#loosely based on a real scene on the street. rip | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

januaryembrs · 2 months

Text

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE | Marc Spector x reader

Request: @happyhauntt says - okay i am BEGGING for a fic based on the song 'forest fire' by brighton (be warned that shit HURTS) but i fully cannot decide between poe dameron, steven/marc or spencer reid so i am giving you full creative direction and i look forward to getting my heart ripped out!!

Description: Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realises he should have saved her.

length: 3.9k

Warnings: Heavy warnings for childhood / domestic abuse/neglect (both from Marc and also reader has a neglectful father) warnings for alcohol, the cave scene, drowning, death etc. you asked for angst, so I served!

authors note: sorry this took so damn long, today isn't even my day off and I have been too exhausted to even look at my computer, but I hope you like it!

Before Randall was too little to be part of his adventures, Marc used to play on his own in the yard.

Usually that entailed kicking a football at the wooden fence that lined their garden, trying to knock it off his chest when it would come bouncing back the way he’d seen the professionals do it, even if it had led to three milk teeth coming loose already.

But there weren’t kids on his street to play with, at least that’s what he thought until the one day he kicked his ball a little too high and watched it fly right over the top of the fence, bouncing into the neighbour's yard, a soft “ouch” meeting his ears.

In minutes, a little head appeared over the wall, beady eyes frowning down at him, and he realised it was a girl around his age, maybe a little younger.

“Did you lose this?” She held up his soccer ball he was worried he was going to have to kiss goodbye to forever, the small digits of her other hand holding onto the fence tightly.

“Yeah! Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick it so high,” Marc said, and with no more explanation than that, she threw it over to his side of the partition, and her tiny head disappeared back below the fence line.

He felt stunned. He knew there were moving boxes over that way a couple weeks ago, but as far as he could see there was only a man living there on his own, a scowl on his face most days. Marc had seen him shouting at the other kids on his block to stop riding their bikes in front of his house because it ‘upset the dog’, though Marc had yet to see for himself this canine friend he was speaking about.

But there was a girl living there! A real life girl who spoke to him; granted he had lobbed a heavy soccer ball at her, from what her distaste told him, and he wondered if perhaps, despite the grumpy look on her face he realised mirrored the man he’d seen living there, that she might like to even make friends with her neighbour.

“Wait!” He yelled, running up to the fence where she had slipped away from him, grabbing on to the top and pulling himself up to the point he was on his very tippy toes and he could only just about see her yard.

The grass was unkempt, which was odd because Marc’s own dad cut the grass every fortnight, and there were planks of wood with nails sticking out of them strewn across the side of the shed she had used to pull herself up with. He fought the urge to cringe in disgust, because there, looking up at him from where she was making a daisy chain in the long, dry grass, alone in a pink plaid shorts and a white, dirt stained top, was the girl.

“Do you want to play?” Marc asked, his foot nearly slipping under him where he was trying to rest it on the wood to take a closer look, “I have tennis, or swing ball we could play?”

She looked interested at the mop of curly, black hair for a moment, before she looked back at the house that he had still yet to see any sign of a dog.

“I’m not sure my dad would like it…” She said cautiously, almost whispering to him, picking the soil under her nails.

“My mom could come around and get you, she could talk to him,” He offered, because this was when his mother was still mom and not Wendy.

Before she had yet to flip his world entirely upside down with her cruel hands and vicious tongue. Before Steven.

She seemed unsure, biting her bottom lip and stroking her arms like she was giving herself a cuddle. But she nodded, looking up at him, and he tried to hide just how excited he was to finally have someone to play with.

“I’m Marc,” He said, grinning at her, his tongue poking between the space where his adult teeth were only just growing back in.

She told him her name back, and it was the first time he understood what a crush was.

–

“Marc, I’m not sure we should be doing this,” She said, grabbing his hand so tight he thought his heart might explode.

“It’s okay, we come here all the time, don’t we, RoRo?” He reassured, looking back to where Randall, now a few years older and big enough to play with them, held onto the side of the cave, his own face nervous.

“All the time!” The little boy echoed, because Marc knew he had a bit of a thing for her as well, because she was older and cool and smelled like a field of flowers and he hated seeming like he was scared, even though he was.

He was just a kid.

They were just kids.

And being kids, they stumbled into danger without realising it, not even when the rain started coming down outside torrentially and they had to pause their game of pirates to run for cover. They hadn’t expected, in their childish excitement to continue the adventure, that the water would start pooling into the cave; that it would fill up like a basin, whether they were in there or not, and it wasn’t until the screaming started that they realised they were in the kind of danger that required an adult.

Marc was the first one to get out, his hair soaked, his heart racing, and he used a grown up word he heard his dad use sometimes because he could have sworn they were both right behind him.

And if that had been true, then where were they?

He called her name, debated going back in there himself to see where they had gone, then he yelled for RoRo, because she didn’t seem to be answering.

And there was only silence, except a clap of thunder overhead that said the rain was going to get worse; was not going to stop for hours.

Which was when he ran to get his dad.

By the time Elias got there, his glasses wet and steamed, his thick thatch of curls too similar to Marc’s soaked through, all he could see was a head of hair peeking out of the mouth of the cave, and his heart sank.

He dragged her out of the dark water, arms under her shoulders as he rolled her on her front and started patting her back, trying to get her to spit some of the water out, because her face was ice and her skin was soaked and her playsuit was ripped from where she’d snagged it on the rocks.

Marc remembered crying into his hands, gaze flicking back to the cave to see if RoRo was right behind her, if he was just waiting to be pulled out as she had been.

But there was nothing. Nothing but rain water and moss and those damn rocks he’d been gripping onto not an hour earlier.

His heart leapt when she spluttered finally, after his dad had thrown her over his knee and taken to giving her a one handed heimlich right between her shoulder blades. She spat the water out, her body shivering immediately, eyes bleary as they looked around as if she expected to still be in that dark hole in the wall, and Elias set her down on the grass to go look for his youngest son.

“Stay with her, Marc,” He barked, uncharacteristically sharp for him though Marc guessed it was fear, and took off towards the cave again. Marc pulled her into his arms, and it was only then they started wailing together.

They sat there for an hour when the rescue team finally arrived, a medical team with warm hands and even warmer blankets ushering them to the safety of the back of an ambulance, and the last thing Marc remembered for that horrible day was sitting on the stretcher with her pressed against his side, trembling under the reflective wrap they’d been tucked in that made them look like baked potatoes, wishing he had never suggested they go in that damn cave.

–

“You’re leaving?” She said, her lip quivering, her eyes lined with tears. They sat on his bed, his duffel bag already packed, his acceptance letter burning daggers into his head from his nightstand, “Military? Marc, just think about this for a minute-”

“I have thought about it. I’m not some dumb kid making rash decisions, I want this,” Except he didn’t, not really. What he meant to say was he wanted to leave, to run away and never come back, but the idea of never seeing her again was too difficult to think about.

She thought about it for a moment, and he held her hand when he saw her face really start to crumble then. “If you go, I’ll have no one left. You’re all I have,”

He didn’t hide the fact he saw how nervous she was when Marc would pick her up from her house and her father would see her out the door, a nasty, inebriated glare in his eyes at the Specter boy. He saw all the times she would tiptoe around the floorboards, the way he knew too well, as if she was scared of what would happen if she took up too much space, made too much noise. Or when his mother had been kind, way back before any of this had happened, and had fussed over her pretty hair, had piled food on her plate because Wendy said she needed the goodness, she had locked up entirely and looked at his mother as if she was an alien.

Even now, when they were both seventeen, nearly adults in the grand scheme of things, he knew her father was cruel.

“I’m sorry,” He said honestly, and he felt his own throat clogging up with real emotion he only ever let himself show when he was with her, “When I get a place of my own, I’ll come back here, and we can pack your bags together, and we can live far away from all of this,”

And it sounded like he was spinning her a fantasy; which he was. She felt like an idiot for believing him, for flashing him a small smile and leaning her forehead to his which was the closest they ever got to admitting how they really felt about each other.

He wanted to kiss her then, before he left to start his new life, one where they could be happy together, and he made a promise to himself that when he came back for her that would be the first thing he would do.

He could see it now; he would be in some kind of flashy car with the top rolled down, a man grown from the regime and fitness they would teach him in the army and she would come running to him like an angel parting the clouds, like a dream that was finally within reach, and he would kiss her then, so hard it would make up for the time they had lost, the time they had grieved together, it might even make up for that day she nearly died because of him.

So he left her, that fantasy of coming back to her keeping him going in the months of training, during roll call and exams and the small, clinical portions they would serve him in the military.

But that day never came. Somewhere between losing himself to the alter that had formed and led a full life separately to his, between hiding Steven from the ugly truth and becoming a mercenary after dropping from the army, he tucked the dream away as a what if, and he didn’t return back to that house where his mother had caused so much hell.

Not until the second day of her shiva, that was.

“Marc?” He forgot how sweet his name sounded from her lips, and he hated to admit it in the middle of his drunken state, but he’d wished he’d never heard it again in his entire life.

Because the second his front door opened, and a woman in a long black dress, heels and lace gloves stared back at him with a face that looked similar to a girl he once knew, only a notch between her brows that said she had done nothing but frown for twenty years, he wished he had never seen her again.

She was beautiful, more beautiful than he ever gave her credit for, yet she looked tired. Sunken. Like she had wept and screamed alongside all the frowning.

“Marc,” She said it more determined this time, pacing down the stairs to his home, her footsteps rushed and worried, “Are you okay?,”

He knew he must look like a mess. He hadn’t stopped crying for three days since he got the first phone call from his father in almost two decades, since he’d learned his mother had passed, and he was already a bottle of whiskey deep by the time he’d stepped out the cab onto the street he grew up on.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought she would be there. He guessed she would be far away from this place, just like he had been, in a mansion with a 401k and a dog and a neurosurgeon for a husband. She had always deserved it.

But here she was, grabbing the bottle out of his hand gently, rubbing a hand over his shoulder like not a day had gone by that they hadn’t seen one another, and it didn’t take him much convincing at all to pull her into a hug he had needed since the day he left.

“My mum’s dead,” Marc said, sounding like a little boy again when he wept into her neck, squeezing her body to his, and he felt her rubbing his back soothingly.

“I know, Marc, I’m so sorry,” She hummed, and she smelled like a fancy floral perfume he couldn’t afford to give her before, “I know you must be feeling complicated,”

He nodded, because he couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt complicated.

“I missed you,” She said, like it was a confession, and he cried harder, his face burying into the crook of her shoulder.

“I missed you too,”

“How’s Steven? Is he still around?” She asked, pulling him away to root through her pocket for the pack of tissues she’d kept handy for the day. He took a deep breath, rubbing his sleeved arm over his face to dry it even the slightest. He could feel his cheeks sopping wet from where he had sobbed in the back of the cab like a madman all the way here.

But she was still fussing over him, and she looked just as pretty as he had remembered her, sitting on his bed that day, if not only a little more tired under her eyes.

Ofcourse she had known about Steven. How else was he supposed to explain the times they would be playing boyfriend-girlfriend together and he would become a different person.

Sometimes Steven would remember her too, because it didn’t matter to her who he was, she was his best friend either way. He remembered a girl who smelled like summer, sitting on the swings and eating ice lollies together, taking it in turns to push each other, blue tongued and happy.

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replied quietly, as she handed him the tissues, “He misses you, too,”

She smiled at him with her lips pressed tightly.

“I take it you’re not coming in?” She said in a careful tone, and he shook his head quickly.

“No- I just can’t,” He said, tears welling up in his eyes in seconds, and she wrapped him in another hug immediately, soothing his hurt as fast as it had bubbled back up.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you don’t have to,” She hummed, stroking down his back gently, and he hugged her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him together.

He opened his mouth to speak when his front door opened again, and he worried for a second that it was Elias.

Instead, he saw a girl no older than five emerge in a cute, poofy dress that met her knees, her hair tucked into a neat braid, lace gloves matching her own as she lingered at the doorway.

And perhaps the thing that struck him the quickest; she was the damn near double of the girl he’d hit in the head with his soccer ball in that very yard.

“Mommy,” The girl said in a gentle coo, her eyes empathetic as she met his gaze, more empathetic than he knew children could feel. But, he supposed, if she was her daughter then it didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

His best friend turned, her face smoothing out into something peaceful when she saw her little girl, and he knew then she was born to be a mother. Nothing like his own, nothing like Wendy, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

She was a mother.

“Yes, baby?” She said, half stepping towards her child as the girl stumbled down the first step towards them, and she was quick to swoop her into her grasp and onto her hip.

“I need to use the bathroom,” The girl said shyly, peeking a glance at him over her mum’s shoulder, and she waved at him with tiny fingers.

He waved back, even if the sight of her had dumped a bucket of cold water all over his body.

“Alright, baby. Just wait in the foyer, I’ll come take you in just a second, I’m just speaking to my friend right now,” She said, stroking over the back of the girl’s hair softly, and kissing her chubby cheek. “Is that okay?”

She nodded, and her mum kissed her once more, plopping her back on the top step to direct her back into the house. And they were alone again.

She looked at him guiltily, stepping back towards him as she fiddled with her sleeves nervously, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get childcare and I don’t really know anyone in state anymore-”

“No, it-it’s fine,” He stammered, feeling her watching him for his reaction carefully, “What’s her name?”

“Dalilah,” She replied, rubbing hands up her arms to calm herself.

“Where’s her dad?” Marc asked, hoping he didn’t sound bitter, but the whiskey made it sound like a bite.

She shrugged, “He wanted the cars and the house when we split; I wanted her,” She said calmly, like it wasn’t one bomb after another to be dropped on him.

He knew nothing about her life. He had tried to run away from that promise he’d made her for twenty years, because he knew he would never be good enough for her; that he could never give her the happiness she deserved, even before he had become the Moon Knight.

At his core, he would rot her, ruin her. He would destroy her.

And yet hearing it was just the two of them alone, he felt like he could take out the piece of shit who ran out on them barehanded and go home to sleep next to her soundly.

He felt like perhaps, as much grief and anguish as returning back to that house had caused him, perhaps this was his second chance. His chance to be what she needed, to be something good.

He would be so good to them. He would give them everything if she asked.

“I’m not really in town much, especially with my dad still around,” She said, gesturing to where her yard still stood, full of junk and a dog that had supposedly been kicking strong for two decades, “But I would love to see you again. Lila has school most days so you’re free to come over any day of the week if you want it to be just us; I work at home,” She scribbled an address about two hours away down on a piece of paper, along with her phone number, handing it to his distraught face with a sad smile, somewhat hopeful he would take the olive branch she was shaking his way.

He took it with a nod, his bottom lip still trembling before he bit it hard enough to force it to stop. He would love to see her, if he would even allow himself something good. If he would just let go of the resentment for everything that reminded him of that time, he could see the two of them healing one another slowly, but surely.

She could fix him. And he could fix her. The way it had always been with them.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Marc said softly, allowing her to grab him tightly one more time, “I really did miss you,”

She laughed, not properly more like a sad breath out, squeezing him to her, “I loved you so much. I never let you go, you know that?”

He tried not to sob, almost holding her so maddeningly hard she couldn’t ever leave.

But he had to let go eventually, and he watched her walk back up the stairs to where his family mourned, her face glinting with something hopeful, holding a flashlight out to him where he was walking around in the dark blindly.

He tried to smile back, though he knew it wouldn’t be the same, wouldn't be truly untouched by the grief he wallowed in.

And by the time he got back to his hotel room, alone, even more drunk, Khonshu had another job for him that would whisk him away for two weeks. But he kept her number, the piece of paper gripped in his hand tight, like he was determined to keep his promise this time around.

He dialled her number exactly fifteen days later, his body aching, his nose bloodied, but something lighter in his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. The light in his dark, the girl on the swings he’d once pretended to marry during their game of house (the rings had been tiny daisy chains she’d woven together just that morning, their officiant was Randall who could barely ride a bike let alone remember the vows he was supposed to say.)

Only when the phone got put through, a different woman answered, and the light flickered back out into something cold and dark and vengeful.

“Oh, oh god, you haven’t heard?” He swallowed thickly, “She was hit by a drunk driver last week picking Lila up from school,” The woman, her cousin, explained, her voice teary and solemn, and he didn’t doubt she’d had to make a thousand of these calls the past few days, “They said it was quick, and Lila went fast so she wasn’t in any pain- and she was only in the ambulance for ten minutes before her heart stopped so she wasn’t hurting long either-”

But he put the phone down, his eyes wide, his body numb, his chest empty and lonely.

Because the very last bit of good in him was gone; because everything he touched was cursed and tainted from the offset.

It took what felt like twenty cups of whiskey for him to black out that night, he knew sleep would evade him, he knew not to even bother trying. And Jake Lockely woke up for him, something mean and hateful in the black of his eyes.

He didn’t care who, but someone was going to pay for his cielo being taken from them.

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #moonknight x reader #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #jake lockely fanfiction #jake lockely x reader #steven grant imagine

286 notes · View notes

chaotic-iguana · 10 months

Text

Cowardice

Summary: Javi gets hurt mid-op and find out how loved he is. my guy (fictional one) needs to be loved more.

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem! DEA agent reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings: period-typical violence, gunshot wounds, near-death situations, fluff, a little angst.

A/N: based on this ask here.

masterlist // navigation

Javi always dropped you off a block away from the embassy. You two still pretended to fight over small things at work, as if you couldn’t stand each other, even now. His informants continued calling at all hours of the day, inquiring about him in sultry, needy voices.

You told yourselves it was better this way - less dangerous, less messy, less real.

Although, in truth, there was nothing safe about what you were doing. Holding hands while visiting cafes, restaurants, museums on weekends. Driving for tacos at three am when you’re both just a little tipsy. No, there was nothing safe about it at all; not in the sense you justified it to be. Anyone truly tailing you would be able to figure out what was happening in less than a day.

The safety, however, lay in the fact that when you were away from prying eyes, you both could quietly pretend as if the relationship didn’t mean that much to either of you. Javi could slip out of your apartment just before dawn broke and go next door to his. You could smile at Connie when she brought up how unfairly single you were, and politely agree to go on a blind date. He could refuse to admit to anyone, even himself, that it broke him a little to see you go - especially when he’d lost the heart to so much as meet his informants, for a while now. Not that he’d told you, of course. Just like you didn’t tell him that you couldn’t follow through with the blind date, politeness be damned. You didn’t have to tell him that you turned around after seeing a man that wasn’t him at the table and a medley of guilt and yearning swirled in your gut, making you heave from your car on the way home.

Murphy never commented, on any of it. He wasn’t as blind as you idiots thought he was; he could see that your snarks and retorts to each other had lost their bite, see you clench your fists when the girls phoned for Javi, and see Javi making soft doe-eyes at you every time you seemed to be in a pre-meditated bad mood and slammed your mug of coffee on your desk a little too hard. He couldn’t decide if it made him want to laugh or punch you both, but he did neither - knowing all too well how pigheaded you both were and the mess you’d make if he ever brought it up.

So it continued, a loose thread connecting you both. One you never acknowledged; rather, sidestepped around. I’m busy tonight, Javi. I’ve got an…appointment. Subtle, soft jabs to remind each other of the loose binding tethering you to one another.

Until you were storming into a suspected lab for one of Escobar’s suppliers, and Javi turned a corner without realizing there was an armed man waiting for him. Until said armed man fired two rounds in his direction, blindly, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the dim-lit streets of Bogota.

When you stumbled onto the scene, scanning frantically for any sign of the man you both had been tailing, you found Javi crumpled on the floor instead. Feeling space, time, the whole fucking universe stop for a second, and then start again as it sunk in. Blind panic like you had never known filled your senses, forcing you to trip over yourself while reaching for him. Your trembling hands found their way onto his neck, fumbling around to feel for his pulse. His groan had relief coursing through your body as you ripped the sleeve of your shirt to wrap it around his shoulder and put pressure on his wound. Comming the rest of the team with a shaky voice, you watched Murphy sprint to you both and help you keep him awake.

When the ambulance came, and you refused not to go with him despite knowing Carrillo and his team were watching and likely judging too, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your current fear dwarfed any others you previously had about the relationship, about your love, about him. You held his hand the whole way to the hospital, wincing for him every time the ambulance jolted a bit too had while muttering praises and reassurances in breathless chants, entirely unnaffected by whether or not he could hear you. It didn’t matter, you’d do it anyways. And so would he.

Shame and fear often find themselves sacrificed on the altar of devotion, do they not? Words you had hidden from your whole life tumbled from your lips like feverish prayer; your eyes closed and head bowed as if in worship. I love you. I love you so much it scares me. I can’t lose you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I love you. I love you.

Your clammy fingers didn’t loosen their grip on his until someone was practically wrenching you away from him, reluctance lacing its way into your heart. You leaned down to kiss his head and whisper how much you cared for him once more before turning, as if offering up all you had to give in a futile attempt to barter with death. As if foolishly hoping your love would be enough.

Sleep evaded you. It often did, but it hardly abandoned you in the merciless hands of the restlessness that had gripped you now. Bouncing your knee, glancing at the clock. Refusing to move, no matter how badly your own back or shoulders or neck hurt. Eyes darting around the room, thoughts in disarray. Your body refused to admit that the fight was over, stiff and alert as if waiting for pain to find you. The tears hadn’t come yet, though. You knew they wouldn’t for a while, not in a room bustling with sobs and screams and eyes. They would find you in the dark hours of night when you’d be alone and vulnerable, no one to protect you from the brutality with which they crawled up your throat and took refuge in the burn in your eyes.

So you waited. For hours, you waited impatiently for the nurse to come out and call Javier’s name as a prisoner awaits his execution - with bated breath, and an excruciating acceptance. You had accepted the worst outcome as your punishment for the spinelessness with which you had refused his affection, let him believe you didn’t care, hidden your love so you could pretend it wasn’t true. No prayer is complete without repentance, is it?

When his name was called, you rose silently and walked with the nurse, numb to the smile she gave you or the soft voice she used when telling you how it was all okay and he’s stable now. Her words were echoing in your mind, which refused them in disbelief. She just gripped your arm and ushered you into the room he was in. He won’t remember. He won’t know. You can go back to being a coward again.

