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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

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Coffee, crushes and Complications Prequel

This was prompted by an amazing anon! just a warning, this short got dark real quick. So please, heed the warnings and stay safe! It has a happy ending, but I have said in the other parts Gavin hit rock bottom, so I had to make him hit rock bottom. He does recover in the end and gets back on track that has him being happy as we know from part 1 and 2. It’s just a hard contrast, therefore I wanted to warn you. I hope you still enjoy heavy angst!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Characters: Gavin Reed, Tina Chen (Warnings: depression, description of depressive behaviours, Character thinks about suicide, implied suicide attempt (that doesn’t happen, not even the attempt!), suicidal thoughts) If you want to skip the suicide related part skip from “It was two weeks...” to “Tina! Tina, don’t say anything!”

[Part1] [Part2] [Part3] [Part4]

‚Hey, Boss, what’s up?‘ Gavin marched into Fowlers office with a grin and a spring in his step. He had all his cases solved in record time and had finally endured the cry-babies of machines that had come in lately with stories of assault and attempted murder. What had they expected simply stopping to work to looked like? But he had done nothing wrong, at least nothing Fowler could prove, and that was the most important thing. ‘You are fired, Gavin.’ Gavin blinked. He must have misheard something. ‘The phck?’ ‘You are fired, Detective Reed. Hand in your badge and pistol and pack your things.’ ‘What? Why?’ ‘Why?!’ Fowler stood up and leaned over the table. ‘You really even dare to ask that?’ ‘Errr…. Yes?’ ‘Well, then sit down and get comfortable, because I have a whole fucking list!’, the Captain shouted. ‘And I finally can say what I wanted to tell you for so long, because I will finally get rid of you now!’ Gavin did sit down, but not because he wanted to. His knees had suddenly failed him.

‘First of all: You are a real asshole.’ ‘Yes, I know but-‘ ‘I don’t mean it in a funny way!’, Fowler interrupted. ‘You are a true asshole. A bad person. You treat your co-workers as if they personally attacked you. You are unable to work in a team without sabotaging the whole mission for your benefit. You actively try to make others look worse than you are so you seem like the best one. You are so obsessed with getting promoted you fail to do your work, you are constantly breaking protocol and don’t think I didn’t realise! I did. I just never said anything because, shit, sometimes that was an advantage. But this was the final misstep, Reed! I can’t tolerate your shit any longer!’ Gavin swallowed, then threatened: ‘And what should that be exactly?’ He let his anger speak for himself, but deep inside his guts had twisted into a tight ball.

Fowler leaned back. ‘Your anti-android behaviour. Fucking hell, I thought you would learn with time. I thought you would catch up to the others. But no, you continue calling androids names, calling them “it” instead of he, she or they and treating them like malfunctioning machines. These people come to us for help and you laugh them in the face!’ Gavin huffed amused, then outright laughed in Fowler’s face. ‘Captain, that’s a good joke. You don’t actually believe… They are not human. They will never be. Phck, I wouldn’t even consider them persons. They are some fancy part of machinery, so complexly programmed that maybe they even believe themselves to be persons. But they are not! They are objects, robots. And some fancy revolution and new laws can’t change that simple fact!’ ‘And that’s why I have to fire you. I can’t have you interrogating someone knowing you will personally dismantle them if they don’t talk! They are machines. But they are persons too. And you have to respect that. Fuck, Gavin, what did you think?’ ‘I thought and still think they are not alive. It doesn’t matter what you do to them, it’s just simulated. They don’t feel a thing.’ ‘Are you really sure about that?’, Fowler asked, weirdly calm considering he had been furious just before. ‘Even after Connor?’ ‘Connor is a big reason for me being absolutely certain’, Gavin said.

‘Then hand in your badge and service weapon.’ Gavin stared at the outstretched palm. ‘Oh, come on, Jeffrey, you can’t do this to me. I’m your best man!’ ‘I can, I will and I must. And you haven’t been my best officer for a long time. Hank is back – thanks to that apparently lifeless android Connor – and the RK800 is the best Detective you can wish for. Now, I won’t repeat myself.’ Gavin was sitting there completely numb. He didn’t even have energy left in him to complain and that was saying something. He pulled his pistol out of the holster and handed it over, before unclipping his badge. He looked down on the polished metal with his name on it and thought back to the day he had been handed it. How proud he had been. How much of his pride still was engraved in this piece of metal. He had worked hard for this and by now… Shit, this little piece of leather and metal basically was his whole identity. He pushed his thumb over the letters. G. Reed.

‘The badge, Reed.’ He blinked, took a deep breath, held it and pressed the badge into Fowler’s hand. Then he stood up and pressed out: ‘That’s all?’ ‘That’s all.’ Gavin contemplated saying something. Something witty maybe, or something mean, something that would hurt and gave him that little satisfaction of revenge, even if it didn’t mean much. But he couldn’t think of anything, his head was filled with cotton and everything tingled with numbness. So, he just nodded and left, trying to keep up his composure. It was hard without the added weight on his hip that had made his step a bit broader than it normally was. He stared at the ground not to have to look into their faces. Would they laugh? Would they care? Or worse: would they pity him? Whatever they might feel towards him leaving, he couldn’t face it and so he just took what little possessions he had decorated his table with and left. ‘Hey, Gavin, what’s-‘ That was Tina, but Gavin had already passed the security gates and as soon as he was outside the building he ran to his car, dropping his things on the passenger seat and starting the engine to speed off. He was just moments away from a total breakdown, the fact that others might see him and that he couldn’t drive in that state the only thing keeping his composure up. He parked the car messily in front of his apartment, took his things and stumbled up the stairs in a hurry. He barely managed to unlock the door, dropping his keys once and failing to pick them up first try as his eyes had blurred over.

Then finally he was inside, had closed the door and dropped his things on his sideboard, before leaning on it heavily finally allowing his feelings to spill over. He knelt in front of the small wooden furniture, his hands holding onto the edge to keep him steady somewhere. How could this happen? He was untouchable. He was good at his job. He was damn good at his job. He wasn’t good at anything else. He had only ever been a Detective and… Oh god, he didn’t have a job anymore. He wouldn’t be able to pay his rent. He could make it a few months, but he would have to find something else soon and oh god, what if he had to give his cat away and phck he didn’t have a job anymore and… Did the whole world hate him?

He half kneeled, half sat there, crying, his stomach cramping and heaving and trying to keep his meal down through it all. His shoulders shook and he didn’t trust his hands or his legs for that matter. Standing up was out of question. He crawled over to the wall to prep himself up against it and the sideboard, that was about all he did that day, crying until no more tears would come, his nose was hurting and the muscles of his abdomen aching from overuse. He was thirsty, but at the same time it didn’t matter. He was cold but hell, what did that mean? He needed a shower to get out of his partially wet clothes and maybe feel human again. But he knew he wouldn’t even make it to the living room. So why bother? He didn’t move and tried not to think.

He woke up still in the same position and sat up with his back cracking. Something warm shifted against his legs and stretched. He looked down on his cat, who looked up to him as if asking why her human was so upset. ‘I phcked up, Bready. I’m sorry.’ He scratched her behind the ears. ‘And I haven’t given you anything yet, have I? Sorry. You must be starving. Come on, daddy will get you something.’ With that he finally managed to stand up, but still had to lean against the wall, waiting for his circulation to catch up. He carried himself into the kitchen, gave Bready her food and threw himself a frozen pizza into the oven not wanting any poor delivery guy to see him like this.

He rubbed his forehead that by now hurt like a thousand needles from his dehydration headache. So, he opened the fridge and his eyes fell on his liquor collection. Should he… But it would only make things worse. Could things go worse? To be honest, he just wanted to sleep. He should save the alcohol for tomorrow when he would need it. He ate his pizza, drank his water, forced himself to take a shower and dropped into bed. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

It wasn’t. He was awoken by his alarm, had sat up and halfway left the bed as he remembered that right, no work to go to. Rubbing his face and scrunching it up as he rested his face in his hand, he thought about what to do. In the end he did stand up to give Bready her food and retreat back to bed. She soon joined him, a welcome weight against his legs. As he woke up hours later, she was still there, and Gavin watched her for a while. Damn, why couldn’t he have been born a fat, carefree housecat? He fetched his phone, tried to switch it on and sighed as it wouldn’t. He struggled to get the charger out without disturbing Bready. When he finally could switch on his phone, he immediately was bombarded with messages and missed calls from Tina. He read over them but deleted the notifications from the calls and left her on read. He didn’t feel like talking. He didn’t feel like anything at all. In the end he flicked through the same apps on his phone, fell asleep and circled them through again once he woke up. He stood up to get his cat some food, then went straight to bed. He didn’t want to eat, so he didn’t.

The next day he managed to eat breakfast, but only because he had switched off his alarm and his cat woke him up with screaming. He threw some water in his face, then returned to bed. Tina had called again. Had messaged too. Gavin put his phone on his nightstand face down.

In the evening he couldn’t lie in bed anymore, never feeling comfortable and always sore. He faced his fridge again and took the next-best bottle. When he fell asleep on the couch hours later it was empty.

The hangover was hard, but Gavin liked the sobering pain. He didn’t like throwing up in the toilet first thing in the morning though. He skipped breakfast and lunch lying in bed. As Tina had called for the millionth time, he finally got the energy to answer the call, shout: ‘Phck off, don’t wanna talk!’ into the mic and drop it back down. Dinner was some instant noodles. With lots of alcohol.

When the weekend came, his reserves had been depleted. He was left to water and stale coke. Maybe that was something good? Gavin didn’t think in these categories anymore. Then the doorbell rang. And it rang again. And again. Gavin would have appreciated it staying this way of it ringing and him not answering, but then the call came from outside: ‘Gavin, you absolute fuck, I know you are home and you know I will kick down this door, now open up before you have to pay for a new door and lock without a job!’ Way to go Tina. Gavin just sighed, but obeyed, opening the door. He had planned to tell her to go, but she somehow already had made it past his sluggish reflexes. ‘Holy fuck it reeks!’ The first thing she did was opening the windows, letting in fresh air. ‘How the fuck did you live like this?’, she asked pointing at the dirty plates on the floor. ‘And fucking hell, you look like death!’ Gavin just shrugged. ‘Feel like death too.’ She took him by the back of his shirt and pushed him towards the bathroom. ‘You will take a shower and if I have to watch you do it!’ Gavin tried to protest, but somehow he was already standing under the stream fully clothed. His hoodie began to weigh him down, but he didn’t care. ‘Gavin, I won’t mother you. You will get out of your clothes on your own. Call me if you need anything, I will cook you something.’ Gavin shook his head violently. ‘Tina!’ She turned around to look him in the eyes sternly. ‘You should go. I need more time.’ ‘You got plenty of time. I won’t let you destroy yourself like this! You got fired. That’s all. No one died. No one is ill. You will find a new job and better days will come.’ ‘Someone died’, Gavin disagreed. ‘I did. I died when I handed in that badge, Tina.’ ‘Oh fuck off you melodramatic asshole. I am speaking to you right now. So you fucking are alive and need to wash yourself. And you need food, so I will cook. And then we will talk.’

She had left, but Gavin still winced as if she had struck him with a knife. Talk. Oh, please, anything but that.

‘Any plans what to do now?’ ‘Any idea what kind of job you would like?’ ‘How about going out to a movie tomorrow?’ ‘Gavin, fucking talk to me!’ Gavin swallowed hard. ‘You should leave, really. Thanks for the food and for kicking my ass, but I’m not ready yet. This job was all I ever wanted and all I ever had.’ ‘Bullshit.’ ‘No! No bullshit! For once I’m completely serious Tina! What do you think I have except for it? Everyone phcking hates me, I can’t do anything else and I don’t have anyone to help me! All I have is this flat and my useless phcking cat! I. Have. Nothing! And I’m sorry if a few nice words from pity-party Tina won’t suddenly make me function again!’ ‘Pity-party?’ ‘That’s what this is, isn’t it?’, Gavin shouted. ‘You secretly enjoy it, don’t you? Oh, look someone that has phcked up! Let’s pretend we actually like the guy and don’t just profit from him! Then we can say: see? See how he got better? That was me!’ ‘Gavin!’ ‘What?’, Gavin spat back. ‘Tell me that’s not what you are trying to do! Tell me you mean it, it will be a real nice joke, I can tell you that!’

Tina stood up and in exactly that moment, Gavin had realised he had made a mistake. Another mistake. He had wanted to be angry, about who and what didn’t matter. But well, it did. ‘You know what, Gavin Reed? I’ve been your friend for a long time. Do you really think I listen to an asshole like you, to talks like this and fake being your friend? What weird twist of logic is that? I wanted to help! I really wanted to. But if this is how you respond to that, I clearly wasted my time! Goodbye.’

And Gavin’s days turned back to lying in bed with his cat and stupid phone games, getting up only when he needed to pee, when Bready needed food or when he couldn’t postpone eating any longer himself. One day he actually went out to get some canned food that was easy to prepare, food for Bready and alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

It was two weeks after he had been fired, that he sat in the corner of the living room, a bottle next to him and the shards of a broken glass in his hand, that he carefully pulled out. He didn’t even feel the pain. Not really. Should he… It was tempting. He had no one, he had no job, no goals… Was it even worth it? He had looked far too long at the blood pooling in his hand and the largest shard in his other. It was just a movement after all. But then Bready’s head suddenly appeared and Gavin cursed. ‘No, bad! Shoo! This is dangerous! Damn cat!’ He let the shard fall to the ground and picked up his cat with his uninjured hand, carrying her over to the kitchen and keeping her busy with some treats. Once he was sure she was occupied, he returned to his corner outfitted with a dustpan to pick up the shards so Bready couldn’t step in them.

Only when he saw the bloody shards, he flinched back. He had seen these pictures far too often. Had filed them away as evidence. Had asked himself how people could do something like this, often leaving family and friends behind. And now… Phck no! Phck no, not him! He wouldn’t… He had always been a fighter, hadn’t he? Then why had he given up just moments ago? No, he wouldn’t… He would. He would finally get his ass up and act! What had Tina done last weekend? What had she done…

Open the windows. He retraced her steps after he had gotten rid of the shards and bandaged his hand. He opened the windows, looked to the ground and fetched the dirty plates. He put them in the dishwasher. He cuddled his phcking lifesaver of a cat extra-long and took a shower – this time without his clothes. Then he took his phone from the shelf he had put it on to ignore it and sat down on the couch. He dialled the number on autopilot and waited until he got an answer. It didn’t take long.

‘Tina! Tina, don’t say anything! I don’t know if I can build up this courage again if you say something. Just listen, please. I was an idiot. I was a total asshole to you, and I understand you completely if you don’t want to talk to me or ever see me again. But I really need your help and I want to make up to the terrible things I said to you. I may not have much left, but I have my fantastic cat, I am still alive, and I hope I still have you. I need someone to kick my ass and I know you are best in that. I need you right now. I want to look for a new job, I want to start again, and I don’t want to lose you as my friend.’ He pressed his eyes closed and waited for an answer. ‘Tina?’ ‘What? You told me to shut up and listen! I’m already on my way over to your place with job offers from a few newspapers, you giant asshole. Should I get takeout? Are you hungry?’ ‘You are not mad?’ ‘Oh, believe me, I am mad. But I am also proud of you, Gavin. And if you think you can get rid of me, you don’t know me!’ Gavin audibly exhaled. ‘Oh, Tina, I don’t know what I would do without you.’ ‘Yeah, sometimes I wonder, too. I’ll hang up now, okay? Gotta go place our order. Just wait for me, okay? We’ll fix this shithole of a situation you are in in no time, believe me!’

