay under his eyes, he looked as tired as Momota had felt.

He looked Momota over, dark eyes obviously scrutinizing him. The young man could see the blood drying on the other’s face. The stain caked mostly against his nose, which had turned a red color and was obviously going to be bruised the next day. It also held tight into the excuse for facial hair that Momota had. The young man huffed, closing his eyes before turning his head towards the doorway behind him. He could see the imprints of waterlogged footsteps leading into the room, scowling at the sight. His face turned back to the other man on the ground. “Momota-chan, what were--”

The sentence was stopped with a shocked noise as Momota lurched forward, grabbing his hand from one of the wheels. He held it in a vice like grip, pulling it closer to himself. The young man wailed, trying to pull away from him. The sleeve of his hospital outfit had pulled up in the action, revealing his wrist covered in yellowish marks.

Momota held his hand for a while and the young man relented to let him, breathing deep breaths. One… Two... Three... Then he could finally speak. “... You… You aren’t dead… Ouma…” It was all he could muster out. He looked up at Ouma, who in response had rolled his eyes before pulling his hand away. Momota let him, allowing his own flop to the ground instead.

“Oh no, I’m SUPER dead, Momota-chan! Didn’t you know? This is Hell! We’re in Hell. I guess you’re just too dumb to notice that, huh?” The sarcasm practically leaked from his entire being. He leaned back into his chair, grumbling something under his breath that Momota couldn’t quite make out.

“I’m not dumb!” Momota growled out, new life sparking into him. “This is a hospital, not Hell! Stop fucking around!”

Ouma sighed, looking back towards Momota and eyed him over. Momota wasn’t very much to look at, if Ouma were honest. Compared to how he remembered him, he was different. His cheeks were sunken in, probably due to the fact he had been on a feeding tube for what was over a month. Despite his skin being slightly pale at the moment, it still held a tinge of someone of a darker complexion. Ouma assumed a few days out in the sun would bring that color right back though. Momota’s hair was flopped sadly over to the right side while his facial hair had begun to sprout unevenly around what used to be a clean shave along his goatee. They were a dark black color, it seemed too. The blood was the same from last time he saw him, though Ouma knew better. He could obviously tell Momota had been having a nose bleed just now and not dying of some unknown illness.

This was Momota Kaito alright, but it was obvious the simulation had clearly gone about prettying him up. He wasn’t half bad looking, to say the least, but not as picture-perfect as one would have remembered. Though, maybe he could have probably gotten away to being as very close of a look alike if he wanted. Ouma had seen this difference in himself too. He could remember his face in the simulation at least and they contrasted the very slight differences in himself now. His body was much thinner for sure, much more unhealthy looking in reality.

“Why were you in my room?” Ouma tried to ask again, his tone much more demanding than before. “Don’t lie and say you didn’t. I saw your footprints on the ground. It’s pretty creepy to go snooping around people’s rooms, you know?”

Momota huffed at that statement. “Like you’re one to talk!” At least, Momota seemed back to his usual self. “I heard something and wanted to see if anyone was hurt! Also, that’s not your room unless you’re sharing it!”

“What-- Oh, right, you’re that dumb. God, even Gokuhara-chan wouldn’t have fallen for that trick after he turned on the lights. That’s just so sad, Momota-chan..” Ouma shook his head with a tsk, giving a pitying look. “You probably mistake department store mannequins for employees, don’t you?” He moved the wheelchair to turn it, yawning in an exaggerated tone before Momota could retort. “Well, this conversation is putting me to sleep! I’m gonna--”

Ouma groaned as Momota had, again, grabbed at his hand to keep him in place. He let himself sit still but gave him a look regardless. Momota wasn’t looking at him though, instead his gaze was transfixed at the other’s arm. Ouma tried to remove his hand now, but Momota stubbornly kept it before observing the arm back and forth, looking up at him puzzled.

“Why are you in a wheelchair?” Momota asked, the concern in his voice almost poisonous, feeling undeserved if anything. “Did someone hurt you?” There was an anger that began to show through his eyes, but it wasn’t at Ouma. That resentment sounded through his voice, boiling deep in his chest. It made Ouma’s heart flutter a bit, but he quickly suppressed that feeling away. This was enough, and he pulled his arm away again to signal that to him. There was a slight hesitation but Momota relented and let him go.

Ouma smiled a sardonic, tight lipped smile. “Why yes,” he said, familiar venom coating his own words. “Actually, someone dropped a hydraulic press on me.”

He regretted his statement almost immediately. The hallway grew dead silent, the buzzing of lights the only noise breaking it. Somehow, it made it worse. Momota looked as if Ouma had stabbed him right then and there. All the confidence and anger that had been inside him had disappeared at once. If this had happened before, Ouma would have maybe revelled in seemingly bringing this stupid bastard down a peg.

Maybe… Just maybe.

But, now... he just felt… awful?

Momota stood up slowly, turning his sight away from Ouma and glared down at his own feet. Nausea was rising up again and he felt like he needed to vomit. He could visualize the press, inhale that familiar smell of blood, and could hear the sickening squelch... then nothing. Only silence. The feeling of bile rose to his throat immediately. It was all too intense and he needed to escape before he puked. Before he couldn’t hold back angry, frustrated tears any longer.

He covered his mouth and turned his back on Ouma, wanting to move away from him entirely…. But, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to return to his own room at all. He stood there dumbly, trying to figure out exactly where he could go from here. There was probably somewhere he could escape to, a rec room of sorts. He began to let his feet move him away. Ouma eyed him before letting a groan erupt from his throat.

“No,” Ouma huffed, trailing after him. He attempted to grab at his shirt with one hand, the other attempting to keep the wheelchair going straight, but ultimately it began to sway to the side. “Wait. Stop, I can’t keep this shitty thing--” He apprehended the fabric into his hand, gripping it tightly. Ouma grinned triumphantly at his capture and looked up at Momota's back. “Where are you going? We were talking, I thought you didn’t like when I ran away from your conversations, why do you get to leave mine?”

Momota paused as he felt his shirt pull tight against his stomach. He didn’t retort, he knew if he tried he would end up losing the battle with his nausea. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the bile threatening to escape his throat, a sick noise bursting from his chest out of his throat as he took in a breath of air. Concern bloomed in Ouma’s eyes at the sound.

“I- Are you okay??” He released Momota’s shirt, wheeling himself so he could try and face him. Momota took this chance and made a break for it, going towards the trash can at the end of the hall. His slippers squished and squashed against the clean floors. Their wetness, again, being Momota’s literal downfall. He fell to the ground, throwing his hands to catch himself this time. His eyes were screwed shut as he began to spew out stomach acid.

Momota’s whole body began to ache, but he did not let himself fall to the ground. He let his eyes open for a moment, only to find himself back in the hanger. The walls were cold and unwelcoming, the sound of silence filling the room. He could still see the small, pale figure shivering on his coat. Momota could tell he was putting on a brave face, his lips tightly closed and his eyes shut as he waited to die. He waited for his executioner to hit the button and trade out a slow death for a far quicker one. Momota wondered if he would feel as calm when it was his turn to die.

He wondered how he could ever feel calm again knowing this was his fault.

It was true that Harukawa was the one to seal their fates, but Momota hadn’t the heart to blame her. He blamed himself. If he had been braver, maybe just a bit stronger, maybe he would have tried to confront Ouma earlier. If he could have worked out what Ouma was doing before Harukawa had a chance to even think of resorting to killing. If he had tried to understand Ouma better, or if he had tried to get others to understand Ouma better.

If, if, if.

Ouma withdrew at the sight, feeling his own body begin to retch. He held the feeling down though. He noted the fact there didn’t seem to be any food in the vomit, just acid. When was the last time Momota had eaten? He heard hospital food tasted rather nasty, but he didn’t think that would deter Momota’s ravenous appetite. Ouma gulped down and approached again, placing a hand against Momota’s back once more.

Momota breathed slowly as he looked up at Ouma. Ouma could see the lack of focus in Momota’s eyes, like he wasn’t quite where the other was. He wondered if Momota could see the fear he felt, looking at him like this. If he could see the uncertainty of what to do now, how his brain wasn’t finding a solution. Momota took in another breath as the fog lifted from his eyes, attempting to speak.

“... Your death… I didn’t want--” Momota heaved again, looking back to the ground. Ouma frowned, assuming what Momota wanted to say. He presumed Momota was saying he didn’t want to use the press, that he didn’t want to be part of his plan. A part of him wanted to be snarky and said he could have chosen to not do it if he very well wanted, nobody forced his hand.

“H-Hey… You’re fine. I… I don’t blame you, you know?” Ouma wasn’t sure where this nervous feeling was coming from, maybe guilt. It swelled in his chest, ready to burst, and he wanted it to go away. He looked around the hallway, paranoid. Momota was making more noise than Ouma ever did in the nights he’s spent here. Orderlies would probably come poking about, and Ouma wasn’t up dealing with them. He pulled at Momota’s clothing again. “Come on, let’s get out of the hall.”

“... To…” Momota gave a dry heave, trying his best to sit up. “To… Where?” His body shook, this vulnerability wasn’t something Ouma was used to seeing in him. He looked around, as if he had forgotten where he was. He wheeled himself back, releasing Momota from his grip. “My room, come on.” He headed towards it, looking back momentarily towards Momota.

Momota sat in front of his own bile for a moment, nothing running through his head. His whole body felt weak, he couldn’t find the energy to even lift his head. He heard Ouma cough, as if trying to grab his attention. He probably thought Momota was ignoring him, or out of it. He heard Ouma huff in exasperation.

“Earth to Momota-chan~” Ouma gave a sing-songy tone to his irritation. “You shouldn’t rest in the hall~” He continued his teasing, maybe hoping to rile Momota up so that he would follow him. Even resorting to saying ��here boy, come on, who wants a treat~?’ Momota just didn’t have the energy to get up. He heard Ouma huff again.

Wheels squeaked away, presumably into the room. Momota heard nothing after, and could only assume Ouma had given up. So, he continued to sit, no thoughts. He was so tired, he wanted to sleep so badly, but he was trying to stop the exhaustion, trying to keep himself from falling into his own sickness. He heard the wheelchair again, it approached him. Momota wondered what Ouma was up to now, but didn’t have it in him to look at him.He heard a thump against the floor, and then tugged at his clothes.

“ Move. ” Ouma demanded, pulling harder. “You don’t have to stand, but you have to move. Drag yourself.” Momota could feel Ouma trying to drag him, trying to get him away from the puddle. He let him, trying to be as helpful as he can to follow his lead. Ouma drew them both to the wall closest to his door, groaning at the exertition. He reached over for a blanket he had, presumably, thrown on the ground, pulling it over both of them. “Dumbbass just sleeps in a hallway, unbelievable…” Ouma grumbled, fixing it carefully.