But when he looked at you, with a gentle but tired grin and eyes swimming with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, you could feel it in your bones that he knew. That he remembered. You wanted to fidget; to run away from him and this room. But the weight of your piety lay heavy in your limbs, and you found that you had forgotten how to move. Or talk. All you could do was stare at him, at his long lashes and his curved nose. At the lips that had met yours in the midst of the throes of passion, ones you revisited in your dreams to imagine kissing just for the hell of it. In the mirror next to him, you caught a glimpse of your own reflection. Blood splattered all over your hands and neck, shirt stained red. Your lips swollen and bleeding - bitten raw - and your hair matted with blood and tangled in tight coils as it cascaded down your back. Your eyes flashing with utter devastation, lined red. You looked back at him then, but before you could say anything he had spoken already. The response to every invocation, every confession whispered by you into the sanctity of his unconsciousness.

I love you, too.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore AMAZING dividers by @cafekitsune!! absolute god who makes amazing dividers for free!

279 notes · View notes

gertlushgaming · 10 months

Text

Akibas Trip Undead And Undressed Director’s Cut Review (Nintendo Switch OLED)

For this Akibas Trip Undead And Undressed Director’s Cut Review, we find out that This suburban Tokyo ward's seen it all, from Japan's post-war reconstruction to the economic bubblegum crisis of the '80s. Always on the cutting edge of progress, with a little something to offer even the most fetishistic of appetites, it was almost inevitable that this singular technocracy of indulgence would give birth to a whole new kind of appetite altogether. Enter, the “Synthisters” – vampires who prey upon the life energy of the town’s unsuspecting figurine-chasers, maid café connoisseurs, and cosplayers. Those victimized by Synthisters take on the properties of their attackers while also withdrawing from society and becoming veritable shut-ins due to their newfound fatal weakness to sunlight.

Akibas Trip Undead And Undressed Director’s Cut Review Pros: - Anime graphics. - 3.1GB download size. - Has its own in-game achievements. - Text and/or voice can be changed between English and Japanese. - Three difficulty options: Easy, Casual, and Gamer. - Opening and ongoing tutorial. - Display settings - damage display, experience display, counter guide ui, and map ui. - Auto, Skip, and fast-forward buttons for cut scenes and conversations. - Eight control layouts. - Basic character creator but you get clothing all the time so it doesn't really matter. - Smartphone wallpaper unlocks. - Excellent voice work. - Invert axis option. - Toy box mode: Here you have free roam of the Akibas and have all abilities and items unlocked. - Toy Box mode has the same 3 difficulty options as the main game. - The entertaining story is loosely based on Vampire equivalents. You can answer and set branching questions and answers. The answers given affect the story in multiple ways. - Lightening fast loading times. - Smartphone, Your hub contains all the options and menus. Here you can read emails, read Potter, and change game options like save/load. The whole phone can be customized with pictures taken from cut scenes etc. - Combat: your aim is to strip your enemies of all their clothes. you have a high medium and low attack which are used to target specific pieces of clothing. Once that particular piece of clothing is flashing, You can then rip off the garment. - Unlock and use Fast travel points found around the map. - Random street fights. - Music is a mix of J-Pop meets techno with a layer of nuts to it all. Hear music booming from hops and cars as you stroll the streets. - Huge living, breathing world. - Pitter is the game in the world social media app where you can get information. - E-mail is a place to get side mission opportunities and hear from certain characters. - defeated enemies drop loot. - marker in the game for main story missions and a few key side missions. - Combat relies heavily on combos and you can actually chain moves together, Wrapping them into a strip frenzy where you can strip a whole gang in one chain. - get arrested by cops for fighting, Pay a bailout price penalty. - Save/Load whenever. - A full 3D world with full 360-degree camera control. - Cutscenes are a mix of in-game shorts and character art interactions. - Shops are scattered all over the area and each seller is unique in terms of pricing and stock. - Battle arenas. Fight off against waves of enemies, Rank up, and earn loot and cash. - Side missions are optional and plentiful. - Fuse (craft) items together to make new ones, make current weapons stronger, and much more. - Collect flyers from salespeople in the street. These flyers are for real-world shops that you can visit. - New game features unlock as you go through the main story missions. - Memorable characters. - Ui is clean and bright. - Looks just as crisp as the big-boy console versions. - Weaponry is crazy with such weapons as laptops, umbrellas, and even suitcases can be used. - Earn experience and level up and learn new moves and gain better stats. - Finishing moves can be performed where you take your opponent's underwear. - The game is very fast-paced but so playable. - Multiple choice encounters. - Full camera photo mode for you but also used for missions. - The definitive version of the game for both looks and performance. - Difficulty affects combat and easier difficulties disable high, mid, and low attacks. - Can skip cutscenes. - Full stats screen with a detailed breakdown. - The visual editor lets you fully tinker and customize the look of the game with - presets, character colors, map color, sky color and contrast, fog, and color offset.

Akibas Trip Undead And Undressed Director’s Cut Review Cons: - The a slight learning curve at the begininng. - So slow to start with as you get so much information and mechanic knowledge. - Fighting is the trickiest part to learn especially with no proper lock-on options. - Very little in terms of character creation. - Watching out for when to strip is hard, especially in group fights. - You can bring up a marker on screen but it's only for main missions, We could do with one for active side quests. - Very slight slowdown in places. - Picking up items is a pain, especially after fights as you have to quickly grab them all, Due to the crazy weapons, some can be crazy small. - Some of the shop fronts in the world look bland, pixel aged, and dare I say it, PlayStation 1-era looking. - Pervert, Sexual tone throughout. I mean you expect it somewhat from a game that evolves around stripping your enemies but it kicks it up a notch. You can zoom your camera in on your female party members and actually jiggle their breasts. - Toybox mode disables achievements and it doesn't recognize clear data. - Cannot rebind controls. - An FYI that it doesn't support any sort of save transfer. - The choices you make don't feel that impactful. Related Post: Legend Bowl Review (PlayStation 5)

Akibas Trip Undead And Undressed Director’s Cut: Official website. Developer: 株式会社アクワイア ACQUIRE Corp. Publisher: Home | XSEED Games Store Links - Nintendo Read the full article

#NintendoSwitch

0 notes

seven-homosexual-dinosaurs · 3 years

Text

Say you won’t let go

My first song fic, let’s see how this goes :)

(Or rather, a one shot based very loosely around a song that at this point might not even be a song fic)

Based off the song “Say you won’t let go” by James Arthur (obviously)

Cathy had met Anne on a cool autumn night, standing in the corner alone at some party Thomas had convinced her to attend. Long abandoned by the latter, she scrolled through her phone absentmindedly. People danced and drank around her, the sound of bad decisions in the making filling her ears.

She’d looked up from her phone, only to come face to face with a girl about her age. Glossy, chocolate brown hair fell past her shoulders to rest on her lower back. Piercing emerald eyes gazed at Cathy nervously, a tint of pink staining her cheeks as her hands scratched at the back of her neck nervously. She wore a dark grey jacket over a deep green crop top, as well as a pair of ripped skinny jeans.

Cathy took a moment to collect herself, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“Hi,”

Cathy smiled at the girl awkwardly. The girl brightened slightly at that, flashing her a brilliant smile.

“Hey,” she greeted, “I couldn’t help but notice you were looking kinda lonely over here and I think you look really pretty and sorry I just kind of blurted that out for no reason but doyouwannadancewithme?”

Cathy blinked at her blankly, taking a moment to process her words. As soon as they fully sank in, she felt a bright blush creeping along her face. She had half a mind to refute the offer, to remind herself she already had a boyfriend. Yet what harm could one dance do? Besides, it wasn’t like it would really do anything, right?

“Yeah!” she answered finally, a dorky smile spreading across her face, “Yeah, I’d like that,”

The mysterious stranger led her onto the dance floor, an excited grin overtaking her face. They swayed to the music gently, and despite her previously unsavory mood, she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as the stranger twirled her around, singing along to the music joyfully.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

The stranger winked at her mischievously.

“Anne Boleyn, at your service,”

The music slowed, as did their dancing. Swaying to the music slowly, Anne rested her head on Cathy’s shoulder.

“And what about you, pretty-stranger-I-met-at-a-party?”

Cathy blushed at the description, her heart quickening.

“Parr. Catherine Parr, but everyone just calls me Cathy,” She answered.

“Cathy,” Anne’s lips twitched into a smile. “I like it, it’s a nice name,”

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday,” Cathy deadpanned. Anne laughed, the noise sounding like heaven to Cathy’s ears.

“Well Cathy,” Anne began playfully, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shithole like this?”

“You flatter me,” Cathy answered blankly, despite the growing blush spreading across her face. Anne grinned at her response, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“...Well?” Anne asked, curiosity seeping into her voice. Cathy laughed awkwardly, carefully avoiding Anne’s gaze.

“Well my boyfriend kind of dragged me here,” She answered. Anne’s smile dimmed slightly at that, although it was back at full force as soon as it was gone.

“Really? Who’s the lucky guy?” She inquired. Cathy cleared her throat uncomfortably, preparing for what was to come.

“Thomas. Thomas Seymour,”

She waited for the inevitable “Really?” or “You’re so lucky!” that always came whenever someone learnt of their relationship. It was getting annoying, really. She already had enough of her family telling her of how lucky she was to date a man like Thomas, she didn’t need to add more people to the mix.

Anne did none of those things. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Not a good reaction, but having some variety was nice.

“Thomas? I know that guy, he’s kind of a dick,”

Cathy frowned.

“Hey, I know he can come off as unpleasant at times, but he’s really a good guy at heart,” Cathy countered. Anne grimaced doubtfully.

“No, really, I’m serious. I’m friends with his sister, he’s a real piece of work,”

Cathy rubbed her shoulder uncomfortably, stepping away from the Boleyn girl apprehensively.

“Yeah, well, I should probably go find him anyways. It’s getting late, so...”

Not waiting for an answer, she took off. She heard Anne yell something behind her, but she ignored it, choosing to weave her way through the crowd instead. What did she care what some stranger thought of her relationship, it’s not like it mattered anyways. It’s not like the fact that Thomas never told her he had a sister bothered her, everyone has their secrets.

“Tom? Thomas?” she called, ignoring the growing feeling of dread in her chest. Walking over past the kitchen, she finally found what she was looking for. Well, sort of.

Thomas sat on the worn couch, chatting excitedly with a girl Cathy recognized as her old friend Bethany. His hand rested on her waist, pulling her close to him as he pecked her lips, prompting a laugh from the latter. He cupped her cheeks gently, pulling her in for another kiss.

Cathy felt cold, a numb feeling overcoming her.

“Thomas?” Her voice sounded distant to her ears, as if spoken by another person. He didn’t respond, Cathy felt as if she couldn’t breath. She ran from the room, she needed to get away from here. From everything. her feet carried her blindly, sweat gathering on her brow as an ill feeling settled in her stomach.

Coming to a stop, she looked around to see where her feet had carried her.

She appeared to be in some kind on park, littered with all kinds of trees. Stars twinkled in the night sky, illuminating the empty park. Leaning against a tree, she lurched forwards to throw up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Retching heavily, she jumped as felt a hand pull her hair out of her face. Anne Boleyn gazed at her, worry evident in her eyes.

“You alright mate?” she asked sympathetically. Cathy wanted to say yes, to tell her to go away and leave her alone. She wanted to pretend she was fine, to go back over to the party and fall into Thomas’ arms.

Oh god, Thomas....

She gagged, spewing the contents of her stomach violently. She felt Anne rubbing circles in her back, whispering quiet reassurances in her ear. Feeling her nausea subside slightly, she fell limp in Anne’s arms.

“What happened?” she asked gently. Cathy paused spitting some leftover bile from her mouth.

“You were right about Thomas, he... he...!”

Cathy couldn’t finish. It was as if saying the words would make them come true, she’d be forced to accept what had transpired before her very eyes. Anne pulled the taller girl into a tight hug, wiping her tears away gently with her thumb.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispered softly. Cathy sniffled quietly, hiding her face in the crook of Anne’s neck.

“I don’t know why you’re even putting up with my shit anyways,” she choked out, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “You barely know me, why’re you even helping?”

Anne frowned at her, pulling her close.

“Hey, none of that, okay? Even if I don’t know you that well, I can’t just let you go through this alone”

“Besides,” her face blushed a bright red and she looked down at her feet “I kind of know you. You have Miss Greene for linguistics, right?”

Cathy looked up at Anne in surprise.

“Yeah, how-”

“We’re in the same class. You’re the girl in the blue hoodie that always has a coffee with her,”

Cathy nodded slowly, taking a moment to process the information. Rubbing the wetness out of her eyes, she looked Anne over once more, attempting to match the Boleyn girl to her memory.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you,” she mumbled numbly. Anne waved her hand dismissively, shrugging her apology off.

“It’s fine, you look in a world of your own most days and we’ve never talked. I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me anyways,”

Cathy nodded in understanding.

“Wait...” she began slowly, “If that’s the case, then how come you recognize me?”

Anne blushed, carefully avoiding Cathy’s gaze.

“No particular reason. You mentioned Thomas earlier, right? What happened?”

Cathy hesitated, looking away from Anne.

“Nothing important, I’m sure I just need to talk to him,”

Anne eyed her doubtfully, and Cathy felt a twinge of anger. She just had to talk to him, she was sure there was something to the story she was missing. There had to be.

Look, I’m going back to talk to him, whether you like it or not. You can stay here if you want, but I’m going,”

Turning away from Anne, she startled as she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Emerald eyes gazed at her (albeit worriedly), grim determination set into her face.

“No, I’ll come,”

The night was windy, Cathy realized as she drew her arms around her with a shudder. Dead leaves fluttered through the air around her, crinkling and breaking in the cool autumn breeze. The yellow glow of the street lamps illuminated the empty street, flickering and flashing in the night. It was really quite beautiful, Cathy noted. There was something otherworldly about it, how the gentle breeze swayed the leaves in the trees, the little group’s footsteps echoing on the pavement.

She knew they’d reached the house before even laying eyes on it. Music blared through the windows, the reek of alcohol and sweat tainting the air even as they stood in the driveway. Ignoring the worried glance Anne sent her way, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Cathy had no trouble locating Thomas, something which came both as a disappointment and a relief. Said relief was rapidly quelled as her eyes locked onto Thomas. The situation hadn’t de-escalated, rather, it appeared far worse than before.

“Cathy? Did you- oh,” Anne faced shifted into a scowl as she took in the scene before her. She glowered at Thomas, muttering curses under her breath as Cathy felt tears gather in her eyes. She didn’t know why she thought it would have changed. She didn’t know why she thought it would have been different.

“-athy? Cathy?” Anne’s voice jolted her from her reverie. Her voice was laced with concern, although her eyes held nothing but contempt for the man before her. Taking in Cathy’s dazed expression, Anne shrugged her jacket off, placing it gingerly around Cathy’s shoulders.

“Here, keep an eye on this for me, will you? I’ll handle good ‘ol shithead over there,”

Cathy nodded numbly, pale knuckles gripping the jacket tightly. Sending one last glance towards Cathy, Anne set off towards Thomas, grim determination set into her face.

Meeting eyes with the Boleyn girl, her gave smiled at her charmingly. Resisting the urge to gag, Anne answered his smile with a sickly sweet smile of her own. Gesturing to Bethany, still in his arms, she spoke.

“Hey, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“That ol’ gal? She doesn’t have to know,” he winked.

“Really now?” Anne hissed through grit teeth, “You really are exactly how Jane described you and more,”

“Jane?” he asked, looking around the room. It was then, it appeared, that he finally noticed the frozen Parr at the entrance. Jumping up, he shoved Bethany off of him unceremoniously.

“Cathy!” he yelped. Cathy fixed him with an icy glare.

“That’s “Catherine” to you Thomas,” she hissed. Stumbling towards her, Thomas froze as Anne stepped before Cathy protectively.

“I wouldn’t suggest coming any closer unless you wanna learn just how much damage these heels can do,” she threatened. Thomas paled, tripping over himself as he hurried to get away from the seething Boleyn girl. The rev of a car engine outside informed the two of his departure.

Turning to Cathy, Anne regarded her carefully.

“You alright mate? That can’t have been easy”

Cathy shrugged nonchalantly. Truth be told, she didn’t know. She felt angry and heartbroken, relieved and confused. Anne frowned, rubbing her neck in thought. Suddenly, a smile spread across her lips.

“Well then, I think I might have something to cheer you up,”

Extending an arm to Cathy, she offered the girl a dorky grin.

“We never did finish our dance, did we?”

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

Anne awoke slowly, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Looking around, she smiled as her eyes landed on the slumbering Cathy beside her. She snored lightly, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. Most days, Cathy would be up an awake at the crack of dawn, making breakfast and getting ready for the day. Today, however, proved different. A nasty bout of the flu had ravaged the house for a week, and Cathy proved to be it’s biggest victim. Even as she made a speedy recovery, her energy remained quite low, as proven by her slumbering figure.

Anne smiled as the door creaked open, two little figures padding into the room quietly. A freckled face peeked over the bed as Elizabeth Boleyn-Parr looked over to her mom with wide eyes.

“Hi mama,” she whispered, swinging her little body onto the bed and crawling into Anne’s arms. A little whine came from the side of the bed, a mess of black curls peeping over the bedside. Holding Liz with one arm, Anne lifted Mae off the ground onto her lap. Mae crawled over to Cathy, poking her cheek with a grubby finger.

“Mommy?” she asked curiously. Planting a kiss to her forehead, Anne smiled at her gently.

“Use your words baby,” she encouraged. Mae looked over to Cathy once more, placing a little hand on her cheek.

“I want mommy,” she whispered. Anne smiled proudly, gently prying Mae’s hands away from the sleeping Parr.

“Mommy’s sleeping right now, but she’ll be awake later,”

Mae pouted, shaking Cathy’s shoulders sadly. Crawling over to her sister, Liz grabbed her hands and pulled them away from their mom.

“Mae, stop! Mommy needs to sleep!” She whispered urgently. Mae whined, sticking her thumb in her mouth angerly. Faced with the upset toddler, Anne pulled both girls into her lap.

“Well Mae, don’t you wanna help Lizzie get ready for school?”

Mae looked from Cathy to Liz before nodding slowly, resting her head in the crook of Anne’s neck. Standing, Anne was careful not to disturb her sleeping partner as she rested Mae on her hip. Holding Liz’s hand, the group made their way out the room towards the kitchen.

“Do you think you could get dressed on your own today?” Anne inquired. Liz grinned toothily, shooting her a thumbs up.

“Yeah!” she cheered, running back up the stairs to her room. Watching her stumble up the stairs, Anne turned to the toddler in her arms with a smile.

“Well then, how about some breakfast?” she asked sweetly, bopping Mae’s nose. Mae giggled at the motion, nodding enthusiastically with a clap of her hands. Coming into the kitchen, she placed Mae on her high chair. Flipping through the cookbook Catalina had gifted the family the previous year, her lips twitched into a smile as her eyes landed on a blueberry pancake recipe.

“Hey, how would you feel about some pancakes?” she questioned. Mae kicked her feet happily, throwing her hands in the air.

“Panckies!” she cheered. Anne chuckled, grabbing the flour from the cupboard.

“Panckies it is,”

Anne set to work making breakfast, chatting amicably with the happy toddler. Yawning, Liz padded down the stairs. She wore a a grey hoodie, along with a purple skirt and blue leggings. Sticking a blue journal in her sparkly green backpack, she trotted up to Anne.

“Mama? Where’s my lunch?”

“It’s the brown bag in the fridge,” Anne gestured to the item in question, dropping a dollop of batter on the pan. Liz stuffed the bag in her pack, sneaking a fudge cookie into her lunch. Grabbing a pancake for Mae and Liz each, Anne grabbed a small stack for herself and sat down with the kids. Cutting up their pancakes, Anne handed both girls their breakfast.

“Mama, I want syrup,” Mae protested, pushing her plate back at Anne. Anne sighed, ruffling her daughter’s hair.

“Sorry love, mama forgot to pick any up when we went shopping,” she smiled sheepishly, “But I promise we’ll pick some up on the way to school,”

Mae considered it before nodding, shoving bits of pancake in her mouth. The group ate in a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional scrape of cutlery or drop of a fork. Anne wiped the girl’s mouths with a napkin, grabbing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher. Patting Liz’s head, Anne picked Mae off of her chair.

“Could you wait at the door while me and Mae get ready?”

Liz nodded, running off to find her shoes.

Heading up to her room, Anne slipped out of her pajamas and into a green button up shirt and jeans. Dressing Mae to be much more of a challenge, seeing as the child in question wriggled about and refused to sit still. Finally, Anne headed downstairs, a dress clad Mae in her arms. Slipping into her shoes, Anne sent Liz an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the wait Liz, Mae was feeling a little fidgety,”

Buckling Mae and Liz into their respective seats, Anne pulled her phone out to send Cathy a quick message.

-----------

8:16 AM

You: Hey Cath, I’m out dropping Liz off at school and Mae at Jane’s place, so it’s just you at home for now. Remember to take it easy, you still need to rest. In case you do wake up in time to read this message, breakfast’s in the kitchen. Love you <3

-----------

Slipping into the driver’s seat, Anne pulled out of the driveway as the group made it’s way to the school. Ten minutes and many yelled out songs later found Anne parked in front of the school, waving Liz goodbye.

“Bye Lizzie, love you! Say hi to Mary for me!” she called. Mae peeked over the window, waving enthusiastically.

“Bye bye!” she yelled. Liz waved back at the car before running off to the play structure.

Next stop was Jane’s house, where Mae would be having a playdate with Ed, Jane’s son. They got there relatively quickly, Anne noted as she stood at the doorway, resting Mae against her hip. The door opened at her knock, revealing Jane Seymour, her son Ed at her heels. Light blonde hair rested on her head in a messy bun, kind grey eyes greeting Anne warmly. Her figure was short and plump, a sharp contrast to her brother’s tall and muscular build. She was, as Anne liked to say, “friend-shaped”.

Like his mother, Ed’s hair was light blond, although it was rather thick and puffy. He was a petite figure, although his small size was easily made up for by his large personality. With a temper that rivaled Jane’s and the caring nature to match, he was almost like a miniature version of his mother.

Jane greeted Anne with a hug, placing a quick kiss to the top of Mae’s head.

“Hello girls!” she beamed warmly, “Right on time, the little one here was getting antsy,”

Anne chuckled at that, easily imagining the little boy running around impatiently, waiting for his friend.

“Well I’m on time,” she snarked.

“For once,” Jane muttered under her breath. Anne gasped, clutching a hand to her chest dramatically.

“Me? Late? Never!”