Gavin smiled, the first time in two weeks. The call had already ended, but he still whispered: ‘Yes. I believe you.’

[>next part]

#detroit become human #dbh #Gavin Reed #Tina Chen #I cried two times while writing this story #bonus points to the person who finds out where XD #Dont worry I'm good I like writing angst but aaaaaaaaaa #might overdid it with this...

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dailyaudiobible · 3 years

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08/09/2021 DAB Transcript

Ezra 8:21-9:15, 1 Corinthians 5:1-13, Psalm 31:1-8, Proverbs 21:1-2

Today is the 9th day of August, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible, I’m Brian, it's great to be here with you today as we do what we do, take the next step forward together. And that next step will lead us into the book of Ezra today chapter 8 verse 21 through 9, verse 15.

Commentary:

Okay, it’s kinda hard not to notice the parallels that have aligned themselves in today's reading, both in Ezra and in 1 Corinthians. Even though these events happened centuries apart from each other. So, let’s just take a look at what's going on here. In Ezra, we began by, you know, hearing the journey taken to Jerusalem with these people coming back for the first time. Ezra, a leader before God comes back rests, counts out the money, make sure everything is there and then begins to observe what's going on and begins to hear the reports that some of the very things that it undermined their culture and their society, namely mixture, in this case, were occurring again. So, some of the very things that caused the temple to ultimately be destroyed and the people taken into exile, when they returned from exile, they began those practices again. So, for Ezra arriving as a leader before God to lead people in the worship of God, set up the systems that governed that and governed the culture, he's discovering this and he's, according to what we read today, devastated. Devastated, that's a big word. Like it wasn't like an annoyance or a roll of the eyes, he tore his clothes and sat down, devastated all day until the evening sacrifice. And then in his humiliation, he got up and prayed a prayer, a plea for mercy and a prayer of repentance and we’ll go back to that. It's easy for us in a very intermingled world to look at the situation and go why are you so devastated, like why can't people be together, like why can't they associate together but there was a point when…when God came to Abraham, which was back at the very first beginning weeks of our year, He said he was going to create a new set of people, essentially, and it was a people with promise and there was a son of promise, Isaac, and remember the whole journey. But the point was that God was coming to earth’s people and setting apart a certain group of people that he had chosen for a particular purpose, not because they were better human beings or somehow they were superior to other people in humanity, but because this people would be His people, and they would be ordered around knowing the one true God, and they would build a culture that would broadcast that to the world. A nation of priests, a nation who feared God, a nation who walked with God to reveal to the people of earth. First of all, there is one true most high God. There is no other and secondly to show what that looks like, how that can be lived so that the example can be set for the rest of the world. They didn't do that, like we’ve read the whole story, only in fits and starts. Kinda like us, only in fits and starts, did they do this and when they did they prospered and when they didn't, they were no longer setting an example. They were being influenced and led astray, so no longer were they this nation of priests shining the light into the world and showing and revealing the one true God and how to walk with that one true God. Instead, they were being seduced away. They were not being the influencers; they were being the influenced. In Ezra's like you've got to be kidding me, this is what destroyed us. So, he's devastated. They aren't setting a precedent or setting a standard, they’re mixing the standard with all kinds of other practices. Things that had led to their own destruction. Then we flip into 1 Corinthians in Paul's writing to the church there and he's pretty clear like not talking about judging everybody in the world, you can’t judge everybody in the world. And you can’t have an opinion about what everybody does out there, that's, God will judge that. But inside this community of faith, this is supposed to be a new species. This is supposed to be a new thing that God is doing in the world, one in which everyone is welcome, but you have to open your eyes and know that you died, to who you were and you started over. There's a new standard, a standard of love. And when you do things that really can't be done in the name of Jesus, then it's mixture that’s leading nowhere, it will ultimately, it will ultimately lead to destruction. It's the precedent of this whole story. And for Paul, he's a Jewish person who knows this story well and recognizes that God is doing something new in the world that he did this new thing by coming in the person of Jesus to accomplish it, and that has to change things. We can't just go oh, I’m free and then intermingle ourselves into bondage that destroys us and then blame God for it. And man, we can rationalize just about anything, but truly, if we are honest just with ourselves, if we can be, if we pause and contemplate a set of actions that we are going to engage our mind and heart and body to participate in. We know in the core of ourselves whether that is right or whether that is wrong for us, whether that is clean, or whether that is unclean for us, whether that is holy, or whether that is unholy mixture for us. Because, because there is a couple of really, really critical things that we must observe and pay attention to. One, when we go against the flow of our new nature in Christ, we are not headed for abundance, we are headed for destruction. We are not headed into further freedoms, we are free. All of these things that we mix and intermingle, they eventually lead us into deception, where we have to wear a mask, where we aren't true, we aren’t really who we were made to be, we’re a lot of things, we put on a lot of masks in every different circumstance, so that we are divided within ourselves. When freedom is, hey, there's a way that this works. Love the Lord your God with all your heart. Love your neighbor as yourself. If you can't participate in it in the name of Jesus, then don't do it. Why do you want to hurt yourself? Why do you want to lead yourself to destruction? And so, you can see why Ezra would be on the ground with torn robes devastated, because this stuff is going nowhere. And so, truly the Bible has led us today into a place to consider these things because we're supposed to be the light of the world. Right, we may have all kinds of freedoms and don’t have to obey the Mosaic law but we’re supposed to be the light of the world. The mission hasn't really changed. Everyone is invited but we, who have been reborn, we're the ones supposed to be showing the rest of the world that there is a better way to be here together. That there is a better way to be a human being and if we look around man, we see the mixture, that's what we’re full of is the mixture. And this doesn't mean like oh okay well then, I’m gonna stop drinking wine, it’s the stuff that is intermingled in our hearts, it is bringing us anxiety and confusion that is forcing us to have several different identities in several different circumstances; we’re invited to be the light of the world, we’re invited to be true. And when we are true, we are not only walking in the light, we are free. And so, we can easily go back to Ezra chapter 9 and see this…this prayer, this plea for mercy, this cry of repentance. And maybe it's words can actually be meaningful to us because were guilty too.

Prayer:

And so, Father we come together here before You as if we were on our knees, humbled, devastated to realize that not only have we’ve been counteracting Your work in our lives but we’ve been sabotaging Your will and sabotaging ourselves. So, we pray from the Scriptures, our Lord God, we are ashamed and embarrassed to lift our face toward You Lord, because our iniquities are higher than our heads and our guilt is as high as the heavens. Our guilt has been terrible from the days of our ancestors until the present. Because of our iniquities, we have been handed over, along with our kings and priests to the surrounding kings into the sword captivity plundering and open shame. And now, for a brief, moment grace has come from the Lord our God to preserve a remnant for us and give us a stake in His holy place, even in our slavery God has given us a little relief and light to our eyes, though we are slaves, our God has not abandoned us in our slavery. He has extended grace to us, giving us relief so that we can rebuild the house of our God and repair its ruins. Now, Lord, what can we say in light of this, we have abandoned the commands You gave through Your servants the prophets, after all that has happened to us because of our evil deeds and terrible guilt. Though You God have punished less than our iniquities deserve and have allowed us to survive. Should we break your commands again. Lord God of Israel, You are righteous, for we survive as a remnant today. Here we are before you with our guilt, though no one can stand in your presence, because of this. Father, we repent and we understand that the only reason we can stand in Your presence is that You came and rescued us and allowed it. You want us in Your presence. You want us as Your children. You want us to be the light of the world because you want all of Earth's people to be welcomed in and yet we are seduced into the mixture so that we have been influenced, we have not been the influencer. And so come, Holy Spirit in this moment of repentance and wash us clean. Help us to reset and restart by taking the next steps that are right before You. We pray for mercy, just as Ezra did, we pray in repentance for forgiveness in the name of Jesus we ask. Amen.

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lo-55 · 3 years

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Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 1

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything.

It felt good to stand in the sunlight.

Ichigo had spent so long in Chaldea it felt good to have the sun on his skin, warming him from the outside in.

He had gotten so used to having the solid presence of his Shielder at his side that standing alone on the platform from the train felt more like standing naked in the streets of his hometown. Not a pleasant feeling. His family wouldn’t be there to see him, and they weren’t. He wasn’t supposed to be home for a few more days at least. How could it be that everything that happened to him, all of the fighting and all of the bloodshed and all of the war would have happened in the span of just a few days? How could his years have been spent and yet nothing but him had changed?

It was enough to make his head spin.

He needed to get home.He didn’t think he could ever really finish explaining everything that had happened to him, but he would tell his family the truth. There had been an accident at the facility, and he was home early.

Even though it had never been an accident.

There was smoke. Smoke and the scent of blood and spilling gas lines and raw metal twisted beyond recognition.

He barely heard Dr. Roman yelling at his back, telling him to come back. Ichigo had never shied from danger and he wasn’t going to start now. He dove into the smoke, choking him and clinging to his clothes. Pods of people were disarrayed around him, their bodies still and blood leaking out like creusom caskets. He couldn’t get their doors open, no matter that he tried, but there was one person who was not there. One person who wasn’t him, blocked from the first mission for his bad attitude towards the Director. Nevermind that the director was just a kid herself.

“Bulkhead closing in 180 seconds. All Devision 2 personal, evacuate immidiately-”

Ichigo didn’t understand what that meant. He didn’t know what most of what had happened today meant, just that his little summer internship wasn’t even remotely what was on the flyer. But he didn’t pause as he scrambled over and massive chunk of rock, stuck through with wires that cut his hands like an oversized porcupine.

A flash of white out of the corner of his eyes gives her away.

There, lying under the debris, her small body crushed an broken and leaking blood, was Mash.

It was Mash but all he could see was Yuzu, her wide eyes huge and terrified and filled with tears. Not a girl he’d met an hour before, after passing out on the floor. Not the best meeting.

The ground was slick with blood and water, turning Ichigo’s white shirt a pale pink where it splashed on it when he dropped to his knees next to her. She was trapped, and the rock was too big for him to even be able to budge it.

That didn’t stop Ichigo from trying.

The overhead voice was still talking, and Mash was muttering at him, her voice too weak to make much sound. She was dying. Dying, her tiny body crushed until she coughed and more than just blood came out.

Ichigo howled with rage and denial and shoved harder, harder. It was hot and smouldering and his hands blistered and blackened with burns. The light above them changed from blue to red and it burned into his retina until he couldn’t see anything else. Just red. Red blood, red light, and his body gave out. Too much smoke, he couldn't breath, he couldn’t see. He was helpless. He couldn’t do a single thing and its burned more than fire.

Mash’s small hand found his. Her grip was weak, but she was alive. She was still alive and he couldn't just let her die-

He grabbed her hand with both of his. Holding tight.

The overhead was still talking, her voice robotically calm and detached. Small paws from the ferret, or whatever it was that had brought him to Mash landed on top of their joined hands.

“Sen-pai,” her voice was a whisper, and wet with blood. The smell was making him sick. “Please… r-run.”

“No way,” he denied firmly, gripping her hands tighter. “Not without you.”

“Senpai…”

Someone else is yelling at him. A ripple in the air. White hair and panicked eyes. The director, the one Ichigo had pissed off. He reaches for her without thinking, and his hand grasps hers.

And then he didn’t see red. He saw blue, light that poured across his skin and came from beneath it, rushing like water across the burning room. A circle in the sky, a hollow moon of blue and Mash’s hand in his.

* *

He knocks on the door, feeling more stranger than family. His key is long gone, he’d dropped it somewhere in Rome, he thinks, but its hard to keep track of trivial things like that when emperors are trying to gut you like a fish.

It’s Yuzu that answers and he can’t help it.

The second she’d within his sights he drags her into the fiercest hug he can manage. He’s gotten taller, he realizes. It’s not a surprise. He spent three years in less than a week, and even if he hadn’t…

“Ichigo?” Yuzu doesn’t fight him, and he’s grateful for it. She must be confused, because as much as Ichigo loves his sisters he’s not the most physically affectionate person in the world.

“Hey,” Ichigo doesn’t let go for a long time. “Sorry I was gone so long.”

“Huh? But you’re home early…”

Ichigo doesn’t say anything. He’s loath to let her go, but eventually he has to. Karin is at soccer practice, of course she is.

Ichigo feels his dad coming at him from a mile away, trying to sneak up on him from the clinic next door. He’d seen Isshin through the window, a glance in the corner of his eye and the flying kick thrown at him isn’t stopped with violence for the first time in ten (thirteen) years.

Ichigo catching him around his middle, holding him off the ground, and Isshin has little choice but to hand there, his arms around Ichigo’s head.

“Son?” there’s a question or two or a thousand, but Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer all of them. He doesn’t put Isshin down until they’re in the living room and even then he sits right next to him. Knee to knee. Yuzu brings in a can of tea for him.

“There was an accident,” he tells them. “Chaldea, there was an explosion. So everyones been sent home.” Everyone who survived. Everyone who made it through the initial explosion and wars that followed.

“Huh? I thought it was supposed to be a security organization, and there was an explosion?” Isshin scowled.

It was sabotage. It was death. It was the world turning red and the future being stripped away from human hands.

“It’s fine,” he says, even though it wasn’t even remotely. There were a million things wrong with what has happened. “I’m not hurt.” Which is true enough. He can see his dad sizing him up, trying to read between the lines. He had to look older. He’s taller, his cheeks are sharper and he’s lost baby fat. He’s always been fit, but now he's stronger, built for endurance and running for weeks on end. Tempered by wars and helplessness and a desperate bid to save the world.

“I’m fine,” he said again, and Isshin let it go. Ichigo didn’t exactly know how to feel about that.

He spends the rest of the day flitting from family member to family member. School starts again in four days and he heavily considers skipping it to hang around his dad of all people.

He can’t help thinking about Mash. She didn’t have anything like this.

* * *

They move from one fire to another.

Ichigo knows if he stays among all this smoke he’s going to end up with permanent damage. Because you know. Fuck him. He has no idea what happening, just that he thinks he’s teleported and apparently magic is as real as ghosts are. And he’s not dead, Fou sits on his shoulder.

He doesn’t know where Mash went but he doesn’t have time to worry about it. Some kind of skeleton gang, at least five of them are approaching. Skeletons, living, breath - well, moving in any case, skeletons. Half of them have swords. One has a spear.

Ichigo thinks he’s broken his hand when he throws the first punch, but the skeleton crumble into a strange yellow powder that tastes like what Ichigo assumes a graveyard would. Death an d decay and strangely damp.

He can’t stop with one but by the time he’s kicked the absolute shit out of the last of them the sky lights up with another shade of red. Like a handful stars falling from the sky, and he realizes belatedly that there’s no way for him to block whatever the fuck is flying at him.

So he tries to run, but there’s a flash of purple and pink and Mash is in front of him. Only she’s taller now, older, and she’s holding a shield bigger than her body is. She’s not alone. White hair, snake-yellow eyes. Olga Marie, the director that had been pissed at a ‘commoner’ like Ichigo was with her too. Only, she wasn’t really there.

It had been years since Ichigo hadn’t been able to tell the dead from the living, but this time it takes him a few minutes to realize that Mash is very much alive, if not apparently a magical girl, and Olga Marie is anything but alive.

They don’t have time to worry about it, because they’re under seige and Ichigo is apparently a wizard .