Momota was unsure what to do or say as Ouma relaxed, almost against him but not quite. Momota could feel his eyes droop close, feeling an ease overtake him. The blanket was warm, warm enough to distract him from the cool ground around him. He didn’t know why Ouma had decided to take to the floor as well, why didn't he just leave Momota out in the hall by himself. He wondered if in the morning he’d get an earful for it. Ouma yawned quietly, moaning about the lights before pulling himself more under the blanket. Momota listened as Ouma grew quiet, falling asleep from what he could tell.

Momota relaxed, finally being able to find it in himself to rest.

#kokichi ouma #kaito momota #oumota #oumomo #kokichi oma #new danganronpa v3 #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #writing

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aizawasbedtimestories · 4 years

Text

The place I belong

Summary: After a botched heist, Matsunaga Ise has to do her best to keep her involvement hidden from anyone that tries to find out more about it. That includes Aizawa Shouta. Will she be able to keep it from him, or are there new, unexpected happenings that will bring the two closer together despite their conflicting interests?

Genre: Slice of life, Drama, Romance Main Characters: Aizawa Shouta (BnHA), Matsunage Ise (OC)

Read on Ao3 / Next Chapter _________________________________

a/n: Finally got around checking this through. Please enjoy and let me know what you thought! _________________________________

Chapter 1 - The Heist

“Hey, Rookie! Stop dreaming!”

Flipping the shutters back into their original position, Ise sighed inwardly. Turning around, she looked back into the face of a mean-looking guy, grinning ear to ear as he checked her out. Disgusting, she thought, though she only gave him a wry smile back, before going back to her position near the entrance. The air was so suffocating, she couldn’t help but want to break out of the sealed shut bank-building, but maybe it was just the subliminal panic rising in her.

Ise didn’t have the same knowledge in a robbery as the people she worked with. Still, if she had anything to guess about their situation, then it seemed rather bad. The force field she emitted crackled in her mind, erasing all the quirks that were around her. It let her know about all the whereabouts of both her colleagues in crime, as well as the heroes that were spread all around the bank, which her group had settled in. The sheer amount of quirks collected in one spot was agitating for her, and with every second passing, she wished it was over.

Thanks to the guy from before, she hadn’t been able to count all the police cars outside, but she was sure there were more than enough to take everyone here into custody. It was a hopeless situation, and Ise regretted ever agreeing to this heist. Even if she could prove herself useful in this exact moment, the view at getting caught and jailed wasn’t too pretty for her. She found her mind drifting off, slowly fading into bad situations like the interrogation, prison, maybe solitary confinement.

A hefty ‘thud’ tore her out of her overthinking, her body jumping lightly as a big sports bag fell to the ground next to her. The black bag had a shoulder hold, as well as two grips to carry it in one hand. “That’s yours,” a deep voice said. Nervously swallowing, Ise looked up at the man whom the voice belonged to, taking in his features. The bald, scarred male was unmistakenly the man who hired her. Unlike the one before, this one screamed horrific vibes at her, and Ise wasn’t sure what to reply at first.

Instead, she picked up the bag, wincing quietly under the weight. Though her legs were strong, she couldn’t compare to all the muscular robbers that were her accomplices here. Though she managed to prop the bag over her shoulder, all she got in return was a click of his tongue, before he left her alone again. Even his back screamed ‘thug’ at her, as well as his black clothes.

Ise adjusted the bag on her shoulder, feeling the weight pulling her down the longer she stood there. Moving became increasingly harder too, and again, she wished she hadn’t accepted the work. Sure, it paid decently well, but the risk was all the higher. Breathing heavily, she moved a little closer to an air conditioning spot, feeling increasingly hot by the second. Looking around, she inspected the other robbers, finding them to be quite comfortable in tank tops.

With her black leather jacket and shirt underneath, however, she was at a significant disadvantage, having wholly underestimated the heat from the sun getting stuck in the bit of room they were all trapped in. Though, hearing the hostages wince behind her, she figured she wasn’t the only one troubled by the heat.

Admittedly, she almost felt bad for them. They had been just passing by, visiting the bank to get some money to shop for the day, and now they were in such a situation. Maybe they were the reason there had been quite that much of a police force build and heroes contacted, but that was all just Ise’s speculation in the end. The whimpers and sniffs hurt her a little, and from the corner of her eye, she could see parents cowering with their children in their arms, trying to hush them. It really seemed heartbreaking, especially for Ise.

Sighing, she passed the hostages, feeling as if she couldn’t stand to look at them anymore. Was it empathy, or was it jealousy? Jealousy that even in these dire times of need, the children had their parents still to care for them? Maybe, but either way, it hurt. Moving towards one of the backdoors, Ise made sure no one was looking as she turned the knob, taking a glance outside. She silently cursed the fact that no one had given her any blueprints. She knew the other robbers had them, but since she wasn’t an insider, no one had wanted to let her see them.

Ise inspected the barren walls in the little hallway. Just from her imagination, she figured it may lead to the back of the bank, after all, money would have needed to be transported securely, away from the views of everyone - or so she thought. Leaning back, she took a deep breath. Her whole body was tense, jittery even. She wanted nothing more than to leave. From all around her, the noises grew restless, robbers arguing about how to pack all the money, hostages crying. Ise wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

A gasp escaped her, as an arm wriggled around her shoulders, touching her unoccupied arm, and she looked up, towards the tall man suddenly standing next to her. “Hey, little Miss. Is there-” he purposely stopped his sentence, his large mouth curling into a smile. Next thing she felt was a small zap, even through the layers of fabric on her body. She flinched, looking back and forth between the man and his hand. “-a problem with your quirk, I wonder?” he finished his words.

Through his black locks, framing, and covering most of his face, Ise could see the flashing of red eyes. Their icy expression was a contrast to the smile on his mouth, with Ise feeling her blood draining from her whole body. She hadn’t realized how her quirk had slowly dissolved in her lack of attention while she was too focused on her thoughts.

The next thing she knew, the ground was shaking from the outside, heroes and police forces alike inching closer to the bank than they were before. “Guess we should make a run for it,” the man giggled, violently pushing the door to the back hallway open and tugging Ise with him as they slipped out. All while the police made their way into the bank. Ise didn’t trust the man that led her along, one of the few that wore a long black cape to hide his body. His hand was way too tight on her wrist. But she had no idea where to go, so she had no choice but to let him lead.

Behind the two of them, loud shouts and commands could be heard, a great commotion unfolding indeed. Secretly, Ise hoped everything went well for the hostages, but her main focus laid on running. The money bag over her shoulder was still heavier than anything she had ever carried around, and it didn’t help that she was pulled with even more force on the same arm by the man. Ise could only hope they’d reach the exit soon and get out swiftly, without being caught.

Just then, another thought came up in her mind, and though she was already out of breath, she gathered all her courage to voice it. “What if they secured the back exit?” she yelled forward, waiting for a reaction from the man. For a few seconds, there was nothing like that from him, no hum, no words. Ise already believed he might not have heard her, but before she could repeat it, he made a sharp turn at the next intersection, and she had to focus on keeping her balance.

“Good point, Dove,” he giggled back, taking on more speed as she finally caught a grip on the ground again. By now, her breathing was ragged, and she had trouble keeping up with him. If not for him pulling her, she would have collapsed right then and there. Now, Ise was good at running. Really, the only subject she ever excelled in. But combined with the heavy bag and the panic, still stuck in her throat, she had a hard time reaching her peak.

Catching a glimpse from the end of the corridor, Ise saw big, dark-blue doors. They looked more like the ones people had in front of their garages, and suddenly it dawned on her where they were going. “They’ll catch up to us unless we make them open,” she shrieked, panic overwhelming her. In fact, she could already hear footsteps from far behind the two, aside from the clacking of hers and her partner in crime’s.

“I don’t think so,” the man laughed, maniacally by now. She could see him stretch out his arm, little sparks emitting from it. With a loud roaring, just like thunder, he threw his arm forward, a bright tail of electricity hovering over the air, eventually hitting the shutters before the two were even in arm’s length to them. With loud, mechanical groans, the shutters opened to about the height of a man as the two reached them, letting them pass without any problems.

She didn’t see the man activate his quirk again, but the moment they were out, the doors began to close. There was no time for Ise to give this phenomenon any attention as she finally lost her feet in the air, plummeting down to the ground with a hard thud. Her head was ringing after hitting the ground, and she groaned loudly as she came back to her feet, driven by the adrenaline. The moment she put weight on her right foot, however, she felt the sting of pain, the bag having buried her ankle under it at the fall. There was no way she could make out if it was a severe injury, but to her, it was more than evident that it hurt like shit.

Finally, as her mind grasped the whole situation, she realized she could still hear the commotion from the front of the bank. Though much to her relief, she and the strange man were alone still, finding themselves in the money transport docks. Ise could barely stand, yet, she reached for the bag, trying to lift it from the ground again. “Ouchy,” she heard from her accomplice, followed by a light giggle. It looked slightly wonky as he got up again too, but once he stood tall, he had no problems to stride back to her position, after he fell a bit further than her.

“What a fall, right, little Miss?” Biting her lower lips, she wasn’t really interested in answering that. It sounded equal as if he was making fun of her as well as if he had bumped his head hard. Something was absolutely not right with him, and Ise was more than sure of it now. But her efforts of lifting the bag were to no avail, though once he reached her, he had no problems to take it - covering it with his cloak - recreating the hold he had on Ise before too and tugging her along into the direction of the park that was spreading out behind the bank.

His hand still felt uncomfortable around hers, and she could have sworn some sparks of his quirk tingling over her skin still. Every step hurt like she was walking on needles, and in her mind, she was already thinking about how to treat her ankle later. It was sure to swell for the next few days. “Now, for the grand exit,” she heard him mumble, refocusing in the situation she was still in. Before she could protest, he led her right into the bushes, wild leaves and branches brushing all over her body, making it hard to see.

Though no matter her struggle, he wouldn’t let go, unerringly making his way through. It didn’t seem to bother him that branches got stuck in his clothes, as well as some plants tangling into his hair, Ise almost felt jealous of him being so carefree. Once they came back to a bit of a path, she looked over her shoulder at the way they had come from. She was barely able to make out the blue shutters anymore through the thicket, and a small hint of relief washed over her. Though no matter that, she still felt the ominous vibes he gave her, canceling most of her relief immediately.

“Where-” She stopped her own words for a moment as his head turned immediately to eye her over his shoulder. “Where are we going?” Biting her lower lip, she tried to maintain the eye contact as best as she could, though even with all the locks in his face, the piercing red seemed almost abnormal to her. “Far, far away, and never to be seen again.”

His answer gave her the chills.