Both children giggled at her theatrics. Wriggling in Anne’s arms, Mae reached a grabby hand towards Jane.

“Mama, lemme go! I wanna play!”

Anne laughed, placing a kiss to Mae’s cheek and setting her on the ground. Mae gave Jane a quick hug before running off with Ed. Watching them go, Jane sighed.

“Well I’d better go make sure no one dies. Tell Cathy I said hi, ‘k?”

“Sure. Love ya!” Anne called, making her way back to the car.

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

The house was silent when Anne returned, a sure sign that Cathy was still asleep. Grabbing a plate of pancakes and some coffee, Anne made her way over to find Cathy. Walking into their room, Anne couldn’t help the smile that made it’s way onto her lips as she regarded her slumbering wife.

Gentle sunlight illuminated her peaceful face, highlighting every groove and indent in her gingerbread brown face. Wild curls framed her face, sticking out in every direction; a testament to her tossing and turning the night before as her fever stricken body struggled to rest.

Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, Anne tucked a strand of hair behind her partner’s ear.

“Hey love, it’s time to wake up,” she whispered. Cathy’s face scrunched up slightly as her eyes fluttered open.

“Morning beautiful,” Anne soothed. Cathy yawned, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Morning,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Looking around at the assortment before her, she raised an eyebrow.

“Breakfast in bed? What’s the special occasion?” she teased.

“You’re sick! Besides, am I not allowed to do something nice for my beautiful wife?” Anne exclaimed. Reaching out for her breakfast, Cathy gave Anne a grateful smile.

“Well, your beautiful wife appreciates it,” Cathy smiled, bumping her head against Anne’s shoulder playfully. Shifting so that she was sitting next to Cathy, Anne wrapped her arm around the former, resting her head on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” Anne inquired. Cathy shrugged, swallowing the bit of pancake in her mouth.

“Honestly? Still pretty shit,”

Anne frowned, placing her hand on Cathy’s forehead.

“You’re fever’s gone down, you probably just need to rest,” she offered. Cathy nodded wordlessly, laying her head Anne’s chest. Her breathing evened out in a manner of seconds, fork falling onto the bed with a dull Thump.

Carefully, Anne grabbed the plate and mug and placed them on the bedside table. Slowly, she maneuvered their bodies so that they were laying down on the bed, Cathy’s head resting in the crook of her neck.

Listening to the rhythmic sound of Cathy’s breathing, Anne felt her own eyelids grow heavy. She knew she had to go pick Liz and Mae up in a manner of hours, but for now, she’d simply rest her eyes for a moment. She felt Cathy shift slightly, wrapping her arms around Anne’s midsection tightly. The sunlight felt warm on her face, Anne noted as she pulled her blanket up around the two.

The house was quiet. Distantly, Anne heard birds chirping and dogs barking. She could imagine Liz, chatting with her friends excitedly about some tidbit of information they’d found fascinating. She could imagine Mae, building a tower with Ed, only to knock it down with a laugh, Jane fixing lunch behind them as she gazed at the children lovingly. Cathy lay in her arms, snoring lightly as she mumbled something or other in her sleep. It was perfect.

She held her lover in her arms, and all Anne could think about was how much she loved this woman. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with her, to raise their children together and grow old together. And even after all these years, Anne couldn’t believe Cathy felt the same. She’d felt the same, as they sat in the park and said “I love you” for the first time. As they got married, as they adopted children, Cathy had been with her the whole time. It was peaceful, it was quiet, Anne remarked as she held Cathy close. Cathy had met Anne on a cool autumn night, standing in the corner alone at some party Thomas had convinced her to attend. And ever since then, it had been perfect.

23 notes · View notes

ariella884 · 4 years

Text

Voyager Book Club - February Favorite Fics

So I put forth a challenge of sorts to our Voyager Book Club. I asked everyone to pick ONE Voyager fic that they consider to be their favorite. Now, you can imagine, this is pretty freaking hard! There are so many incredible fics out there. I didn’t say it had to be the best written, or the most in character. I gave examples such as: the one you read over and over or your go-to fic, however you want to phrase it. It was pointed out that a favorite fic can change every hour based on your frame of mind and what you are in the mood to read at any one moment. I get it. Even so....I challenged everyone to only pick ONE. And they did it! Or most of them! I got around 20 different favorites picked! So here is the list of our Favorite Voyager Fics, why they were chosen and by whom. Happy Reading!!

Note: Click on the name of the fic for a link to it! Also, this list is in no particular order.

-------

@curator-on-ao3: ‘Fragile Things’ by @mia-cooper

“Fanfic is about exploring possibilities. That’s what put this fic over the top to be my favorite. In Fragile Things, MiaCooper examines multiple versions of one relationship, pulling different threads to see how things unravel or knit together. It’s thoughtful, it’s meta, it’s realistic as hell, it’s damn good writing — it’s MiaCooper and it’s excellent.”

-------

@ariella884(yep, that’s me!): ‘2013′ by PCBW (@pcbw)

“I had a hard time choosing my favorite (like most people here), mostly because as i was gathering them all from everyone else I kept seeing ones and going, ‘Oh! I love that one!’. I also didn’t want to have any duplicates so I had to change mine a couple times, that being said, 2013 is easily one of my top three (which of themselves is almost impossible to pick just one. I’m lucky that my other two were chosen already and I didn’t have to!). I love 2013 because it is a modern AU, without being a completely modern AU. No, that doesn’t make sense. But you get our Janeway and Chakotay, Starfleet officers and all, and you get them in the modern world. It’s incredible! We see the challenges they go through of being taken from everything they know and put into a world that is pretty much unknown to them. Add to that the personal differences they have to work out together. Splash in the normal challenges that we all go through when trying to live a life in this day and age (jobs, house, money, love, family, etc). This is just an incredibly beautiful story that I have read many times and will continue to read over and over. It’s also a long fic and those are my favorite because I like to get completely involved in stories!”

-------

@mia-cooper: ‘Deceiving’ by QuantumSilver

“Because it starts with a canon event that is absolutely devastating and shows just how devastated Janeway and Chakotay are by it (and Tuvok and Ayala as well, though they only make a brief appearance). It shows Janeway at her absolute best - every last inch the captain, going above and beyond for her crew not just physically but emotionally in spite of the absolutely gut-wrenching cost to her - and it really kicks off with one of my absolute favourite tropes: mutual pining to the Nth Fucking Degree.

It has Chakotay being every bit the commander, backing her up even though he's dying inside, and REFUSING to let her shut herself away even though he KNOWS she's going to want to murder him for pushing and pushing and pushing at her.

And then OH MY GOD, he's deliberately getting on her every last nerve just so he can wrench honesty from her because he knows if she doesn't tell him how badly he's hurt her, how she's absolutely bottomed out because of him, she will never open up to him or anyone else again.

AND THEY DRINK WHISKEY OMG GIVE ME KJ AND C UTTERLY MISERABLE AND DRINKING WHISKEY LIKE IT'S WATER AND PINING LIKE FUCK AND NOT SAYING A WORD BUT BLEEDING TO DEATH FROM THE HEART AND I WILL DIE HAPPY FOREVERRRRRRR

I'm sorry for yelling but this fic makes me want to rip off my clothes and run up and down the street screeching how everybody should read it and they are just BRUTAL with each other and they STILL do not understand, refuse to, CANNOT understand, that the other would not just die for them but MURDER WHOLE FUCKING ARMIES FOR THEM and it's tragic and devastating but then oH MY GOoOoOODDDDD

So that is my favourite fic and the one i read approximately every two months or more if i really hate my writing that day and want to torture myself with How It Should Be Done.”

--------

@bizships: ‘Fealty’ by MsDisdain

“My favorite story. I honestly don’t have to think about it. It’s one I always go back to.

I love the way the crew pledges their loyalty to her and the way subtle way they tell her that it’s okay that she’s happy too in that they effectively give her Chakotay for her birthday, by way of him “fighting” Tuvok(Starfleet) for her hand.”

--------

@arcadia1995: ‘The Space Between’ by lauawill ( @joyful-voyager)

“The Space Between is a story I return to time and time again when I'm feeling down. I like that it realistically portrays what might have happened between Janeway and Chakotay right after the returned home in Endgame. I like that no one in the J/C/7 triangle ends up being a bad guy. I like the hopeful ending and imaging what might have happened after the fade to black (lots of sex!!!)“

-------

@wishful-thinker-87 : ‘if you came this way’ by tree

“It’s always a go to for me, even though I don’t usually like AUs. The sex is intense and emotional. The characterization is pot on. And we get Phoebe being an awesome sister and some Chakotay/Molly bonding too. What’s not to love?!”

-------

BlackVelvet: ‘Bluffing the Crowd’ by @ralkana

“Even after years since i read this, just thinking about this story brings a warm fuzzy feeling to my heart and a huge silly grin to my face. I simply love it.”

-------

@purpledog47: ‘The Future is Ours’ by Dawn

“My favorite is most definitely Dawn’s ‘The Future is Ours. This is my one fic. It’s super long and it tells us what happened after Endgame and it has a little bit of everything in it: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, Q, babyfic, romance.”

-------

@amoderngirl: ‘Time and Distance’ by northernexposure

“If I am ever loosing the thread with J/C, I can always read this and I am immediately in love again.”

-------

@coffeeblack75: ‘Soft Light’ by northernexposure

“There are so many reasons why I love it that I can't even, haha. I'll start with: it was the first piece of fanfic smut I read, so I love it for that reason - my first time haha. More importantly, it is just beautifully, beautifully written - it's plotted beautifully, it flows beautifully and the pacing is spot on. The author has complete control over all of that & over the language, which is just used masterfully. There's so much subtley going on in this story too - the author doesn't spell everything out for us and instead draws us to the details that reveal what is important - the beginnings of these two getting to know each other. Gosh, it's so hard to articulate haha! But lines like this just make me shiver in delight for their beauty and what they reveal: "he was kissing her, with a lot more sweetness than was wise. Ah god, I could go on and on but perhaps I'll finish with my favourite bit, which is when C feels that first stab of lust & realises she might too & tests his theory by blowing softly on the back of her neck. This moment, omg, the moment is just so beautiful, so quiet, so pointed and private and intimate. You really feel that moment as if you are there. Ahhhhh :)

Also….there are two sequels to it that are equally as wonderful ;)

Oh and one more thing I adore about this story is the way that the C thinks he is lusting after KJ but it is quite obvious he loves her - even before they come together - but he hasn’t realized it yet. The way the author does this is just incredible - so deft! Everything for C is about taking care of KJ … it’s just beautiful.”

-------

@caladeniablue: ‘Lifeline’ by helenagray ( @picking-daisies-in-the-outfield)

“Why do I like that fic? An unfinished WIP at that (Started in 2013; last update in Jan 2019. No indication how many chapters to go.) The perfect serial story and that's part of the attraction for me.

The first chapter sets the scene: raw Janeway, alone, without the backup of her ship, her crew or Chakotay. Bare of essentials and with only her courage and intelligence and sheer determination to help her survive, and even she wonders how long those will last her.

And while we learn about Chakotay and how he seeks her while the crew has to move on, I am drawn to Janeway most of all.

The fic jumps back and forth across locations and in time from that first chapter to catch up with it again some 20 chapters later, but there is no jarring. The reader knows immediately what KJ is experiencing , but the past events that led to that situation are as important, and that's one of the many attractions of this story. No overlong flashbacks, no tedious info dump. It's all layered, making one wait for the next chapter and the next one, while knowing all the time where KJ has ended up.

The writing is gorgeous, which is a bonus. And it is pure J/C, distilled to its purest by separation. Perfect.”

-------

@keiraniels: ‘Bad Ensign’ (Series) by @curator-on-ao3

“Ok so I chose Curator’s ‘Bad Ensign’ because I come back to it often - - it’s such a freaking brilliant idea that I can 100% imagine being canon, and it inspired so many Voyager Bookclubbers to write Bad Ensign stories”

-------

@cnrothtrek: ‘War Torn’ by @curator-on-ao3

“Why? I had the pleasure of beta reading this story, and I am so glad that I did. It has a great plot, is well-written and perfectly paced, and is hard to put down. The way it pulls together two pieces of canon backstories for Miles O’Brien and Kathryn Janeway is genius. The characters feel so real and their voices can be clearly heard in the text. And the supporting characters of Captain Benjamin Maxwell, Will “Stompie” Kayden, and Molly Walsh are incredible. The story is intense, absorbing, and emotional. I just can’t say enough good things about it.”

-------

@theshortywrites: ‘The Dragonfly Oath’ by Koneia

-------

@emmikamikatze: ‘All the Good Things We Never Did’ by northernexposure

“This story brings me to tears, makes me smile and shiver and fear and worry. It's given me phrases that won't leave me, that keep repeating itself in my head even months (years) after first reading it. There's just the right amount of show trivia to make it a fanfiction, but little enough to make it a unique and original story. ne makes me fall in love with these characters all over again as if I didn't know them beforehand.

This story is special and precious and it speaks to me on so many levels I can hardly comprehend how genius it is. It's a literary masterpiece of fanfic if there ever was one.”

-------

@missmil: ‘Here I Stand’ by lauawill

-------

@manalyzer13: ‘Gravitation’ by northernexposure

-------

@grace-among-the-stars: ‘Filling the Void’ by Spiletta42

“Filling the Void is the one fic I always return to. It has my fave ships, JC, PT and D7. Minor characters play major parts and it is just funny. It makes me laugh every time.

JC’s relationship is really explored from all angles, this is not just your average, ‘the crew get them together fics’, it is so much more. It has sexual tension, smut, humour, sadness and is pure JC BLISS. It always cheers me up and I was so happy when Spiletta42 added it to Ao3 because this meant so many more people would find it.”

-------

Anonymous: ‘Bent, Not Broken’ by @killermanatee

“This is an incredible hurt/comfort Janeway/Chakotay fic. The story is painfully written from both characters' perspectives, showing how each is suffering in a different way from the traumatic event that has occurred. In the end, their love for each other will help them come together and they will both be able to heal with time, comfort, and support from one another. This is a beautifully told, emotionally heavy story of one couple's love overcoming tragedy. It is my favorite Janeway/Chakotay fic, and I recommend it to anyone who wants to read a heartbreaking yet fulfilling story.”

-------

@minakotenjou: ‘Mysterious and Curious’ by @h4t08

“It was so hard to choose - there are a lot of incredible fanfics out there. This was one of the first...shall we say spicier J/C fics I read and for some reason I still think of it often. It's great smut for sure, but I think it stuck with me because of how it all gets tied together at the end.”

-------

@leisylaura: ‘The Bitter End’ by @mia-cooper

“We have post endgame books but not one about the original timeline, I remember reading “The bitter end” and thinking “this is it, this is what happened”. I cried from beginning to end.”

-------

@killermanatee: ‘The Dying of the Light’ by @cnrothtrek

"This fic is such a gorgeous piece of art. I hadn't seen the TNG episode before reading it and when I did watch it I was very disappointed because this fic is just on such a completely different level. The storytelling is so delicate and intriguing, that combined with the poignant and elegant writing style, so that it was impossible to put my phone down. I can't recommend this fic highly enough."

-------

@cheile: ‘Marooned’ by Soliquilii9 (aka Running Horse)

“I love how she makes the story unfold in slow steady measures. Also, she filled in the gaps left by the writers in regards to his heritage by using information from her own Cherokee background and it is done naturally (not in an info dump type manner). “

__________

What do you think of our list of Voyager favorites? Do you have a favorite that isn’t on this list? Reply to this post with your favorite!! And if you haven’t read ALL of these fics yet, I strongly suggest you get started!! Have fun and enjoy!!

#voyager #star trek voyager #voyager fic #voyager book club #Voyager Favorite Fics

217 notes · View notes

tlbodine · 4 years

Text

A Brief History of the Slasher

Is there a more iconic face for the horror genre than the knife-wielding psychopath? Many would say no. Although the tried-and-true slasher formula is so played out as to be a cliche -- and fresh examples played straight are tough to come by in the modern age -- for many, slasher films are the heart and soul of horror movies.

How did that happen? What do they say about us on a cultural level? And where should you start when it comes to a formal study of the topic? Let’s delve deep and find out!

Murder and mayhem are evergreen topics of fascination for humans, and we’ve been telling stories about murderers since Cain killed Abel. But these stories didn’t become what we would formally call “slashers” until the 1970s.

So what is a slasher?

Slasher films are defined by a few shared characteristics:

A high body count (multiple victims)

Murders are shown on-screen and often from the POV of the killer

The murders happen one by one, incorporating pursuit, struggle, and finally death

The killer may have a supernatural influence, but it will have the physical appearance of a human (and may often simply be a human)

In almost every instance, the killer is portrayed as being insane or rendered deeply troubled by a past trauma which had triggered the murderous impulse. The killer is frequently dehumanized, and the victims are usually young.

Slashers often adhere to their own sort of moral logic, more closely resembling Medieval morality plays than perhaps any other modern genre of storytelling. By utilizing a cast of archetypes, various virtues and flaws can be represented among the victims.

These traits are what differentiate slashers from other murder-focused horror, thriller and mystery tales.

Consider, for example, the narrative structure of an Agatha Christie murder mystery like And Then There Were None. In this book, a group of strangers are brought under mysterious circumstances to a remote location, where they are systematically murdered as an act of vengeance. In concept, this seems like it should be a slasher -- but its execution is quite different. In the book, the murders are a backdrop; the characters (and reader) are confronted with bodies rather than scenes of overt violence.

The First Slasher

In 1974, two films came out that gave birth to the modern slasher.

The first, released in October, was Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The second, released in the USA in December of that year, was Bob Clark’s Black Christmas.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre tells the story of a group of friends who run afoul of a family of cannibals living in a rural farmhouse. Black Christmas is about the systemic murder of sorority girls during Christmas break. And both left an indelible mark on horror history.

It’s important to put some context on the world these films were created in:

The recent dissolution of the Hays production code meant that movies could be more graphically violent and morally depraved than ever before

The Vietnam war was raging, and for the first time in history, televised footage of the battle was piped into living rooms on the evening news

Multiple serial killers were active in the country, and their exploits also graced the daily newspapers and nightly news to sow terror

Richard Nixon’s presidency was marked by an as-then unprecedented level of corruption and scandal

Gender politics provided both sexual freedom and career ambitions to a generation of women, and the 1973 landmark Roe v. Wade case legalizing abortions played a massive role in both gender relations and the way we would think about life and bodily autonomy.

The 1970s provided, in other words, a perfect storm of circumstances that collided to give birth to slashers, and neither Hooper nor Clark are shy about citing these as their inspiration. Texas Chainsaw was billed in theaters as a true story as an act of political defiance against newscasts that spread misinformation; Black Christmas is at its heart a film about abortion and a woman’s right to leave an abusive relationship. They were undeniably films of their time.

Texas Chainsaw inspired a wave of sensationalist "ripped from the headlines" murder movies loosely based on real killers, such as Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes (1977), which was based on the Sawney Bean legend or Charles B. Pierce's The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976), which was based on the Texarkana Phantom Killer.

And Black Christmas, of course, served as the thematic springboard for a little film called Halloween.

Halloween and the Final Girl

In 1978, a little-known small-time director named John Carpenter was hired to make a movie with the working title, The Babysitter Murders. It would be about -- you guessed it -- babysitters who got murdered. The idea was later adapted to take place on Halloween, likely for commercial reasons: People like watching scary movies in October, so setting a film on Halloween night would surely help with popularity.

John Carpenter certainly did not wholly plagiarize Black Christmas with his holiday-themed slasher, but the earlier film's influence is visible all the same -- from a shared lineage of "the call is coming from inside the house" babysitter folk legend, to the perspective work on establishing shots of the house and the ambiguously bleak ending.

But compared to Black Christmas, Halloween is horror with its edges filed down so it'll be easier to swallow. Both films have predominately female casts, but the sorority girls in Black Christmas have sexual agency and outspoken opinions that are nowhere to be found in Carpenter's work. In fact, Halloween so aggressively fails the Bechdel Test that it seems to do so on purpose -- there is not a single scene with two girls where they are not talking about a boy. And while Black Christmas deals with complex topics like abortion, domestic violence, and the unreliability of the police, Halloween simplifies its formula down to the utterly basic: Michael Myers kills because he is pure evil, and that is simply what evil does.

Despite its flaws -- or perhaps because of them -- Halloween became an immediate and enormous hit. It also introduced several clever storytelling techniques that were crucial to the advancement and development of the slasher genre:

The introduction of a Final Girl, the lone survivor who holds out against the onslaught of terror. (Carpenter denies that Laurie Strode’s virginal innocence has anything to do with her survival, but “final girl as virgin” would persist as a trope for a very long time)

A masked killer. Although we’d seen masked murders in many films before (I’ve talked in the past about the trope of the mask-wearing murderer, and the way it is both thematically and logistically useful in storytelling: https://tlbodine.tumblr.com/post/189658195609/the-masked-knife-wielding-psycho), the “look” of Michael Myers is so iconic that it inspired a need for future killers to have a similarly thoughtful design, decking them out almost like comic book superheroes.

Franchising opportunities. Although earlier movies had spawned sequels, Halloween exploded as a franchise thanks in large part to the iconic design and the simplistic good-vs-evil storytelling formula. Future slashers would latch onto this killer-centric franchise formula for over a decade.

Halloween became the most profitable independent film, holding the record for 16 years, which goes to show just how successful the formula truly was.

The Golden Age of Slashers

As the 1970s gave way to the 1980s, the advent of VHS and Betamax formats created a market for low-budget straight-to-video films. Because slashers are so cheap to make (you don't need any famous actors, can film entirely in one location, and practical effects can be as simple as a few gallons of stage blood), they were ideal candidates for the job. On the big screen, horror was enjoying an unusually high level of popularity, a proven money-maker, simultaneously commercial and subversive in a decade of opulence and social conservativism.

So onto that stage walks Sean S. Cunningham's gory slasher, Friday the 13th, where a group of teenage camp counselors are brutally murdered, frequently wile having sex. The film spawned a widely successful franchise, which swiftly began borrowing elements of Halloween -- a silent and indestructible masked killer, a signature musical score -- to become a pop culture mainstay. The 1983 Robert Hiltzik film, Sleepaway Camp, cashes in on the "death to camp counselor" plot in the same way that Fred Walton's When a Stranger Calls touched on babysitter murders in 1979.