He should seriously be more surprised.

But he’s not. It explains a few things. Like how he can see ghosts on the regular, and why his punching skeletons actually works.

They pick up another stray on their way, a wizard named Cu Chulainn. He and Mash swear themselves to Ichigo as his ‘servents’, familiars who he supplies with energy and they fight on his behalf. It almost reminds him of Chad, except here he’s entirely outclassed.

The helplessness tastes bitter and vile.

A third servent appears, a woman this time who likes to turn people to stone.

“You’ll all join my garden,” she tells them, hanging off a petrified man. Ichigo can vaguely remember reading something about a person like this. The eyes, he thinks. It’s her eyes.

He meets them squarely and bonks her harmlessly on the head. He’d have more luck punching the statues than her.

“Hey,” his voice is gruff. “Stop being a lunatic. We’re all getting out of here. So either come with us or let us go.”

“You- what?” Everyone is staring at him. Bewildered, but Ichigo had never done what he was supposed to. He does what he wants, and even though she’s threatened them somehow he can feel her. Like the rush of scales across his skin, cool and potentially threatening but if she really wanted to kill them-

Well, they’d just been hanging out by the river. If nothing else should have taken his head off with her curved spear.

“Am I gonna have to repeat myself? Damn, I said we’ve got bigger things to do than fight you, lady. So just come with us, or let us go!”

“Master!” Mash takes a startled step towards him. “Please step away from her! She could kill you!”

“Why would she do that?” Ichigo demanded, turning towards them, “We haven’t even done anything!” It’s not like he’s against fighting. He fights all the time. But they need to get out of here. He needs to get back to his family, to his own damn time .

Besides that, he can see her power. He isn’t sure how, but he can see her strength and that of the two other Servants. Not see, maybe, but he can feel it. Like he can feel ghosts even with his eyes closed. Either way, she’s not strong enough to beat both of the others at once, even if Mash is a novice.

“This is a war…”

“Look,” he spun to face her, staring fearlessly into her eyes. “Just say yes or no already!”

She blinks. Once, twice, thrice.

“Yes?”

So with three servants in toe, he sets out to fight the ones who holds the holy grail. All of this destruction, a city of fire devoid of the living and ghosts both... Only servants and masters remained, all because of a cup.

All for the sake of a wish.

Was it really worth it?

* * * *

Ichigo’s bed is equal points familiar and foreign.

He ends up going to sleep on the floor, the bed too soft and too warm and he feels like he’s going to suffocate.

All he can think of are late nights spent in Chaldea with Mash, with Roman, and Di Vinci, and countless others. He misses the solid presence of Mash and her near encyclopedic knowledge of history. Everywhere , everywhen they went. He misses the sharp bite of Mordreds tongue betrayed by her sea-dark eyes. He missed the quiet, hulking form of Asterios, always well within reach. He missed the sharp bite of his guard dogs tongue and the quiet prayers of the saints at sunset. Even Kiyohime, her claws digging into his arm, afraid she’ll be abandoned again-

He’s up before dawn.

Ichigo puts together enough breakfast for twenty people. Rolled omelette and rice and foreign things. Shakshuka and fried green tomatoes.

His family stares when they come down for breakfast.

Ichigo stands, in his dads ‘kiss the cook’ apron, with a bowl of matcha stirring swiftly in his hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Karin asks, looking him up and down, trying to find something. Isshin’s stare is particularly disconcerting. Like a scientist trying to understand something new, he’s never seen his father look that way, especially not at his own son.

Ichigo has to turn away from their staring.

“The time is different there,” is the understatement of the century. “I wanted to make breakfast.”

“There’s enough here for an army!” Yuzu cries, gesturing to the spread out in front of them.

Or enough for two Berserkers.

“We can have leftovers for lunch?” is about the only explanation he has. How does he explain that he used to cooking with EMIYA enough for an actual army?

“Yeah… I guess so,” Karin is still staring.

Isshin pitches himself at the portrait of their mother, sobbing grossly.

“Masaki! Our son is growing up so fast!”

* * * * *

Lev Lainur has an ugly smile. Everything about him is slimy and distrustful and Ichigo has seen enough ghosts to know, just by looking at him, that he is not human.

So when Olga Marie tries to go running to him, Ichigo wraps a firm arm around her middle and holds her back.

“Let go!” she shrieked, clawing towards the slimy man, “It’s Lev! Lev will fix everything he’ll-”

“He’ll kill you.”

Olga Marie freezes in his arms, looking towards Medusa. Rider. Her eyes are narrowed and her hair writhes with snakes, hissing a spitting venom.

“Kill her?” Lev laughs, a sound like metal grating and children screaming. There’s nothing pleasant about it. “I already have! I planted that bomb directly under her feet, I have no idea how she’s even here!”

Ichigo knows.

It’s because of him. Because of his interference in the explosion. The other hand he’d grabbed, it must have been Marie’s. And they’re all here together.

“W-wait, no. I’m not dead! I can’t be!” But the fight goes out of her. She lets Ichigo hold her, and when Lev beacons gravity shifts and the world tries to pull Olga Marie from his arms. He tightens his hold and barks at Medusa. Chain snake out, lashing them together and to the ground and holding them there, even as Lev pulls until it feels like his skin will come off. Ichigo can feel it again, the drain on his energy. Mana, magic energy, pulled when the servants fought. He has no idea how much he has but it must be just enough for Lev to scoff.

He shows them the red earth again. The world, the future. Humanity, all gone. Destroyed in an instant, and they the only survivors. All of the past, all of the future.

There is nothing left of it, save him, Mash, and the ghost in his arms.

Something inside him writhes and snarls, thirsting for vengeance and at the same time is keens a wailing cry of anguish.

It’s his mother all over again. Laying on the riverbank, bleeding out and Ichigo helpless in her arms.

It’s Mash in the command room, crushed under burning stone and Ichigo only able to hold her hand.

No, no, no, no!

He won’t allow it. He will not let himself be so useless .

There’s a flare of energy and Medusa gasps. Mash and Cu straighten up like dogs that heard a whistle and their fight turn on a dime. The archer falls, and his king a second later until all five of them stand before Lev. United.

* * * * * *

School starts.

The world turns on.

Everything is the same, and nothing is at all.

* * * * * * * *

#shattered chains of fate #ao3 cross post #lore55 #bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach/fate grand order #Ichigo Kurosaki #mash kyrielight #olga marie animusphere #cu chulainn #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #sorta

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beautifuldesastre · 4 years

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Madani wasn’t a bad character, but she wasn’t a good one either.

Note: Spoilers for Punisher.

So, I tried really hard to like Madani. I really did. I’ve always been a fan of women in kickass important roles, more points if they’re the underdog working their way to the top or trying to make a name for themselves. However, by the end of the Punisher I really couldn’t stand by and root for her character. It’s not a matter of the actress, who I honestly haven’t seen in anything else, but a matter of I just think the character was written poorly.

We’re supposed to think she’s some tough, badass constantly undermined by the men around her, but the truth is… she undermines herself. Constantly.

In the first two episodes we’re brought in and told she got “top marks” in intelligence analysis, profiling and investigations. Yet, you never really see her do much of any of that. She basically takes a big leap of a guess without any critical thinking behind it, just quick assumptions, and runs with it.

Case and point, she sought out Billy to try to find Frank. Why? Because he worked with Frank overseas. At no point does she consider that Billy might have also been in on the plot to kill her Partner (since you know his bestie Frank is assumed to be), or remotely suspect he could be a suspect at all. Yes, she knows Billy shipped out before Frank, but not by much, mere weeks at best. Operation Cerberus lasted at least several months, possibly even up to or over a year or so and possibly longer if outside organizations had to come in and try to sabotage them. That’s not a quick operation. That takes patience, resources and above anything else, time.

It’s common knowledge that Billy spent most of his career with Frank, but not once did she think he was dirty with that specific incident until literally the end of season 1.

You could argue that they could have fudged the paperwork, there was a coverup after all, if there was any papertrail to be had, but why wouldn’t she be suspicious and consider all avenues when that is exactly part of her job?

On top of it, she gets close to Billy by means of sex. I’m not opposed to this. Men do it all the time, so why can’t a woman? In a way, I feel like they were trying to achieve a sorta Stella Gibson-esque vibe ( ‘The Fall’ ), who is so unabashed about her sexuality and sex-life, no strings attached, just get the objective. But then they turn around and make her into some twisted love sick puppy - “This doesn’t mean you’re getting a key to my apartment! - But obviously I secretly want to give you one despite you’re still some stranger I’ve only known for less than a week!”

Okay, maybe it was longer than that, but with the way the narrative felt so fast-paced, makes it feel like it was maybe two or three weeks at most. I wouldn’t dream of joking or even giving a guy a key to my apartment for at least half a year, let alone 2 or 3 weeks, c’mon.

There’s also the matter I feel like Wolf gave Billy the heads up on on her as well, to keep tabs on her. Since, I mean, if your agent is investigating something related to said individual and she happens to see aiming that direction... I mean... Wouldn’t you pick up on that, too? I don’t feel like he’s that done.

Regardless of that though, I really plays to her desperation, for a connection? If that is what they’re trying to do with the loss of her partner- Oh-I’m sorry, PARTNERS, since she gets Stein killed. But regardless, it’s so clumsy! And as soon as that happens, all her critical thinking goes out the window. It’s one bad decision after another. At no point does she become suspicious of Billy, yet you can see the red flags going up on his end but she doesn’t care to notice (Knowing how exactly Stein died, and other such stuff).

Also, in general he’s very hands off with her, keeps her dangling with a few bits that he reveals of himself, but really it just seems like it revolves mainly/only around sex, nothing more on a deeper level (using the fact that when he ‘checks on her’ towards the end she immediately tries to have sex with him). It also doesn’t feel like she ever goes to his place, since we never see her there or even having any meaningful conversation that a ‘couple’ would have. Which just goes to spurn me on more that it was a very one-sided relationship that she just… lapped up for some reason or another..

And she laps it up until just about the stairwell, when she realizes she got out played. I’m not sure what she was trying to accomplish. You could argue she might have just been trying to keep him close to order to slip him up, but all her actions say otherwise.

Then comes getting shot in the head and then season 2 and… this bitch just goes off the walls. Creepily watching over Billy, thinkings she’s the good guy, when she’s doing nearly the EXACT type of thing that Billy himself did to his mother. It doesn’t make her better, in fact I feel like it makes her actually worse. She should know better, but she abuses her power, keeps doing stuff that isn’t sanctioned. I totally get that you can’t always go by the rules, I agree with that, but even so, I feel like everything she does is still…. Wrong. Doing wrong for even wronger reasons.

Yeah, I get it, Billy did her wrong. Billy was a dick. Billy ALLOWED ( but did NOT in fact commit, despite what some people on this damn show kept saying in the second season) the murder of Frank’s family, but… Gurl, the fuck? For reals?

I guess because I sort of pity New!but-old Billy, so I feel like her actions are never even justified against him after a certain point. He becomes so sympathetic against the onslaught of her rampage I can’t get behind her. Instead, she comes off as a toddler not getting her way. And at no point do I feel like she really got to a point that she redeemed herself, or really deserved to get anything back. Actually, I just found her so deplorable I was hoping that Krista would have grabbed Madani as she was going through the window, using her as padding as she hit the ground and turning her into a flat Madani-pancake.

Also, can we talk about her lack of fighting prowess? ( @the-blind-assassin-12reminded me of this fact btw) The fight with Krista was rather laughable. She’s an agent, trained for situations like this and she narrowly escapes the whole thing in one piece. I get the whole trying to stir up excitement but… yeah it didn’t do it for me. It felt too forced. Not organic in the slightest.

In fact, it feels like the whole thing with Madani is forced. At no point does the character feel like she breathes. It tries to make her look like a badass but only seems to showcase how flawed she is instead of just that. Which you could say maybe their aim, but… What’s the point of giving me a hero I can’t find myself rooting for, even in a perilous situation?

Again, chalk it up to poor writing, but… she wasn’t a good character, at the end she felt like a bad guy pretending to be the good guy. Which is disappointing. I’m not asking for bad-ass amazon warrior of a chick, just give me someone that is consistent and is what you set them up to be, instead of floundering for two seasons. Is that too much to ask?

#dinah madani #the punisher #billy russo #frank castle #this is probably resulting because I'm trash for Billy Russo #Not hating on #just criticially thinking

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kny111 · 4 years

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I’m Living Under Government Watchlist for doing ProBlack + BLM work

I’m not sure many of you know this and with what I’ve seen I doubt this will get attention considering how deeply sabotaged tumblr has become. But I’ve been doing activism for about as long as we’ve been yelling things like “HandsOffAssattaShakur“ to protesting what I thought was religious corruption when we did so against scientology to #OccupyWallstreet. I’ve been protesting and doing activism online and offline depending on my mental and physical health which has limited me as time goes by. It’s finally got me burnt out, not from the protesting and activism, but from those whose job in the past and present been to sabotage and destabilize Black lead/ Poc led movements. I’m in a continuation of this. Don’t let my lack of energy in speaking out fool you into thinking I gave up. I have just gotten worn out by them.

The things they’ve done to my mind and body while in this area since moving. They’ve been surveilling me since before I could even remember. Every single day that goes by they’ll have some way of making their presence on my health in a debilitating way. They’ll mess with the internet, phone, my contacts, infiltrate them, infiltrate my family, they’ve messed with the job search process and made difficult for me to enter any job without said job making some offhanded comments showing their solidarity to the corrupted country I protest. They’ve had people I trusted right here on tumblr infiltrated my circles of friends and myself and make it very well known that they feel beyond reproach.