If not for the fact that there were people around them and a police investigation maybe a hundred meters away - which ultimately would have led to their arrest anyway - Ise would have immediately started to throw a big fit. Who in the world said such things? That he wasn’t in his right mind, that much she had figured till now, but was he really… She didn’t even want to finish the thought. Instead, Ise mustered all the strength she could find in herself, clearing her throat quietly before speaking up. “You mean like, we’ll be hiding for a while, right?”

The glare he shot her was almost grim, another dark contrast to the broad smile on his lips. “Whatever you want to call it, Dove.” Nodding slowly, Ise took a deep breath, hoping he’d stay true to his words, even if she couldn’t help but imagine all the bad things he could have planned. Especially, when - after a while of trotting over the path of the park - he pulled her off the trail, back into the thicket. She readied herself to scream and kick if necessary, hoping her foot would hold up for another run.

But when the two of them came to a halt between the bushes, she was surprised to find her hand to be released, the man leaving her behind as he searched the ground for something. “Hey, here,” he mentioned, pointing downwards after stopping at a particular spot. What he was looking at? She didn’t know. Did she want to know was the other question. It could have been something repulsive, in the worst case, a skeleton. Suspicious, Ise inched closer, but when she saw what he was pointing at, she felt as if he was trying to make fun of her.

Aside from mud and dirt, there was nothing. She shot the man a questioning look that he reciprocated ever so calmly. “Dig,” he said sweetly. In an instant, he had her in goosebumps, his voice nice, but the order absolute. Still a little reluctant, she settled down, hoping that obeying would get her the least unfavorable act from him, though she couldn’t help but wonder if it would be her own grave she was digging.

Not wanting to make it too easy, she only carved out a small hole, maybe big enough for a doll to fit, but not a body. Though when she looked up, he gave her a dissatisfied click of his tongue and shook his head. So she continued. Sweat pearls collected on her forehead, which Ise quickly brushed off with her arm. She dug and dug, making the hole deeper, yet not larger, hoping it would suffice in convincing him not to bury her in it.

She couldn’t help the flinch going through her body when she came up out of the hole again, brushing some hair out of her face that got glued onto her skin through the sweat. Something inside the bag let out a hard thud as it plummeted into the hole, just seconds from when she had her head still in it, making her realize just how hard it would have been if it had hit her. Hearing the sound of his hands clapping off dirt on them, now that he had discarded the bag in the mud, she gave the man an exasperated and confused look. He just shrugged in return, using his shoe to brush dirt back over it, unbothered by the fact he could have hit the life out of her if the heavy bag had fallen on her neck.

Squatting down to her height, he clasped his hands over his knees, staring intently and uncomfortable at her. Ise hadn’t have the chance to see him quite so close until now, a considerable amount of scars covering his face. The unnerving thing wasn’t quite how red the iris in his eyes were, but how red his skin seemed to glow. It was like blood flowing too much through all his veins. His lips were chapped, and now that he was so close, she could see the greasiness of his hair too. And he smelled. Like nicotine and three days of not showering, Ise had a hard time not to gag.

“So here’s the plan…” he mumbled, another huge smile crossing his lips, teeth yellow and crooked. And despite his ridiculous appearance, she had never been more scared of hearing about a plan than she was right then and there.

#aizawa #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #aizawa x oc #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha oc #bnha fanfiction #BNHA Headcanons #bnha scenarios #bnha imagines #Bnha writing blog #x oc #oc story #canon x oc #aizawa fanfiction #OW

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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House of Dark Shadows: The Craziest Vampire Movie You’ve Never Seen

https://ift.tt/37TdnN3

This article contains House of Dark Shadows spoilers.

In 1970 House of Dark Shadows flipped the vampire subgenre on its head. While certainly a B-horror in the Hammer mold, this chiller wasn’t satisfied with one bloodsucker, or even two. Instead Dark Shadows would turn nearly its whole cast into the ravenous undead, indiscriminately slaughtering beloved heroes and heroines, not caring for a second that they were also the stars of a daytime soap opera—one that was appointment TV for millions of kids across America.

Clearly it was a different time. And therein lies its charm.

When the television series Dark Shadows premiered in 1966, it wasn’t an instant pop culture phenomenon. Creator Dan Curtis was savvy enough to see the appeal in a daytime melodrama draped in a Gothic aesthetic, but he didn’t yet have the necessary hook for his central character as she stepped off a train in New England. Sure, mysterious Victoria Winters (Alexandria Isles) would meet the Collins family, who more or less ruled over the town of Collinsport from their ancestral home of Collinwood, but the reason to stick around only came about a year into the series’ original run.

That eureka moment turned out to be the dapper and effortlessly suave Jonathan Frid. Cast as Barnabas Collins, the Canadian theater actor was initially hired for a single storyline (a set number of episodes) as the heavy: Barnabas was an ancient and forgotten vampire, who’d been buried alive like the family’s dirty little secret after a curse condemned him to drink blood in 1795. Now he was out and wreaking havoc by feasting on the locals and obsessing over Maggie Evans (Kathryn Leigh Scott), whom he was convinced was the reincarnation of his lost love Josette—a fiancée who threw herself off a cliff in the 18th century rather than become Barnabas’ corpse bride.

It was morbid, obviously, but also romantic at a time when vampires were defined by the coldness of Christopher Lee or the goofiness of Scooby-Doo. Instead here was the most pitiable of creatures, one who doesn’t wish to be a vampire, and through impeccable manners and courtesies revealed a soft love for the Collins family, even when he preyed on them. Rather than create a great villain, Curtis inadvertently invented a tragic hero who audiences flocked to, both the typical daytime target demographic and also, surprisingly, kids and teenagers, who’d rush home from school to be lost in a melancholy land of eternal loves, ancient curses, and of course fangs.

Thus Dark Shadows became a blender for all things Gothic. Following in the success of Barnabas’ introduction, the series would go on to add ghosts, werewolves, séances, multiple stints of time travel, and one particularly devilish 18th century witch named Angelique (Lara Parker). It also appropriated every classic horror trope from Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley, the Brontë sisters, and Edgar Allan Poe, and synthesized them for an audience that was now consuming it along with kid-friendly board games and trading cards.

So why not a movie, too? As early as 1968, Curtis began pursuing the idea of making a Dark Shadows movie, even while the series was still going. Eventually, House of Dark Shadows was the result. Released 50 years ago this week, this toothy amusement was the chance to do everything Curtis wanted with the series, but was prohibited from by Broadcast Standards and Practices censorship, budget constraints… and maybe even audiences’ good taste.

“Blood flows,” actor Roger Davis observed in The Dark Shadows Companion: The 25th Anniversary, which was edited by Scott. “It’s not like the serial. You have a few dabs of blood and the network brass have apoplexy. TV does a mock-up on life. This is in living color. And the vampires really bite.”

Whereas Dark Shadows, the television show, was appointment TV for those still in middle school, House of Dark Shadows was aimed directly at the drive-in crowd with its emphasis on blood gushing from neck wounds and stakes violently going into almost every character’s heart. As Scott’s book surmised, the film was “entirely the child of its creator,” who would at last have his evil Barnabas. And at a glance, it is an American riff on what had already become kitsch by 1970 thanks to Hammer Film Productions’ seemingly endless line of Dracula movies, plus the knockoffs.

And to be sure, House of Dark Shadows is in many ways a Dracula movie. It’s also insight into how Curtis originally viewed the Barnabas character before Frid went on a charm offensive. Playing almost like a CliffNotes version of Barnabas’ first several storylines on the show, the vampire is awakened during the film’s opening moments because of the foolishness of groundskeeper Willie Loomis (John Karlen). Barnabas then forces poor old Willie to become his living slave and creates a fictitious narrative about being a distant cousin descended from the original Barnabas Collins, whom family lore claims sailed away to London in 1795, never to be heard from again.

Bringing back the “original” Barnabas’ family jewels to ingratiate himself, the Barnabas of 1970 is free to attend family gatherings, fix up an old ruined house on the estate, and even feed on cousin Carolyn (Nancy Barrett), a dear relative who becomes a dead ringer for Lucy Westenra in Bram Stoker’s famed novel. Even so, Carolyn cannot displace Maggie (still Scott) in Barnabas’ eyes, who he is sure is the reincarnation of Josette.

It very much has the narrative beats of a traditional vampire movie, but the charm that lingers a half-century later comes in part from seeing these actors, who are intimately familiar with their characters, going through the paces with better production values. That quality also manifests in Curtis’ sense of atmosphere, now liberated from the stage-bound quality of daytime drawing room drama. I would even argue House of Dark Shadows is one of the more satisfyingly atmospheric vampire movies to come out of the 1970s.

Curtis filmed in the upstate New York’s Tarrytown area, mostly on the actual Gothic Lyndhurst Estate, built in the 1830s, and shot much of the exteriors in the legendary Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Whereas Hammer films tended to rely increasingly on sets during this period, and most B horror movies had no budget for evocative locations, House of Dark Shadows was filming its sequences in between tours of the Lyndhurst Mansion and in the same atmospheric cemetery that helped birth the myth of a Headless Horseman.

Regarding the filming location, screenwriter Sam Hall remarked, “It’s a wild house. I’d hate like hell to live in it.”

This is only accentuated by the fact Curtis knows how to drain a spooky location dry. Images like vampire Carolyn standing in a window, draped in white, beckoning her lover to become one of the damned is a better use of Lucy iconography than any Dracula movie made before House of Dark Shadows. And the film’s ending sequence reaches an operatic opulence rarely seen, even in vampire cheapies. Barnabas, bathed in a blue light and shrouded in inexplicable fog in the interior of his decrepit home, beckons Maggie, now in a wedding dress, toward him as the famous melody of Josette’s music box twinkles, only now in a weeping minor key.

The corruption of that wistful melody is intriguing. An original part of the Dark Shadows television series, Josette’s music box, and Frid’s soliloquies about it, is what first gave Barnabas his soul, distinguishing him from the general depravity of other pop culture vampires. One could even say Barnabas is the first significantly sympathetic male vampire in fiction. In House of Dark Shadows, he has a more sinister mean streak, but the pathos remains.

Hence why the film plays at times like a gonzo delight. It may feature the original, more wicked Barnabas, but it is still derived from the genteel series, and many of those elements carry over. Take Dr. Julia Hoffman (Grayson Hall) spending half the movie trying to cure Barnabas, a subplot that eventually ends happily for the pair on the show, but less so here. It’s soapy pulp, yet it’s given as much stone-faced gravity as the Collinsport Police Department unquestioningly agreeing to patrol around town with standard issue police crucifixes. One might ask if they keep silver bullets in every squad car too?

The overall effect is bizarre, but endearingly so. It’s also fairly influential, as confirmed by what happened after Dan Curtis dropped Barnabas in favor of another vampire.