A whole slew of less-successful films would follow, most of them lost to the history books but still living in dollar-bin DVD collections. Some, like Prom Night and My Bloody Valentine, would earn a cult following. One noteworthy cult favorite is Slumber Party Massacre, directed and written by women (Amy Holden Jones and Rita Mae Brown, respectively), which turns some slasher tropes in their head.

A glut of films, most of them instantly forgettable, led to a decline in slasher popularity -- until Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street in 1984.

Cracking Wise and Slashing Teens

A Nightmare on Elm Street introduces Freddy Krueger, a different sort of horror villain than audiences had seen before. Krueger is a supernatural killer who stalks his victims in their dreams, bringing a fresh supernatural twist to the slasher genre. And, unlike Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees, Freddy is anything but silent. Thanks in part to the charisma of lead actor Robert Englund, the character's darkly comedic personality became utterly riveting.

Plenty of dream-related horrors would follow, none of which would make much of a splash. But one film franchise did latch on to a similar formula: Child's Play, directed by Tom Holland in 1988, introduced another supernatural wisecracking killer in the form of Chucky, a murderous doll possessed by the soul of as serial killer.

These major film franchises -- Halloween, Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Child’s Play -- would go on to spawn numerous sequels and become such a thoroughly pervasive part of pop culture that you can find their likeness everywhere. But despite the many imitators, there was little in the way of innovation in the genre until the mid 90s.

Do You Like Scary Movies?

Wes Craven toyed with the idea of self-referential horror in New Nightmare, a Freddy Krueger film that was itself a meta-analysis of Freddy Krueger films. But he would revisit the idea with far greater success in 1996 with Scream.

Created by horror lovers, for horror lovers, Scream is designed to be the most quintessential slasher film ever created. Relying on a hip, young cast to draw in a fresh audience, Scream works by combining nostalgia, meta-analysis, humor, and buckets of blood into a single film. The opening scene is a direct homage to When a Stranger Calls, and the masked killer is a deliberate call-back to earlier films.

Unsurprisingly, Scream was a huge hit that ushered in a brief but furious wave of slashers, like the star-studded I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) and Urban Legend (1998), and Scream itself had several sequels and even a TV series. But the 1990s were something of a dark era for the slasher film, seeing the release of some spectacularly lackluster franchise installments. One exception to that was the fan-favorite Freddy vs Jason, which pits the two killers against one another -- a delightful premise, but one that had strayed far from the slasher roots.

Modern Slasher Films

The 1990s slasher reboot was short-lived and mostly forgettable, and by the 2000s filmmakers had mostly turned away from the genre entirely, except for a slew of nostalgia cash-in reboots of every popular franchise.

The one exception was meta-analysis -- building on Scream, these films began to deconstruct the genre in a way that would combine horror, humor, and criticism.

The Final Girls (2015), directed by Todd Strauss-Schulson, takes this sort of meta approach. The Cabin in the Woods (2012), directed by Drew Goddard but bearing the fingerprints of co-writer and producer Joss Whedon, takes it to even further excess, providing both a thorough deconstruction of horror gropes and an entirely new mythos to give it a fresh framework.

But the problem with deconstructions is that, once a few truly successful ones have been made, it becomes essentially impossible to create the original thing in earnest anymore. And so the slasher as a sub-genre has reached its bloody end.

Where Did All The Slashers Go?

With dozens of slashers spanning more than 40 years of film history, it’s pretty hard to create something new with the format. Which is not to say that people aren’t still making them -- they are -- but there is less room to innovate within the notoriously rigid and simplistic slasher formula.

Culturally, we’ve moved on a lot from the 1970s as well. For one, serial killers are no longer the threat they once were. Babysitters and camp counselors are rarely teenagers, either -- in fact, teens aren’t leaving the house as much in general. And a rise in information technology, communications and surveillance has made it harder to isolate victims and commit murders over a long period of time -- our mass murders tend to happen in shooting sprees instead these days. For another, that same information technology has made us extremely jaded and hard to impress with gore.

The 2000s delivered violence at levels utterly beyond anything in history. The rise of the so-called torture porn -- a genre that dispenses with the stalking and killing of multiple victims in favor of lingering on the painful mutilation of a small handful -- delivered gore unlike any seen in earlier slashers. Cable television series like The Walking Dead deliver graphic violence with unprecedented regularity -- you no longer need to pick up a “video nasty” to indulge in some gruesome gore.

And, well, unfortunately, the internet has made it easier than ever to see real violence, from terrorist beheading videos to medical gore to live-streamed murders.

Gore for gore’s sake is simply not as compelling in the 21st century, and that takes away much of the slasher’s appeal.

Slashers have had to morph and adapt to find a foothold for survival. In the 2000s, we saw their metamorphosis in real time: From torture porn to home invasion to a cornucopia of more innovative horrors dwelling on fears both large and small.

We’ve probably seen the last of masked knife-wielding, babysitter-killing psychos...but the horror genre is richer for it.

#horror movies #slahsers #slasher films #horror #horror analysis

32 notes · View notes

bugaboowritings · 5 years

Text

Map of the City - Queen Bee in New York

Chloe is trying (but in America)

Inspired by @gale-of-the-nomads au , Queen Bee’s City!

here you go, love - @zazzlejazzle

Bascially Chloé does move to New York with her mom and trys to contiune being Queen Bee! Savior of New York. . . .well. . .trying to be at least. . .

I have like 6 WIP’s and the number grows whenever I try to write a new fic. I surprised myself by being able to pump this out under two days. It’s a small drabble, but it was still fun writing out how Chloe would grow and take this role seriously.

Chloé pulled out another colored pen from her case. Testing the ink before she committed to it. Scribbling on the edge of her notebook, checking if it still worked before drawing on her canvas. Looping the pen around till a thick trail of ink left the tip. With her metal ruler in her other hand, Chloé studied the map before tapping her finger on an empty spot. Aligning her ruler on two dots to form a nice straight path. Making them touch. Running her pen down quickly from one edge to the other. Creating a nice thick line in purple glitter gel.

“Sweetbrier Shop to Rivington Street,”

Victims of hit and runs and cheap robberies in the near-by liquor store. She almost got stabbed there once, but she left the fight as if it was just a light scratch. Nothing too major that this hero and a first-aid kit couldn’t handle.

Scratching the color on her key, writing a set of numbers behind it, then capping the gel pen when she was done. Her key grew to be a spectrum of colors with each crime listed. Each color marked off different dangers in the streets.

Tapping her chin with her ruler as she thought over the next points.

“Columbus Circle, Broadway, and Saint Nicholas Avenue,”

All hot spots for black market exchanges. Whether done by slipping it under one’s seat at showtime or in teens' backpacks when they walked home. Her suspicion was based on some loose tells by 'crackheads' and kids that believed something was off. Yet, what really tipped her off were the random addresses, pictures, and tickets she found after confronting that mob-boss. Well, more like lurking around their office till they came back. Long story made short, it was the most anxiety-filled 5 minutes of her life. A moment that some annoying kid from class still bugs her about.

Trying her best to logically connect them to the rumored case of human trafficking, but no vice.

Pulling out a bright lime sticky note from her desk. Noting the weak evidence behind this conclusion. Smoothing the sticky note on the wall to make sure the glue struck well on her poster. Applauding her organization before moving on to the other locations she had to check off.

Even since she came to New York with her mother, Chloé felt an urge to ‘promote’ herself. To prove everyone in Paris wrong. To make them see how much they needed her. To prove that she’s important to their stability. And when they cried for her to return, she would laugh and rub elbows with the western high class. Live in the beacon of the leading fashion trends, technological advancements, and the center of business.

Yet, when she stepped off that private jet- her fantasies were crushed.

Briskly enrolled in school again after the first weeks of setting in America. Given a uniform that clashed with her shoes. Forced into classes that she couldn’t choose (Who would think that every class would be at max capacity during the middle of the school year?) all with students that made her gag when around with. Total snots or geeks, if you ask her.

All and more as her private school crest was stamped on everything and anything. There were times where Chloé had to fight the urge to rip the ‘thing’ off.

So far, New York City wasn’t what she thought was gonna be.

All expect one class.

Political Tensions.

Honestly, she thought it would be a total snooze-fest, a slow recap on every famous war and battle. Yet, she was corrected the moment she stepped into the room. The professor managed to even get her interested in the subject.

Something that Ms. Bustier would applaud at.

From dissecting news reports or tall-tales, the professor made everything seem reasonable when the world proved to be not. Gossip or he-said-she-said silenced itself whenever they were around. The professor was known for dumping essays for their lack of sources. Wishing to read-only facts, why’s or analysis. Kicking out if's and but’s. Using the first five minutes to prep the class or go on tangents as they said the same thing but in riddles. Like the total hippie they were. Something that Chloé didn't really get.

Maybe it’s a cultural thing.

These tangents and riddles would be based on how society will see you one way and only one way. No matter what you do, you will always be the stereotype. This professor wanted the class to break that bubble. Chloé, a foreign rich girl, a nobody on the streets of New York, was expected to speak her mind when asked to and dissect each line as if it was the last word the author ever wrote.

To show that she isn’t a dumb blond or some foreign eye-candy.

Chloé wouldn’t budge with this, but with a classroom filled with people- she strongly dislikes as much as she liked the model of their watches- she wanted to be what they envied. Batting her curled eyelashes in satisfaction when the professor nodded to her answer.

Chloé raised her hand more when the tip of her tongue carried the answer, not caring if it was right or wrong because she knew it wasn’t wrong or it was just something important that had to be said. An idea worth breathing into the air. No matter what her mother said when she noticed all the books Chloé brought home or whatever side comments she heard as she left tutoring, she tried to prove them wrong.

Because they were and they are.

Studying the building blocks of war and politics. The field her father jumped in and out of.

From the Philippines ‘ deadly drug war that claims more than listed, rumored Russian hacking, Brazil’s burning, the US inconsistent investigation, and even her own country’s news- Chloé seems to understand more and more about the world she once thought was the size of a nutshell.

When really Chloé broke out of the eggshell she was sheltered in.

Her mother’s business trips to other companies and international nations didn’t do them justice. Showing the rich and their desk rather than the real people that were hidden in streets or offices.

“Roosevelt Avenue and Times Square, “

Talk was going around about risky projects taking place. Pinning two push-tacks instead of drawing a line between them. "More investigating need", she hummed. Nibbling the edge of her lips, tasting her gloss.

Stepping back from the wall, the blonde ate up her lips in anticipation. In front of her, the picture grew clear and neat. Even if to anyone else it resembled confusion. As if it was a nest of colored branches and loops. After the sixth step back, her back hit the table. Lifting it up before Chloé stepped away. Her pencil pouch spilling her mechanical pencils and pens. Letting them roll away before hitting her laptop. One that had ten different tabs checking the news and double-checking her numbers.

However, Chloé didn't turn to the mess behind her.

She was too busy awing her work.

The complete map of New York City- annotated with each important detail she discovered. Covered in lines and pins to indicate vices or crime scenes. Some colored lines extended out of the map. As if trying to touch the sticky notes or typed up reports on what she squished out of locals or from the internet. Chloe wasn’t a journalist, but she understood the appeal of piecing everything together. What was once an enigma was turning into a complete picture. No wonder that four-eyed nerd went crazy whenever she got a new scoop.

A smirk danced on her face before quickly switching it out for a frown. Ignoring the sour memories in her head, reminding herself of her plan. There was a new objective at hand.

New York was getting a new hero.

Not a movie coming in theaters soon or another comic book hitting the shelves (though she wouldn’t mind if she was the muse for one).

New York City was getting a new super-hero.

A savior, if you will.

One that would do the people justice. By the people. For the people.

Unlike a certain pig-tailed scrub back at home.

#mircaulous ladybug #ml #chloe bourgeois #chloe's path to good #my new tag whether I write Chloe Turning good #she is still my brat #ml fic #fIC #ml au #i haven't watched the new episodes so I been writing to ignore all of yall #seriously too many spoilers #bIG sad #queen bee #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #fanfic #my writings #my fic

173 notes · View notes

psychokittyfish · 4 years

Text

Daichi Sawamura x Oblivious Reader

nsfw! blowjob/vanilla

i wrote this in my notes and i don’t have a full grasp on how this app works yet so i’m kinda sorry on the formatting and shit

next time i’ll write it directly here since copy pasting is weird

————

"Good job everyone!" Karasuno's volleyball team captain yelled out as they finish off with their practice for the night and started to clean up. Two specific members stayed behind to practice more. (AHEM) You were a manager for the boys' team (Rip kiyoko) Even though you already knew everything about volleyball you don't mind it when Coach Ukai briefly explains some positions, roles, strategies etc. specifically based on the team.

When he mentioned Daichi though, your interests perk up and you can't help but give him your full attention. Y/n Sawamura. Oh how you wished to have his last name, his one and only. The real reason you became a manager was all for the team captain. You truly loved it the most when Daichi would show his mature and dependable side. He would always suggest ways for improvement for the team and going as far back as recruiting you to be a manager a few years ago. Even though the team was left in shambles without a coach or a strong leader figure he went out of his way to find a solution. That's when you stepped up and agreed on his idea. The memories would always take you back and felt like it was just yesterday. A deep voice called out to you snapping you out of your trance and shifting your attention to the dark haired male. Daichi gave you a worried expression while catching up to you and asking what was wrong, gently patting and rubbing your back to show his concern.

"Oh sorry I was just thinking back to our first-year days. I'm really gonna miss my time here." you softly smiled thinking back to the time Daichi tripped over a piece of dango on the street while Asahi and Sugawara was joining your laughing fit as well.

"Yeah me too. But you know we have more practice to worry about, more skills to learn and more knowledge on our enemies to search. Let's focus on the present and be thankful enough we're making memories together." The male gave you a reassuring smile as he walked alongside of you to where the sun sets, still having his hand on your back.

You liked it when he would always get touchy with you, that was his own way of showing affection. Lightly caressing your cheeks whenever you feel down or hopeless, massaging your shoulders to calm you from your angered state, rubbing your back for reassurance, intertwining his fingers with your h/c locks whenever you feel motivated or proud of something and hugging you when you have the need to cry. Not only do you like his mature side but you also love it when he gets angry. He scares off the team with a single look of irritation and flames start to burst around his figure. You can't help but laugh and be scared at the same time.

"Oh right I almost forgot. Say wanna come over to my house today? I got a new movie I bought recently. There's some suggestive scenes I heard about from Nishinoya and Tanaka but I hope you don't mind. Plus my parents won't be home for a few weeks to visit our relatives, what do you say?" He offered you to come over at his place.

Your mind couldn't process it. Is this really happening? My one and only crush has invited me to watch a movie together. Excitement was rushing through your veins, the thought of going over to his house and possibly get married sent you into a bliss. Plans of how you two were gonna split the bills in buying a new house or possibly getting a dog was already set in motion in your head. Daichi cut you off in your trance once again and laughed at how your head was always in the clouds whenever he’s around.

"If you don't mind then I'll tag along!" in the end you agreed and followed him on his way back home. Humming a happy tune and smiling like crazy on the way. Your dream was finally coming true! You happily giggled at the thought and hurried to catch up to the team captain.

A little bit of a walk from school and you both finally arrived at his place. His house was fairly moderate, not too big and not too small. It felt comfortable once you stepped in. Looking around you found photos of Daichi when he was only a baby to his teenage days. All the picture frames lined up neatly on the shelf tops and some pictures of his parents hung up on the wall as well.

"Aww look at you and Ikejiri~" you cooed at him while pointing to a photo that showed his volleyball team back in junior high winning the first match for their final tournament. Daichi chuckled embarrassingly with a light blush visible on his cheeks and signalled you to follow him up to his room. Daichi took off his Karasuno's Volleyball Team sweater along with crossing his arms at the end hem of his white, sweat filled t-shirt and peeling it off, throwing both clothing items to the laundry basket. He was now left only with his shorts on and his toned figure was in full sight for you.

Yeah, you would always see the volleyball team take off their shirts, especially Tanaka. But when it comes to Daichi taking his shirt off you can't help but be drawn into his toned body while sweat would roll down his body. You have no clue why but you would always feel something stir in the depths of your stomach and your face would feel hotter. You would always just shrugged it off as having feelings for him. You on the other hand took off your sweater revealing your not too transparent loose white t-shirt with the words " Miaou Miaou~!" and little cat and fish characters surrounding the text.

You looked away from the laughing dark haired male, embarrassed and had no clue that you were gonna take your sweater off in front of someone. But you didn't mind, in the end you two were best friends anyway and sharing small moments like these would always brighten up your day in any situation. Now you were only left with your tight spandex shorts that was hugging the curves of your butt comfortably and your f/c lacy bra slightly peeking through your transparent-like t-shirt.

Though you didn't know that it showed more on the back and turning around from Daichi while reaching up to try to turn the air conditioner on gave him a full sight of your figure. Daichi's head exploded and his face was a deep shade of red, now blushing like crazy. Just the sight of your back with your bra showing, your curves now visible along with the shape of your butt coming together from the spandex and your chest slightly bouncing from your action of jumping up to the air condition made him feel something growing just between his legs.

Daichi slightly panicked and quickly grabbed a blanket to cover his bits averting his eyes from you, he couldn't help but keep looking though and imagined how it would feel to- He immediately stopped his thoughts and exhaled slowly, grabbing a remote for the air conditioner and turning it on. You were surprised by the action and laughed. You didn't even notice that it was controlled by a remote. He patted the seat right next to him on the soft mattress while putting on the newly bought movie in the t.v he had right at the foot of the bed. You gladly sat down right next to him and took out a couple snacks you quickly bought at Ukai’s store on the way to his home.

The movie started playing and you couldn't help but shiver because of the decrease in temperature from the air conditioner, Daichi noticed and offered you to use the same blanket he was using. With the both of you using the same blanket it brought your bodies closer. But with that action you couldn't help but notice at the corner of your eye a bulge coming out of the thin blanket on where Daichi's lap was located. He didn't notice that your eyes landed on a specific body part of his, as he was focused on the movie that had a lot of action going on. You being clueless when it came to the male anatomy couldn't help but grab the slightly twitching bulge and Daichi let out a deep groan as his eyes widened along with yours. Your hand was still on his member as you tilt your head in confusion.

"What's wrong Daichi? And by the way, what's this on your blanket? It won't go away." you puffed your cheeks as you kept rubbing the mysterious bulge. The dark haired male gripped onto the sheets of his bed while his head rolled back and his breath hitching from your action. A blush as red as a tomato on his face while deep groans and growls kept escaping his gritted teeth.

"Y-y/n... Ah... What a-are you doing..?" Daichi barely got out as you basically were starting to jack him off through the blankets. You started getting a little irritated and took the blanket off him and crawled your way in front of him. Kneeling down and lowering your head to get a closer look with your butt up high. This time you used both of your hands and now fondled the whole length through his thin shorts. It was long along with being thick in size.

"Dai-dai? What's this? I'm trying to rub it off you but it won't go away..." you asked confusingly using the nickname you gave him, the more you kept going the more Daichi started to sweat even more and his groans turning into deep moans. His hand making its way on your h/c locks, inching your mouth closer in between his legs.

"Y-y/n... hah... please- try putting it in your m-mouth..." Daichi huffed as he begged to feel more contact, lust completely taking the better of him. Listening to his orders you pulled down his shorts along with his boxers. His member springing out of the clothing of chambers and twitching as precum rolled down from the tip.

"Woah... I didn't know it was part of you, that's so cool!" you looked at the body part intently, observing as the veins on the side were throbbing and the tip a shiny red. The length looked bigger than it was when it was trapped under his clothes and you couldn't help but touch it.

You were surprised when the length twitched in response to your contact, wanting to see more reactions out of it as well as Daichi's groans you decided to pump both of your hands on it as only one hand won't be able to fit the entire body part. As you kept going the dark haired male's hips started thrusting up letting you know to speed up, his body shaking with every action as the pleasure was too much for him to handle but at the same time he wanted more.

For some reason just doing this made you feel weird in your underwear and your guts felt like it was doing backflips. Recalling back to Daichi's request you decided to lick the tip that was covered in the transparent-like white substance. Daichi shuddered, his eyes rolling back and his cheeks blushing even deeper with his back right up against the head board. Looking up, you met with his half-lidded eyes that's clouded with lust as they were telling you something like: 'Please put it in your mouth.'

You decided to stick your tongue out while taking in the tip of his length, making sure to coat it with your saliva for easier access. As you started taking him in you hummed in delight, proud that you're making Daichi feel good according to his grunts and moans. Making sure to keep eye contact with the male you took him in your mouth fully, his length hitting the back of your throat almost making you gag because of the size. His hands couldn’t help but softly get entangled in your fluffy h/c coloured locks.

He felt roughly around 8 inches. You started bobbing your head while rubbing your tongue all over his shaft inside along with pumping the rest of him that you couldn't take in. Daichi's breathing got heavier and his whole body now trembling from the sensation, his hips started to thrust up making you give him a deep throat as you can feel his hands now on the side of your head, careful not to go too rough on moving your head up and down. Even when lust got the better of him he was still careful to not hurt you in the process. The whole room was filled with the males groans and moans along with sounds of sloshing and popping from your work on his shaft.

"Ah... Y-y/n... Please... C-can I- Release in y-your mouth...?" Despite all the pleasure that's striking his entire body from your action he managed to politely ask you. You nodded your head yes and hummed in agreement. This of course made Daichi even more ecstatic than he already was and let you did the rest of the work until he tapped the sides of your head letting him know he's about to “release.”

"Y-y/n... Watch out- Ngh-ah!" He managed to say in between his groans as you felt warm liquid eject from the tip of his length rolling down the back of your throat. The shaft twitching as ropes of the liquid kept on coming out. The substance leaking down the corner of your lips too much that your mouth couldn't hold the rest of it. You looked up at him and swallowed the milk-like subject, your face immediately twisting from the flavour. A mix of bitter, slightly salty yet sweet was coating your entire mouth. Daichi panics and quickly grabbed a water bottle and tissue from his bed side table.

"Y-y/n! You weren't supposed to swallow! Are you okay?" the male asked in worry as he wiped your lips off with the tissue and handed you the water bottle.

"But I thought it was milk... Either way it still tasted a bit hmm... Sweet? So it wasn't that bad." you beamed at his distress state, reassuring him while a blush was still quite visible from his face. He sighs at your cluelessness and returned a small smile.

"That was so cool Dai-dai! Can we do it again? Wait if I did it to you then, it's your turn! But I don't have a long thingy like you do though... Does that mean you don't get a turn? Aw...” you puffed your cheeks in defeat as you looked down past your stomach, touching the section where Daichi had his “body part” at.