This has all been in coordination with the NYPD and other government agents of defense. They’ll make themselves present in just about any space I try to go. From the forest, parks, to just a simple walks outside. I basically was lead into an area of Manhattan that is mad pro-cop, pro-surveillence capitalism, pro-militarized. Any time I make blog posts or whatever that don’t put em in a good light I get some kind of mental or physical health debilitating action against me like they’ll have mad loud noises at timed intervals like what the agent upstairs does all the time which messes with my breathing due to social anxiety and depression. They’ve had cars roll dangerously close to me, whether im biking or not. They’ll have people walk mad close to me during social distancing measures. I know it be them because they tend to use sensitive information they got through surveillancing me all day and night. Like fam I could be trying to take a piss in peace at like 3am and they’ll still be bumping away and making all types of sound to give the impression that they’re always watching. And they are. And I think the fact that those UFO/UAP objects appeared on my 17th (11/10/2004) birthday added to their obsession with me. The other fact that I ended painting a similar craft under the context of destroying colonialism I believe gave the government more understanding on what they’re really here about. I think that being the end of these oppressive regimes that have made so much out of us. I don’t want to sound superstitious but since then I’ve felt a connection with those UAPs that I only learned to name recently. I no longer think it’s coincidental that about a month or so AFTER I painted those native, queer sisters dancing to bring forth help from their future descendants, the navy posts those videos of the UAP that become well known. They’ve never done that, and yet just a few weeks after I painted this, not only does the gallery I exhibited this in Harlem catches fire unexpectedly, but these things become a topic of discussion in ways we’ve never seen before. I think them UAPs are here for our freedom. But that’s for another post. Too much to unpack into this. I’m just letting yall know what they know of me. So now imagine. This nigga aka me, tied to UFO, fortelling the future (I know what I sound like, but believe me, I can definitely tell the future) AAAND fighting for black lives? Of course they gone be on my ass like a probe. In fact, I think one night they even broke into our apartment (not the first time they do so) and did things against my will as I slept since I woke up feeling violated. Waking up with strange markings and having objects in the crib go missing. But I’ll leave that there. There’s so little ya’ll know about what they’re doing to BLM activists. So much I’ve omitted from here for my own sanity and to process things. This has caused my body a lot of debilitating stress down to my breathing having been shortened. I’m lucky if I have the will power to eat more than 2 meals. I don’t even bike anymore. I can barely run anymore. I can barely speak like I used to anymore. They stole so much more from me than they’ll ever imagine. Even saying all this to yall, whomever listening, feels pointless. Why? because they’re very good at making it seem, even if and when it aint true, that your people don’t fuck with you no more except for those they deem acceptable. As you figured, this would have anyone under 24/7 watch. The government be lookin at me and them UAP and the lands and non government natives as a force they don’t wanna reckon with, so they’ve put a lot out to shrink me as they do to so many of us who choose to fight for the rest who can’t. And this has all been while trying to raises my baby Quinn with my partner. So we’re all dealing with the state and federal terrorists in one way or another. If they not trying physically fuck with me, they’ll be running psych warfare on me, shit thatll have me doubting myself despite the facts. Luckily a nigga still bout that scientific literacy so it’s helped me a lot in spotting them and trying to keep some semblance of a distance. But again because of what I’m tied to: bday 111, UAP/UFO, native resistance and the spirits of the land and those this country murdered for white supremacist ventures, predicting/ESP type of abilities on the daily while telling them how useless their surveillence capitalist tools are knowing we can do this has likely mad them other me, dehumanize me and made me feel less human. Since then I’ve noticed they’ve been limiting my posts and activities on just about any site that has favored white supremacy, neocolonialism and capitalism in some way or another. They’ll mess with my facebook feed, who my posts get seen by, they’ll mess with my IG, they’ll mess with my tumblr especially. Basically any way they can limit who I may say this to and wear me out from even speaking about this and bringing yall hope like that. And remember, the information that they share amongst themselves as surveillance capitalist is the same information hub/database that infiltrated white supremacists and antiblack/antibrown folks in governments tend to us and share with their own hateful ass people. With this in mind, I really think they look at me as some would be leader to those movements since I’m queer and nonbinary so not as easy to trick into the outdated oppresive politics they try to have me on. Since I haven’t shown interest in being with them in any real way and have stuck to my activism and abolishing these systems they’ve continue to in a way torture me. Through sounds, denial of physical services, or when I go out to eat in places that have ties to law enforcement or government agencies, they’ll mess with my food, just about anything you need they’ll fuck with. What would that do to you if you experienced that? Hence why my bloggin changed a bit, not as attached due to energy fatigue and their constant harrassment and obsession with me. Many times, even with the fact that I may be linked to those UAP in some special way I still be feelin like dyin to not be around em anymore.

To add to what I said on how corporate own websites like tumblr have joined them; After having spent a good amount of time blocking my posts and blaming their algorithm. From blocking drawings of normalizing fatness to pro LGBTQ and Black Lives Matter posts like the Eric Garner videos I uploaded. For a few months now I’ve noticed my scinerds blog has been inaccessible, in a way sabotaging my communication with yall. And they would fix my blog posts by limiting who sees my posts, so now most if not all of my posts on this website and few others have been. When I try to use it I’m not allowed, but I’m still able to reblog, so I’ve been reblogging there less science and more activism as a way to protest the racist, white supremacist of tumblr. Be they black or not, they still acting the same. I’m mostly posting this for a future people who understand me and believe me. I get the sense that this post will also be sabotaged or muted in some way. Thanks for reading, in case we don’t link.

#blm #black lives matter

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thebookofus-depravity · 4 years

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Skinny Bone Jones

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 coming soon!

9k words

This is my baby Park Jaehyung and an AU in which y’all are dealing with the coronavirus together in LA. Jae grew up with Y/N and you were childhood friends. You stayed close but haven’t seen each other in ages. Now you’re both back.

Teeth rotting fluff, possible smut in future chapters (lets see if I have the balls to post it), Y/N has a strong proclivity for a certain guitarists hands. And honestly, who can blame her? TW: Confrontation with a nasty old ex, Coronavirus, Quarantine, overbearing parents.

...

This fucking sucks.

Closing your laptop, and shoving it off of your lap to the side of your bed, you are struck by exactly how warm the underside of your Netflix Machine was in contrast to the chilly room. Well, 3 hours of To Catch a Predator in, and sure, your old 2011 Dell dinosaur is going to be a little mad at you. I've got to do something today. Anything.

Week 3 of your quarantine is coming to a close and on this breezy LA Thurs-Fri-Turday (who the hell knows anymore) you can feel the last tendrils of your sanity escaping with the setting sun. It just doesn't stop setting. And rising. And setting. And rising. Tortuously slow some days and before you can even get out of bed the next. Not that you get out of bed much.

Alright. That's it. I'm gonna do something. I have to. It's time to make some art, bake some cookies, go for a run, tell someone around me how much I value them, topple the patriarchy. I am going to get up and do something with my life and damned if I get in my own way again. I am unstoppable. I am formidable. I am inevitable.

Rising from your rumpled bed clothes with the steadfastness of a slightly anemic Viking (whoa I’m woozy, I shouldn't have stood up so fast. Shit, when's the last time I ate?) you cross to the large bay window that faces the street. You throw your curtains open, ready to face the day, only to be faced with… stars starting to twinkle at you out of the inky blackness. Dammit. I'm gonna have to defeat systemic oppression tomorrow.

Squinting from behind your glasses, you see that the stars are not stars at all but helicopters blinking down at you. You haven't seen real stars since your trip to Big Sur last summer. Although you moved to LA when you were 7, you have vague recollections of the Korea that you loved as a young child. Your parents had picked up and moved to the States after years of struggling through VISA's and citizenship red tape. Your mom and dad had originally meant to get married and have you in the US. The land of opportunity.

You now chafed slightly under that blanket of opportunity as you are far too aware of the responsibility you have been given to make the absolute most of it. From the ripe old age of 8 you had been conditioned to follow your dreams to their fullest. As long as those dreams were to become a doctor, lawyer, or marry a CEO. Your parents cared about you greatly and you knew that. They only want security for you, happiness comes from security. Now 25, you can't quite remember the last time their overbearing nature had been quite this...potent. You were in your final year of medical school at USC and there was nowhere to run. It was time for you to begin your foray into the 'real world' of residency. The same post-undergrad 'real world' that you had watched all of your non-premed friends crash land into. They had all distanced themselves from you, both figuratively and literally; intentionally and inadvertently. Divorced, Beheaded, Died: Divorced, Beheaded, Survived. You had watched you friends get married, have kids, sabotage marriages, buy houses, do well, do poorly. And here you were in some kind of bubble both safe and isolated from all of the uncertainty beyond the classroom.

Jokes on you, Jessica, now we're all screwed, you find yourself thinking for the upteenth time over the past month. You had been watching the Coronavirus since December and knew exactly what was to come. You did all that you were capable of as a not-quite certified medical professional and tried to convince people of the reality of the threat, convince them not to panic, and to exercise a reasonable level of preparedness. Well, that didn't work. You found yourself sunk into a deep well of frustration and futility at the action and inaction that was being exhibited throughout the States. For the first weeks of quarantine you found yourself glued to your phone, helplessly watching the tragedy unfold and the stupidity that was ensuing. By week 2 your empathy had burnt out and you knew you couldn't watch that world anymore. K-drama's it is. After completely obliterating Crash Landing on You, Itaewon Class, and rewatching Descendants of the Sun for the eighth time just because it's so. damn. cute!, your parents started to get a little concerned.

Your stomach growled and you realize you, in fact, haven't eaten since early this morning. As you consider what the consequences of emerging from your cave of a bedroom might have, you resign yourself. Five minutes later you are hovering in the kitchen with a bowl of leftover whateverthefuck in hand, you turn to see both of your parents at the bar stools staring at you with a look of concern that you haven't seen in years. Shit, I keep forgetting, they think I'm functional. Your parents had shipped you off to Health Careers College Prep school, a boarding school in Sacramento, when you were 16. Upon graduation there with your high school diploma, nurses aid, and dental hygienist's certificates, you immediately started at USC premed. You hadn't lived at home since your Jonas Brother's phase. As much as your parents loved you, they didn't really know you. This had been overwhelmingly obvious when the USC campus closed and you returned home to open arms and your bedroom frozen in the clutches of 2009. Your parents had welcomed you home with tearful hugs and a new gift for your room. I know how much you love that Kevin- boy. And your room is so old. Come. Come. Already wary and wondering who the hell is Kevin? you allowed yourself to be led to your old room and set your bags down with a deadened thump. You tried so hard not to laugh, You really did. They're trying so hard. But like, Where did they even find this monstrosity? You had been staring up at the largest poster of Kevin Jonas that you had ever seen every night for 3 weeks and it was starting to get to you.

Regardless of the decor (purple fuzzy lamp shade included), there were so many parts of living at home that were so foreign to you. Although everything was completely the same, you were worlds different and it was disorienting. Your bed seemed smaller, the walls shorter, the colors dimmer. Everything that made that house your home was still there, only you had changed. It was like you were in a coma and had just woken up, the rest of the world unchanged but with 10 more years under your belt. Your therapist would tell you that you were reverting into a childlike state because of trauma and surroundings. Hush, Mollie, I don't need that right now. I need food.

Food was honestly what was keeping you sane and civil. Your parents own a pho shop just down the street that was still taking carry out and delivery orders for pho, crawfish, whatever they had lying around. You had been helping out in the kitchen and with deliveries since you had been home. As freeing as the drives have been, you really come alive in the kitchen. You had been watching your mom make pho and dumplings for years and although she sent kimchi to your apartment every month or so, you missed your moms cooking. And her kitchen. You immediately took to cooking just like you had when you moved off of USC campus and into an apartment with some friends. You had 12 burners! That all worked! A convection oven! Two of them! Kitchen Aid's! You had no problem opening up shop at 8am every morning to prep the dough and get the stock boiling and all of the other things that her mother and father had been doing for the past 20 years.

Returning to your room after rinsing out your bowl and chopsticks, and exchanging goodnight's with your parents you sit on your bed and tell yourself to go to bed. You have to be up at 7am for the kitchen. You need to chop scallions for the pork and chive dumplings so it has time to coagulate. Come on, Go to bed. No phone. It was a pitiful attempt, really. You had been pulling med-school grade all-nighters since your junior year of high school and nothing was stopping you now. Turning on your side for easy access to your charger, you plug your phone and coast through Instagram, Youtube, Twitter, Tinder for an indeterminate amount of time before your eyes start to get heavy. Instagram was just filled with all of your peers from USC recklessly meeting up with friends for picnics and drives and all of the other things they thought they were free to do because they were young and healthy and beautiful. Fuck off. Youtube provided a lovely escape from the actual outside. Mikey Chen showed you around TaiPei's street food scene, Binging with Babish gave you a new hand pulled noodle recipe to try, Bon Appetit made you glad you weren't Claire Saffitz. Tinder was a joke but an adequately funny one. Instead of your bog standard USC fuckboi's you were able to talk to fuckboi's from Korea, Dubai, Indonesia, Guatemala, Brazil. How fun. You had downloaded it 6 months prior after yet another guy in your department was just 'too busy, i'm sorry' to make the date that you had planned. You generally tried to avoid Twitter as it was just an echo chamber of panic and 24 hour news cycles and didn't do much for your anxiety. See, Mollie? I'm being smart.

You flick open the little bird app and scroll for just a minute. A particular notification picques your attention. Jae tweeted. Well, Day6 tweeted, but we all know who runs their twitter. Your throat tightens with nerves as the post loads. You worry about him more than you'd like to admit but with tours cancelled and travel suspended, you know how hard it can be for people whose livelihoods revolve around entertainment and travel. The post loads and you let out a sigh of relief to see Jae surrounded by his band mates and smiling. Brian starts speaking Korean and delivers his message about their newly acquired tiktok. Brian gestures for Jae to speak and Jae delivers the same message in English. Ah, he went back to blonde. It looks good on him. Wait is he- oh god, he's wearing a crossbody fanny pack. Jae, you're old. Stop. Shifting to get more comfortable, you let the video loop a few times before closing the app. Jae's okay. You roll over onto your side and set your phone to the side. Jae's voice echoes through your ears for the next few minutes but you resolve yourself against it. I'm not getting fucking tiktok. I'm a grown ass woman. That app is for 12 year olds. And Jae. Resolved, you burrow into your Jonas brothers duvet cover for the night.

Sweating and on the verge of tears, you wake with a start. The dream was already slipping from your consciousness with a blessed haste but the uneasy feeling that the nightmare gave you seemed to coat the inside of your skull and taint it's entire contents. A thin light filters through your still open window and your eyes creak open. Morning? Sure, why not? Rolling over, you flick open your phone and are greeted by an all too unfamiliar, 5:17am. It's too damn early. Even for you. You still have an hour or so to kill before you have to get up but you didn't fancy the idea of trying to go back to sleep after that dream. Propping yourself up on a few of the approximately 67 pillows that litter your twin sized bed, you open your phone. 3 new emails from USC congratulating you on your graduation and asking for some documentation of something or another or evaluation of some class you hadn't thought of in weeks. Skip. 2 emails from residencies that you had applied to before the coronavirus urging you to reapply in the fall. Great. You couldn't even bring yourself to feign concern over the missed opportunity. 1 email from Twitter informing you that Jae had tweeted. Again. You follow the link to another video of his side project EaJ. You had been following his new releases and you were surprised by the tenderness and vulnerability that they showed. He was always such a funny guy, it was the only side that he really showed much to the media. Sure, fans got glimpses at concerts, but not many knew just how deep the well ran in that man.

Today's Tuesday, apparently. The next episode of How Did I Get Here? comes out today. I'll have something to listen to while I food prep. You never admitted to yourself how pleased you were when he started the podcast. You missed hearing his voice on a regular basis. Hollered up into your window, whispered between giggles in the back-most church pew, hurled across crowded hallways. Of course, the voice was different than it is now. Pocked by pubescence and the LA accent, you remember a far squeakier Jae. He was the first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood at 7 years old. He was 9 so of course, he took it upon himself to show you exactly where you could and couldn't go and what taco trucks would give out fare for free to little kids on weekends. You remember those years fondly as finally having the big brother you never had. Skinny Bone Jones, you called him. He stood up for you when the kids in middle school called you smelly for bringing kimchi in your lunch. He called you smelly just for being you. He was well liked in school and by extension so were you. You had the cool big brother. You were more than happy to play second fiddle and be his backup. Tagging along to parties, helping him record his yellow post-it note covers on Youtube, letting him know when his hair looked stupid.