Dark Shadows’ Witch Was As Influential As Its Vampire

By Tony Sokol

Movies

Bram Stoker’s Dracula and the Seduction of Old School Movie Magic

By David Crow

In 1974, following Dark Shadows’ cancellation, Curtis wrote and directed a Dracula TV movie for CBS that within its opening titles billed itself as “Bram Stoker’s Dracula.” Far removed from Stoker’s novel, the little remembered television film nonetheless starred Jack Palance as the vampire, and introduced several significant elements to the story by overtly making Dracula an undead version of historical figure Vlad the Impaler (which he is not in the novel) and turning Lucy into the reincarnation of his great lost love.

Curtis was in essence trying to recast Dracula as Barnabas Collins. Like House of Dark Shadows, Curtis even sought to build a Gothic atmosphere by filming in real locations, albeit now Eastern Europe. The result was effective in those scenes, even if the rest of the movie failed in no small part because Palance could never wear the tragic cloak so well as Frid.

In spite of its shortcomings, many have fairly speculated on whether Curtis’ Dracula influenced James V. Hart, the screenwriter of Francis Ford Coppola’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Hart was certainly more successful at turning Dracula into a lovelorn prince, and Coppola made that idea permanent in the pop culture imagination. Yet, at the end of the day, they were still remaking the pop culture image of Dracula so as to be closer in line with Barnabas Collins, instead of the other way around.

I would even argue that Coppola’s film is closer in tone with Dark Shadows, at least in its romantic moments, than Tim Burton’s big budget Dark Shadows movie was in 2012. Burton of course attempted to avoid some of the mistakes of House of Dark Shadows, namely by keeping Barnabas as the good guy who is trying to save his family instead of ultimately destroying them, as well as retaining the other fan favorite character, the witchy Angelique (who like all other non-vampire elements was omitted from House of Dark Shadows). But Burton also played her and the whole concept as pure camp, making the Collins’ a subject of ridicule, and their problems a punchline.

Admittedly, there is something faintly camp about the 1960s daytime series and its ‘70s drive-in remake; plots turn on ludicrous developments like Julia falling in love with Barnabas, and then intentionally sabotaging his vampire cure when she realizes he loves a younger woman. But they were sold with absolute sincerity, and in the case of Frid, a palatable conviction.

House of Dark Shadows continues that conviction, no matter how batshit things become. Thus the ending where, accepting he’ll never be cured, Barnabas transforms family patriarch Roger Collins (Louis Edmonds) and even the film’s version of Van Helsing (Thayer David) into vampires. And we get to a finale so madcap that it turns “Renfield” into the last remaining hero. Madness, indeed.

Ironically, House of Dark Shadows was blamed by some for the eventual death of the series. Every character in the film, including Barnabas, had to be written out of the show, for some weeks at a time, so the actors could go shoot a movie upstate (another reason Angelique and other significant characters were left out). This correlated with some of the series’ weaker storylines that lost audiences’ attention.

Additionally, it’s believed parents who went with their children to see the movie in October 1970 were appalled by the amount of blood and sensual subtext in the film. As a result, some may have forbidden their kids from watching the series further… with the show getting cancelled in April 1971.

“The TV ratings fell after the movie,” Scott’s The Dark Shadows Companion revealed. “It has been suggested by some that House of Dark Shadows led to the series’ eventual demise. Perhaps it was the audience’s reaction to seeing their hero Barnabas in an evil light. Perhaps it was because parents attended House of Dark Shadows with their children and, seeing the amount of blood spilled across the screen, discouraged their children’s choice of television viewing material.”

Star Frid was even more unsparing in his final analysis.

“[The film] lacked the charm and naivete of the soap opera,” Frid said. “Every once in a while the show coalesced into a Brigadoonish never-never-land. It wasn’t necessary to bring the rest of the world into Dark Shadows, which is what the film did.”

Nevertheless, both the series and movie left a few marks on the throat of pop culture. The series certainly paved the way for more multidimensional portraits of vampires to be explored, opening the door for, yes, the Coppola Dracula movie, but also Anne Rice and True Blood. In fact, even if House of Dark Shadows might’ve been considered too brutal by parents in 1970, decades of pop culture refinement would find a way to make the sympathetic vampire archetype much more tolerable when instead of drinking from his cousin, he sparkled in the daylight and told his prey they needed to wait until marriage.

Without Barnabas, his series, and his slice of bananas role is House of Dark Shadows, we may never have gotten Lestat, Edward Cullen, or Gary Oldman’s Dracula. At least not as how we know them. Fifty years on, that’s a bloody good legacy for a daytime drama and a B-movie you’ve never seen.

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plutoisaplanet16 · 4 years

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21 Reasons to Love Someone

(Damien Haas x reader)

#1. Their Smile

Word count: 1,644

Warnings: none (SFW)

Buy me a coffee

Two words: Defy Media.

At first excitement coursed Damien’s being as he thought about the prospect of having a job where he could sit around and play games all day. However, it did not take him long to feel the same way everybody else in the office did. You knew the pressure took a toll on him when the first thing he did after work was sleep. Damien’s personality shined through on camera, but being the entertaining ball of sunshine for so many videos each day overwhelmed him. When he came home he would say a mindless “hello y/n” and perhaps jokingly say “hello my baby geese” to Freyja and Zelda, but after that he would close the door to the bedroom and plop down on the bed. Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother to take his shoes off. Usually you would just leave him alone for a couple hours until you finished making dinner or the postmate had arrived.

“How was work?” you would ask as you handed him his meal.

He would always tell you, “It was good, but I won’t go into detail. Too much happened today; I’ll probably miss something if I try to tell you.”

Damien would always laugh it off and pretend like it was nothing, but you knew better than to buy into his nightly act. After nearly a year and half of dating, you knew what Damien did when something bothered him. Comedy was his coping mechanism, but after the bright laughter ceased, his face fell into a blank expression: the sparkle in his eyes dulled, his normally rosy complexion seemingly drained in an instant, and lastly, silence filled the room. It was quite frankly the most bizarre phenomenon to behold. All you wanted to do was grab his soft face and kiss his forehead to try and convince him that everything would work out, but this wasn’t a fanfiction or a cheesy romantic comedy. People are more complicated than that.

So that’s how you ended up awake at 3:17 a.m. scouring the internet for Harry Potter house robe cat costumes. Your dry eyes and blurry vision did not deter you from finding that one Esty shop that would grant you wish. Was each costume going to be $45 plus shipping? Yes. But did that stop you? No. This was a mission of love, and for Damien, you would go any distance to see that adorable goober genuinely smile.You were just about to place the order when Damien’s arm pulled you closer into his chest as he looked over your shoulder. Without thinking, you stupidly threw your phone across the room. Luckily it landed in a soft, plushy chair in the corner of the room.

“Y/n, what was that about?” Damien shook his head.

You struggled to find an answer, “Um...uh...”

“Do I even want to know?” he chuckled, “As long as it’s not Tinder I don’t care enough to lose any more sleep.”

“I would never cheat on you!” you exclaimed.

He sleepily mumbled, “I know. I’m too sexy.”

You laughed to yourself as you left the bed to go retrieve your hopefully-not-cracked-phone. You quickly placed the order and crawled back into bed. It was rare that Damien ever complimented himself like that. It reminded you of the Damien you knew before Defy... the Damien who ruffled his hair and smoldered at the camera for a selfie. It was so nice to hear Damien still have his moments of confidence. It gave you hope that your plan would actually work.

5:15 pm. It was almost time.

You had just finished making dinner, and you rushed to set the table neatly. To be honest, what you made shouldn’t even really be considered dinner because it was more or less a buffet of different movie food such as: M&Ms, twizzlers, chips and homemade dip, tiny sandwiches, and of course popcorn. You arranged them into a deliciously looking spread in the finest plastic bowls the dollar store had to offer. (Neither one of you would really want to do dishes anyway.) Once it looked perfect you turned towards the living room to hunt down Freyja and Zelda. You had the costumes neatly folded on the top of the grey, cloth couch. Luckily Freyja was napping on the cushion below them; you petted her gently and unfolded her Ravenclaw house robes. She yawned and stretched right as you were about to wake her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she sniffed the robe. Freyja backed away and her big, glossy eyes moved back and forth between you and the costume.

“It’s for Daddy, okay? Work with me here, please Freyja.”

She meowed back like she understood, and from then on she was compliant. Next, you had to hunt down Zelda. It honestly amazed you how well that chonky cat could hide. You called out her name for what felt like forever until you yelled that Damien would be home soon. A small meow came from underneath the couch.

“Just what am I to you guys?”

Zelda came out and before she even knew what was happening, you squeezed her into her Hufflepuff robes, “Finally.”

Everything was almost perfect; the last thing you had to do was put on your own house robes and get all eight Harry Potter movies out of storage. Sure you would never be able to finish them all in one night, but both of you would give it a valiant attempt. Digging the movies out of the bin would prove to be a challenge because both of you were giant nerds that for some reason decided to just throw all your nerdiness into several boxes and NOT label them. In the fourth of six boxes is where you found the first three movies, and the rest were at the bottom of the fifth box. You decided that after all this was over you and Damien were sure to be doing some serious decluttering for the next week or so. Meanwhile, you had to go light some spooky looking candles, somehow avoid going ahead and digging into the scrumptious food, and put the first DVD in the console.

As the first movie finally loaded, Damien unlocked the door and walked in, “It smells like a theatre in here. What happ-”

He stopped dead in his tracks when saw you with the Sorting Hat on your head and your Harry Potter robes. His face was full of wonder and confusion as he took a couple seconds to slowly look around and examine his surroundings. He giggled at the spooky yet romantic lighting as well as Hedwig’s Theme rattling the walls of the apartment. You hoped you two wouldn’t get noise complaints...again. Damien walked closer towards you, but soon Freyja and Zelda ambushed him by rubbing themselves up against his legs.

He looked down in disbelief, “Freyja...Zelda? Y/n?”

“I’m glad you know all our names,” you teased.

“What is all this? Their costumes? The candles? The food? Harry Potter?” he sat down on the floor next to you.

“Listen Damien, I know something has been up with you these past couple of weeks. I know you love Smosh and your job, and it doesn’t make sense to me why you would be hiding how you really feel from me,” you said.

“Y/n,” he sighed, “It’s complicated, okay? Half the time I don’t even know what’s going through my head when it comes to talking about my day. You are right. I love my job, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. However, I’m having a tough time right now. There are a lot of videos we film in one day, and for someone like me it can easily become too much. The biggest issue is our parent company itself never listening to us; it is so frustrating. I don’t like spreading that kind of negativity so I shove it away, but it seems it has still affected you. It’s hard for me to talk about, and honestly, I just want to figure it out on my own. I don't want to bring you down with me.”