"Oh don't worry y/n, I do get a turn. See only guys have what I have but for girls it's uh different and special." Daichi awkwardly explained to your dumbfoundedness.

"Huh? I'm special? Really?!" you happily jumped in place as the male laughed at your childish act.

"Would you like to know how I felt though? I mean if you want I don't really wanna force you into-" you cut him off as you pulled his head just right in front of you, your foreheads touching and you could feel his breath just hovering over your lips.

"It's okay Dai-dai, I trust you. You're not forcing me into anything I'll be glad for whatever you're going to do to me. Besides I wanna know how you felt too!" you lightened him up as he closed the distance between yours and his lips. His eyes closing while yours were getting wider. Taken aback by his action you can't help but blush deeply. You’ve heard of this from a book before, the text described it as something that felt good and you can’t help but quietly squeal that you’re now experiencing it as well. He pulled away from the “kiss” and you didn’t know why but you wanted to tell him how you feel right this instant. Gulping down hard you muster up all the courage you have and locked eyes with him.

"Dai-dai... I've been meaning to tell you but... um, I uh... I-" you were stuttering like crazy, you didn’t know it was this hard to express your own feelings. Daichi cuts you off with another kiss on your lips as he too still had a deep blush on his cheeks.

"Y/n I like you too." you both chuckled not knowing that you both had feelings for each other. Today felt like it was the best day ever! Daichi lead your back against the head board and he positions his head right between your thighs as he looks up and smirks at your flustered yet confused state.

"Well, now it's my turn."

#smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #hq #sawamura daichi #daichi sawamura x reader #haikyuu x reader #lemon #oblivious #reader insert

6 notes · View notes

leonawriter · 5 years

Text

In The Moonlight

Also on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Chuuya, Dazai, Atsushi, Kyouka, others.

Pairings: Dazai/Chuuya

Notes: BEAST AU fix-fic. Dazai-typical suicide references. Book Dazai AU.

Chuuya finding the Book isn't entirely an accident. Chuuya falling out of the mafia building after Dazai wasn't an accident at all. Neither was pushing himself to breaking point to make damn sure both he and Dazai survived hitting the ground.

But surviving is one thing. Picking up the pieces of the world in the aftermath of it all, would be another thing entirely.

...

Chuuya leaves, figuring that whatever Dazai wanted to do, he could damn well do without Chuuya - he'd done well enough by that account for the past several years, after all, so what'd be so different about now?

He almost trips, almost falls-

shouldn't be possible like that with his ability he shouldn't and yet andyet-

-and remembers that he'd left something in Dazai's old office. The one Dazai used to have as his home base of sorts, when they were still basically dorming together in the mafia stronghold, having nowhere else to go and no one else to take them in.

At one point, they'd hated each other and worked seamlessly, almost as if where one stopped the other one started.

Then again, at one point, the room he'd just left had been the same one he could still remember pledging loyalty to the mafia - to one man - in, and now, here he was, with all of the reasons he'd sworn that oath having been burnt away over time into the smouldering ashes of could-have-beens.

(He'd seen Dazai plot and set traps around Mori around the time of the Mimic incident; something about the entire thing had left him feeling vaguely sick afterwards, an ache in his side, watching as his world crumbled, fell, and then neatly rebuilt and rearranged itself around him.

Ah, he'd thought sometime later, that's why, he'd thought, remembering how Shirase had stabbed him by getting in close. It was just another betrayal, after all, just another organisation he could have - should have - done more for, where he was slowly being taken for granted.

Again.)

You've forgotten something, his feet still said, taking him back. Who even knew why, it wasn't as if he could change anything.

It wasn't as though he could go back into their past, and somehow change things - it wasn't as if he'd know what to change. He didn't have Dazai's mind for that sort of shit. But then, given where Dazai was right now-

Maybe that was for the best.

...

The Boss' old room from when he wasn't even an executive yet was barely touched from the time when that'd been the case, and this was the only office Dazai'd had, and part of that was because of how little time he'd spent here before moving on to bigger and better places higher up in the food chain.

Or at least, that's what he seemed to want everyone else to think.

'Everyone else' wasn't Chuuya, though, and Chuuya found it all too easy to see the differences - a little less cluttered here, perhaps, a little less full of life. Much like the man it belonged to. The couch they'd bothered each other on before things had started to change was in here, and so were a few other things, although all of them seemed to have been thrown onto the floor rather than treated with any sort of respect or, god forbid, sentiment.

He must have forgotten what he'd come in here for, because he couldn't for the life of him think what could be his in this memorial of a room that he'd want to take with him, that he might have left behind.

That damn bastard had even just left a torn up notebook full of his own writing just scattered on the floor, the binding pretty much coming loose in places.

He bent down to pick it up.

One gloved finger brushed a page.

...

One moment he is crouched on the floor of Dazai's old office.

The next he is seeing himself, frozen in time, outside of space and everything, and at the same time, a part of it.

At first, it is quiet.

Then, he hears something, at the edge of his awareness, a papery sound, as if-

...

His awareness spreads from one page to every single page, and it is too much, too fast, and he thinks he hears himself screaming-

(Hears himself screaming Dazai's name and sees himself shoving an entire skyscraper down a dragon's maw in the midst of Corruption, and Dazai is dressed in white, the white of death, and yet he wakes and touches Chuuya-)

-until he almost can't hear himself any longer, or he would say that, except, something about the thought feels wrong.

Was it even his scream?

Visions of their very own White Reaper, the weretiger Atsushi, flicker in his mind, dressed in a different kind of black-and-white, more white than black, screaming out the name of the Agency's newest recruit in rage.

It all passes him by in an instant, like old camera footage on film, but he can hear it and feel it at the same time. As if he's there.

He doesn't understand.

...

Dazai is standing in front of him, looking roughed up, which sets Chuuya on edge immediately, even before he takes in any real notice of the Boss' clothes, because anyone or anything that could get that close to the Boss, could hurt the Boss, was on him. Keeping the Boss safe from harm, even if it was from himself, was Chuuya's own job, damn it.

And then he looks down at Dazai, and sees the brown coat, the beige trousers, the waistcoat, the tie... more colour than he thinks he's ever seen on Dazai, even on undercover missions. And not a hint of black or red.

Then again, he looks at himself, and he looks much like he did when he was first taken in. How he'd stayed for years, until Dazai had taken over. Before he'd had to resign himself to staying indoors, and barely even seeing or walking the streets of the city he loved.

"If I step in too late," Dazai was saying, "you'll die. It's your call."

He watches himself go.

Trusting Dazai with his life.

Watches himself let go, and give in.

He closes his eyes, and wonders just how long it had taken for him to doubt that trust.

Because he can't look, can't watch himself go like this, and it shakes him when he opens his eyes to see-

Nothing, and everything.

He closes his eyes again, and wonders when it was that he had begun to not bear to look.

...

"Stop it," he says, even though he doesn't truly have a voice here.

"Stop it," he cries out.

He curls in on himself, reaching for a hat that doesn't exist, although the universe has the ability to make another, or a hundred thousand hats the exact same, each one with the handwritten word "Rimbaud" inked into the brim.

It doesn't matter here if he's human or not, because his ability doesn't exist, and all that does are the images and scenes of lives as they could have been, a countless number that are tearing him to shreds.

"Please," he says, the word getting torn out of him, "I just want to go back."

...

The whirlwind dies down.

He starts to be able to think again.

And then-

...

Liar.

...

The word comes from everything, all around. The entire world telling him that he had to be telling a lie.

Liar, the world said, again.

You could have any one of these. You could change the world to your whim.

You don't want to go back.

Liar.

...

"I just want to go back," he couldn't help repeating, as if saying it would make it true.

Seeing those things made him want so badly, made him tempted, and yet...

...

I can't be him.

...

That was right.

Whoever the Chuuya in there was, every time he saw him, he seemed so much younger, so much more naive, and as if he'd barely seen anything of the world.

That wasn't him, he couldn't be that person - maybe he could have, once, but not anymore.

...

...can't be-

...

Chuuya just wishes, for a moment, that the one he was stuck with could be just a little bit more like-

...

I CAN'T BE HIM - I CAN'T BE THAT PERSON.

I CAN'T BE HIM.

YOU CAN'T WANT ME, ALL ANYONE WANTS IS THE ONE WHO ISN'T ME, AND I CAN'T-

...

Knowledge and understanding flood his being in a split second. One moment, there's the confusion of wondering where the voice was coming from that spoke directly into everything so that his very bones (or where bones should be) shook him and gave him such an all-encompassing sensation of despair.

He was inside the Book.

Everything that he had seen was an alternate timeline, an alternate version of events, a possibility.

Dazai would tell Atsushi and Akutagawa that only three people could understand the Book's true use and purpose at a time, and that this would be a lie, as he simply knew that the Book would not be able to withstand being used even one more time.

The incontrovertible truth that Dazai Osamu, regardless of the fact that he seemed to not be aware of this himself... was the Book itself.

Or at least, the part that Chuuya was in right now, was the part made of paper that couldn't burn or be destroyed by normal means, and yet had been used to destruction by Dazai's very own self.

He could find out anything, he realised. Anything at all.

Instead, he simply closed his eyes.

"Put me back," he said, using the same tone of voice he used on jittery subordinates who'd never killed before. Gentle, but firm. "And stop assuming you know what I want, asshole."

...

Chuuya opens his eyes, and catches a sheet of what he had been assuming to be notebook paper, that had blown free from the carpeted floor, and puts it carefully with the rest. Neither it nor the rest of the ripped-out pages will go back in the way they went, but that's not the main issue right now. the important thing was not losing any.

And then, when it's secure and safely tucked away in an inner pocket, the Book - snug against his heart - feels almost as though it's telling him to find a window, to be quick-

...

It's not easy, getting Dazai down. It involves a lot of stopping and starting, running down windows and aborted attempts at going ahead to break one and get him inside before they reach the ground, before having to simply catch the falling fish again and the times when he's just carrying his boss, reacting like someone who's never had an ability - which isn't something that comes naturally to him, more so than for anyone else, given he's never known what it's like to live without it.

By the time they're on the ground, Dazai's staring at him with a single accusing eye (strange, now that he's seen the Dazai-in-brown with both eyes open), as if he's just interrupted something important.

Which, he thinks, according to Dazai, he had.

Not that he gives a flying fuck what Dazai thinks right now, because he's pissed off, and trying to not look too much like he is, because Dazai or not, suicide attempt or not, this was still his Boss.

"...You stopped me," Dazai says eventually. There's a hint of real anger in his voice, but for once Chuuya isn't intimidated.

"I don't remember ever resigning," he says, out of breath. He's pretty sure he can feel bruises he's going to feel for ages, and his suit's torn from broken glass, sticky from it too, from where the glass slid in a touch too deeply when he was holding Dazai and couldn't push it away in time. "I don't remember quitting, either," he adds. "You know, I almost forgot just how much you've always pissed me off, Dazai."

"I'm your Boss-"

"And I'm saying as someone who used to be your partner, I hate suicidal idiots who don't think about anyone else more than anything!" His voice is hoarse. Maybe it's the wind he had to put up with on the way down. That'd count for the way his eyes are watering, too. He's not used to having to deal with high pressure wind like a normal person would, after all. "Damn it, I fucking hate you."

Dazai, damn him, tenses in Chuuya's grip, and then stills.

(Part of him remembers the way another Dazai had floated down effortlessly to the ground, Chuuya the one in his lap instead of the other way around, and it having been a soft, peaceful moment rather than the tense one full of the sound of alarms and people rushing out and surrounding them, since the Boss is on the ground, and with a single touch Chuuya's ability could be turned off, their final defence brought down.

It isn't fair, he thinks, that some other Chuuya got that, and he's stuck with this.)

"The Book," Dazai breathes out, single eye wide, "you found it - Chuuya, what did you do? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" The word rings out around them, and if Chuuya's hurt that Dazai is more concerned with the idea of anything happening to that friend of his who wasn't even his friend here, than his own life, or Chuuya's, or anyone else's in the whole damn world, then - apparently, that doesn't count for much. "I didn't write a single fucking word on a single damn page, Dazai," he says lowly, so that this time Dazai's the only one who can hear him. Dazai just stares at him, clearly not believing. "Not one."

"I... could have died, I think," Dazai says.

There's something tired about the way he says it, that makes Chuuya feel like there's a cold seeping into his bones.

"Yeah," he says, remembering all the numbers of times since they were kids that Dazai's tried and failed to die, the times when he'd floated along the river and should have drowned, when he's hung himself and added yet another rope line to his neck, thrown himself into the line of fire, off of buildings...

Dazai'd somehow always survived, no matter that he hadn't wanted to, had always been vocally disappointed to be able to open his eyes again.

This time, though-

If only a diamond can polish a diamond, does that mean that the only thing that can destroy the Book, something that can't be damaged by fire or any other sort of ability, no matter the kind... is the Book itself?

The pages strewn across Dazai's old office, and the broken state of the self that had been crying out when he'd been inside of it, suggested that maybe they were right.

"You could've," he allowed. "But you're not gonna."

"I'm... not him," Dazai says, closing his eyes.

"Yeah? Good. Means I don't have to get my eyes checked for throwing myself off a building for a ghost, then." He thinks about it, if the Boss had suddenly been replaced like that, and shudders.

He can't finish the thought of wondering, because the very idea of him, the way he is, being looked at - through - by a Dazai who was so much better than both of them, who knew a Chuuya who was so much better than he was, had so much more... it makes him feel like he'd almost prefer never to have known they existed, because that way he wouldn't feel like the memory of their existence was constantly judging him.

...

They both wind up taking a short trip to the A&E, somewhere they haven't been for a while just because usually, Dazai's status as Boss of the Port Mafia tends to mean he's kept safely inside the headquarters building and seen to by Port Mafia doctors, or those they trust. But with the headquarters made a complete mess of by first Atsushi and Akutagawa, and then his own descent, it's no longer as secure as it should be, and anything else would just take too much time.

Dazai's in the next room, guarded by several mafia Chuuya trusts, both to protect him from any threats, but also - after the stunt he'd pulled earlier - from himself, and for his own good.

Chuuya's been getting updates from them and the nurses whenever anything changes. So far, Dazai seems to have sustained mostly non-lethal but inconveniencing injuries that'll put him out of commission for a while.

So when Atsushi and Kyouka come by, the men direct them into Chuuya's room instead, because Dazai's asleep, like he should be.

He doesn't miss the way the weretiger's eyes widen at the sight of him, one of the most feared mafia executives and the Boss' right hand man, covered in bandages just like the Boss, and wrapped in a hospital yukata.

"S-sir!" Atsushi bows, as if they were just in the main office (he thinks he'd tried to blow that window in, too, but the windows hadn't given, just buckled somewhat, and he winces at the thought of how much effort is going to go into repairing and replacing everything).

"Atsushi." The boy's eyes widen at the sound of his name. Then again, he probably expects to be punished, for being up there when a suicidal idiot decided to try and kill himself again.

Chuuya sighs.

"We came because- b-before, Dazai-san... he..."

"He told you to do something, and then fell off the fucking roof, didn't he?" Chuuya summarised.

Atsushi nodded, sharply.

"Yes, sir."

"What was it?" And when neither of them answered, he tched in frustration, and pushed himself a little further upright. "Dazai's in the other room asleep and alive, currently the only one other than you guys and maybe that Akutagawa who'd know what was said up there. As an executive member, I have every right to order you to tell me what he told you to do."

Atsushi paled, and began to shake, but Chuuya couldn't find it within himself to feel too guilty, even knowing just how strong the kid had grown in any other version of events.

"Dazai-san, he... he asked us to protect something," Atsushi said, voice still shaking, seemingly rooted to the spot. Kyouka next to him didn't move a single muscle. "And - he..." his voice trailed off into almost nothing. "He told me to defect from the mafia, sir." The words were barely audible, Chuuya only just able to hear them. "He told me-"

"Then what're you still doing here?" Atsushi, cut off by his superior - former superior, it looked like - stared blankly. "He fired you, kid. And her too, right?" After all, Chuuya had seen the girl doing better elsewhere too, and if he'd seen that, then Dazai definitely would have. "Then why come back like a stray dog to the place that's kicked you out? If you're wondering what to do next since Dazai's not dead, just... do whatever you want. You don't have to do what he says anymore, if he says he's not going to take you back." Hypocrite, he thinks to himself. Dazai had basically thrown him aside, and here he was, still clutching onto the last rags of something he didn't even know was worth keeping anymore. "If the Boss himself has told you to do a thing, you do it. And since I know what what's going on," in more ways than he'd let them know about, even if he had a strong suspicion he knew what they'd been tasked with protecting, and why, "I'm not going to let anyone hunt you down for following orders."

Atsushi began to back away, first one foot, and then the other, backing away and not turning around until he was in the hall, at which point Chuuya saw him begin to run.

Kyouka takes a little longer, studying him, eyes narrowed, before she turns away, a little more confident, a little less twitchy like a spooked cat.

"Good luck, kid," he can't help saying as she leaves. "You'll both do better there."

He thinks he sees her tense at his words, but can't be sure, and then she's gone too, and all he's left with is the knowledge that a part of Dazai's soul is still in his inner jacket pocket, and a sorry sense of attachment to two kids who he barely even knows, but knows can be so much better and more alive, just like them, and he's tired, he's tired of knowing.

So he closes his eyes, and hopes that when he wakes up, Dazai will still be alive, and the world won't have ended, and that when he next looks in that jacket pocket, he won't just see a dissipating mass of ink and dust.

It's as he's just drifting off, not quite asleep and not quite awake, that the thought comes to him-

Ah, he thinks, you're just like me.

...

AN: I'll be honest, this actually started several weeks ago when I was browsing pixiv and saw someone's art of Odasaku, Akutagawa, Atsushi, Kyouka, Kenji, and Dazai all standing in the light, and it made me go, "okay, but AU where they're all able to work together. Where they're on the same side, even if they're not in the same organisations."

And that's how this happened, although the part about Dazai being the Book's squishy human form comes from my other fic "The Rest That's Still Unwritten", which is technically canon to this one and vice versa by pure simple means of "same characters, different stories" even in-universe. Originally I wasn't going to, but... it worked just too well not to, especially after a random idea-thought had Chuuya going "this book's so beat up it looks like it barely even remembers it's a book."

...Though, I'll admit that I haven't gone through more than a summary of the BEAST AU book itself, and all events depicted from it are my own understanding of them. I'm writing a fix fic because I don't really like how things happened there, y'know. It's sad and I don't like sad.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd stuff #beast au #Leona fic #book dazai au

9 notes · View notes

bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 years

Text

Goretober (Day 25)

Prompt: Broken

Fandom: Once Upon A Time

Character: Regina Mills

Song Rec: Hole - Doll Parts

Summary: Regina finds dolls of everyone she hates and begins breaking them apart.

She finds them in her closet and she loathes them. Several little dolls of the people Regina hates the most. They are just there, she supposes in the same way Henry had acquired the storybook.

They stare up at her with cute, little, glass bead eyes and she wants to tear them apart. She can’t exactly toruture the real versions of them, not hear in Storybrooke. She isn’t that brutishly savage anyhow.

The dolls though, she wouldn’t mind picking them apart, living out some of her sicker fantasies through them. It isn’t a great coping mechanism but it will have to do. It is better than many of the alternatives.

Whale is first, mostly because she sees him first. Perhaps it is weird and borderline insane and she feels awkward for doing it, but she finds herself picking out one of Henry’s larger toy cars. She gives it and the Whale doll within a good push, sending it careening over the railing and onto the floor. The doll’s head comes off but Henry’s car is mostly in tact.

She picks up the miniature David next. His little plastic hand puts up some resistance as she tries to snap it, she can’t seem to break it off entirely, so she settles for simply bending it back as far as she possibly can. She pushes the left hand back just as far. But she tries to go beyond that. She twists the plastic and twists at it until the hand is barely hanging off. Satisfied with her work, she shoves doll David aside, she has already paid him too much attention.

She brushes her hand over the Granny doll and over the Ruby doll, she doesn’t hate them quite as much as the others, not enough to bother defacing their dolls. Instead she finds the one of Gold. She takes the toy cane that his teeny plastic hands is wrapped around and she drives it into his middle. She first has to carve a little hole with a knife, the cane slips in with ease. She now has an impaled imp doll. She puts him aside.

She smirks as she picks up the Mary doll. This she snaps the back of. She gives it no thought as she bends the doll practically in half with a snarl. She yanks at the doll’s arms and legs. She scratches its face until it is unrecognizable and she tosses it in the trash.

Faintly she thinks of how irrational it is that she is getting so heated over toys.

Regina picks up the Emma doll regardless. Thinking of how she’d stolen Graham and sawed a branch off of her apple tree, of how she continues to try to steal Henry and of how she can very well break the curse, Regina bashes the Emma doll’s against the counter top. She pounds until it’s plastic head caves in.

.oOo.

She wakes to an urgent phone call.

A report of an accident.

A bad and grizzly one.

Emma and her sheriff's car are already on the scene alongside a small crowd of spectators. Regina pushes her way through it. She could make out a car lying crushed on the beach, at the base of a small cliffside. It had ripped through the guardrails.

“How did this happen?”

“Drunk driving.” Emma replies. “Everyone said that they saw Whale stumble his way out of the bar. He couldn’t even walk straight, but he decided to drive…”

Regina stops listening as a chill runs down her back. A coincidence, she tells herself. Just a morbid coincidence. There is no magic in Storybrooke, Whale had done this to himself. A drunk fool behind the wheel, no different from the reset of them…

But she can’t explain away David’s mishap the following morning. That he had gone tripped over the curb on his way to his car and that the way he had fallen onto himself had snapped his right hand back. That a street cleaner, of all things, happened to be driving by and ended up twisting his hand nearly off.

He is in the hospital now.

A hospital that is out its main doctor…

They say that he will probably recover.

Regina tries to think of who is next. A wave of dread washes over her. She pulls on a jacket and hastily makes her way over to Gold’s pawn shop. She stops outside the door, wondering just what the hell she is going to say.

“Are you just going to stand there, dearie? Or can I pass?” He steps out of the shop.

“You…” She starts. “You have to be careful.”

“Oh do I?”

Regina nods.

“I’m not drunk like the doctor and I’m not an idiot like Mr. Nolan.” Gold speaks. “I will be fine.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should let your guard down.” Regina grumbles.