And so it stayed until Jae actually made it on KPop Star. As much as you loved him, you didn't think he would ACTUALLY make it. Sure, he could sing. He had a beautiful voice but that wasn't enough. The boy danced like a drunk chicken and was 6ft tall and 120lbs soaking wet. He didn't even know Korean. What was he thinking? He was thinking he was going to prove you wrong. And he did. You watched as Skinny Bone Jones transformed into Park Jaehyung with a perfect balance of immense pride and terror. You knew you wouldn't lose your friend entirely but during his trainee days he had very limited access to the outside world, and you just weren't a priority. Honestly, you would've been offended if you had been. He has a mom, dad, an older sister, bandmates, college. It only makes sense that the steady stream of communication turned into a trickle. It wasn't until Every Day6 that you were more of an insistent presence in his life. You burrowed your way back into his inbox with the tenacity of the annoying little sister that you were. You were worried. You watched him on After School Club and in the deluge of content that Day6 was serving their slowly growing fanbase. He looked tired. You once again rekindled your relationship but it was different now. Instead of you leaning on him for social support, you became his confidant. He was struggling. Burnt out, and questioning so many things, he didn't want to go to his bandmates because he didn't want them to worry. His parents would pull him immediately if they knew exactly how rough his condition was, his 'friends' from college had proved fake. He now had Alpha Phi Omega blocked because they wouldn't stop asking for favors: Day6 tickets, Twice merch, Got7 tickets. He felt alone but you reached out and he was able to lean on you. The trials passed and he was happier than ever and Day6's growing popularity meant good things for his lobster funds.

You stayed in contact over the years and shared with each other the going on's of your lives. You had even managed to go to the Gravity World Tour date in LA. Jae got you backstage and you were able to meet the rest of his bandmates that you had heard so much about. It was an act of God that you managed to keep your composure. I mean sure, he's just Jae but you're still backstage at a concert for the first time! Your cheeks still redden when you remember how Jae caught you ogling at YoungK. Heart in your throat, and voice barely above a whisper YoungK had walked directly over to you and asked what you were doing backstage. After a solid 15 seconds of pointing listlessly at your Press badge and making just the strangest of noises that were meant to approximate speech, Jae finally caught wind and rushed over, knocking your sense back into you and introducing you to the members.

Oh! Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you! Jae talks about you all the time, I'm so glad you were able to make it! Your cheeks inexplicably reddened further to a violent shade of pink but the boys slowly defanged themselves in your mind. They're truly lovely people and you're glad Jae has them. That being said, you still can't quiiiite look Brian in the eyes and Jae thinks it's hilarious.

The Gravity tour feels like ages ago as you shrug on some jeans and a tee shirt for your walk to the shop. August 2019 at the Novo may have only been 8 months ago but it seems like a different reality. The Novo will be closed for the forseeable future and concerts are cancelled. That stings but not as much as the radio silence from Jae. First it was his tour schedule that rendered communication difficult and now the virus. You know he's busy and it's been a weird few months for the entertainment industry, but a 'Hey I'm alive.' would be nice. From his podcasts and twitter you've been able to keep some thread attached but you feel it stretching thin as the months stretch on. You really don't want to be annoying. You're sick of feeling like a fan. Yeah, you support Jae and Day6 and would call yourself a MyDay, but that's not all you are. You know him. You dragged him through the mud when he convinced you to try sledding down a muddy hill on a trash can lid. You set up his camcorder for his covers when he still had that stupid swoopy hair. You posed as his angry girlfriend when a crazy fan wouldn't leave him alone. You're starting to feel like just a fan and not a friend and it's only exacerbated by the glee that you feel when you get the notification from dive studios that How Did I Get Here? has updated. I miss my friend.

Not bothering to flip the sign on the front door from closed to open, you shoulder open the front door of the shop after fumbling with the keys. Tying an apron securely around your waist, and flicking on your noise cancelling headphones to a comforting thrum, you wash your hands and begin to chop the largest pile of scallions you've ever seen. Crunching through the pile, you start Jae's podcast and everything is gone but him. You can almost imagine him in the room with you, perched on the counter talking your ear off about the Mandela effect or how weird elbows are or something equally as ridiculous. Today he's talking about soul mates. As you listen to him joke and banter and pontificate, your eyes well up. It's just the scallions. You know damn well it's only partially the scallions. You miss Jae. And you're in the middle of a pandemic. And your family barely knows you. And you're not sure if you even want to be a pediatric oncologist. Fuck. Jae's words turn into white noise in your ears as you toss your headphones to the side and place the knife on the butchers block, perhaps more aggressively than necessary. You pause the podcast and let yourself sit in the feeling. You're lonely and sad. See Mollie? I'm letting myself feel things. Making room for every emotion. You cast your mind around and recall all of the little wounds that prick a little too deep today. You feel a squeeze in your abdomen and your eyes shoot open wide. Shit, my period. I've got to be PMSing. Even Jae recognized the trend in your emotions before you did. The week before your period, you were notoriously mushy and weepy and indulgent. Well, that's one mystery solved. I'll be okay. Mollie's voice echoed through your brain with her familiar argument that hormones only heighten the emotional distress, not fabricate it. These feelings are valid and aren't fake just because you're hormonal. You steadfastly ignore that point, wipe your eyes, and pull your headphones back on. You finish up the pile of scallions and a few other morning chores before the podcast ends. It's Jae's sign off that sends the bowl of mandu filling that you were holding clattering to the floor. "I'm coming to you from my childhood home, so if the audio is a little finnicky… blame Byron." Jae's home.

…

After sweeping up a pound of pork, beef, mirin, soy sauce, and chives and disposing of it, you stare at your phone- hands shaking slightly. Jae. What the fuck. You rip off your apron and your mind races. Should I call him? Should I go see him? I can’t believe he’s right here. 2 houses down. Fuck. Your rational brain knows that it’s okay to feel excited about Jae being home. But the sneaky little bitch that lives in the back of your brain is telling you that if he wanted to hear from you, he would’ve called. You feel a little bit of yourself fragment at that, but you push it to the side. You open up your phone and slide over to his contact in your phone. What greets you is your last text conversation.

Jae: I’m so glad you had fun, Y/N! But if you ever look at Brian like that again, I might have to put a ban on you at our concerts. His head was way too big.

Y/N: Look at him like what?! I didn’t do anything and you know it!

Jae: Of course you’re didn‘t. You totally weren’t drooling over my bassist.

Y/N: Fuck off.

Jae: Gladly, love. ;)

8 months ago. Sure you’d DM’d quite a bit since then and called a few times. But it just seemed so sparse. You don’t want him to just humor you. You’re an adult and perfectly capable of being alone. You’re not going to text him just yet.

You finish up your morning chores and head back to your house, pausing for perhaps just a little too long in front of the sandstone house with the tan shutters and shoes out front. You knew that house so well. You knew how much weight the tree outside the upstairs bedroom window could hold. You knew where the kimchi refrigerator was tucked away in a back corner of the garage. You knew there was a blonde boy in there that you wanted nothing more than to run inside and get a hug from.

You shower and let the hot water run over you, hoping it will relax the knotted up muscles in your back. It’s not like I can go see him anyway. We’re in quarantine. He probably just got back to LA and just hasn’t gotten the chance to-. You run the same conversation over and over in your head until you can’t take it anymore. You need someone else’s voice in your head. Curling into your covers, you sigh and go to the App Store. A few short minutes later and you hate yourself more than you ever have. Tiktok. Here we go. You watch the video of Day6 introducing themselves to the social networking platform once, twice, three times until your eyes start to ache. All of a sudden you’re met with a new post that pings up. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Jae standing in his living room, attempting to keep up with Amber Liu’s dance challenge. You can’t help but giggle as he flails to the left, to the right, oversized black hoodie always falling into his face. BM would be proud. Express not impress. You find yourself shocked at the weight that he’s gained. He looks healthy and happy. You remember the conversations in middle school about how much he hated being skinny. The evenings in the weight room in high school. Failed doctors appointments. He looked good before but you see that in recent months his chest has been swelling and not just with pride. His shoulders sit a little bit broader than you ever remember in the past and you’re happy for him. Good for you, Jae.

You like the tiktok and let it loop a few more times before sighing heavily and opening your messaging app.

Y/N: I got TikTok for you, ya little shit.

You chuckle but leave the text unsent. You’ll think of something better later. You toss your phone to the side in the face of the mountain of laundry on your bed that needs to be taken care of. As you hang the last of your shirts, your phone pings. You pick it up to a notification from Jae.

Skinny Bone Jones: Language!

Skinny Bone Jones: Do you think Amber approves?

You feel a flare of indignation wash through your limbs at the mention. Apparently it had sent. Oh well. As the thrill of a reply ebbs out of you, it is replaced by a rising indignation. How dare you?! Not tell me you’re in town and pretend like you didn’t?! Really?!

Y/N: I don’t really care what Amber thinks.

Maybe that was a little snippy. You love Amber, truly. But how can he have time for TikTok but not me?

Skinny Bone Jones: Yeah? Do you still care what I think?

Your heart catches in your throat. So he’s caught on that you’re pissed.

Skinny Bone Jones: Y/N, can I call you?

You swipe up to the phone icon and call him on auto pilot. Talk to me, Jae.

“Y/N?” you hear Jae’s voice.

“Jae.” Your voice comes out whispier than you meant it to. You try again.

“Jae! How are you?”

“Oh, y’know, just got off a plane that smelled like bleach and got to my house that isn’t really my house anymore, left my guitar to be sanitized, was “strongly encouraged” to make a TikTok by my company, and then got my head bit off by my best friend. Just quarantine things.” There is a touch of acid in his voice but Jae mostly sounds tired. Your empathy comes surging back and you sigh.

“I’m sorry Jae. I just- I didn’t know you were in town until I listened to your podcast this morning. I was a little hurt that you didn’t call or anything.”

“Look, kid. I just got home. I’m a diva. You know I require at least an 18 hour period of naps and boba to function properly. I’m a KPop Star now.” You laugh at the callback to your irate spiel a few years ago about how fame had changed him and he was a diva and just ‘wasn’t the Jae you knew’ anymore. It wasn’t his fault he was allergic to everything and turned down all of your food suggestions.

“Jae, you’ve been a diva since day one.” You quip back, tension resolving as you fall back into a familiar playful banter.

“And don’t you forget it, Y/N.” There's a slight pause before Jae continues,

“This diva is really sorry he didn’t call you. It’s just been a lot the last few days. The tour just got cancelled. And our album comes out in a few days. Our team has been going crazy trying to figure out how we’re supposed to publicize in this climate and I just-“

“Jae. Chill. When I preordered mine last week, it was the most popular album on the site. It’s gonna sell. Don’t worry too much.” There’s a beat of silence in which you can hear the air whoosh out of Jae’s lungs.

“You-You preordered Demon?” Jae sounds shocked but endeared at your admission and you laugh.

“Of course? I’m really pumped to hear that sexy, soothing voice of Wonpil’s. Maybe I’ll even get a Dowoon photo card this time! I keep getting Jae ones in my other albums and I give them to my little cousin.” This isn’t entirely true. You have 3 of Young K, 2 of Dowoon, and 1 each of Wonpil and Sungjin. You’ve been waiting for a Jae photocard for ages. You would die before you told him that, though.

“You little shit. If you don’t want to see my face, why are you following Day6 on TikTok?” Jae ribs back.

“Brian. Duh. He’s fine as hell.”

“Yah! Haven’t you found a boring ass Orthopedic surgeon or some shit, yet? Why do you have to terrorize me like this?”

“Why? Haven’t you found a Twice member that’ll marry you yet, Skinny Bone Jones?”

“I’ll have you know, I gained 10 pounds the past 8 weeks! I’ll be big as BM soon!” You can picture the expression of childlike pride in his face even if you can’t see it.

“You look really good, Jae. I’m proud of you. You’ve been working really hard.” The sudden sincerity catches the both of you off guard and you clear your throat.

“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot.” A comfortable silence is followed by a lengthy conversation recounting the previous weeks, the various states of the other members, your own eviction from college, and the status of the shop.

“You know, Y/N, if you or your family need anything I’m more than happy to help. I mean I know how hard it can-“ You cut him off before he can go any further.

“We’re okay Jae, honest. I know you’d be good for it but we don’t need anything right now. Business is good at the pho shop and we’re okay.”

“Okay, okay. Just know I’m here.”

“I mean NOW I do, no thanks to youuu,” you wheedle, whining about his failure to let you know he was in town.

“Come on, Y/N, I said I was sorry!” He laughs but you can hear the desperation of sincerity in his voice.

“I know, Jae. I’m just kidding. I just really missed you.”

“I missed you too Y/N.”

You get off the phone upon the realization that you needed to go to the shop and prep for the dinner deliveries. Sometimes you abhorred that you were “essential”. You run downstairs and tell your parents the good news about Jae and inform them you’ll be back soon.

“I know you’re excited, Y/N, but remember we can’t be going and visiting people like that. Only essential work.” You roll your eyes slightly but assure them that you know. As if you hadn’t been telling them the same thing for weeks. I had to convince you not to go play mahjong in the park, eomma. You might be excited, but you’re not stupid.

You had just started filling the mandu when you hear the bell over the door chime. Pardon me, are you stupid? We've been closed for weeks, why do you think it would be okay to just walk in? You wipe your hands on your apron and start to walk to the counter.

"Hello? I'm sorry, we're only open for call-in deliveries." You round the corner and lift your head from your hands to see the form of the gangliest, tallest, loveliest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Special delivery." Jae remarks smoothly, arms open wide in invitation and head cocked to the side as if he was bracing himself for the crash landing that was to come.

"Jae!" you yell, and launch yourself from behind the counter and into his arms. His arms fold around you and everything else melts away. Your face burrows against his chest and you inhale. He smells like home and cinnamon. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes with the tide of emotions that wash over you. Jae's hand cups the back of your head into him and he hugs you just as tightly as you hug him. You press yourself into him with everything you have and in the deafening silence and warmth all that you can think is I love you.

"Y/N" He whispers, not loosening his grip on you.

"Mmph." you respond weakly.

"My shirt's wet." You jump back from him a bit and see that he's correct. Your eyes are leaking. All over his white shirt. Oops.

"Oh! I'm-I'm sorry." You laugh a bit and swipe at your eyes before patting at his shirt in futility.

"It's okay, love. Come here." He welcomes you back into his arms and you wrap your arms over his neck this time.

"I missed you." You whisper, voice cracking a bit.

"I know you did." You jump back from him. Bitch.

"Hush. I missed you too, you idiot. Why else would I be standing here right now?"

You cast your eyes around in a panic. He's here. He's right here. In the store. Here. He shouldn't be here. He should be in quarantine with his family. You're unessential to him.

Sensing the realization in your eyes, he pushes past you, walking to the back and puts on the latex gloves hidden behind the counter.

"I figured it was about time to get a 'real job' like everyone keeps telling me to." He smiles smugly and picks up the knife to start chopping the bok choy. You stand there in shock for one second, two seconds, three seconds until you realize he’s about to cut his fingers off.

“Jae! Stop!”

“Look, Y/N, I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do this. I want to help. And I’ll be damned if I’m not allowed to see you in the time I’m finally here-“

“No, Jae. Stop. I know I can’t argue with you. I’d be thrilled if you’d work with me. But Brian is gonna kill me if I let you cut your damn hands off.”

“I… what?”

“You’re a guitarist Jae. We can’t have you cutting off your pretty little fingers. And if you keep chopping it like that, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Jae looks down at his hands and stretches his fingers wide as if considering them for the first time.

“Pretty?”

You roll your eyes, but unbidden, your eyes are still trained on his hands. They really are pretty.

“Just. Let me show you.” You show him how to tuck his knuckles up against the blade and chop in smooth rocking motions so as not to take off his fingertips.

You work in relative silence for the next hour, packaging meals and portioning combos as your mom and dad peek in and out to pick up the orders. You can feel a warmth flowing through you as you take in your surroundings. The loneliness of the past weeks leeches out of you and dissipates into the warm atmosphere, homey smells, and murmur of conversation. It’s almost as if your limbs wake up bit by bit, like a tree waking up after a long frigid winter. You feel yourself stretch and shine and the bubbles of contentment flow through you. By the time the last combo is out the door, you find it really difficult to take the smile of your face.