You were kind of hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable telling you everything but you had to respect him, “It’s okay Damien. I won’t push you, but please let me in on some things. I hate sitting here watching you be miserable not being able do a single thing about it. I want to help you, and that’s why I did all this. Sometimes you walk in here, and it’s like I don’t even know who I am looking at. I believe you will find your footing at Smosh, and everyone will soon adore you. I know it didn’t take me long to fall in love with you.”

Damien blushed, “Oh really?”

He smiled. He actually smiled. It was a complete 100% authentic goofy Damien smile that spread from ear to ear. He felt happiness deep down inside because of you, and that is all you could ever ask for. Being the ooey-gooey romantic person you are, you threw yourself onto him and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. No, that kiss wouldn’t really fix much, but it made both of your hearts melt. When you pulled away you looked at his face again; he was still smiling, but it wasn’t the same as it was a moment ago. Instead of bright and bubbly, it was a small adoring grin. His eyes bore into yours, and it was like everything else around you two disappeared.

“Y/n?” he asked.

You answered, “Yes?”

He pulled you into his chest and tightly wrapped his arms around you. His soft heartbeat became like white nose to you, “How come you fell in love with me so fast?”

You pulled away from him and kissed his lips, “How could I not with that smile of yours?”

---------------

Hello! This is my first Smosh fanfiction I have ever wrote. I’m not new to the fanfiction writing world. I’ve had two wattpad accounts and even wrote on a BTS fan app for a while. I dropped this hobby of mine to focus on my senior year of high school. Recently though I have come back to writing due to being stuck in the house and my school year being pretty much over. I decided to start this prompt series because I was bored and itching to write something again. I hope you all have enjoyed this short imagine. It is part one of a twenty-one part prompt list that I have made up myself.

This specific list will, for now, only include past and present Smosh members, but if you would like to see any of these prompts for other fictional characters or real people please let me know in my inbox! I have no requests, and I would certainly love some. Thank you all for reading this!

#smosh #smosh pit #smosh damien #smosh games #harry potter #damien haas #damien #fanfic #fanfiction #damien haas x reader #smosh fanfic #smosh fandom #smosh fanfiction #smosh games fanfic #smosh games x reader #smosh games fanfiction #damien haas fanfic #Damien haas fanfiction

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pyre-prism · 5 years

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Creepypasta Story - Never Meant to Be

I wanted to play a little with LJ, mainly to see how I might write him for any other project. As a character, I find him to be very interesting, so... yah. I actually wrote this a little while ago, but wasn't sure whether to actually post it.

This is a 'what if?' of the angel who made him (deliberately left rather ambiguous) finding him after the events of the origin story. What happens after this one finishes, I'll leave up to the imagination of those who read it, at least for the time being.

Story below

~*~

The box had changed a lot over the years; once-pristine paint had chipped and flaked, mahogany wood that had originally been firm and straight was now warped, the bright and cheery designs and lettering emblazoned across every surface had dimmed… becoming something that made her throat constrict. The crank handle still jutted out of one side, the lid’s hinges still moved without a sound, and the music-box mechanisms inside the box still worked just fine…

All of these, she expected to some degree. Time had a habit of making objects wear down, a phenomenon that effected practically all forms of life as well, and she couldn’t fault them for falling prey to such a powerful force as that.

She did, however, find the room she was in to be nothing like what she’d hoped it would be.

Watery eyes swept over the room yet again… The walls looked almost identical to the last time she’d been there, over a decade ago, if she ignored the tattered cobwebs and thick layer of dust mixed with splatters of blood and bits of flesh. The shelves that she remembered being on one wall had collapsed –that was where she’d found the neglected toy– and the bed had been converted into some manner of torture-table.

What she had yet to truly investigate, however, was the throne-like chair in the corner. The glances she’d either been unable to stop or had given it by accident had told her more than she ever wanted to know. It stood as a proud but twisted declaration of something that she couldn’t understand, and –more than anything else– it made bile rise in her throat, which she had to swallow back down several times while she simply stood there and stared forlornly at the box in her hands.

A sigh came unbidden from her mouth, and she knew what she had to do next. Her eyes closed as her hands started to glow and she disappeared from the agony-filled room; when she reopened them, she had been transported to a lonely carnival, and –just as she had with the dusty bedroom– she found herself staring around the fairground with her jaw hanging open, her eyes wide, and her brow deeply furrowed.

She knew intimately what the place was supposed to look like… It was supposed to be cheery, fun, and inviting… it was supposed to be somewhere that anyone with a sense of childish wonder could feel as if they belonged… Most importantly, however, it was not supposed to be silent, nor were any of the rides or stalls or tents supposed to look more than ready to collapse into themselves.

Chills prickled at every nerve in her body as a lilting voice wavered its way into her ears, singing a song that she had personally woven into the workings of the box. Ignoring the unease tightening in the pit of her stomach, she raced towards the sound, hoping to find something in the whole mess that she may still be able to salvage.

The voice cracked and dipped into silence more than once while she tried to find the source, eventually locating it in the shockingly-barren big-top. Sitting cross-legged in the performance ring and holding a stuffed toy with the delicacy of someone paranoid of breaking what they were touching… was the jack of the box. She paused long enough to steady her breathing before taking careful steps towards the lanky creature, trying to keep herself from panicking at the changes wrought upon the being she’d crafted over a decade before…

When she made the jack-in-the-box toy, everything had been colourful and the jack himself had been covered in a plethora of gaudy rainbows… now, however, her heart was twisting in sympathy for the monochrome creature before her, every colour bled out of his form as if he no longer knew any form of joy or even love.

As she drew closer to him, his voice hitched. As she knelt down beside him, the song stuttered to a halt. As she reached out for his feathered shoulder, his malleable body twisted away from her touch –the pied feathers lifting slightly as if they were hackles– at the same time as his head came around to face her. She shuddered at the wild yet lost expression on his face, then sheepishly withdrew her hand and offered him a small smile.

“Hello, Laughing Jack.” Almost as if hearing a voice other than his own had flicked a switch in the creature’s brain, his entire frame jolted, and a few seconds later found him moulding his expression into an insincere grin –she suppressed another shudder at the sight of sharklike teeth in his mouth. “It seems this visit is a bit overdue… How are you?”

The question seemed to catch him off-guard and his grin faltered for a moment. “What a strange thing to ask… Why, I’m perfectly fine, how are you?” His voice came out just as shaky and raspy as the singing had been, making the knot in her stomach tighten and sink into her gut.

It was such an obvious lie that she had to force herself not to berate him for it; now wasn’t the time to pick apart the creature’s word choices, and –taking the deflection in-stride– she widened her smile a bit. “I’ve been quite busy lately, and haven’t been able to stay on top of things. I’d have to say that I’m feeling a little confused today, though. Think you might be able to help me work a few things out?”

He blinked slowly a couple of times, tilting his head to one side as if to literally look at her from a new angle, making her smile gain some comforting honesty. “…Like what?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his new claws digging into the stuffed toy in his grasp, but –just like her other observations– she decided not to mention it. Instead, she tried to come up with how to phrase the questions burning in her brain. “Well… I suppose I should start with what’s that you’ve got there?” She gestured at the stuffed toy, and his gaze followed hers, giving a low hum in the back of his throat.

A strange sort of fragile quiet descended over them while she waited for any sort of response, and after a while, he finally heaved a sigh. Those long fingers that she had wanted to create wonder tightened around the soft fabric, twitching as if the jack was fighting with himself as to what to do next… Suddenly, with a feral-sounding snarl, he threw the toy at the side of the tent with all of the force that he could muster. “It’s nothing,” he hissed, curling in on himself for a moment before bounding to his feet and giving her another wide grin –this one even less sincere than the last.

“I… see. Uhm…” She allowed a small frown to appear on her face. “Alright. Then… can you tell me what happened to the carnival? When I was here last, it looked… well, newer?”

He bent his body to one side, bringing a hand up to his face to tap at his chin. “Hmm? You were ever here…? When was that? I don’t remember…” The playful tone that she’d originally expected to hear in his voice had finally shown itself, but concern soured the relief she felt at the change, and he must have seen it because his expression changed… although, not to what she’d expected it would. The creature’s grin widened even further than she’d thought possible, and he let out a quiet snicker.

She stood and brushed the sawdust off of her clothes, straightening her back, squaring her shoulders, and locking her eyes with his. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“You didn’t answer my question, you know,” he parroted back at her with a short giggle as he righted his lanky form.

“I came here once, when you were still very young. When I last saw you, your nose was in the process of developing its colours.” She stated, pointing at the striped cone-shaped nose set in his pale face –the gesture had him crossing his eyes to blink owlishly at it for a second or two, then he shrugged and let out another low hum. Undaunted, she continued with the next question, the one that demanded an answer the most. “I left your box for a boy named Isaac… What happened to him?”

A frightening change came over the jack standing in front of her at the sound of the boy’s name –in truth, the child was also supposed to be his charge, not just hers– and the shift had her heart beginning to pound against her ribs. The nearly-relaxed ragdoll-like nature of his whole body tensed and he even started to curl his fingers into claw-like shapes, making the actual claws he possessed somehow seem even sharper. His pale eyes flickered from narrowed to wild and back again. His lips pulled away in all directions they could, baring even more of those unnaturally-sharp teeth…. and from behind the animalistic barrier, a full-blown cackle bubbled out into the air.

“What happened to Isaac?” she pressed, taking a step closer to her mutated creation, barely paying any mind to the hard glint materialising in the jack’s eyes. He wrapped his overly-long arms around himself as his laughter grew in volume and force, to the point that he was forced to bend over to keep from falling back to the floor. The noise was raucous and unsettling, but she stood her ground, shaping her expression into a firm grimace.

All of a sudden, the laughter stopped. The jack stayed doubled-over for a few moments before straightening and cocking his head to one side, a quiet chuckle starting to build up. “Oh, you want to know what happened to the kid? Do you really? Well, that’s a story and a half! You sure you’ve got the time for such a mundane little thing, Miss Important?” he jeered. He didn’t allow her to reply, raising his arms and making an overacted show of shading his eyes to look around the interior of the big-top. “He’s not here, that’s for sure! But then…”

She forced herself to swallow the lump that was trying to grow in her throat when he trailed off and seemed to become oddly blank, until his feathered shoulders puffed up and he hissed through his teeth. Cautiously, she urged him to continue. “But then… what?”

That brought his focus back to her from the nowhere that it’d retreated to. “He never did come here… not even once.” The monochrome creature paused, narrowing his eyes at her in a speculative manner and then –once again, before she could properly respond– he let loose another bark of laughter. “Bloody hell, that wasn’t what I wanted to say! See, the thing is… Isaac’s gone. He’s gone, gone, gone, gone! Went off to school and… never came back.”