“Out of my way, dearie.” He motions with his cane and Regina’s heart seizes.

“Put that thing down!” She frowns. “Before you hurt someone with it.”

Mr. Gold rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to beat you with my cane, I would have done it already.” He mutters. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Listen to me…”

“Move out of my way and leave me be.” He smirks, “please.”

Regina closes her eyes and inhales in annoyance as her body freezes up. She watches the man walk by, the streetlight glints off of his cane. He gives it a few lazy twirls and she wonders which one will be the last. But he makes it to his car.

She doesn’t find out until the next morning that there has been another freak accident. This one involving the hands of the town clock tower falling after having rusted loose. She doesn't need Emma’s report to know that the victim has been impaled through the stomach. She doesn’t need Emma’s report to know who had been impaled.

Her face is pale as she pretends to work through a stack of paper. For as much as she hates Mary, she doesn’t want to see another gruesome headline. Yet one lands on her desk anyhow. Sydney slaps it down with pride, declaring that he has got a real story this time.

A wolf attack; the animal had dragged Mary away from her outing with David. David having no functioning hands to work with could only watch as the woman’s limbs were shaken loose and her face was scratched up. Could only watch as she tried to escape the creatures grasp only to fall into a small sinkhole and put a crack in her spine.

Worser still, that she is alive and paralyzed.

Regina runs a hand through her hairline. She has done this. It is her fault. Those dolls.

Emma.

In this moment she has no hatred for the woman. Just concern. Concern at what she is going to be responsible for. Regina winces. Winces and wonders...she wonders if she can stop this. She had went about it in the wrong way with Gold.

She gets to her feet and hastily runs home where she shuffles through her draws until she finds the Emma doll with its concave face. She tries her best to pop the doll’s head back to its rightful shape. With horror, she realizes that she is only making it worse. She has successfully rubs the paint off of the doll’s eyes. She feels sick. God, if she had known before she’d smashed its plastic face in.

If only she knew…

If only…

She has only one idea left. One idea that she isn’t sure can be accomplished on time. At the very least, she has to try. Doll in hand, Regina makes her way to Marco’s house.

#Goretober 2019 #Once Upon A Time #Regina Mills #Fanfiction

1 note · View note

marylandsystema2 · 3 years

Text

Boxing, Sambo and Mud Fighting . . . – USAdojo.com

This incident took place when I was 14 years of age.

I grew up in Tver, a fairly tough industrial city, 2 hours North of Moscow. I lived at home only on weekends, as for all 5 weekdays, I had to stay at a boarding school full of orphans and very rough kids from seriously troubled families. Naturally, martial arts were among our key interests. Out of 13 boys in my class, 12 trained in Boxing and one did Sambo Wrestling. Of course, I was quite skeptical about that one boy and had a much higher opinion of Boxing. Using fists seemed more decisive and to the point – just 2 or 3 good punches and either you are a winner or you can bravely run away (easily because you were up on your feet anyway).

Our Boxing instructor, a certified Candidate-Master, came right to the boarding school to teach us and talked a lot about “the importance of real life experience”, so we tried to apply our fists to work whenever and wherever possible. His method of teaching was based on his size and mass – about 6’4″ and 230 pounds. To us, the excited youth, he seemed to be a giant capable of knocking out a horse. We tried to copy his manner of fighting of a European heavy-weight – slow, collected and very powerful punches. The only problem was that we all skinny and agile trying to fight as if we were big and massive. It must have been very funny to watch. I realized that later, when I entered my first competition and saw other boxers, I was amazed that there were so many other ways of fighting.

Street fights were a very common occurrence; they were quick, often bloody and involving many participants. I have never seen pure locks and chokes applied on the ground. All grappling techniques were mixed with kicking and punching, use of numerous weapons, including rocks, sticks, and chains. As we were all teens, fights would only last less than a minute until the first shout: “Police!” Then it was time to run as quickly as possible. The ones who were caught on the fight scene were indiscriminately blamed and ended up in detention. Moreover, walking off a grappling scene with ripped clothing, dirt and blood all over – would also mean getting arrested. Thus, boxing tactics were much preferred, especially a strong powerful punch that settled the argument – that was our goal and the ultimate masterpiece.

There was a joke around. One guy asked a boxer how was his match. The boxer replied: “If only they did not turn off the lights in the gym – I would totally destroy my opponent…”

To me it showed how magnificent a punch should be – that the person would get so wiped out that he would not even realize that he was knocked out.

Having said all that, I’d like to share with you an experience that is memorable for the total mix of martial arts, nasty weather, age and size discrepancy and emotional drama. One day when I was home on a weekend, I saw that a good friend from my apartment building had a lot of bruises on him. When I asked him why, reluctantly he said that his drunken step-father had beaten up his mom, my friend tried to protect her and the step-father had beaten him up as well. That made me very angry and I went ahead to set things right with his step-father right there and then.

I must tell you that at that age, I was a very skinny entity, weighing about 100 pounds, while the step-father was around 40 years old and a huge man of over 200 pounds. The action took place at the side of our building by a fence. It was autumn, late evening, almost dark outside, with light rain turning into endless drizzle. A square yard area was being prepared for a skating ring and for now, fully covered with extreme dirt and mud.

The step-father, big, brutal and drunk, like an angry monster, was walking through the mud and I determinedly emerged right in front of him…

Full of indignation, I moved towards him shouting why he had done such a horrible thing and demanding for him to never do it again. He stared back at me with disbelief. His rage was building up as he began to raise his hands to either push me away or hit me. My one year of boxing practice didn’t go in vain, the words of my Boxing teacher popped up in my mind: “with your weight and speed – hit first” and I landed a mighty hook into his jaw… He fell onto his knees and I was truly amazed and pleased with my power. A moment later, I realized that the true reason he fell was that he was drunk and slipped in the mud. He wasn’t the only one falling; I was quickly slipping and falling myself right next to him. He got to his knees and tried to hold me down. That’s when I started to regret my skepticism about wrestling and my total absence of ground fighting knowledge. Unbelievably, I found some “hollow areas” where his pressure was less crushing and slid through those areas making my way through the mud underneath. While he was on his hands and knees, I kicked him. He grabbed my leg and easily pulled me sliding down into the mud. Fear of death and desire to live played a big part in the speed with which I was jumping up to my feet. I stood up and hit him once more. He fell. Again it was not because of the particular power of my strikes but because he was drunk and the ground was incredibly slippery.

I was then able to kick him as hard as I could. (Now I know that emotional kicking is very unwise in a fight, you have to calculate your force based on the situation.) I didn’t know it then and my fervent kick made me slide and fall flat on my back. It was a kick in the ribs, presumably a painful one, because now his intention to kill me escalated into total growling rage. As I attempted to get up, he grabbed the top part of my sweater like a mad animal. I could tell by his face that he was about to finish me off right now and that made me do something out of the ordinary…

His grip was so powerful, his face was so furious and I was so desperate that I slid out of my sweater like a snake leaving its skin behind. I slipped out without even feeling his hands on me. And then I was saved…

We both heard the familiar shouting: “Call the police!!!” The man’s wife was apparently there. Obviously, when police would arrive she would testify totally against me. So as he stopped for a moment, I ran like never before, concluding this fight on the usual note. I had no shirt underneath that sweater and was drenched in dirt from top to bottom, so I had to avoid all well-lit areas on the run home.

All this time, I was wondering why my friend, who stood near by wasn’t helping my fight. Later I realized that the whole battle only took less than 30 seconds. Another thing that upset me was the loss of my sweater. I had so few in my possession that loosing any one was a significant adversity.

For weeks and months afterwards, this man kept trying to shoot me with his hunting rifle, but that’s another story.

It really was a memorable fight for me. Having been pretty successful in street fights up to that point, it made me look at life more seriously. I faced something new – a man much older than me, he was a different entity of movements and force, psychology and completeness. It gave me plenty of questions to analyze later. None of the other combat arts that I encountered in the years to come gave me satisfactory answers. Only when I have practiced Systema for a while, I understood the keys to success: staying calm, recognizing how every single situation gives different options to act, continuous movement, moving the body without the use of arms and legs, and futility of trying to overpower an opponent who is bigger, heavier and more experienced. I also saw a common mistake in many fights – people “getting stuck on clothing” – when the opponent grabs their clothing they put all the efforts into trying to rip it out of his hand.

What’s more, numerous times I observed how a stance and preparation for a strike makes you visible, tangible and thus vulnerable. I noticed that in confrontations if you take upon an obligation to help a friend he may not necessarily feel committed to helping you, so it is good to have friends on both sides. And finally, while the core to survival is not to succumb to fear, I found that there is a type of ‘brave emotional’ fear that makes us swiftly move and thus survive, but still does not provide us with full control that we get from Systema training. Enjoy yourself!

This article was published on July 04, 2007.

from Maryland Systema https://marylandsystema.com/boxing-sambo-and-mud-fighting-usadojo-com/

0 notes

d0gdaze · 7 years

Text

Also on AO3

Chapters: 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . (ongoing)

Reddie / Stenbrough

Word Count: 3117

Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak is set up on a date with a friend of a friend, and this Tozier guy is a hot mess. || Stan has feelings. Bill is confused. Long and angsty and may or may not contain a roadtrip. AU - no IT. Characters are 17/18. Set in early nineties. More film based but contains elements from the miniseries and the book.

-Chapter 2-

Richie had insisted to pay for all the tickets when they got to the cinema, and was greeted with a halfhearted protest from everyone except Beverly, who smugly took up the offer. They were now all standing in front of the confectionary bar, deciding on which snacks to buy. Richie and Eddie were standing together, far enough away from the others that they could talk without them hearing, but close enough that Eddie still felt comfortable.

Richie had been staring at the selection in front of him for several minutes at this point, a concentrated look on his face, mulling over each option in his head carefully. Eddie had the same order since he was ten years old, a medium diet coke and a pack of MnM's, things he only got to indulge in on rare occasions as his mother would never allow those sorts of food at home, and the transaction was promptly fulfilled when they arrived. But Richie had yet to make any sort of decision, and it was really starting to annoy Eddie, who had already downed almost half of his drink.

“You're gonna miss the start of the movie if you don't hurry up,” Stan called out to them, starting to head towards the theatre with Bill and Beverly, all with armfuls of sugary food and drinks. Richie held a finger up to them, “Shush you, this is a very important decision and you are breaking my concentration.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and watched the three of them disappear around a corner. To his relief, Richie finally stepped towards the counter, asking the cashier for a “large popcorn and coke, if you would, my dear,” and whipped his head around to wink at Eddie, who was tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hope you like popcorn Eds.”

Eddie did not like popcorn, the butter made his hands and face feel greasy and it always got stuck in his teeth, but he was glad that he had finally made a decision and they could go in and watch the movie, and not talk for an hour and a half, so he smiled politely and shrugged.

Eddie spotted the other three as they entered the theatre, sitting up in the back row on the balcony with their feet up on the chairs in front of them. He instinctively went to go join them, but Beverly shook her head at him, and he remembered that he was supposed to be on a date. Richie had already gone a few rows ahead and was shuffling past people to get to the middle of the row. Eddie followed him, apologising to the people he had to push past. Richie fell down into the chair, popcorn bucket in his lap, and patted the seat next to him. “Take a seat, love.”

Eddie sat down in his assigned seat, clenching his hands together in his lap, sitting up as straight as he could, looking at the screen and pretending to be interested with what was playing. They had only missed about a minute and a half of the beginning of the film, and the opening credits were still rolling. His mind was completely occupied though. He could see Richie looking at him from the corner of his eye, and he was only glad that it was too dark to see that he was blushing real hard.

Halfway through and Eddie had not been able to focus on the movie at all. Too many thoughts were running in this head, and he kept glancing at Richie whenever he thought he wouldn't notice. Richie had been enjoying himself, laughing out loud at some of the jokes, and leaning forward in his seat during the more intense chase scenes. Though he was also thinking about Eddie, trying to plan out different moves he could make in his head. He had noticed him looking over every now and then, and had tried hard to pretend he hadn't noticed. He honestly kinda liked this kid, even if he was pretty skittish and hadn't really said much to him at all. Of course he was aware of this stuff before he met him, given a crash course by Bill over the phone, the day before he arrived. He only wished Eddie started to open up a bit more, and not feel as nervous around him.

He noticed Eddie's hands weren't glued together anymore and were resting loosely on his lap, the now empty MnM packet was sitting on the arm of the seat, folded rather than crumpled up. Richie laughed quietly to himself. God, even his rubbish was neat.

He rested his elbow on the chair arm dividing Eddie's seat and his own. Then slowly moved his hand over, only a little at a time. And finally reached and took Eddie's hand gently. When Eddie didn't pull away, he started to intertwine their fingers, and held his hand properly, running his thumb over the other's. After a hesitant moment, Eddie did the same.

Fucking hell, what am I doing?

Eddie couldn't think of anything except the feeling of his hand entwined in Richie's. His hands felt so small compared to Richie's. His stomach felt like it was doing somersaults, and he could practically hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His face was cold and burning at the same time. He was sure he looked like a tomato right now. Richie seemed so calm, like this was no big deal, while Eddie's whole body was freaking out. He had to stop himself reaching for his inhaler.

Yet, the rhythm of Richie's thumb running over his, eventually started to calm him down

They held hands for the rest of the movie, which he had completely given up on. He knew he wouldn't be able to recall a single part of it later.

The stood up as the end credits started to roll and the lights went up, and headed towards the exit. Bill, Bev, and Stan were waiting eagerly out the front, and they all had to do a double take when they saw the two boys walking out together, holding hands, for gods sake. How in the world did Richie get Eddie to hold his hand?

Eddie honestly had forgotten when they joined up with the group.

“So, you t-two are obviously getting along then,” Bill asked with a cocky look on his face. Richie smiled down at Eddie, who looked sort of puzzled. He looked at their hands locked together and his eyes went wide, ripping his away quickly, and Richie's face changed to surprised, and maybe even a little hurt. Eddie suddenly felt really bad for doing it.

“Like the movie?” Stan cut in before things escalated past that point.

“Best I've seen in a while, actually,” Richie chirped. And they all started discussing it, talking about their favourite scenes. Eddie stayed silent spare the occasional laugh or exclamation in agreement.

They all stood outside on the footpath for twenty or so minutes, until Bill looked up and stated it was getting cold.

“Alright, well let's head on home,” Beverly said. Richie reached into his pocket and grabbed his car keys, throwing them to Bill, who wasn't expecting it and almost dropped them.

“You guys can drive the truck home, I'm gonna walk back with Eds.” Bill raised his eyebrows at him.

“You okay with th-that, Eddie?”

Eddie looked at him, then up at Richie, then closed his eyes for a moment. He exhaled sharply.

“Yeah, sounds fine.” He forced a smile, and Richie looked down at him fondly, and a little shocked he actually agreed.

“Okay, see you guys tomorrow then!” Beverly called over her shoulder as the three of them made their way over to the truck, Bill swinging the keys around his finger.

“If anything happens to my baby, Denbrough, I'm breaking one of your legs!” Richie shouted as they climbed in. Bill waved out the window.

Richie and Eddie watched them drive out of sight, up the street and turning left at the intersection, and then started to walk in the same direction.

They walked in silence for five minutes. Richie kept opening his mouth to say something, but could think of nothing.

A breeze flew in, and Eddie wrapped his arms around himself. Goosebumps appeared on his arms. Hypothermia. He is going to get hypothermia.

Richie noticed Eddie shivering and stopped in his tracks. “Fuck, you must be freezing,” he slipped off his denim jacket and put it over Eddie's shoulders. “There.”

“But you've only got a t-shirt on now, you'll be cold.” He started to shrug the jacket off. “No seriously, take it, I'm all good!”

Eddie looked at him for a while, studying him carefully. The jacket had made him look a lot buffer, so seeing his lanky, pale arms jutting out from the oversized t-shirt sleeves was a little surprising, and even made him look a bit less intimidating. Slowly, he slipped his arms into the jacket sleeves. It had been a few sizes too big on Richie, and Eddie was basically buried in it. The sleeves fell past his fingertips and it came down to his mid thighs. And warm, so warm. Richie melted at the sight, staring with a big, stupid grin on his face.

“Gee, could get used to that view,” he sighed.

Eddie turned his face away from Richie, flustered, and continued walking up the street. Richie watched him for a moment, then jogged to catch up.

Eddie had rolled the sleeves up enough so his hands were free.

They walked the rest of the way to Eddie's house in silence, hand in hand, Eddie feeling much more comfortable than before.

They stopped walking when they reached the gate to his front yard. Eddie started to take the jacket off but Richie stopped him. “You can keep it, for now.”

“Oh,” he paused. “Why?”

Richie shrugged. “Gives you a reason to see me again.”

“Oh.”

“That is, if you wanted to see me again?”

Eddie hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Richie grinned at him. “Well okay then,” he reached his hand towards Eddie, “was a pleasure.” Eddie shook it, and turned toward his house, giving Richie one last glance over his shoulder as he walked down to his front door.

Richie stood and watched him for a moment, then, as Eddie was halfway to the door, he called out.

“Hey Eds, wait a moment.”

Eddie stopped and turned back around, eyebrows raised. “Hm?”

Richie half-jogged over and stood right in front of him, wrapping his arms around the shorter boy's waist.

“What are you-” he was interrupted with Richie's mouth pressed against his. He pushed him away, and Richie had to catch himself so he didn't fall.

“Dude, what the fuck!” he whisper-yelled, checking back over his shoulder, making sure his mother couldn't see them. Luckily, all the curtains were closed and there wasn't any sign of movement in the house.

Richie was taken aback, and confused. “Are you serious? I thought we had a good night?”

“You don't just- you don't just do that to people you just met,” he spat out, and fumbled for his inhaler. “Fuck, fuck, fu-,” he brought the inhaler to his mouth and pressed down, breathing in sharply, then breathing deeply a few times until his chest started to feel less constricted. He collapsed onto his knees on the grass, holding a hand over his mouth. Richie stood over him, unsure of what to do. Eddie felt tears welling up behind his eyes and tried his hardest to hold them back. Richie knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Eddie shrugged him off.

“You need to go,” he choked out. The tears started to fall then, he couldn't help it. “Eds, I-” “Don't fucking call me that.” Eddie didn't look up, or move at all. He could see tears falling down into the grass. Richie stayed there, staring at him for a minute or so, then turned and walked off.

“Whatever, man. Fuck this,” Eddie heard him mumble as he left.

Eventually he got up and went inside, tiptoeing up the stairs, hoping desperately that he wouldn't wake up his mother. He shut the door to his bedroom and fell face first onto the bed. He sobbed for a while, attempting to muffle the noise in his pillow. When he ran out of tears he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There were glow in the dark stars above his bed, that he had stuck there when he was much younger and had never bothered to take down.

Fuck.

He was still wearing the stupid jacket.

He sat up and tore it off, throwing it onto the floor. He figured he would just give it to Bill and he could pass it on to Richie.

Fucking Richie.

Eddie held his knees close to his chest and put his head down.

Fucking RICHIE.

Surely he wasn't making a big deal out of it, right? I mean, people don't kiss each other when they've only just met... Do they? Not like he would know anything about that.

He did actually enjoy the night, up until the end. Well, enjoyed the parts where he wasn't too busy being flustered or annoyed or terrified by this person, who insisted on sharing popcorn and smiled too much and held his hand, why did he let him hold his hand? And who let someone else drive his car so he could walk home with him. And who kissed him only a few hours after meeting him. The first person to ever kiss him.

Eddie ran his fingers over his lips.

He could remember exactly how he kissed him. He traced the outline of where Richie's lips were, his fingertips barely touching his face. A shiver went down his spine.

The first person to ever kiss him.

And he fucking freaked out. Like he freaks out about everything. And how nothing good could ever happen to him because he ruins it before it has a chance.

He started to regret the way he reacted. He pulled at his hair, wishing he could go back an hour, start again, do it differently.

He stood up from bed and grabbed Richie's jacket. He looked at it in his hands for a moment, trying to figure out what he was about to do.

Richie had found his way to Bill's house rather easily. He had gotten his keys back and was sitting on the hood of his truck, music quietly pouring from the radio. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his second one since he had been sitting there. He was cold, and he started to wish he hadn't given his only jacket away.

What was that kid's deal anyway?

Richie didn't know what to think about everything that had happened. Part of him felt pissed off, the other part of him felt quite upset. Bill had warned him that Eddie would be nervous, but he had still assumed he at least wanted to go out with him. Instead, it was as if he was just being forced to do it. And he did actually think he was cute.

Richie took a long drag of his cigarette. Shouldn't have got my fucking hopes up.

He finished off the cigarette and jumped off his truck, dropping the butt on the ground and putting it out with his shoe. He decided it had gotten too cold to be out, so he turned to head into Bill's house. He had organised to sleep on the couch for a couple nights until Bill's parents got home. From there, well, he would just have to figure it out. Probably couch hop around, sleep in his truck some nights, maybe he could even find a shitty enough motel for a night or two.

He kept his eyes down as he walked around and reached in the window to turn off the radio.

“Hey.”

He swung his head around, expecting to see Bill, but was surprised to see Eddie standing in front of him, wearing a dark blue sweatshirt over his outfit from that night, Richie's denim jacket hung over his shoulder.

Richie turned to face him fully, leaning up against the side of his truck.

“I just- you should have this back.” Eddie pushed the jacket towards him, and he took it, putting it on without much hesitation.

“Thanks for that, I expect you washed and ironed it before returning it, I can tell y'know.” Richie pretended to inspect the jacket, mouth upturned. Eddie laughed, but stopped when he made eye contact with Richie, looking away.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Eddie asked.

“It's like every time you smile, as soon as I look at you, you stop. You get – embarrassed, or something. Like, fuck dude,” he sighed.

“I- I don't know.” Eddie forced himself to make eye contact. “I didn't know I was doing it-”

“Because you're actually fucking cute, when you laugh-” Eddie swallowed hard. Richie shoved his hands into his pockets. “It's fine if you don't- like me, or whatever, but-” he could see that Eddie was starting to look uncomfortable.

Richie shook his head at himself. “Never mind, it's fine. Thanks for bringing the jacket back I guess.”

He pulled the box of cigarettes from his pocket and took one, putting it between his lips and reached back in for his lighter.