Jae seemed to be in the same boat. On more than one occasion you caught him staring at you. Every time you caught him he just shook his head and laughed in that infuriating way of his. But you really couldn’t be irritated at him. It was impossible. He was your happy fairy, even if you wanted to kick him in the shins every two minutes for saying something dumb. Mom and dad said goodnight to Jae in the same way they have been since he was 10. “Tell Mrs.Park I say hello and don’t be a stranger.” Right after they leave and you’re washing the last dish, while Jae sits on the counter telling you about production for Day6’s new album, the phone rings. Before you can tell Jae not to answer it, he’s already taking the man's order. Fine. One more can't hurt. You weren’t anxious to end this day and return to bed alone, so you welcome the post-closing distraction. Cobbling together a plate from the leftovers you were about to bring home, you grab your keys and beckon Jae to follow you.

“No need to bug mom and dad, we can take this one.”

As you walk outside toward where your little yellow bug is parked, you feel Jae move behind you. You can feel his body close to yours and you stiffen instinctually. You’re not used to skinship anymore and you can feel the blood in your veins carbonate as Jae’s breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You stop dead in your tracks, eyes wide, flush creeping up your neck as you feel his hands- those damn hands- ghost along the side of your left arm. You squeak when his fingers brush against the back of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Your world spins. Fuck is he holding my hand? Do I want this to happen? He’s so close to me. Can he hear my heartbeat?

“Jae-“ you begin to say, with absolutely no idea as to where the statement would go after.

Luckily you don’t have to think of any sort of decisive move because Jae immediately snatches the keys from your now limp left hand with a cackle, running ahead to the car.

“I’m driving!” You little fucking- oooh!

You’re thankful for the cool evening breeze and dim street lights or you were sure to get a ribbing for the blazing red cheeks that you were sporting. You climb into the passenger's seat with the food on your lap and do your best to sink into invisibility. It doesn’t work. You’re convinced that he can hear your brain jackhammering away at the night's events.

Did I want that to happen? Did that happen? He was so close to me. He felt so warm and the way he touched me. Running your hands over your arm, you could feel his touch like it had raced a burning path down your whole left side. Do I… like Jae?

You glance over at him now and again as he puts the car in drive and begins the route to the destination. Jae, of course, is jabbering away about how everything has changed since he’s been gone and, “Omigod, is that ANOTHER pinkberry?” You find yourself nodding along passively while actively trying to figure out what the hell was going on in your brain. Much like his podcast, his voice became white noise by which you asked yourself questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Of course I love him. But do I like, like him? Never in your life have you felt more like a horny, confused teenager but as you glance over and watch Jae with one hand on the steering wheel, wind blowing through his hair, you know one thing for sure- Jae isn’t a kid anymore. And he isn’t your brother.

It isn’t until you pull into a neighborhood about 10 minutes later that you remember that you’re here on a delivery. Yanking yourself from your reverie, but with unease still firmly lodged in your thoughts, you address the task at hand.

“Jae, where are we?”

“Uhhhh, 3051 Driver Rd.”

Driver Road. You know this neighborhood but you can’t quite place where. If your previous safari into your possible romantic interest in Jae wasn’t jarring enough, you feel panic rising through your system like so much bile. Why do I know this neighborhood? Jae, unaware of any turmoil on your part, pulls up to the house in question and when your headlights wash over the yard your heart sinks into your throat. You’re going to be sick. 3051 Driver Rd. This is where Sean lives.

You had met Sean Avery in your sophomore year of premed and had fallen head over heels in love with him. He was tall, attractive, ambitious, and he wanted you. You were star struck. It wasn’t until a year of ‘dating’ later that you unearthed the whole messy truth of his long string of side pieces and general douchebaggery. If that wasn’t enough, in the past year you heard the report of him almost catching a case with a high school senior in the area. You knew now that he was nothing but a predator and a coward. You had managed to avoid him since your explosive breakup but now it seemed you had very little choice.

“Sean fucking Avery” you seethe in the seat next to Jae.

“What did he do to you?” Jae asked, taken aback by your sudden vitriol.

“Shit, that wasn’t in my head was it?” Jae laughs a bit but sobers up quickly at your expression.

“Y/N you look really pale, are you okay? I don’t know your history with this guy but hey, you don’t have to deliver this. I’ll do it. Don’t you worry, love.” Jae places his hand on the top of your head and ruffles your hair a bit in an attempt to be comforting. The attempt helped. Your heart pricks up a bit at Jae’s term of endearment but it feels more deadened than it should. You’re sick of feeling like this. Of letting Sean steal your joy from you. It’s been too long for that shit. Pulling yourself together a bit, you shake yourself out of your head and steel yourself.

“No, Jae, I’ve got this.” Jae looks at you with slight concern but shrugs nonetheless.

“Alright, well, I’m going with you okay? This dude really must’ve done a number on you if this is your response. And I’d like to see the bastard.” Jae’s eyes glinted with something dangerous that you’ve never seen in him before and it causes the same fire in you to spark. Let’s do this.

With Jae by your side, you march up to the door with the delivery order and set it on the front steps. The doorbell is deafening in the still night and you have to remind yourself to breathe. You jump as the door swings wide and a pathetic looking man sporting a robe and a beer belly peeks from the inside. All of the breath that had been waiting in your lungs released and you feel your head go a little bit light with the realization that this was the man that you were in love with. 7 years later, gone was the debonair gentleman who could sweep you off your feet. In his stead stood a balding, fat, stiff man in boxers and a moth eaten robe. He grunts in acknowledgment of the presence of other humans but it’s obvious that the Neanderthal hasn’t recognized you. He retrieves his food and goes fumbling in his robe pocket for his wallet. He fishes out a card and hands it to you. You take it from him and process the payment.

Declined.

“Sorry, Sean, your card- it declined.”

He huffs and makes a sound in the back of his throat that you can only describe as gross as you hand it back to him.

“It what!? What do you mean declined?” He stumbles forward a few steps and you automatically flinch backward into Jae. Jae’s hand comes up to your shoulder to ground you, a reminder that he’s still there. Sean’s movement wafts a smell of body odor and brown liquor. He always was a mean drunk. You decide to cut your losses while you can and keep the transaction as minimal as possible. No games.

“Your card, Sean, it declined. Do you have an alternate form of payment?” Sean whips open his wallet and roots around for a minute before retrieving a few crumpled up bills. He extends the cash but before you can swap his card for cash, his arm whips back. Looking at you sideways, suspicion drips from his slurred speech,

“How do you know my name?”

Shit. Fuck. Dammit.

You watch helplessly as the cogs turn in his inebriated brain and recognition washes over his face.

“Y/N! It’s you! What do you want from me now, bitch? Trying to take my money now too? Get out of here!” His voice steadily rises in volume and you can feel the walls of your panic closing in on you. Suddenly Jae steps in front of you, arm outstretched to the belligerent man.

“You’re talking to me now. You’re done with her.” Jae holds himself with a confidence that you had only seen from him onstage.

“Just pay for the food and we’ll be going.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Sean spits back, as if Jae were something distasteful that he had found on the bottom of his shoe.

“I’m Jae. Y/N’s boyfriend. Now I’d really love to take Y/N home tonight before it gets too much later. So if you can just pay for your meal, we’ll get going.”

Sean crumples up the bills and throws it into Jae’s chest.

“Good luck with that bitch, kid. You’re gonna need it.” And with that he retreats inside and slams the door shut behind him.

Jae immediately rushes to your side and wraps you in a big hug. Although similar in mechanics to the hug earlier that day, this one was far different in intent. You could feel it in his soul, that hug was meant to squeeze all of the fragmented pieces of you back together again and hold them until they stuck. You can feel your heartbeat slowing to match his and your breathing slowly regulates.

Mollie is gonna have a lot of fun with this one.

Jae escorts you back to the car and there’s a thick silence that you can’t quite bring yourself to cut as he puts the car into drive. You know he is forming his own story of what happened between you and Sean in his head and you can’t tell if that’s better or worse than just reliving it and telling him the whole story- cops and testifying and court and all.

Once out of the neighborhood, Jae heaves a sigh and chuckles a bit.

“Well he seemed lovely.”

“Uh huh. He’s a real peach.”

Jae looks over at you with an expression of dual concern and amused what-the-fucker-y. Did that really just happen?

There is a beat of silence and solid eye contact before you both start cracking up. Unable to restrain yourself any further, you both dissolve into a kind of healing, deep belly laughter that shakes the entire car. Pulling up to your house, Jae throws the car into park and then turns to face you.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, you know? It’s not my business. You’re my business. But asshats like him aren't. Just that I’m around to keep them away from you.”

You sigh deeply, still recovering from the laugh attack, before giving him a brief bulleted list of the sheer shenanigans that Sean had pulled on you all those years ago. You watched as Jae’s face contorted over the course of the story, hardening into yet another study in fierceness that you were yet to see from him.

“I really am okay, though Jae. He had me pretty fucked up for a little bit but honest, I’m okay. I did the therapy, I fought my battles. I just hadn’t done the last closure step of actually looking him in the eye and saying goodbye and good riddance. And I probably never would’ve if it weren’t for tonight.” You reach out and grab his hand instinctively.

“Thank you, Jae. I really appreciate you doing that with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you is what you would’ve done.” Jae states, deadpan.

“Jaeee!” You laugh, hitting him on the arm.

“Oh, so now you can throw a punch? Okaaay, nice.” This little shit.

Banter aside, Jae takes the key out of the ignition and gathers his things to get out of the car. As he closes the door, you hear him mutter “You need to pick better guys. You’re too great to end up with someone like that.”

You don’t have any kind of answer to that, but you feel a lightness in your chest as his eyes burn into you. Jae walks you to your front door and all you can hear in your head is an echo of Jae’s declaration of “I’m Jae, Y/N’s boyfriend.” Is that what I want?

You end up at your front door far too soon and the twinkling of the helicopters in the sky signals to you that it’s more than time for Jae to go home. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought of him leaving and you inwardly groan.

Jae gives you one last hug goodnight and you know before he even releases you that this isn’t enough. Not even nearly. Your feelings, whatever they may be: love, like, general affection, haven’t been correctly quantified and expressed. This has been the best day you’ve had in months, and he was the deciding factor. You were grateful to have him there on your front door step, in his arms. But maybe, just maybe, if you’re able to express to him exactly how you feel about him in this moment, he’ll be able to help you out and translate exactly what this feeling means for your future together. Without thinking about it too much, you retreat from the hug and angle your face up to his so that your noses are almost touching. You sit like this for just a second. That sickening second that would allow him to retreat and tell you you’re an idiot for even thinking it. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, your lips are brushing against one another in just the barest of whispers of a kiss. His lips are so soft. It’s over in an instant and as the chilly night air cuts between the two of you, you are all too aware of how disproportionately warm your face and neck have become. You smile up at Jae and he carries a similar, if not slightly more shocked, half smile.

As if reading one another’s minds, you both understand that it’s wise to let one another think about the night's proceedings before any further rash decisions are made. In an attempt to preserve the spell of the night sky and the kiss and the chirping cicadas, neither of you say another word to one another but instead exchange content smiles that convey more than a goodnight ever could. With a slight bow of his head and a glide of his hand down the length of your arm, Jae walks backwards down your front steps and slips into the night, shaking his head slightly, trying and failing to conceal his smile. You watch him from the porch as he skips up to his house, before slipping into the warmth of your own home.

...

GIVE IT A LIKE IF YA LIKE

FEEDBACK IS MY LOVE LANGUAGE

#kpop #day6 #day6 jae #park jaehyung #slow burn #fluff #kpop fanfiction #day6 fluff #day6 au #fanfiction #skinny bone jones #friends to lovers

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ellaenchanting · 4 years

Text

Hypnovember Day 27: Confidence

Warnings: non-consensual, unethical mental health practices

Richard paced nervously outside in the waiting room. The blue walls and minimalist style were clearly designed to be soothing, but Richard didn't feel comforted. Why had he let Marissa talk him into going to therapy anyway? He felt ashamed of asking for this kind of help. He wasn't crazy or anything- he just needed to figure some things out. Ever since Marissa had broken up with him, Richard had felt lost and unconfident. It had been over two years already. He needed some perspective.

Dr Eleanor had been recommended to Richard by his friend Jon who had seen her previously. "She won’t bullshit you," he had said, "she just gets right to the roots of your issues and helps you solve them." He must have known what he was talking about- a year after visiting Dr Eleanor, Jon had recently married a wonderful woman. He was also running marathons and succeeding professionally. There were worse people to listen to, Richard thought.

So Richard booked an appointment. Some of the questions on Dr Eleanor's website had seemed a bit odd- there was a surreal one where she asked him to imagine a beach and indicate if he could picture the sand, hear the waves, or feel the sun better- but he was here. Ready to be thereapized. Ready to feel better.

"Richard?" called a voice from the office. Dr Eleanor looked very similar to her website picture- older and stylish with cat eye glasses and dark greying hair. She smiled at him. "Come in!"

Her therapy office was a little darker than he expected, but it felt comfortable and was tastefully-decorated. He sank slightly more than he expected into the large plush chair as he sat down. He noticed the position of the blinders and the way their positioning directed light onto him and his chair.

Dr Eleanor offered to make them some tea, which Richard accepted. While she was working, he tried to identify what the office smelled like. There was a dark, musty smell that was almost a little overpowering- not like the patchouli he had vaguely been anticipating. It wasn't unpleasant necessarily but- odd. He'd have to ask her about it later- maybe even politely request that she not use it during future sessions.

If there were future sessions, that is.

Dr Eleanor gave him some tea and watched expectantly as he took a sip. Then she started out the session by explaining her therapeutic style. She stated that a lot of her clients suffered from problematic relationship patterns and, thus, she liked to use the therapist/client relationship as a model for examining and learning how to better navigate others. She indicated that she would ask a lot of questions even from the beginning about the relationship between herself and Richard. She also wanted to let him know that she used a lot of visualization and meditation practices in her work. Based on his intake, she thought Richard would respond very well to these.

After getting his consent, Dr Eleanor asked him to tell her a little about his history of confidence issues. He started by detailing his relationship with his mother. She had been a classic over-protective single mother who limited his ability to explore as a kid. He grew up relatively sheltered and timid but was academically successful until he went to college. There, his first taste of freedom had led to issues with alcohol and him nearly dropping out several times. He told the story of meeting his ex Marissa in the last year of school and how she inspired him to pull himself together enough to graduate. They were happy together for a few years, but she had broken up with him 2 years ago. Although they had remained friends, his life had fallen apart in the ensuing years since the breakup. He had lost his confidence and was feeling aimless.

As he talked, Richard noticed that he was beginning to feel more and more at ease with Dr Eleanor- it seemed like somehow she could truly understand and empathize with everything he was saying. He noticed a few times that she even shifted in her chair when he shifted or moved when he moved- like they were sharing the same mind for a moment. Occasionally she would interrupt his story to ask a few, sometimes unrelated questions. (Who was his favorite teacher as a child? How did he feel when she was paying attention to him? In what ways was she similar to Dr Eleanor? What drew him to his romantic interests? What had made Richard choose therapy with her?)

It was comfortable here, having this conversation with her. Almost too comfortable. He noticed the musty smell from before again, only it smelled a bit sweeter now. It was nice, he decided. Heady. The sun was setting and the light was flashing through the blinds and tiring his eyes a bit.