“Never?” she interjected, frowning slightly. Had the most obvious changes to her charge’s childhood bedroom been done by someone else, then? She needed to know, but the jack’s strange behaviour unnerved her, switching gears at less than the drop of a hat and incorporating facets that she just couldn’t understand the source of.

“Nope!” he crowed, leaning in close to her face. “Sure, there was someone who looked a lot like him, but they weren’t my Isaac –far too old and grumpy. Not his father either, that waste of air went and got himself killed, I’m pretty sure…” A spark of sheer glee entered into his expression. “That reminds me! Isaac taught me this really interesting game… do you want to play?”

A cacophony of warnings rang in her head and she took a few steps back –away from him– before she’d even realised what her body was doing. At her reaction, he burst into a fit of giggles, sauntering around to her side in a couple of springy strides; she turned, determined to keep the creature in her sight for the time being, no matter what it took. He circled, she pivoted, and the cycle continued. “I thought you said that he never came back? Did Isaac teach you the game before he left?”

The jack’s movement faltered, resuming quickly as if nothing had happened. “Did I? Silly me, then. I meant to say that ‘my Isaac’ never did… That man, he wasn’t ‘my Isaac’, though I guess you could say he was ‘an Isaac’…?” His shoulders jerked in what she could only assume was an awkward shrug. “That one taught me the game, though I don’t think he knew I was watching for the first few playmates he had.”

It was now crystal-clear to her… if she wanted to know what had happened, she needed to take the risk and at least pretend to be interested in this ‘game’ he was talking about. With a small smile, she dipped her head in a tiny nod. “Tell me about the game you learned. I’d rather know how it goes before I play.”

“Ooh, goodie!” The childish shout was accompanied by the first true sign of the toy she had left in Isaac’s bedroom all those years ago –honest and even innocent cheer… it made her eyes start to water. He ignored the tears dribbling down her cheeks and looked around the tent with more purpose than his play-acting earlier. After a couple of seconds of this, he stuck out his tongue at the emptiness of the big-top and plopped himself back down into the sawdust, gesturing for her to do the same. “Now, I’m not entirely sure of the rules of the game, but I certainly know how to play it… It’s pretty simple, really, now that I think about it… very artsy too.”

She was confused, and felt her forehead crease. “I’m not sure I follow…?”

“I’m getting there,” he replied with a snicker. “I think you need at least two players, so we’re set. You also need… hmm…” Sharp claws tapped his chin once, twice, and then he shrugged and held out his hands; a long metal spike materialised an inch above his palm, which was held out for her to take –she did, but only once the eagerness in the jack’s face had slipped a little. “I used these, along with a few other things, to play with the ‘other Isaac’, just a… day… or two? I think? Not important! Anyway, things that break skin are really useful, it seems, though if you want to make anything out of it then it’s probably best to avoid too many holes—…”

Her stomach twisted and her hands dropped the spike to the floor before she could come up with a convincing reason not to. “H-holes? In skin…?” she asked, wincing inwardly at the way her voice shook.

The creature stared at her in wide-eyed surprise, his gaze flicking between the spike and her face. “…Yes? How else are you supposed to get it off? Or keep them from struggling?” He paused, letting out another laugh. “Oh, wait, I guess tying them up works, too, for that part. Silly me, that’s what the ‘other Isaac’ did, anyways.”

“And… then what…?” She didn’t really want to know the answer, but at this point she was far too deep into the situation to just get up and leave. Isaac was her charge, the jack of the box was her creation… Whatever had happened… was her responsibility.

He hummed. “You’re supposed to pick them apart like they’re huge presents and then make them into something nice. I made the ‘other Isaac’ into a sort of sock filled with sweets.”

She couldn’t take much more of it, knowing that the jack was referring to people with each and every statement… “That’s not what I made you for… I made you to make Isaac happy, not… that.” She turned her head away, unable to bring herself to watch the creature’s expression twist –first in confusion and then in boiling hatred– but she could feel the emotions rolling off of him in toxic waves. “You were supposed to be a perfect match for him, the best friend he could ever ask for, and you—…”

“Don’t say it like it happened all in one night, you goddamn twat!” the jack snarled, shifting his body into a half-crouch. “Thirteen years! It took thirteen bloody fucking years for him to come back!” He took advantage of her startled silence to lean in close to her face. “I was all that, and more! I was… but he… He forgot me. So I made sure he couldn’t forget me, ever again…”

“…You can’t forget anything if you’re dead, is that right…?” she said, barely above a whisper, eying him with open wariness.

To her surprise, the creature cocked his head to the side. “Dead? Nah, gone, but not dead.”

Her entire body felt cold as a horrific idea struck her. She scrambled to her feet, searching for the discarded stuffed toy. Behind her, the jack’s laughter had turned malicious and mocking, rising in volume with each and every peal that left his mouth. She found the toy in the folds of the tent walls, half-buried by the black-and-white striped fabric where the wall met the ground. Picking it up with trembling hands, she inspected it properly for the first time.

It looked like any other stuffed toy, taking the form of a dog if her idle guess was correct, and there wasn’t even anything that special about the materials it was made from… What made her blood run even icier than it had at her creation’s statement, however, was the definite impression of… another being, inside the velveteen exterior –a very familiar being, at that.

“This is Isaac…” she breathed out, certain that the jack wouldn’t hear her over the discordant mess of painfully-mirthless laughter he was producing.

The noise stopped entirely.

“What was that?” he hissed, mere centimetres away from her right ear, making her jump and step away from him before turning to face his frosty scowl. “I’m not quite sure I heard you, there… Could you repeat that?” When she did, more sickeningly-certain that she wasn’t wrong, he actually looked confused behind the anger. “Not sure where you’re getting that from, but… if it is, it’s only what’s left of him…”

The tenuous confirmation was too much, despite only reaffirming what she’d suspected in the first place. She cradled the toy dog to her chest and let out a small hiccoughing sob. Followed by another, and another, until she sank to her knees and was bawling at the monochrome jack’s feet. He watched her with an air of frustrated bewilderment, clicking his tongue a few times and cocking his head so far to the left that his torso had bent at a right-angle.

“I don’t see why you’re crying, Miss Important…” he stated flatly, squatting down and wrapping his arms around his legs. “You can’t’ve been that invested in this whole situation…”

Between the sobs, she managed to control her breathing enough to get out, “It was my job to keep him safe… my job to keep him happy, through you…” She didn’t notice one of the jack’s hands reaching out towards her until it came to a rest on top of her head; when he started to stroke her hair as if she were a child, it lit a spark of hope in her heart –maybe the creature was still salvageable if he could show such care to someone he clearly didn’t like that much.

“Oh, poor, poor little weasel… You’ve been chased a little too much, hmm?” the jack crooned. “Don’t worry, I’m sure this here monkey’d be glad to help out…”

She felt his fingers slide down to the back of her neck and curl around it until the tips of his claws tickled the thin skin of her throat, making her body freeze. “L-Laughing Jack…?” The tears still streamed down her face, and her chest still spasmed, but her mind had finally latched onto the potential danger being posed by their positions.

He shushed her, flexing his fingers for a bit before releasing her neck entirely, then grabbing her chin and tilting her head up to look at him. “Let go of the toy, little weasel, all the other children may need it…” Her confusion must have shown through her tears, because he snickered. “Simple… ‘My Isaac’ is gone, so… I’ll find more friends to play with.” He shifted his grip to encompass her entire lower jaw. “I’m not going to be left alone, trapped in that bloody box for years and years and years ever again!”

At last, she understood –not all of it, but enough to feel fresh sobs clawing at her throat. “This was never supposed to happen… I never wanted this, and I don’t know how to fix it… to fix you.”

“If only wishes actually mattered, eh, little weasel?” was the last thing she heard before her head was snapped to the side with a loud and painful crack.

#creepypasta #Laughing Jack #LJ #Isaac Grossman's guardian angel #what if?

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angel-with-a-pipette · 6 years

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Title: Kiss me three times

Summary: The final fight was looming over their heads and it was impossible for Sora to stay in bed and get all the sleep he needed. Going for a walk instead, he found out he wasn't the only sleepless person that morning.

Rating: Teen audience

Genre: Romance

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney/Square Enix. A Sokai story.

This is part three of a three part series called “Don’t think twice”. Yay, I did it in time! :D Happy Sokai day!!

Also available on: ao3 | ff.net

Please enjoy!

Suffocating was the only word Sora could think of as he stared up at the ceiling in the tiny room he was inhabiting in Radiant Garden's Castle Town. As if the walls slowly closed down on him, making it harder and harder to breath until they finally crashed his lungs.

He shot up from the bed, sweat beading on his forehead.

He knew that feeling too well. His fight instincts kicked in already, with all the stress and preparation that had went into their final battle with Xehanort, it was no surprise, but it wouldn't do to be exhausted during the fight of Light against Darkness.

He needed to get out of here. Quickly.

Checking the time on his alarm clock, Sora swiftly swung his legs over the edge of his bed and grabbed his clothes that in a rare turn of events lay on his desk, washed and cleaned and ready to put on. He threw it on as quickly as possible and ran out.

Outside of the house, Sora was hit by crisp, fresh air, and he took a deep breath, filling his lungs to the brim before he breathed out just as thoroughly, repeating that action several times to calm his racing heart. It worked, thankfully, but it seemed like he was past the point of sleep anyway, so with an exasperated sigh, Sora decided to take a walk through town.

A lot of the structures still needed rebuilding, but but the Restoration Committee had done some amazing progress even in the short time he had been away again. But something else caught his eye: Tiny glittering sparkles that softly illuminated the street. They reminded him of the gift Tron had given them half a year ago, a glimpse at the old, thriving Radiant Garden. Curious to see where the phenomenon came from, Sora swiftly climbed the steps up to the outer wall of the city when he already spotted the source of the sparkles that was sitting right on the wall above the stairs.

A smile spread over Sora's lips.

He took the rest of the stairs two steps at once until he was up and stopped. Ever since his last visit, they had removed the old rusted wire mesh fence, allowing the residents to have a clear view of the green fields that had started to grow all around the city. But that wasn't what had caught his attention. What caught his attention was a girl, no, a young woman with red hair he would recognize everywhere. She had raised her hands up a little, palms up, catching some of the sparkling flecks that were dancing around her and made her violet eyes shine.

“This is beautiful.”

A soft gasp escaped the girl and she clasped her hands together, pulling them to her chest and stopping the magic as she looked around frantically to see her intruder. Once she saw him, she sighed a relieved sigh and grinned down at him.

“Sora!”

Said boy grinned in return and didn't waste a second jumping up to sit down next to her.

“You can't sleep either, huh?”