Eddie watched him carefully as he lit the end of the cigarette and pulled on it, waiting a moment before letting the smoke pour out his mouth. He eventually moved so he was standing next to Richie. Richie didn't protest, in fact neither of them said anything. They just stood together for a while. Richie finished the cigarette and went for another one. Before he could light it, Eddie stepped back up onto the pavement, giving him enough height to pull him by the collar into a kiss, his eyes shut tight. Richie was caught off guard, but he slowly melted into it. He grabbed Eddie's waist and pulled him closer, and Eddie wrapped his arms around his neck, tangling his fingers into Richie's hair.

They made out against Richie's pick-up truck for a considerable amount of time, pausing every now and then to just look at each other's faces, and then fall back into each other. A car drove past and beeped at them, and Richie flipped them off without taking his attention off Eddie.

Bill discovered the two of them on his couch the next morning, Eddie lying on top of Richie, face buried in his neck, and Richie's arms wrapped around him.

#writing #reddie #stenbrough #reddie fanfic #stenbrough fanfic

52 notes · View notes

bsmallvoice · 7 years

Text

Code Black

For Camsthisky’s #batfamcontentwar

Code Black

ff.net|AO3

Present Time

It was movie night, and, after completely their homework, all four boys were curled up in the armchairs with strawberry milkshakes, popcorn, and blankets. Damian had curled up on his side facing the movie screen with his head near Dick, who was occasionally petting the child's hair. Jason was to Dick's left and Tim slumped to Jason's left. After much arguing, they had finally agreed on a Pixar film with respect to the fact they had a six year old in the room who had forgotten most of the gore he'd seen as a kid and had never been out as Robin.

Naturally, putting on the Incredibles in a room full of heroes led to a lot of crap-shooting.

The boys commented on everything from fighting style to good points and "how the hell did he miss that? The guy was monologuing!" and "Well, at least she had her sh*t together. Seriously, the dude's surrounded by people with superpowers and there's no inhibitor collars, and he's giving up!? What an idiot!"

"Jason, stop cursing."

"Oh come. I heard worse than this when I was Dami's age."

"Still…"

It was about midway through the attack on the city before the Incredibles got there, when it happened. They couldn't make out what Alfred said, but they very clearly heard the four gun shots that rang out midway through his sentence. Dick and Jason froze, listening, while Damian and Tim jolted upright.

"What was that?" Tim asked quietly. Jason raised the remote to pause the movie, but Dick reached out and stopped him, shaking his head. The two eldest had a silent conversation in Batspeak, and then slowly shrunk down in their seats and down to the floor. Dick picked up Damian and Jason dragged Tim out of his seat. They kept low and crept to the door. Dick looked both ways and then ushered his brothers across the hall into the study quickly. They streaked across and took the lift down to the Batcave. He was about to follow with Damian when he saw a large shadow fall across the hallway, moving closer in his direction.

Dick quickly ducked back into the theatre, and ducked behind the seats. He was moving quickly and quietly in the direction of the other door when his senses went haywire. He hit the ground just before a spray of bullets ripped through the chairs where they had been sitting less than five minutes before. Damian's squeak was covered by the hailfire. Dick breathed deeply to stave off a panic attack and waited for the spray to stop. As he waited, he carefully untangled Damian. The kid looked terrified. Dick gave him a small kiss and, with a look that he hoped conveyed instructions to stay safe, slid the scared child beneath the ottoman.

The second he heard the gun click empty, Dick leapt up and jumped the chairs to attack their assailant.

Unfortunately, he forgot a few key facts. One, he had no clue who was attacking them. Two, he had no weapons. Three, he was in pajamas, and thus had no protection. He realized these key things when he found himself dangling by his wrist face to face with the man Batman had been actively hunting the past few weeks. Dick felt the blood leave his face. As the man grinned lecherously, he remembered that if they hadn't heard the gunshots he and his three brothers would be dead at the minute, and pulled his free arm back to punch the man in the face.

Two hours earlier

It was new moon, and the stars were difficult to see with the city's light pollution. On top of that, thick clouds were scattered across the sky. The air felt charged, full of static waiting to be brushed against, and the smell from the streets was unusually strong. There was an ominous feeling, as if the city's inhabitants were collectively holding their breath.

It was nights like these that made Batman on edge. He preferred to leave Robin at home on nights like these and with the rumors circulating the newest criminal, he felt extra thankful Alfred was around to protect them. Luckily, none of them had argued, all excited about the biweekly movie night Dick and Damian had established upon returning home. Bruce had left them in Dick and Damian's room finishing up their homework so they could start the movie soon. Damian, having already finished, was sitting on Dick's lap as the teen finished up an English essay. Jason was doing math on the other desk, while Tim read Sherlock, having also already finished his homework for the evening, and probably for the next week as well.

The newest criminal was a serial killer who had a thing against Batman, like so many did. He targeted single fathers with young children, and the media had dubbed him "Double Trip", because he often both shot his victims and slit their throats, occasionally using additional methods on the children. The man had, at several of the crime scenes, written messages for Batman in the blood of his victims. The latest one had disturbed Batman the most. "1, 2, 3, 4, how many more, Batman?' But there had only been three known attacks.

A tip had placed the criminal's base of operations at a classic abandoned warehouse near the docks. Batman landed softly on the roof of the building and retracted his grapple. There had been no patrol of guards or anything of the like. All signs indicated that the murderer was working alone, but there was no guarantee. Batman carefully removed a panel from the skylight on the roof and slipped onto a catwalk. He stalked through the shadows of the building searching. He found a computer with evidence of the previous murders, and a scrap book about the murders, and called in Commissioner Gordon.

Shortly after he finished the call, Batman heard a scuttle behind him and froze. He slowly turned around and found himself facing Double Trip's neck. Seven feet tall, the man was a goliath, thick muscles stretched taunt everywhere. He looked a bit like Bane when Bane was juiced up except with real muscles. He wore a dark shirt with a thick biker jacket, jeans, waterproof laced boots, sleek racing googles, and a gas mask.

That should have been his hint, but for some reason, probably the number of villains that wore gas masks who didn't have anything to do with gas, Batman did not pull out his gas mask and put it on. Double Trip was a tougher fighter than Batman had expected, and got a couple lucky gunshots in. The fight lasted five minutes before the gas really started to affect Batman. The first sign was a stumble, minor, but it led to Double Trip catching his cape. Batman quickly detached it. The dodges were getting closer and closer and then a knife dropped on Batman's head. Hard. And he sucked in a huge breath of some hallucinogen.

He couldn't see. Everything blurred into many different colors and, while he could feel the phantom limbs, his struggles were feeble. With his last presence of mind, he pressed the emergency signal on his belt. The whirl disappeared as the world darkened and faded.

30 minutes earlier, about ten minutes after Batman passed out.

GCPD stormed the abandoned warehouse where Double Trip was rumored to be located, followed closely by Batgirl who had arrived at the same time. When they entered, they found the demon holding a limp Batman up with one hand. The other hand was on the edge of Batman's cowl. Batman was bleeding from several bullet wounds and knife slashes, although luckily, his throat hadn't been slashed.

"FREEZE! Drop the Bat!" The serial killer turned to face them. A low chuckle filled the air.

Double Trip removed his free hand from Batman's cowl and opened it. A moment later smoke filled the air and a body, Batman, came flying at the coughing police officers.

When the smoke cleared, Double Trip was gone. Commissioner Gordon cursed, and contacted the outside forces. A response came. Double Trip had shot one of the other officers and stole their car. He was gone.

Gordon cursed again. Batgirl, meanwhile, was examining Batman.

"He's alive," she said. There were several sighs of relief. "I need to get him to medical attention though. Did anyone happen to see where the Batmobile was parked?"

There were several nos. "Can't you call it like Batman does?"

Batgirl shook her head. "That option was… temporarily… disabled." She chose her words carefully, inwardly cursing Robin's recent joyride that got the privilege taken away. "It's still available for the bikes, but the Batmobile would be easier." She shook her head again, and called the bike, getting up and supporting Batman. The commissioner got his more tech-smart officers started on trying to track the missing car.

"Robin." One of the officers realized. "Where's Robin? Double Trip goes after both parents and kids."

"He's not out tonight." The officers helped her secure Batman to the bike with enough room for her to squeeze in front and drive. As they were finishing up, Batman's cowl slipped. Not enough to show anything related to his true identity, thankfully, but it shouldn't have done that.

"It's loose." Batgirl muttered. "Why is it loose? It shouldn't be loose, unless…" Her eyes widened behind the mask. Her hand flew up to her ear. "Batgirl to Robin. Come in, Robin!"

"Got it." A police officer said. "He's making a beeline for the outskirts of Gotham." Batgirl glanced in the man's direction.

"Batgirl to A, come in A!"

"Yin, Bennett, go with Batgirl and get Batman to a nondescript hospital. Guard him and make sure they don't remove his mask. Patton, get Merkel to a hospital as well. Montoya, Bullock, Anderson, with me, we're following Double Trip. The rest of you, stay on alert. If word gets out Batman is in the hospital, the city will go to hell. Stop all the crimes you can."

Yin went over to Batgirl as Bennett ran to grab a car. The girl was still desperately trying to contact Robin or any other member of the Batfamily.

"We're giving you an escort to the hospital, to protect Batman from identity peeks. Do you have a safe doctor to go to."

Batgirl looked at them, hesitantly. "You'll keep it a secret."

"Of course. And Bennett will as well."

"Alright." She let her hand drop from her earpiece. "Let's go. The faster we get him to a doctor, the faster I can check on Robin." She slipped onto her bike, and took off, hearing the car start up and follow her.

"Where are they?" Tim asked, as Jason ran around grabbing weapons and medical supplies. The teen had already changed into his Robin outfit. Jason stopped and sighed.

"I don't know, but if they're not down here by now, they were probably spotted. Dick won't risk bringing the shooter down here. You know how he is." He put his mask on. "Pull up the house security footage. I need to see where they are and if the entrance is clear."

Tim nodded, and quickly pulled it up. Jason leaned over his shoulder, searching the screen as he shoved a communicator in his ear. He adjusted it to include the police frequency, and then scowled.

"The police know Double Trip is here. They're on their way. Should be here in ten."

Tim gasped as he spotted the screen Dick was in. "We don't have that much time. He's killing Dick!" Jason gripped Tim's shoulder. "The entrance is clear. I'm going up to help. Make it look like I came in another way. Try to contact Batman or Batgirl. Tell me if you see Damian, and, unless someone makes it down here, DON'T. LEAVE. THE. CAVE."

"Okay." Tim mumbled.

Jason gave his shoulder one last squeeze than took off up the stairs.

Dick pulled weakly at Double Trip's arm, trying to loosen the iron grip the monster had around his neck. It was tight, cutting into his air, but not fully, leaving him with the suffocating feeling without the ability to pass out. He had tried kicking the man, but his socked feet had no real effect on the goliath, even when Dick kicked him in the groin.

The living room was a disaster. After Dick had punched Logarithm in the face, he had broken free of the initial grip and proceeded to throw everything he could reach at the man. He'd been careful to draw the man away from the ottoman where he'd hidden Damian, as well as making sure none of the milkshakes landed in that area. Running low on things to throw, he had lashed out with a sweeping kick to knock Double Trip down. It had worked, and Double Trip had fallen onto the glass, but Dick had gain several cuts on his leg in the process. The monster stood up bleeding in several places, the smirk the man had earlier fading into a scowl. Dick stayed in a crouch, waiting for Double Trip to make the first move. The man had reached forward, and Dick had gone under and attempted to throw the man.

Double Trip grabbed the back of Dick's pajama shirt with his other hand and yanked to throw the kid off balance. Dick tried to slip out of it, but Double Trip grabbed Dick's arm and twisted it behind his back, halting the effort with the shirt halfway over Dick's head. Dick cried out, and then bit down on his cry and jerked his arm out of Double Trip's grip. He slipped the rest of the way out of his shirt, and turned to face his opponent.

Dick was confused to see an amused smile on the man as Double Trip threw the shirt away. Unnerved, he took a single step back, and yelped as his foot landed on the base of one of the milkshake glasses. The base rolled under his foot, throwing off his balance for a second before he managed to shift his foot directly onto the broken glass next to it. He went down hard onto more broken glass, barely managing to keep his head and neck upright, away from the ground. Double Trip moved quickly, scooping the boy up with his left arm around the boy's neck.

Which brought them to now, with Dick tugging furtively at Double Trip's arm, while the man reached his right arm back and pulled out a knife. The man didn't say a word, although the grin grew, as he swiped at Dick's arms with the knife. The deep cuts that appeared served as a warning, and Dick pulled them down. The arm around Dick's neck tightened slightly, and Dick jerked his arms upwards. Double Trip knocked them aside, and touched the tip of the knife to Dick's bare chest above his heart. Dick jerked again as the man pressed the knife down and dragged it about four inches down.

"HEY!" Dick felt his heart plummet to his feet as he heard Jason's shout. He tried his hardest to look to his right where it had come from, but the grip around his neck kept him from turning his head. A low, menacing chuckle filled the air. "Drop him." Robin demanded.

Rather than dropping Dick, Double Trip looked back at his captive, placed the knife near the top of the cut and started carving a semicircle. Dick gave a gurgled cry.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Double Trip took a quick step backwards and Dick felt a batarang pierce his right upper arm. He gave another gurgled cry, the closest thing to a scream he could get. The knife turned to draw a line at a 45 degree angle from where the semicircle intersected the original line. An 'R'? Double Trip was drawing an R? Why?

"Shit." Robin muttered. There were running footsteps, and Dick suddenly felt himself falling. He sucked in breath as he landed on the glass again. Trying desperately to get his breath, he glanced up at the fight above him. Robin flipped off of Double Trip to land next to his brother, leaving a beeping batbomb behind. He winced when the glass dug into his gloved hand, before he landed on his feet next to Dick.

"Who threw the milkshakes?" Dick flushed even as his breath evened out. Maybe that hadn't been the best idea… "Never mind." Robin hissed. "Where's Damian? I need you to go downstairs the first opening you get." Dick nodded. At that moment, the bomb exploded and Double Trip went down with the force of the explosion.

"He's under the ottoman." Dick whispered.

"Get him and go. I'll be right behind you." Robin pulled out some smoke bombs. Dick took that as he cue to go grab the youngest and leapt to the ottoman. He quickly pulled Damian out and started for the elevator. Double Trip was recovering when they neared him, but Robin struck the man in the head with a bo staff, and threw down a smoke bomb. Dick made it to the elevator and quickly entered the security codes to open the elevator. He looked back for Robin.

"Robin, hurry!" He called. Robin came sprinting out of the smoke cloud and slid into the elevator, narrowly dodging three bullets as he came. Dick pressed the button that closed the door while Damian hit the one that would bring them downstairs. The wall panel started to close, but not before four bullets impacted the back of the elevator. Dick cried out as one passed through his shoulder.

The door closed, and the elevator dropped. Above them, they heard the sound of sirens.

"GOTHAM PD! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

Tim watched the cameras with not a small bit of fear. Jason, Dick, and Damian were almost to the elevator, but the police had just arrived and there was a chance they would spot the elevator going down. Wayne Manor was compromised, especially with Alfred down, and the Batcave might be right behind it, if the way Double Trip was shooting at the elevator, and then the wood panel that hid the elevator shaft was any indication. As soon as Robin had gone up to help, Tim had set about downloading everything on the batcomputer onto multiple, color coded flash drives. Villain profiles on the blue one. Heroes on the black one. Case files on the yellow and green. Everything else on the red one. The download was about 50% complete, but would take at least another ten minutes.

He knew he should have focused on contacting Batgirl or Batman, but the police radio had mentioned Batman was down, and if the Commissioner was on the case and put two and two together about Batgirl… It would take her too long to get here anyways. The police had a huge head start on her.

"Batgirl to Batcave. Come in Batcave. Please work…" Hearing Barbara's voice from the consul, Tim practically leapt for the mic.

"Batgirl?" He asked.

"Robin! Is that you?"

"Umm. Well, this is Rob 3." Jason chose that moment to come out of the elevator supporting a limping older brother.

"Is that Batgirl?"

Tim nodded.

"Rob 3. I've been trying to contact you guys for the last half hour. Double Trip is on the way to your house, followed by the police."

Jason snorted. "Lock down the cave and then fill her in, Tim. We need to keep both Double Trip and the police out of here. Hopefully, they'll think it's a bunker, rather than the Batcave." Tim quickly typed in the lockdown codes, and listened as the Cave started to secure itself. Nobody would get in or out unless the proper codes were entered except through a small tunnel that only the birds, Batman, and Alfred knew about. It was too small for Batman and Alfred to fit through, and Jason would be pushing it. It was meant as an escape route and wound down the mountain for miles, with several hatches to out so they were unlikely to get caved in, all the way to the edge of the city nearest the Zeta Tubes. Even that was only an out. It couldn't be opened from the outside.

"We know about Double Trip, Batgirl." Tim said. "We've been a little busy."

"Busy? Are you all alright?"

"We are, but Alfred's not. He had four bullet wounds to the chest. I think he's… He hasn't moved, Babs, he hasn't moved."

"O-okay. I'm almost to the Manor. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep them away from the Cave. Jason's helping Dick now, and then, I don't know what we're doing."

"Is the cave locked down?" Jason called from the infirmary.

"Yeah!" Tim called back.

"Alright. I can do that. I'm pulling up now. Keep me posted." Batgirl said.

Tim glanced at the download. 75% complete. "Damian, I need you to stay here and watch the comms. You're Rob Four. If you need to respond to someone, press this button and say 'This is Rob Four.' Then repeat the person's name. Say go, and let go of the button so they can respond."

"I know how to use a comm unit." Damian scowled.

"I know. But it makes me feel better to be sure. I'm going to go check on Dick and Jason and then grab us both something to change into. Unless Jay needs help. If he does, I'll help and then grab us both something to change into."

"Okay."

"Shout if you need us."

Tim hurried to the medical section. Jason pulled a glass shard out of Dick's back just as Tim entered. Dick had a breathing mask on, oxygen steadily flowing. Several cuts on his chest were bleeding to blur the pattern there and there were bandages tied tightly around his forearms. There was a pad taped over the bullet wound on Dick's shoulder, but it wasn't under as much pressure as it should be due to all the glass shards. "How's it going?" Tim asked. Jason shook his head.

"He's lost too much blood. Having trouble staying up." Jason replied. "Get me some O negative from the blood bank."

"On it." Tim said. Tim yanked on a pair of gloves, and then ran and grabbed a bag of O negative and an IV stand with needle, dragging it over to his brother. "Here." He said.

"Sweet." Jason said. "Here." He handed the tools he'd been using to get the glass out and the tray he'd been putting the glass on to Tim. "Take these and keep working on getting the glass out while I set him up." Jason found a vein above the major cuts on Dick's arm, the one that hadn't been shot, and inserted the needle. He got the drip set up and activated it. He glanced up worriedly when Dick didn't even flinch, and saw that the teen's eyes were glazed over.

"Shit. He's gone into shock. We might need another bag if this one doesn't help."

"Do we have time for two bags?" Tim asked. "The police will try to break in here before long. Batgirl won't be able to hold them off long if they start to suspect they're looking for the Batcave."

"We'll be okay, Tim. The cave's defenses are built to withstand Superman and at least half the League at once while on lockdown. It might not be completely foolproof due to the unexplored tunnels, but it should keep the police out for a while." Jason grabbed another set of tools and started pulling glass out of Dick's leg. There wasn't much that had stuck in the cuts, so he figured he'd be able to clean and bandage it quickly and stop blood leakage from that part at least.

"If you say so." Tim said sullenly. They worked in silence for a couple minutes.

"TIM!" Damian called. Tim pulled out the shard he'd been working on, and glanced up as Jason.

"Go." Jason jerked his head towards Damian. Tim slipped the gloves off and hurried over to his little brother.

"What is it Damian?"

"Two things. One, your download is complete. Two, there's a helicopter above the house and the police are examining the elevator shaft. I think they're almost through the wood panel. Batgirl is arguing with them." He said.

"Shit." Tim muttered. He quickly checked that the flash drives were successfully encoded, setting the password to something long, complicated, and different for each drive. He disconnected the flash drives, and strung them all onto necklaces. "Here." He said, pulling the yellow and green ones over Damian's head. He pulled the other three over his head. "JASON!" He shouted.

"WHAT?" Jason shouted back. Tim ran over to poke his head into the medical center.

"I put everything from the computer onto drives. Should I delete everything on the main computer?"

"You're sure you got everything?"

"Pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?"

"Like 95%."

"Alright. Then do it. Anything you didn't get is probably better off destroyed than in the wrong hands."

"On it."

"What should I do?" Damian asked, gripping the two flash drives around his neck.

"Do you know where the Birdie Escape Tunnel is?"

"Yeah. Dick showed it to me."

"Go grab a utility belt from the gear area and as much money as you can. Pull out a flashlight. Then go to the tunnel, and get the door open. Go inside and start down the tunnel. We'll be right behind you."

Damian looked up at him hesitantly, searching his face. Apparently seeing something there that comforted him. The boy's expression turned to determined. He gave a brief nod and scurried off. Tim finished starting the deletion sequence. He also activated a sequence to destroy all classified information in the cave. Classified as in possibly able to give away the identity of other superheroes. Checking the timing and giving a nervous glance to the elevator, Tim rushed off to the weapons area where Damian was pulling on his boots. Tim knelt down beside the kid and quickly tied the laces. He quickly shoved his own boots on. Tim grabbed three grab bags, set up for an emergency like this, and shoved extra weapons and a bunch of cash into the bag. He slung one over his shoulders and held the other two in his hands. He gestured towards the tunnel, and started running towards it. Damian trotted after him, a kid-sized grab bag already slung over his shoulders along with a utility belt.

Jason met him by the tunnel, supporting a dizzy, but thankfully conscious Dick. They both had boots on. The barely teenager had already opened the door. He took two of the grab bags, giving one to Dick.

"Damian first. Then Tim. Then Dick. I'll take up the back." His brothers nodded, seeing no point in arguing. On a normal day, Dick might have, but he was in no condition to right now. Damian clicked on the flashlight, and crawled into the tunnel. Tim quickly followed. He heard Dick clumsily follow him in. The door clanged shut behind them, and he heard beeps as Jason set up an electronic lock. "Go." He hissed. The two younger boys nodded, and took off down the tunnel.