He didn't mind, though. He felt good and warm and peaceful.

Dr Eleanor must have noticed. She observed that he was blinking more often. She asked him if all of this processing was making him tired.

Tired? Suddenly that seemed very true. He nodded, eyes blinking heavily.

She nodded along with him, “You know, often when people come to therapy they’re just so tired. Tired of having to cope with their life stressors on their own. Tired of trying to seek out meaning by themselves. Tired of trying to solve problems all by themselves. Are you feeling tired in that way?”

Richard nodded again, suddenly feeling too drowsy and heavy to speak. That was ok. He felt more inclined to listen right now, anyway.

Dr Eleanor leaned forward as she continued. “So- let me reflect back to you what I’ve heard so far this session. You’re someone who has been struggling, all by himself, to try and make good decisions for your wellbeing and for your future. But when you try to make those decisions independently, you find that you aren’t strong enough to carry through with them and you fail or succumb to laziness. You thrive when you have a powerful woman in your life to push you and give you guidance, but deep inside there’s a self-sabotaging part of you that rejects help and dysfunctionally seeks self-reliance. This is despite knowing that on some level that you’re the kind of person who isn't really able to thrive alone. You feel guilty about your need for guidance and are trapped by the demands of a toxic masculinity into fruitlessly following your undisciplined urges into ruin, over and over again.” She stopped and looked at him kindly. “I can see why you’re so sad.”

How did she understand him so well after such a short time? Her analysis was incredible and felt so accurate. He wanted to tell her this, but the spinny feeling in his head had increased while she was talking and it was had to think of the words. He settled on nodding again.

She nodded along. Her tone softened more as her face took on a gentle, concerned expression. “You ARE tired. You poor thing, you’re been so alone. So helpless. You must be exhausted.”

He nodded, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes.

Her smile softened. “I want you to try something. Try saying it: ‘I need guidance’ See how it feels.”

As a small tear formed, he repeated “I need guidance.” He blinked and it fell down his cheek.

She beamed. “Good! Excellent! Now- let’s practice an important skill. I know this may be unusual for you to do but it’s really important to be able to ask for help. Why don’t you try asking me directly for guidance now?”

“Please guide me, Dr Eleanor” he asked her. He started to feel like he was floating away, far above the chair.

“Of course I will, sweet boy. Why don’t you close your eyes and we’ll do some meditation exercises.”

Richard’s eyes slammed shut and he was momentarily overwhelmed by the sweet relief of finally being able to relax and let go. Dr. Eleanor started speaking to him, guiding him through some visualization exercises. He couldn’t quite remember everything afterwards- he might have dozed- but he did have a vague fuzzy recollection of re-examining some early childhood memories. Dr Eleanor guided Richard through remembering times when he felt like he knew best but his decisions had been wrong or unwise. “The silly brashness of an ignorant boy,” she said. She noted when his mother and other women around him had guided him safely to better outcomes than he could anticipate on his own.

At one point, Richard started to have a dream about a particularly difficult moment in elementary school- only, this time, when things were hard, Dr Eleanor was there. He could feel her hand on his shoulder as she helped him through a hard time, providing the guidance and direction and care that he needed. It was so nice to re-remember his childhood this way- safe and secure and peaceful. It was nice to not have to make decisions. It was nice to let someone else be in control. It was nice to be guided.

“Well, time’s up!”

Richard opened his eyes, snapping out of his reverie.

Dr Eleanor was rapidly writing down some notes on her notepad. She looked up, briefly. “You’ll be coming back the same time next week, yes?”

Richard felt gleeful at the prospect. Finally, he was going to get the guidance he needed to get his life back on track. “Yes Dr Eleanor! Thank you Dr Eleanor!”

Her smile was business-like. “Good. You may leave.”

Richard beamed, feeling energized and fantastic leaving the office. He never imagine therapy could work this well! He understood himself so much more fully and felt so much better just from one session. Why hadn't anyone told him it could be this effective?

As he left the office, the thought came to his mind of bringing Dr Eleanor a gift at the next session. After all, it was the least he could do to repay all her help so far. She deserved something nice.

He whistled as he made his way to the car, considering the prospect. Then he hopped in and drove away- into his new life.

#hypnovember #confidence #non-evidence based practice #evil therapist roleplay #secret tags twist: the drugs are in the tea #shhhh

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dusky-dancing · 5 years

Text

Downtime

Summary: The night before their biggest day yet, Sora and Kairi get some well-deserved time together. The night, and the town, is theirs for the taking. May contain KH3 spoilers.

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance

Length: ~2500 words

For SoKai Week, Day 2: Perfect Date

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

Kairi waited beside the purple train outside of Yen Sid's tower, taking in the unobstructed night sky. Add a few seagull caws and crashing waves, and it would be identical to that of Destiny Islands.

The seven Guardians had reunited, and the biggest day of their lives lay ahead. They only had one night. One single night to themselves amidst the chaos that ensued around them. More importantly, it was more time than they'd gotten together in over a year.

Approaching footsteps drew her attention from the sky. He walked slowly, hesitantly. He was nervous, though it brought her some sense of comfort at the same time. Her own nerves likely showed as well.

She smiled and folded her hands, "Managed to get away?"

Sora stopped just within arms' reach, scratching his head. "Uh - course!" He pulled the gummi-phone out of his pocket and promptly switched it off, "Off the grid, as promised."

He'd changed his attire, which she was grateful for. She grew tired of seeing him covered in enchanted clothing made for battle. Instead, he only wore a simple sweater, jacket, and dress pants. Even in such casual attire, he still looked charming. She'd donned a more casual evening dress herself, and she hoped it lived up.

She giggled and held a hand out, "Shall we, then?"

A weight lifted off of her shoulders as soon as the train door closed behind them. The ride started with a jolt, but smoothed out after departing from Yen Sid's tower. She and Sora breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. For a moment, they sat silently across from one another, taking in the brief moment of peace they had.

It was nice to break away.

"So," Sora began, "we've got a whole night. What comes to mind first?"

Kairi didn't even have to think for long. "Food," she giggled, "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a nice warm, home-cooked meal."

Sora's growling stomach told her that he felt the same. He laughed, "Guess I didn't even have to answer."

The walk from the station to the food district was brief, but each moment alone with him seemed to stretch forever. Not that Kairi complained, there was just so much she wanted to say that she didn't know where to begin.

They finally seated themselves outside of the Bistro. Almost right away, a waiter approached and handed them both menus.

"The dinner special tonight is Cassoulet," he spoke very politely, "and what would we like to drink?"

"Something warm sounds nice," Sora said, "hot green tea?" He looked to Kairi.

"We'll share a pot," she smiled, "honey on the side, please."

The waiter nodded, bowing himself out to give them time to decide. The night air was chilly, but nearby torches kept an aura of warmth around the outside dining area.

"I don't even know what half of these things are," Sora said as he scanned the menu.

Kairi laughed, "I thought you said you knew the chef."

"I do," Sora scratched his head, "but I only helped him with little things. Never knew how complicated the recipes really were."

Half of it was written in a language she couldn't even understand. Luckily, the waiter returned with their tea and a small basket of warm bread to hold them over.

"Have we decided?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I'll have the Rat..a...too...ille," Kairi pointed to the item when she was sure she'd failed to pronounce it correctly. All she knew was the plate looked delicious

Sora closed the menu and handed it back to him, "Bring me your favorite. I trust your taste more than mine. "

He bowed once more as he returned inside. Finally, they got a longer moment to themselves. Kairi just hoped that no one would walk by and recognize them. Sora grabbed a piece of bread and broke it in two.

Extending the larger half to Kairi, he said, "To our friends, old and new."

Kairi took it. "To reunions, and new beginnings."

The bread warmed her mouth instantaneously. The outside was crunchy, but the inside was soft enough to melt.

Soon, their food arrived. Sora ate quickly, but Kairi savored every warm, flavor-filled bite. Throughout her training, she only ever ate food on the go. She missed sitting down to actually enjoy a meal.

She looked up, only to see Sora with tomato sauce all over his chin. A giggle escaped from her before she could stop herself.

"What's so funny?" he said with a mouth full, "something on my face?"

"Mhm," she nodded, "but it's okay, see?" With that, she ran a finger across her place and wiped it on her chin. "How do I look?"

Sora stifled more laughter and stroked his chin, "Hmm, wasn't enough to make me laugh like you did. You need more." Before she could pull away, he used his thumb to add more sauce to her cheek.

"Hey!"

He leaned back snorting in his chair, "Now that's funny!"

Kairi considered flinging another spoonful of sauce at him, until the waiter approached again and asked, "Do we need more napkins?" From his restrained tone, she got the underlying message, please stop the food fight.

"No, thank you," Kairi said.

He nodded, "I'll bring your check. There's no rush."

Once he was out of earshot, Sora leaned in, "That means there is a rush," he smirked.

"Sorry," Kairi said, "guess we're too used to our friends."

At her last words, Sora's smile dropped for a moment. He just stared forward, lost in thought.

"What's wrong?" Kairi asked, "I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's not you, I was just," Sora paused, staring at his hands, "for our friends, I hope I'll be strong enough."

Kairi touched his arm, bringing his attention back. "Don't think about that right now, Sora. Tonight, it's just you and me," she smiled.

He covered her hand with his own, "You're right. Sorry."

The torches around them snuffed out, and the cold night air overtook them. Sora's eyes went wide for a moment, but there didn't seem to be an immediate threat around them.

Kairi glanced around. The tree branches stayed motionless, so it couldn't have been wind. Behind a nearby building, however, she noticed the smallest white feathered tail sticking out from behind. She giggled.

"What is it?" Sora asked.

She nodded her head in the direction, "I think we've been followed."

A smirk grew on Sora's face, and Kairi knew he'd figured out the source as well. "Donald," he grumbled.

The duck had put out the torches. She suspected it wasn't so much an attempt to sabotage their night, but to force them closer together. In a way, it was thoughtful and sweet, impossible to be mad about. The question was whether or not Sora pieced it together as well. Her eyes went to the comfy-looking jacket resting on the back of Sora's chair.

"Want me to give him a hard time?" Kairi asked.

Sora shook his head, "I have an idea."

Without staring in their spy's direction long enough to arouse suspicion, Sora reached into his pockets and placed munny on the table. He counted enough for the meal and a generous sorry-for-the-trouble tip, then scooted his chair back.

"Ready to bolt?" he had that mischievous smile on his face, the same as whenever he and Riku would prank each other. They may never be allowed back at the restaurant, but Kairi didn't care.

She nodded.

In a whisper, he counted down, "Three, two...one!"

They dashed out of their seats and took off towards the alleyways. Sora knew the streets far better than she did, so he grabbed her hand and guided her through the maze of buildings.

"Think we lost them?" Kairi glanced behind as Sora led her around another corner.

They ended up in a secluded back-alleyway. On one side was a large commercial building, like a restaurant or a shop. The backs of residential homes lined the other.

"I think so," Sora panted, "that was fun."

Kairi nodded as she caught her breath, glancing a smile at him.

Once her adrenaline faded, she noticed the music coming from inside. Strings and wind instruments harmonized and played around each other. The song was upbeat, like something one would hear in a tavern at the busiest hour.

They faced the back entrance, and it didn't take much stealth to open the door unnoticed under all of the commotion. Inside, several people danced and twirled as bards performed on a side stage. She didn't spot any posters or signs for an event.

As they peered in, the clap of webbed feet echoed closer to their hiding spot. To their advantage, Donald wasn't exactly stealthy.

"Ah phooey! Where'd they go?" Donald cried.

"I dunno," Goofy's voice chimed in. So he was an accomplice to this as well. "Maybe we should, you know, leave them alone for a bit?"

Donald huffed, and his footsteps grew closer to their alleyway. Kairi gave Sora a smirk, and without a word, pulled him inside of the dance hall along with her.

"Ah! Kairi, what are you-"

"Just dance with me and blend in," she winked.

She skipped her way into the group. Sora stood dumbfounded for a moment, but eventually caught up with her. Kairi never thought she'd get the opportunity, and she wasn't going to waste this moment. Grabbing his arm, she pulled it around her waist as she reached for his other hand. To her surprise, he didn't need anymore guiding. He secured his hand around her and led them into the dancing circle straight away. No one seemed to notice the sudden guests who'd snuck in the back.

He pulled her along, and she followed with little resistance. As they moved around the circle with the other dancing pairs, he also spun her around himself. The sensation was dizzying at first, but her body quickly warmed up. It was a nice contrast to the cold outside.

Sora loosened his hand around her, signalling a change in pace. She stepped away and spun in the direction he guided her. Her dress flew around her, and in that moment she was glad she'd changed up her attire as well.

"You're pretty good," he smiled brightly.

"Speak for yourself," she laughed.

"You know," he said, "Donald and Goofy have probably moved on by now."

"Oh, right," she'd forgotten what lead them inside in the first place, "we could probably stop if we wanted."

His expression fell for a moment, and guilt weighed over her for such a suggestion.

"But, you know, we should probably keep going, just in case," she smiled.

A few extra minutes of dancing turned into a couple of hours. Through fast or slow song, Kairi could never gain the strength to pull away or stop. Only once her feet begged for a break did they eventually take their leave and make their way back to the main streets. They laughed as they walked, still full of energy.

The sun had long since set, and Kairi ached for the little time they had left.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"The night's a little chilly."

Sora finally took his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders. A delayed response to Donald's hint, but Kairi was grateful regardless. She grabbed the edges from inside and pulled it around her, allowing the empty sleeves to sway at her side.

"Anything else you wanna do?" she walked slowly, not ready to return to the sorcerer's tower - to reality.

Sora stopped and stared up at the town's large clock tower. He seemed almost hypnotized by it.

"Yeah, one more thing."

Together, they walked at an easy pace towards the tower, no longer concerned with outrunning any potential onlookers. Minutes later, they sat together atop the station tower, looking on the lights of the town from above. Even at night, the view was spectacular.

"It's beautiful," Kairi leaned back as her feet dangled, "how did you know about this?"

"I don't know," he said, "just a feeling I got."

She looked to the sky. It was even more beautiful than the view from Yen Sid's tower, not even obscured by trees. A few minutes of silent appreciation passed before Sora spoke again.

"Hey, Kairi?"

"Mhm?"

He cupped his hand over hers, "Thank you."

She glanced down, surprised, "What for?"

"Ever since this whole journey started, this was all I wanted," he turned his gaze back to the town, "to just have fun in another world with you."

"Oh," she didn't know how else to respond. Her face suddenly felt warmer against the cold air. "Well I told you, I'm with you wherever you go."

"That doesn't count. I wanted to sit next to you, laugh with you," he paused, hesitant to go any further, "every time I went to another world, I always ended up wishing you'd been there too, you know?"

She looked down at their hands touching, "I'm sorry."

His eyes darted back up to her, "No, no! I wasn't- I didn't mean-" He stopped himself, "it wasn't your fault."

Words kept escaping her. There was so much she wanted to say, but couldn't. She hoped a gentle smile would communicate enough. "Once this is over, maybe we can revisit the worlds together." She turned her hand over and curled her fingers into the spaces between his.

He returned a smile that outshone hers, "I'd like that."

As much as she wished she could stop time, the night had to come to an end, and they'd need their sleep. After a reluctant climb down from the tower and another train ride, they were back at Yen Sid's tower.