“Nope,” Kairi answered truthfully and put her hands down to rest on her lap, “I kept tossing and turning for a while now, so I thought I could clear my head with some fresh air.

“Same,” Sora replied and kicked his legs up and down, “my imagination was running wild, I had to go out or I would have gone insane.”

They sat next to each other in silence, shoulders touching as they watched the sun slowly rising, bathing the sky in different colors.

“You don't have to stop, you know? It's really pretty.” When Kairi shot him a questioníng glance, Sora explained. “The glitter? Is it something Merlin taught you?”

“Oh,” Kairi's face lit up and with a small smile, she spread her arms again, opening her hands palms up and after a soft glow, the small flecks started glittering around them again.

“Yes, Merlin taught me. Apparently there was always a mage in the Castle that used their Light magic to do this for special occasions. Now I am the only known user of Light magic, so Merlin taught me. It helped me learn to focus my Light magic, too, instead of using it on instinct only.”

Sora held up his palm and caught one of the little specks in it. It started dancing and shining brightly in his hand.

“This is amazing, Kairi,”

He felt her shrug her shoulders.

“It's just a little trick, but I'd love to do it from time to time for the people. I still haven't shown anyone yet,” she turned to him and stared him down warningly, “so don't go and tell anybody!”

Sora put his thumb and pointer finger together and ran them over his lips, pretending to close a zipper. “My lips are sealed!”

“They better be!”

The two of them fell into companionable silence again and watched the sparkles together until Kairi lowered her arms and the magic ceased.

“Sora? Do you think I'll be able to show this to the other residents?”

Sora swallowed. He knew what she meant, she was confident in her skill and she had proven to him that she could call upon it at will.

She was scared that there would be no light left in the world to illuminate the darkness.

“You will be,” Sora answered confidently, “we won't let the worlds fall into Darkness. We will defeat Xehanort once and for all. We have to.”

“I wish we didn't have to!”

Sora was startled by Kairi's outbreak and threw a concerned glance at her. She had grasped the hem of her dress and held on tight enough for her knuckles to turn white.

“I wish we didn't have to fight today. I know this is what I trained for, but I don't want it. I don't want anybody to fight. I'm scared of losing you, of losing Riku, of losing any other of our new friends.”

She took a shaky breath and continued.

“I wish Xehanort would have never been so fascinated by the Darkness. I wish he would have never become a Keyblade wielder. I wish he wouldn't have brought Darkness over so many worlds, killing so many innocent people, ripping families apart. I wish we lived in a world where he didn't exist and everything is peaceful. We would live our life to the fullest and not worry about everything ending today. I wish none of this would have ever happened.”

Sora averted his eyes as guilt spread through his body.

“I guess I'm a horrible person, then.”

“What do you mean?”

Sora sighed.

“Everything you said is true. But I can't agree with you.”

He threw a scared look at her, but instead of staring at him judgmentally or even disgustedly, Kairi took his hand in her own and squeezed lightly, urging him to continue.

“If none of this would have happened, a lot of hurt would have been avoided, I know. But at the same time, I can't wish for it. If Xehanort hadn't lead Radiant Garden into the Darkness, you would have never washed up on Destiny Islands.” He swallowed. “I know, it's selfish and you were robbed of your own family and I swear, I feel horrible about it for you. But without Xehanort, the Keyblade would have had no reason to fall into my hands and I wouldn't have been able to travel the worlds to meet you through that means. Without Xehanort, I wouldn't have met you.”

Sora looked right into Kairi's eyes that were shining with tears.

“And I don't want to imagine a reality in which you aren't a part of my life.”

When had they started sitting this close together? Suddenly, their thighs were touching and Kairi's shoulder was pressing into his chest while gravity slowly but surely pulled Sora's head down, closer and closer to Kairi's.

“Sora...”

He brushed past her nose and closed his eyes when suddenly, he felt her soft lips against his own. It was short and sweet and yet everything he could have wished for.

A little light headed Sora pulled back and opened his eyes again. Kairi was looking up at him from under her half lidded eyes, and he saw the faint blush that spread over her cheeks.

“I love you.”

Those three words flipped a switch inside of Sora and he couldn't help the low guttural sound that escaped him when he dove right back down to Kairi. To his relief, she met him with the same kind of fervor as she combed her hands into his wild hair to pull him close while his hands wrapped around her shoulders to press her body against his.

All of his senses were filled with Kairi. It was the smooth fabric of her dress that he felt beneath his fingertips as he ran his hands up and down her body, and the taste of cherry chapstick on her lips that she was so fond using.

He pulled closer still.

The fragrance of her strawberry shampoo started to fill his nose as he started to hear a tiny pant escape her lips. He eagerly swallowed it right up as his mind kept playing the same mental image: Kairi, looking up at him with a fire in her eyes as she mouthed “I love you”.

It was too much for Sora and still not enough.

But it had to be, at least for now. He knew if he didn't stop soon, there was no way he could stop at all, so he gently gently pulled back, out of her embrace, away from her warmth. His heart did a back-flip when he realized she had followed his movement to keep the lip lock going for as long as possible.

The two of them looked at each other, slightly breathless, and Sora did his best to memorize the way Kairi's eyes sparkled and her lips shined, the way her blush was strong enough to spread down to her neck and chest. He made an attempt to explain himself to her, but the smile that spread on her face said it all.

She understood wordlessly.

With a smile as wide as hers, Sora gently cupped Kairi's cheeks in his hands, goosebumps spreading over his arms as he felt her lean into his touch, and he slowly, chastely met her lips for a last sweet kiss.

A promise.

He would shower her with love once this was over, but right now, he had a mission. They had a mission, and if they succeeded, they could built any future they dreamed of together.

Kairi leaned her head against his shoulder as Sora hugged her and held her tightly. He buried his nose into her hair and took a deep breath.

“You're the light of my life.”

He heard a tiny snort and then Kairi's shoulders started to shake as she was trying to suppress her giggling. She failed tremendously.

“Seriously, Sora? Can you become more mushy?”

“I mean, it's the truth!” Sora replied with a grin, barely concealing his own chuckles, and his laughter only grew harder as Kairi shoved him off of the brick wall.

Slowly calming down, Sora stepped up to the low wall across from them and looked back at the rising sun. He felt Kairi interlace their fingertips and rest her head against his shoulder as they stared together in silence. It didn't take too long for another presence to make itself known to Sora. He turned his head to his right. Riku had shown up, a soft smile on his lips as he regarded his two life long friends. Sora returned his smile and extended his free hand towards him. Riku reached out and slipped his hand into Sora's as he came to stand beside him and joined them in watching the sun rise.

No matter what was going to happen, together, they were ready for the fight.

#Sora #Kairi #Sokai #KH fanfiction #KH #Sokai fanfiction #Alja's fanfictions

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chestnutpost · 5 years

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Former Nickelodeon Star Jennette McCurdy Opens Up About Her Eating Disorder

This post was originally published on this site

Note: This essay contains discussions and images that may be triggering for some readers.

In support of the recent National Eating Disorders Awareness Week, I’m coming out about my history with disordered eating, which I’ve never publicly discussed before.

I’d thought about sharing my story a few times in the past. Once I was asked to write an article for The Wall Street Journal on beauty and body-shaming. Initially I toyed with calling the piece “I Threw Up Three Minutes Before I Wrote This” and opening up about life in the trenches of bulimia, but ultimately I decided against it. It felt too vulnerable to talk about something I was struggling with (not to mention that I had recently written an article about my mom’s battle with cancer and I was self-conscious about coming across as one big cry for help).

But now I’ve been in recovery maintenance for two years. I’m no longer actively engaging in disordered eating. After spending a lot of time in therapy working on myself and confronting what I’ve experienced, I finally feel like I have the perspective required to write about what I’ve been through and maybe ― hopefully ― it might help someone who is going through the same thing feel less alone. (Plus, it’s been a good few years since mom died, so my quota for trauma sharing is ready to be refilled.)

My disordered eating started when I was 11. As a child actress working in Hollywood, I quickly learned that remaining physically small for my age meant I had a better chance of booking more roles. Unfortunately, I had a trusty and dedicated companion ready to help me with my burgeoning anorexia: my mom!

Courtesy of Jennette McCurdy Me, my mom and my brother in 2004 having dinner at a restaurant where you could meet Disney characters. Our trips to Disney were always so complicated for me. I loved Disney and wanted to be able to just enjoy it, but instead I’d spend the days leading up to the trip looking up the menu, planning exactly what I would eat, calculating the calories I’d consume, and starving myself as much as possible to “save room” for the “big meal” ― at which I’d wind up restricting myself anyway. At least I always got a hug from Baloo!

I don’t hold this against my mom at all. I don’t think she could help it. Mom had been hospitalized for anorexia on several occasions when she was a teenager and I’m not convinced she ever overcame her disordered eating. When I was growing up, the only dinner I ever saw her eat was a plate of steamed broccoli and cauliflower with a single pinch of garlic salt for flavor.

I always remember feeling that my mom really struggled with my body, weight and diet. She’d regularly compare my size to that of other girls. She’d portion out my meals for me. She’d help me count calories.

At the time, instead of being bothered by her suggestions, I remember thinking that she was actually helping me ― that she “got it” more than the other moms ― and that she wanted me to be successful.

“Are you sure you want ice cream? You’ve already had 900 calories today,” she’d remind me as I yanked open the freezer door. I’d pause, rethinking my decision, and then I’d lose my grip on the door and let it shut slowly as a wistful expression crossed my face. That’s mom, always looking out for me.

I didn’t really recognize that my mom was aiding in my disordered eating until one night riding home from dance class when I was 12. She turned around to face me from the front seat and said, “Angelica’s mom is really concerned about your weight. She said she brought it up to the other dance moms and they’re all worried you’re too thin. They’re thinking about calling to get you help.”

She paused. I processed.

“If anybody asks, just tell them you’re eating normally,” she directed.

Courtesy of Jennette McCurdy Me with my childhood friends Danielle Chuchran, Dylan Meyer, Megan, Tessa, and Caitlin Meyer at the Young Artist Awards in 2003. I was 12 and really struggling with anorexia, so any sort of social eating like at this luncheon was genuinely my nightmare. The woman sitting next to me at our table noticed I was fiddling with my roll instead of eating it and commented loudly, “You haven’t eaten a thing!” I seethed with anger that this woman almost blew my cover as a closeted anorexic.

I nodded numbly, piecing it all together as mom turned back around and made some comment to herself about how she really hoped we made it home in time for the new episode of “House” and how Hugh Laurie was a great actor and you just would never know he’s British.

In retrospect, that moment alone should have been alarming enough to make me question mom’s support. But even if I had wanted to stop at that point, I don’t think I could have. I was already too controlled by my eating disorder to see clearly what was happening to me. Plus, being small was doing wonders for my career. I booked six roles that year, all for characters several years younger than I was. I made justifications for my mom’s support of my disordered eating and I made justifications for my continuing down the road I was traveling.