#batfamcontentwar #BatFam #batfamily #batman #robin #Red Robin #red hood #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne #nightwing #batboys #batgirl #barbara gordon #trouble #fanfic #the medium between

44 notes · View notes

welshjule · 4 years

Text

You got me begging you for mercy

To my Friends, Family and all Readers,

Welcome to my first blog. Every week I will be posting a story ‘loosely based’ on my life in Australia since 1982. My aim is to provide a little escapism in a sometimes-hard world and to hopefully make you laugh. The content will be mature themed as I am in no way attempting to be a role-model!

Happy reading my Darlings

Let me know what you think.

Ju xx

Perth, Australia.

January 1995

It was a Sunday night and I had just put my daughter Alice to bed. The house was red hot, the windows were wide open and there wasn’t a breeze; it was like living inside a sweaty sock. Summer in Perth can be brutal and it is a dry, burning heat that scorches the hair on your arms and rips the skin off your feet if you try and walk barefoot outside. The temperature had hit forty degrees that day and I only had two stand-up fans, so a load of our family and friends had been swimming at the local pool.

We got home and Alice, who was about five years old, spent about two hours in a cold bath – in her bathers, underwater, face-down and pretending to be dead! My job was to run in and rescue her every so often but I kept forgetting. I gave the nickname ‘Insane Alice’ to my daughter when she was very young because she was my wild, brave, curious nutcase, who always had something to say and most of it was somewhat demented. Over the years, we dropped the Insane bit and it was just Alice, but to tell the truth, she’s still a bit touched.

My Father called her ’his Alice’ for thirty years.

So, my exhausted daughter was now asleep with a wet towel on top of her and a fan blowing hot air around her room.

Walking into the kitchen, I stuck my head under the cold tap until my hair and face were soaking wet. Grabbing an ice-cold beer from the fridge, I wandered out to the garden and laid back on an old lounger. Tracey Chapman was singing about a fast car as I lit a fag and skulled my beer.

The house was like a furnace and there was no reprieve outside. From November to March, you went to bed sweating and you got up the same way. We lived in a low-income area and nobody had air-conditioning; you just had to deal with the heat.

At that time, single mothers didn’t get to choose the houses with alarm systems and swimming pools. We could only afford tired, old rentals with dripping taps and broken flyscreens and to make matters worse, I was cleaning two ‘beach-front’ mansions a day while Alice was at school.

#These were palaces, with huge swimming pools, wine cellars and balconies overlooking the blue ocean and I earned a pittance. I had to shut my mouth like Ruby from ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ when the ‘lady of the house’ complained about smears on the bathroom mirror or dust on the roof because I needed the money.

Looking around now, my poor garden looked so sad; that unrelenting ball of fire had burnt the beautiful flowers I had planted and singed the lawn so badly that it was now just dry, straw.

I was feeling a bit weird and conflicted because everyone around me seemed to think that I should be trying to find a man to ‘look after me and be a father to Alice.’ Don’t get me wrong, it was said with kindness, but I was bored of the whole thing.

Thirty years ago, there was a real stigma attached to being a single mother. If your marriage failed but the dad was still on the scene with the kids, that was ok. If there was no father in sight, it played with people’s heads.

I chose to leave Alice’s father when she was a baby and bring up my daughter alone and I loved it.

I didn’t have a man and I didn’t really want one.

But some people just weren’t comfortable with it. Was I a lesbian? Did I hate men? Was I flirting with their man? They wanted to set me up with their husband’s mate from Bunnings and it was all, ‘We’ve got to find you a nice fella’ and ‘you can’t be too fussy.’ What a cheek! I was thirty years old with no visible hump on my back. Who were they thinking of wheeling in? Alf F##king Stewart?’’

There was a lot of pressure

And It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried.

I’d been to Bachelor and Spinster Balls, joined ‘Parents Without Partners’ (very creepy) and even went to ’Japanese conversation ‘night classes because everyone told me ‘There are loads of divorced men learning languages now Ju. There will be blokes everywhere.’ The only man I ever spoke to was wearing a grey cardigan and had just retired from the civil service.

God knows I tried

And I was about to try again

In 1995, there was no tinder or instant messaging because there were no mobile phones or computers (well not in our house anyway). People had to leave their residence and go hunting in pubs and clubs on a Saturday night for their own Brad Pitt or Pamela Anderson and it was utterly soul destroying.

But I had the Wanneroo Times and I was on a mission.

This local community newspaper had started printing adverts in their classifieds for single people wanting to meet a partner. It was basically, ‘man seeking woman’ or ‘woman seeking man’. Then, everybody told massive lies about themselves; ‘very attractive, happy go lucky, no baggage, loves a good red wine and walking on the beach at sunset.’ It was ridiculous but that didn’t stop me filling in the form.

My advert said,

If you are a sports fanatic and watch it on tv all weekend – read on

If you are bitter about your wife taking everything from you in the divorce, we’ve already met - read on

If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, warm winter fires, bubble baths and collecting driftwood. Stop reading Sir, for you are a dead set serial killer.

I didn’t say much about me, just,

’blonde, thirty, likes to write.’

And I posted it off.

It took a week to receive any responses.

I’d been watching ‘Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves’ and wondering how I could get in touch with Kevin Costner to tell him I was waiting for him here; in the hottest, most isolated corner of the world!

But I was feeling quite hopeful and ready for some romance in my life. I spent most of the week singing ‘You know it’s true, everything I do, I do it for you.’

On a Monday morning, the postman dropped an official looking, brown envelope into my post box and I had seven letters!!

Buzzing with excitement, I made a cup of coffee, lit a fag and opened the first one.

He had a wife but they didn’t sleep together. He desperately needed passion in his life, maybe two afternoons a week! Yeh right, dream on!

Three more were married and just wanted a bit on the side.

My fifth would-be suitor boasted of a body tattooed from his neck to his toes and a willingness to provide colour photos. I just couldn’t stomach it!

And the sixth little gem was a smooth-talking illiterate who claimed to be a ‘mad rooter’ but added that, ’If I was a ‘Fat Sheila,’ then not to bother eh!’

I could feel a black depression impending; Was I supposed to settle for this group of no-hopers?

But there was one letter remaining and that was written by a man named Fred.

Fred was English and had been in Perth for a couple of years. He worked in some office and liked Guinness. That was good enough for me!

We spoke on the phone a couple of times and met for a quick coffee. He was a nice bloke and didn’t seem to be deranged. He asked me to go to the movies to see ’Braveheart’ and I said ‘’lovely.’’

So, its Friday night and I am sorted. Alice is staying at my parents’ house and I have a date!

The Commitments are slaying Mustang Sally and I am drinking a vodka and tonic. My hair is a work of art! It has been washed, blow- dried, straightened, back-combed and gelled, plus I’ve used half a can of hairspray, so this hairdo is not shifting.

On goes the make-up, a pair of jeans that are much too small and a black shirt. Sounds simple doesn’t it?

But it is still 32 degrees at 6.30pm and the sweat is dripping down my back. I am sitting on an ice pack with my feet in a bowl of cold water and the pedestal fan is coughing, stale air at me like an old family dog. The jeans are slowly roasting my legs, the underneath of my hair is soaking wet and the makeup is dripping off my face.

But I don’t care, because I’m looking good, the house smells of ’Red Door’ perfume and I’ve had a few puffs of a lovely old joint I found on top of the kitchen cupboard.

I am ready for action!

Fred turned up at about seven and he looked very smart with jeans and a blue shirt. He was quite a portly fellow, very suntanned and with a completely bald head. I don’t know if he’d ever had any hair and I didn’t really care.

I was flying!

We were a bit early for the movies so we went for a drink first. The pub was practically empty but the night was young, so I told Fred that it was my shout. He asked the ‘gothic and heavily pierced’ barmaid, if she could make him a flat, white coffee and she looked at him with complete disgust. I ordered a double vodka and we sat down for a chat. I really wanted to find Fred attractive but he wasn’t giving me much.

He had a very strong Yorkshire accent and was into cycling and re-cycling. He started telling me about sustainable compost heaps and I just glazed over.

But, as I sat looking at him, the room started spinning and Fred began to morph into Dierdre Barlow from Coronation Street and a brown, boiled egg.

That old puff was strong!

’’I’m that choofed you chose me lass,’’ he said ‘’and I’m having a grand time, but I’m not one for the drink.’’

’Jesus Christ! When am I going to cop a break?’ I thought, ‘I’m a thirty-year-old woman wearing skin tight jeans and high heels. My legs are shaved, my elbows moisturised and I HAVE THE HOUSE TO MYSELF!! Who gives a shit about recycling?

I didn’t want to talk about Fred’s ‘loovely bunch of lasses at work’ or ’the benefits of riding a bicycle.’

My life consisted of chicken nuggets, nit shampoo and a daughter who was obsessed with a demonic dessert called Strawberry Shortcake. This nauseating strawberry cake had three best friends called Apple Dumpling, Raspberry Tart and Cherry Cuddler. They sounded like a bunch of sex workers and their pimp was a freak called ‘The Prickly and Peculiar Pieman from Porcupine Creek. Alice had it on an old video and played it constantly. She had been speaking in an American accent for about three weeks and I was over it!

I wanted to act like a teenager. To get absolutely wasted, fall-down drunk and extremely immature. I wished Fred would suggest a drinking game so that we could get really loud and find everything hysterical. I needed him to make me laugh because that is sexy. I wanted to completely skip the bloody movie altogether!

Nah, take that back.

Fred was, in fact, an egg that spoke with a Yorkshire accent and he was boring me to death.

So, we walked to the cinema and bought our own tickets, (very civilised), then I was straight into the Candy Bar. Buying a very expensive choc- top ice-cream and some popcorn, I asked Fred what he was having and he said,

’’Nah, I’ll not have owt, I’m watching me weight.’’

That really irritated me because I’d been considering a box of Maltesers too and now I couldn’t have them because I would look like a pig.

We found two seats in the middle row. The place was packed out because it was the first night the film was showing.

‘’So, Fred, what’s this Braveheart about then? It’s not going to be all blood and gore is it?’’ I asked.

“I don’t know Julie, I haven’t seen it,’’ he said, but it translated to, ’’Ah doon’t know jooleh, I’ve not seen film.’’

Now, don’t forget, I was deep in the grip of Sherwood Forrest and I thought Braveheart would be similar; some battles, dodgy accents, a love story, some fantastic one-liners ‘a la’ Alan Rickman.

I thought wrong.

The beginning of the film showed the beauty of Scotland with some hauntingly lovely music and a softly-spoken narrator. By the time I had eaten my choc-top, there were bodies of men, women and children hanging from beams, heads chopped off and the stabbing and slashing of everyone in sight; including the poor horses.

I was in a hell of a state!

Alice always compares me to the late, great, British comedian Larry Grayson when I am out of my comfort zone and am shocked or horrified. I get flustered and loud, highly camp and completely over the top.

I have to have things explained to me very clearly.

This film was way beyond my comfort zone.

My hands were over my eyes and all you could hear from me was ‘’Oh my God, when are they going to stop killing?” ‘’Oh, that’s gross!’’ ‘’I can’t look!’’ ‘’Why is there so much blood?’’ ‘’What’s happening Fred?”

And then an English soldier ties Braveheart’s beautiful bride to a tree.

I’m thinking, ‘’hurry up Wallace and save your woman.’’

Everyone is waiting for Mel to rescue her but he’s missing in action.

And the English Bast##d slits her throat!

Now, we still had about three more hours of this film to endure and the main character’s wife was dead. I just couldn’t believe it. She was exquisite, almost heavenly.

What was going on?

Í nudged Fred, ‘’What’s happening Fred? Is it a flashback or a dream? Is she coming back?’’

I was beside myself.

Fred was getting a little snippy at my endless questions and bad language because I couldn’t stop saying ‘’Oh F#ck’’ every time a limb was chopped off and it was constant carnage. It simply never stopped.

There was a teenage boy and his girlfriend sitting next to me and I tearfully asked the boy what he thought was going on. Did he think the lovely Marrun was coming back? Was it a flashback? He just looked horrified and two minutes later they both left.

So, now I’m crying and it’s serious. I’m absolutely gutted about useless Wallace not getting there in time and I don’t really feel like watching anymore.

Worse though, I haven’t got a tissue!

I am sobbing and my nose is running and I am doing that unattractive, hiccupy thing.

Fred’s forgotten his handkerchief and I’m hyperventilating and trying to quell my hysteria. But it’s just so sad and all you can hear in the whisper quiet audience are my racking sobs and sniffs. In the end, I had to use a KitKat wrapper and the sleeve of my top to wipe my nose. (yeh, I know, disgusting).

So now I’ve got to sit through another 150 minutes of butchery and treachery, heads in the mail, people being thrown out of windows and the mass raping of young maidens. It was relentless and I was suffering very loudly.

Fred was peeved, “Nah then, Jooleh, joost try to be a tad quieter pet. I can’t ‘ear film.’’

I was frazzled and I hadn’t even got to the torture of William Wallace.

What a joy that was!

About thirty minutes of Mel being hung, drawn and quartered very slowly with some lethal weapons (sorry, I had to).

First, he spits out the anaesthetic drug the princess slips him and then he refuses to shout ‘mercy’ to end his own torture. It was all too much and I kept shouting ‘mercy’ at the screen and crying loudly, but Mel just kept hanging on in there.

William Wallace was no pussy!

Eventually though, all the organs have been removed from his body and he has to die.

In his last few seconds alive he sees his wife, Murron, walking through the crowds, waiting for him and she is so beautiful, it’s heart breaking. Braveheart shouts ‘Freedom’ and I’m completely finished.

Before anyone could move, I was out of my seat. ’’I’ll see you in the foyer Fred,” I sobbed and ran to the toilets before the lights came on.

My body was shaking, my legs were like jelly and I was sweating. I felt like I had given birth to ten-pound triplets in an African hut, alone and without pain relief!

Then I saw my face in the mirror and stopped dead.

The old mascara I had found in the kitchen drawer was not waterproof and I had these black spider lines all down my cheeks. My eyes were smudged with dark grey eyeshadow, my nose was bright red and my face was blotchy and oily, with no trace of a base!

For some reason, my hair had also suffered and it looked like a yellow bird’s nest that had been sat on.

I hadn’t brought a handbag out with me, just a small purse, so the only things I had to rescue this complete disaster was a ten dollar note, a factor 30 lip balm and a furry tic-tac.

Everybody was coming into the lady’s toilets now and they were all looking at me. One girl came over and pretended to care but I saw straight through her. I’d heard some of her friends laughing at me during the torture scene.

I didn’t have a spare head so there wasn’t much I could do. I just washed my face, blew my nose and went out to meet Fred. I refused to look him straight in the eye though because I was hideous.

As we drove back to my place, the car was silent and I knew that Fred was sulking.

He eventually said ‘’Appen, A’Il see film again wit’ lasses from work. I missed most of it!’’

I thought, ‘’Oh do one, you Bloody tart, you are definitely not coming in for coffee.’’

We hit my driveway and I jumped out of the car like an Olympian.

Fred said something that sounded like ‘’See thee soon then Lass’’ and I said ‘’lovely.’’

Slamming the front door, I felt shell-shocked.

I jumped under a cold shower, washed off all the makeup and gunk from my hair and tied an old sarong around myself. Making a cup of tea and some toast with Nutella, I grabbed the remote and sat on the sofa.

Two minutes later, it was just me and Kevin.

I didn’t think I would ever hear from Fred again, but he rang a few nights later while I was watching ‘Home and Away‘ with Alice.

‘’Ow do Jooleh love, can ya guess where I am?’’ he asked jovially.

I froze. Oh my God.

“You’re not outside are you Fred? ’I asked,

‘’Nah’’, he chuckled, ‘’I’m lyin’ in’t cold tub, sipping hot brew and eating an apple pie. Blooody Bliss!’’

I hung up the phone and we never went out again.

Dating makes me realise why I’m not married!

If you liked this story, there’s a lot more to read because Alice and I have been writing tales ‘loosely based’ on our lives for many years, with the hope of finally finishing a book called ’A Mother like mine.’ Every Saturday, I will be publishing a blog so that you can read it over the weekend. Sometimes, Alice will write one too.

We will talk about love, losses and dating disasters, womanhood, teenage years and being a Welsh, single parent family in a rough-arse suburb of Perth in the nineties; from our two, completely different perspectives. I will even tell you how my true love literally walked through my front door and I almost took Alice to live in Texas! Our stories will be mostly funny but there will also be our recollection of some hard times. Nobody escapes them and sometimes it helps to read about other people’s battles.

Future titles include;

‘The Good, The Bad and the Aussies’

‘A Gang of Gary’s’

‘Doyawannarootorwhat’

‘Sorry about my little fella?’

‘Six months pregnant or a Tattoo?’

#wales #australia #perth #singlemum #dating #braveheart #melgibson #heat #strawberryshortcake

0 notes

musesmilk · 7 years

Text

MYLISSA FITZSIMMONS

Mylissa Fitzsimmons is a writer, director, and producer working in LA. After her youth as a feral child, sneaking into horror movies and scrambling through creek beds, she found her way to photography and then to film. Her recent short film That Party That One Night just won the Audience Choice award at the Film Invasion LA festival!

“I started shooting super 8 movies when a teacher taught a class about filmmaking using super 8 . That is pretty much my extent of film school. The same teacher also really encouraged me to stay behind the camera and make documentaries and short film. It’s true what they say about good teachers, they change your life. This one changed mine. I shot my first short films and short documentaries in High school and pretty much my love of all things film started then.”

Muse’s Milk: Tell us your story.

Mylissa Fitzsimmons: I grew up in Moab, Utah till the age of 13. Growing up in Moab allowed me to be a feral child who spent most of her days swimming in creek beds and scrambling over large red rocks. There was this amazing drive in theater where we could sit atop the the trailer and watch a movie at night, the sound coming through all the car radios . There was this little movie theater that would play movies all day. During the 80’s they would show horror films all day and I would sneak in the back door and hide behind the curtain till the movies would start . It would be night time by the time I left. Watching horror films all day was simultaneously the best and worst thing a 10 year old could do. I saw E.T. , Empire Strikes Back, Nightmare On Elm Street at that theater. Years later when I went back and the theater was being turned into some persons house and they had ripped out the whole inside and all the movie chairs where sitting in the sun being thrown out. I was walking amongst them and I found the chair where I had carved my name into, “Mylissa was here.I watched ET.” It had all the carving marks for each time I saw it...22 times! I asked the man if I could have the chair since it was being thrown out. It’s one of my most favorite things I own. Years later the drive in was torn down to make way for some Condo’s. Every time I go back a house or trailer park I lived in is gone to make way for more condo’s or hotels. It breaks my heart that my childhood is disappearing. But I still love the creeks and red rock beauty on Moab.

After Utah we moved to Salem, Oregon and I remember thinking at the time that this was the big city. Anyone who has been to Salem know this to be the exact opposite. In high school I got more into photography after my grandpa encouraged me to pick up a camera to document life. I started out by shooting what I knew, which was skateboarding and punk rock bands. I used to sell the photos to make money to buy more film. I started shooting super 8 movies when a teacher taught a class about filmmaking using super 8 . That is pretty much my extent of film school. The same teacher also really encouraged me to stay behind the camera and make documentaries and short film. It’s true what they say about good teachers, they change your life. This one changed mine. I shot my first short films and short documentaries in High school and pretty much my love of all things film started then. I didn’t realize that it could be a job.It was just something I did as an outlet to express myself when I had something to say or to tell stories I thought were interesting. I still think the same way.

MM: What was the process of making That Party That One Night? Can you speak about your process conceptually as well as the logistical planning aspect?

MF: That Party That One Night is inspired by my love of growing up on John Hughes films. Molly Ringwald was my Queen and I had always wanted to make a coming age story. The short is a proof of concept film for a feature that is loosely based on me and my friends in High School. Its about that last week of school and every seems to have a plan for their future except this girl. She has always been this socially awkward girl who didn’t quite fit in and just really wants it all to be over with. She gets pressured into going to a party where she gets ditched by her friends but ends up in a parking lot with the boy she’s had a crush on for years. I basically had this scene in the feature that I couldn’t get to work within the context of the film but I kept going back to this memory and this night . So I sat down and wrote it as a short because I felt that it must be something if I keep thinking about it.

I ended up getting this micro budget grant from The Bureau of Creative Works to make it. Since I had just finished the script days before I got the grant I hadn’t really thought about making it. But I had this grant so I just went for it. The budget was super small and I basically begged friends to work for lower rates and borrowed whatever props and locations I could. I'm also part of the Los Angeles Women’s Film Collective so I leaned on all these wonderful ladies to help me find talent and crew and resources. Along with some funds from a good friend that I’ve known since age 14 who saw something in the film he liked and kicked in the extra funding to make it work. I only had 2 days to shoot it and a bare bones crew. But we all came together really fast and were able to get it done.

The whole film from start (writing it) to finish (festival premiere) took 3 1/2 weeks. It is kind of insane to do to work at that speed. I wouldn’t do it again. I mean we edited this film in 4 days editor, Jaffe Zinn and myself got real sick and we had 102 fevers and chills and were up till 4 am editing for 3 nights straight in my back studio. Then I'd get up and help my kids get ready for school, sleep for a few hours and then get back to work. Part of the reason we did it that way was because we went to edit the film and had to get a trial editing program and only had free use for 5 days. So we just said fuck it and went for it. We made it work and we only sacrificed our health for a week, HA! I also tend to work really fast on projects. I just don’t think you need to spend months or have big budgets on a short films.

MM: What are you working on now?

MF: I recently won the Sun Valley Short Film Lab with a short film script I wrote called , Who Decides, about who decides when its your time to die. I just finished shooting that film.

MM: Is there anything else you would like to add? Advice for women in the arts? Festival tips?

MF: I’m not sure I have any advice that hasn’t already been said already, especially for women. Female artists are amazing,we’re killing it everyday and its inspiring. I like to ask myself, Who am I? What do I have to say? How do I want to say it? And then I just go out and do that.If you’re doing it for any other reasons then whatever you produce won’t be authentic and you’re doing yourself and others a great disservice.

As far as festivals go…know that festivals are just one of many tools in your toolshed.There are many ways to get a film seen. Research, make a plan, don’t spend all your money on submissions and know that rejections and acceptances don’t mean what you think they mean. Also,just go to a festival as an audience person, watch movies. This might be your only chance to see all these amazing films being made that you might not see otherwise…especially short films.

#mylissa fitzsimmons #director #producer #writer #muse's milk #woman artist #filmmaker #indie

1 note · View note