At 14, I was cast in the Nickelodeon series “iCarly,” and by the time I was 15, the show was starting to get popular. The stress of having to be “on” all the time got to me. I became even more fixated on food and my body. I monitored every bite I took. I exercised obsessively. I measured my thighs with a measuring tape every night before bed.

When I was 18, my mom was diagnosed with cancer for a second time and this time it was terminal. “iCarly” had become a global phenomenon, I had a record deal with a fancy record label, mom was dying, and I just couldn’t handle the pressures of everything happening around me. But this time, instead of turning away from food, I turned to food. Lots and lots of food.

And so began my binge eating phase. I still tracked, calculated and obsessed about every single thing that went into my mouth, just the same as when I had anorexia. The only difference was that I was eating a lot more. I was constantly preoccupied with food. Nothing meant more to me than my next bite and nothing gave me more shame than my last one. I was in a toxic, self-loathing cycle.

By the time I was 21, I had just signed a deal for a spin-off series starring my character from “iCarly,” I was dating an NBA player, and mom was weeks away from dying. I had also become acutely aware that I was a role model for kids, which I felt like I was supposed to find cool but actually found upsetting. My great “contribution” to society was walking onto an overlit Nickelodeon set shouting lines about fried chicken (my character liked fried chicken) and that’s what kids were looking up to? Granted, we can’t all be Pema Chodron, but there was something about the shallowness of my success that made me resent it. That resentment festered, providing even more fuel for my disordered eating. I actively began to engage in anorexic behavior again.

But this time it was a bit different. Every day I’d try not to eat ― I’d give it my best shot, I really would ― but eventually, my mind and body would cave in and demand food. I would eat … and then I would throw up what I ate.

They say when one door closes, another one opens, and that was certainly the case for me when it came to disordered eating. Goodbye, anorexia; hello, bulimia!

When I first began to vomit after eating, I was honestly thrilled. Are you kidding me? I could eat whatever I wanted and then throw it right back up and avoid the consequences of eating (aka gaining weight)? It was the best of both worlds!

Plus, my disordered eating was reinforced wherever I went and by whomever I saw. I’d lose weight and go to a wardrobe fitting where the stylist would look at me excitedly, wag a pair of double 0 jeans, and happily singsong, “Down a size!”

Or I’d get a phone call from my agent, who would say, “You’ve never looked better. Keep doing what you’re doing.” Thanks, Steve ― little do you know that at this very moment you’re muted while I throw up my spicy tuna roll.

Or I’d be walking across the soundstage lot on my way to a table read and a producer would roll down his BMW window and tell me to “keep it up!” I’d flash my pearly whites (or ― more accurately ― slightly-stained-from-the-stomach-acid whites) and feel proud.

My disordered eating was reinforced wherever I went and by whomever I saw. I’d lose weight and go to a wardrobe fitting where the stylist would look at me excitedly, wag a pair of double 0 jeans, and happily singsong, ‘Down a size!’

Another thing I soon learned about eating disorders in Hollywood was that they can be highly competitive. Highly. Competitive. I encountered countless famous actresses, singers and entertainment personalities with eating disorders and found out there was a kind of “disordered eating hierarchy” in young Hollywood, with anorexia reigning over bulimia.

I’d show up at red carpet events and feel like I was getting side-eyed by girls I knew to be anorexic. They’d look at me with what I believed to be pity and I’d look back at them with admiration. In my mind, they were so poised, so full of control, so disciplined. And there I was, puffy-cheeked and swollen-knuckled from all my purging. I was unable to not eat and unable to keep down what I ate.

I started to feel ashamed that I wasn’t good enough at disordered eating. I’d analyze my bulimia and feel terrible. I told myself that if I were better at this, if I were truly committed, I would just be able to not eat. I was convinced that bulimia was nothing more than poor man’s anorexia. What kind of hack was I?

Inevitably, the shame snowballed and so did the bulimia. Before I knew it, I was having five, six or seven purging sessions a day. By definition of the disorder, I was truly succeeding. And yet my bulimia always felt like a failure ― like I was coming up short of what a true disordered eater could (and should) accomplish.

Mark Davis via Getty Images Me at the Creative Emmy Awards in 2013. It’s scary to me how easy it was to cover up what was really going on. If you throw on a nice outfit and smile big for the cameras, they’ll never know! I really want to help change this by encouraging people struggling with disordered eating to speak openly and honestly about it.

This hellish bulimic spiral continued for three more years. And during those years ― plus the 10 years before when I was wrapped up in other forms of disordered eating ― not one person in the entertainment industry confronted me about it. Maybe my destructive behavior was obvious to everyone around me, but if they were all monetizing the situation ― and essentially me ― then what incentive did they have to try to change it or help me?

The one person who did ultimately confront me was my sister-in-law. I was living in Toronto while shooting the Netflix show “Between,” and she and my brother came to visit me for Thanksgiving. We went out to a nice restaurant where I ate lots of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce … and then I made my way to the bathroom. I purged and purged and purged, celebrating the Pilgrims’ first harvest in the New World the way I knew best. Then I swung open the bathroom door and came face to face with my sister-in-law.

“You need help,” she told me. And I knew she was right. I felt a strange combination of terrified and relieved ― terrified that someone knew my secret and I would have to face my disordered eating, and relieved that maybe now I would finally get better.

Once I got back to Los Angeles from Canada, I met a therapist named Laura whom I really liked. Laura was a spiritual type who hugged me at the end of every session. She had long auburn hair and wore prairie skirts and used the word “beautiful” a lot ― often after I’d said things that were not even remotely beautiful (which was confusing to me until I realized that she used “beautiful” in spaces where most therapists would say, “I understand”).

I met with Laura three times a week for sessions and she attended particularly stressful industry events with me, since those events were often huge triggers for my bulimia. (Stress + crostini hors d’oeuvres = a bulimic spiral waiting to happen.)

Courtesy of Jennette McCurdy This photo was taken right around the time my mom passed away. I was really struggling with disordered eating and had just dipped my toe in the waters of bulimia. I was absolutely terrified of gaining weight and I would take a photo of myself every morning to compare it to a photo of myself from the day before.

Laura was my plus-one to the 2015 Kids’ Choice Awards. Nick Jonas called me to the stage, I locked eyes with a clapping Angelina Jolie, and I got through my lines. Then I walked backstage to meet up with Laura, who was trying to be discreet about taking a picture of Adam Sandler (she wasn’t very familiar with his films but loved “The Chanukah Song”). She beamed at me as I scarfed down a few sliders. Then she quickly sensed my inner turmoil. We rushed to the backseat of an Uber XL where I began sobbing as Laura made sure that I didn’t throw up. The Uber driver was very confused as I repeatedly wailed, “The sliiiiiiiders!”

Around that time, Laura told me she thought I needed a higher level of care and suggested an inpatient treatment facility in Colorado. And that was when I quit seeing Laura. I told myself I was tired of her spiritual approach, but in retrospect I think it might’ve had more to do with the fact that I wasn’t ready to get better. I wasn’t ready to let go of my disordered eating.

Over the next year and a half, I continued to purge even as I also began to face various come-to-Jesus moments. My throat frequently bled and I popped blood vessels in my eyes from vomiting so much. Once I lost a tooth after regurgitated stomach fluids wore down my enamel. Another time I passed out on my friend’s bathroom floor from dehydration. Finally, I decided it was time to seek help again.

At 23, I was back in Canada working on the second season of “Between” and it felt like the right time to go back into treatment. I met a whip-smart eating disorder specialist, Hank, who used a combination of cognitive behavioral, dialectical behavioral and schema-based therapies.

Hank was not spiritual and did not hug. He dressed impeccably and his hair was perfectly combed. He weighed me at the beginning of each session and gave me homework at the end. He consistently challenged me and urged me to challenge him. When I said something that wasn’t logical, he’d say, “That’s your eating disorder voice.”

I began to face various come-to-Jesus moments. My throat frequently bled and I popped blood vessels in my eyes from vomiting so much. Once I lost a tooth when I passed out on my friend’s bathroom floor from dehydration. Finally, I decided it was time to seek help again.

Identifying my eating disorder voice was the most pivotal aspect of my recovery. I had to learn to understand this thing in and out. I had to recognize that this part of my mind, this eating disorder voice, was not healthy and was not going away. So if I wanted to get better, I’d have to call out my eating disorder voice every single time it popped up. I’d have to confront my urges to obsess or indulge in disordered eating behaviors (which arose hundreds of times every day), work to avoid or correct them, and act based on my recently adopted healthy mindset instead.

Recovery was brutal. It felt like breaking up with a bad boyfriend whom I loved even though I knew I shouldn’t. He treated me poorly, he ruined my life, he consistently devastated me, and yet, without him, who was I really?

Since so much of my identity had been built around the framework of disordered eating, I literally had to relearn how to think in order to rebuild my identity, which was as painstaking and uncomfortable as it sounds. I thought recovery was about walking along white sand beaches with a soft smile while wearing crepe pants ― not sobbing for half-days at a time or falling into a dark hole of depression because suddenly the thing that determined the largest part of who I was for 13 years was now gone.

I had several relapses during my time with Hank and several more even after I finished the program, but Hank warned me about relapses and told me they were totally normal. The important thing was getting back on the recovery program anytime I had a slip so that, as they say in recovery, “the slip doesn’t become a slide.”

Courtesy of Brian Kimskey Me in 2019.

And so far, the slips haven’t become slides. Anytime I’ve had a slip, I’ve gotten back on my program. It’s been two years and I’m doing well, recovering and moving forward. I still get eating disorder urges, compulsions and occasional fantasies. I still hear that old eating disorder voice, but luckily I hear it less and less often. And when I do hear it, I now have the tools to muffle it. So, thankfully, I can now open up about my disordered eating without titling this piece “I Threw Up Three Minutes Before I Wrote This.”

Jennette McCurdy grew up acting and had leading roles on shows like Netflix’s “Between” and Nickelodeon’s “iCarly.” Not totally satisfied with the work she did as an actress and wanting to take charge of her own creative narrative, McCurdy began writing and directing her own projects in 2017. Her first short film, “Kenny,” was featured on Short of the Week and in The Hollywood Reporter, and is an official selection for the 2019 Florida Film Festival, where it’s nominated for the Grand Jury Prize for Best Short Film. McCurdy’s newest short film, “Strong Independent Women,” is about a mother who puts all her energy into helping her daughter overcome an eating disorder. For more about McCurdy, visit her official website, Instagram and Twitter accounts.

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If you’re struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorder Association hotline at 1-800-931-2237.