Before entering her chambers, she turned to Sora, pushed herself onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek. It was brief, but warm. His face flushed red as his hand instinctively shot up to his cheek.

"Thank you," she said, "this was all I wanted too, the most magical night I could have asked for."

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

Meanwhile, down the hallway, a curious Goofy ducked back into his chambers and closed the door. He covered his mouth to stop himself from yelping at the sight.

"What is it now?" Donald grunted.

"Oh nothing," he waved it off, "sorry you lost track of them earlier."

"It was you who lost them, you big palooka!"

He shrugged, "Maybe next time."

In truth, he knew Sora wouldn't need their help the moment he saw them dancing. The hard part was leading Donald down the wrong trails to keep him from noticing.

#kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #sokaiweek2019 #sokaiweek #sokai #sora #kairi #Kingdom Hearts FanFic #kh3 spoilers #my writing #dusky writing #long post

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agentravensong · 4 years

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The Hallmark Movie Musical: A Parody

At last, as I promised, here is my pitch for the ultimate homage & critique of the corporate tradition that is the Hallmark Channel’s annual Christmas movies.

I’m sure your first question is, why a musical? For one, this story is way too complicated for a 90-minute movie. For two, I like musicals, shut up. For three, I feel like the upcoming meta stuff works best in a live format. But mainly, the idea is that this project is being billed as “the culmination of the Hallmark holiday movie tradition”, an idea we’ll get back to later.

The Plot

The play starts with a big old “It’s holiday season in the city” number, centered on our Protagonist, a white (probably blond) woman who I’ve taken to calling Karen. The song quickly introduces us to her current occupation and general goals, as well as our Main Man, who for now I’m calling Chad. As it winds down, we meet Karen’s Best Friend, Sandra (derived from Cassandra), a very smart and observant woman who’s always there to support Karen in her endeavors (even at her own expense) and offer her relationship advice.

Plot twist #1, Sandra is the musical’s actual protagonist. See, she starts to catch on pretty quickly that she’s living in a cheesy, generic, soulless Christmas movie, the kind she’s always derided even as Karen appreciated them. As you can imagine, she doesn’t take the revelation well. For one, she knows that Karen would never want to rush into a relationship, and yet, as the Protagonist of this story, she’d bound to end up soulmates with Chad within the next week or two. So Sandra does everything she can to try and convince Karen of the truth of their reality, or otherwise derail the plot, going so far as to seek help from Chad’s ex-girlfriend, who we’ll refer to as... uh, Vicky, I guess.

In my mind, this makes up most of Act 1, with plenty of opportunities for Sandra to deconstruct tropes along the way. However, during this, Sandra also starts to kind of appreciate the cheesy wholesomeness of her situation. Maybe her life was kinda sh*tty before this started, and now the sh*tiness has entirely faded into the background. So when Karen reveals in a song that she’s figured it out, but that she’s accepted it, because it means her relationship will be perfect for her and she’s guaranteed to be happy for the rest of her life... Sandra can see where she’s coming from.

But Sandra doesn’t trust that this will all work out perfectly. Who’s to say happily ever after will continue after the “movie” ends? And what about everyone else, the “side characters” in this story? Will their lives just stagnate once their role in Karen’s arc is over? Surely Karen can see it isn’t fair that she gets to be the center of the universe, right?

And that’s where plot twist #2 - or rather #3 - comes in. Remember how I said that this project is billed, even in the opening number itself, as “the culmination of the Hallmark holiday movie tradition”? Well, as formulaic as these movies are, you can’t fit every single cliche into one movie. And so Act 1 ends with Sandra’s attempts to sabotage the plot essentially causing an emergency system reset. The closing number of the act has some characters excited that it will soon be “their turn”.

We find out what the heck that means in Act 2, where the characters’ roles have been switched around. Vicky is now the Protagonist. She has a small group of friends instead of just one Best Friend. One of those friends is another former protagonist, maybe one of them was Karen’s ex in the previous timeline...

And the other friend is Sandra. Functionally, her role has hardly changed, unlike everyone else. Her mission from the start of the act (once she figures out what’s up) is to search for Karen, but she also can’t help but wonder why she’s stuck in the same position.

We find out part of the reason why in plot twist #4, which would have been pretty heavily foreshadowed up to this point. Like, maybe Karen made a joke about how weirdly good Sandra is at helping her with relationships when, as far as she knows, Sandra’s never been in a serious one. She’s certainly never seemed that interested in boys. Or maybe at one point, Sandra made an offhand comment to Karen about how all her previous relationships with guys have ended poorly, has she ever considered dating outside that pool? Karen’s just like no, Sandra shrugs, and the conversation moves on.

Yes, Sandra’s a lesbian. That’s why she’s never gotten to be the lead (though apparently, the company is looking to start producing movies with LGBTQ+ characters? So maybe we’d frame it like “well maybe you could have been now if you hadn't also ruined things last time?” Depends.) I’m not sure whether it would be best to have her be crushing on Karen during the events of the play; it almost seems too obvious, and I don’t want Sandra’s motivations for trying to free their reality from the Hallmark movie constraints to be superseded by her just wanting to date her friend. But I think it would be nice to have Sandra get with someone by the play’s end, and not just a rando.

Sandra (and maybe the other members of the friend group) sing a song about how not conforming to society’s mold of the “average”, “normal” person has made them feel alienated, how they don’t get these kinds of fairytale endings, even in fiction. From there, she and the gang of not-quite-lead-material formulate a plan to change the plot. I haven’t thought out the details of all this yet, but long story short...

It goes wrong. Really wrong. When it looks like the story is going to reset again, the characters give their all to stop it, but that just causes the world itself to collapse. We’re left with just Sandra, and maybe Vicky, on stage.

Then Karen reappears. She reveals the reason she was absent from the last retelling of the story was that she essentially gave up her role so that Sandra wouldn’t be punished for going against the script. Of course, that’s now become voided by Sandra’s actions, and Karen’s upset about it. She and Vicky guilt Sandra over having ruined things for everyone.

Here’s where things get tricky. I laid out what I want the message of the musical to be in a post yesterday, but figuring out how to implement it in the play itself has been puzzling me. I think I’ll save going over that for its own section. In the meantime, I can really only imagine one of two endings for the musical:

A. The characters reboot the musical themselves, bringing in the side characters and giving them equal creative control, so they can create stories for everyone.

B. The characters escape the restrictions of their reality, entering back into the “real world”. Maybe add an epilogue-type scene where we see Sandra has gotten into the movie-making business, where she makes fun, lighthearted movies featuring diverse casts.

The Characters

This section is for elaborating on aspects of Sandra and Karen’s characterization and development that would have slowed down the flow of the plot summary.

Sandra

As previously mentioned, Sandra is basically your stereotypical Ravenclaw, witty almost to the point of pretentiousness. She’s meant to be the surrogate for all the people who think the Hallmark movies are nothing more than soulless, indistinguishable, products, the person who would only watch these movies to roast them.

That being said, she also has a lot of Hufflepuff qualities. She’s hardworking and supremely loyal to her friends, always looking for ways to help them with their relationships and their careers, even at her own expense. Spending time helping Karen with projects instead of studying for her own exams, giving up opportunities so her friends have a shot at them, etc.

As a result, Sandra has learned to roll with the punches and make the most of the worst situations, to the point where she gets enjoyment and pride out of it. She’s always looking for new opportunities but has the patience and forethought to think them through before jumping on them. As long as she can make life easier for her friends and give them more options, she can handle any personal repercussions. They find ways to pay her back eventually, but she really doesn’t need it... at least, that’s what she tells herself.

This is part of why she’s ticked off at the reveal that Karen is happy to be the Protagonist of a Hallmark movie. The idea that you’d want to give up your agency entirely to follow a set script so that you don’t have to try anymore; Sandra can’t imagine ever taking that opportunity, even after warming up to the idea of Hallmark movies as a fun thing to watch. And it’s not like Karen’s life was that difficult before, in comparison to her’s at least. Can she really not handle it, even with everything Sandra sacrifices for her best friend? How can she be happy, while being explicitly complicit in her friends getting sidelined?

As the musical goes on, Sandra acknowledges her desire to be in the spotlight more of the time and becomes more of a self-advocate, taking a leadership role in Act 2′s friend gang and factoring her own wants more into making decisions (like when she abandons the story to search for Karen). With the realization that part of the reason she can’t be in the spotlight within the constraints of her reality is something innate about her that can’t be changed, her ire towards the system becomes more focused and less petty, which is what convinces the other members of the friend group to take a risk in trying to change the story.

Again, I’ll save the ending for another section. In short, Sandra’s arc goes like this:

Starts out hating Hallmark movies, and always willing to concede to her friends

As soon as she realizes what her life has become, she fights against it in petty ways

Starts gaining an appreciation for Hallmark movies as a form of fun escapism, but still can’t imagine it being her whole life

Post reset, she becomes more of a self-advocate

After plot twist #4, she directs ire back towards the Hallmark-ness of her world, but this time because of how it excludes people from its fantasy

Works with the friend gang to change the direction of the story to try and make their world more just (but maybe she gets a bit dictatorial herself? The classic “protagonist goes too far” thing?)

After things go wrong, she admits that she was initially kind of an ass to Karen and that her initial actions were not committed with the best intentions, but she still stands up for her actions in Act 2 (or most of them, depending on how much of an ass she was to the friend gang)

By the end, she’s learned to appreciate cheesy movies, but more importantly, to self-advocate; she’s still committed to helping her friends, but now she’s also looking at how to do so on a systemic level

Others

Karen is your typical Hallmark movie protagonist: a white, middle class, cis woman who loves Christmas and Christmas movies. As I briefly touched on earlier, she’s benefitted from a lot of privilege, and the support of her large pool of family and friends. She doesn’t have any long-term aspirations, partly because she tends to stress out over the littlest things.

That being said, she’s definitely had hardship in terms of love; she tends to get invested in relationships super quickly, and so when she realizes the guy she’s dating isn’t right for her, things get messy. She’s spent years looking for the perfect man, and when she first meets Chad, she would never have considered him an option. At least on a conscious level. But after their first meeting went poorly, she finds him growing on her quickly... too quickly.

It doesn’t take much of Sandra’s meddling for Karen to figure out what’s up. At first, she isn’t sure how to feel about it. But she comes to see that being in a Hallmark movie, for her, basically means she’s living a slightly-improved, practically stress-free version of her life, where she’s guaranteed her soulmate. Even if she found a way to give it up, why would she ever want to? Sandra seems to be the only person who’s upset over it, and she is her best friend... but if they really are best friends, then surely Sandra will learn to just accept it and be happy for her, right? It’s not like this will make Sandra’s life actively worse, and she’ll always been willing to take a step back so Karen could succeed. Why would this time be any different?

As you might be able to discern from all that, Karen’s arc is learning not to take her friends for granted and to not see herself as the center of the universe. That being said, she also has to learn a form of self-advocacy, to become more willing to take risks on her deeper desires rather than just settling for “good enough”. Some of this growth happens while she’s absent during Act 2 (maybe there could be a small scene where we see just her, observing the story as it unfolds and giving some commentary?) and the rest happens after the friend gang’s failure.

I honestly haven’t thought much at all about what Chad is like, other than the same obvious basic factors, so we’ll just move past him. Vicky is similar to Karen on a basic level, hence why she gets to become Protagonist in Act 2, except that she’s the Protagonist stereotype who’s all business and thinks Christmas cheer is *gasp* overrated.

I’m not sure yet where Vicky should be on the hero-villain spectrum. Does she sympathize with Sandra from the start, but temporarily become somewhat power-hungry when she gets to be Protagonist? Or was she always just waiting for it to be her turn again? Is she tired of the cycle, or is she glad to benefit from it? Who even is her love interest in Act 2? And then there are all the members of the friend group to consider... I think I’ll just cut myself off here, this is already way too long.

The Message

I told you we’d get back to this. Gonna start by copy-pasting what I put in yesterday’s post:

There’s definitely a place for lighthearted, straightforward stories that end in a happily ever after. BUT it would be cool if, without changing that, they A. didn’t churn out 30+ of the things a year, instead putting that extra time & effort into making each individual film stand out a little more, and B. weren’t almost always about the same white, middle class, cishet women, even if those people are currently the main demographic.

Or to put it another way, “These movies are fun, but they could be more interesting and meaningful if not for capitalism.”

...The question becomes, how do we get across all this nuance in this hypothetical show? For one, there’d probably need to be some critique of the capitalist ideas that lead to these problems with the movies woven throughout the plot. How much of our criticism should be focused on the flaws of the Hallmark Channel brand in particular, and how much should be more generalized?

And then we get back to the climax. Karen is angry at Sandra for letting her hatred of Hallmark movies ruin things for everyone else, and Vicky is angry at Sandra for wanting to make the story all about her. Sandra’s response to them is going to have to convey her development, how she has grown to appreciate those kinds of cheesy predictable stories... but she’s still critical of how they’re mass-produced to appeal to a specific demographic and aren’t that inclusive. A part of her would like to be the hero of one of these movies, just once, but she’s far from the only person left out by these stories.

Where do we go from there? You’d probably have to address the “why not make your own story instead of taking over ours” argument, and... you see, it’s difficult to be nuanced and entertaining.

Of course, this is just my first or second draft of how to put together a story based on these ideas. If I ever actually made this a thing, the final plot would probably be structured very differently. For one thing, I’d need to watch a lot more Hallmark movies. In the hour of research that I did yesterday, recorded in this document (which y’all are free to comment on and add suggestions to), I discovered a podcast that discusses several individual Hallmark movies that I might just have to binge over the upcoming winter break. So that’s where we’re at now. I hope somebody enjoyed reading my ramblings about a project that will never come to be.

#musicals #christmas #hallmark movies

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beanenigma · 5 years

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Having step-parents - a writing guide on new families - part 2

Cinderella’s evil stepmother? Having a new mom? Which one really is it? What about a stepfather? Are they always as bad as they sound in media?

Hi, I’m Isabella and last week I told you about my nine half and step siblings. You can find it HERE. That guide was getting pretty long, so I decided to break it into at least two parts. So today, I’m talking about step-parents. My credentials is I had 6 step-parents along the way.

Still, as I said in the previous part of the guide, I want to give a disclaimer that this is based on my particular experiences (and my siblings’) and it doesn’t pose the absolute truth - but it’s still more real than what I normally see around.

Getting a new step-parent is a very interesting process. There is a myriad of aspects that can influence how this experience is going to go: how old you are, how well all of the parts handled the previous divorce (mother, father, child), if said stepparent was involved in some way in the aforementioned divorce, how mature are all of the parts, how willing the stepparent is to accomodate for you, etc. I’m going to try to go over all of the parts, focusing on the roots of this experience, hoping it can be useful in your writings.

Mommy? Daddy?

How your character calls their step-parent is really a matter of how they feel about their step-parent and when they met said step-parent.

I always feel like it’s so weird characters in books and movies call their step-parents coldly by their names, even if they met these people when they were children.

In the distant times of 2002, when I was about 5 years old, my dad introduced me to his friend. At the time, he told me to call her aunty Lena.

Aunty Lena became my step mother months later. She was my darling companion for the next 6 years. She gave birth to my sister and she made sure her two older daughters were nice to me. And I loved her like another mother. I kept calling her Aunty Lena, though, and I still did even when she divorced my dad. Because that’s how she was introduced to me, and it sounded like someone who was family. Because I grew up with her.

Around the same time, mom started dating Luiz, who she introduced to me as Uncle Lu and I later started calling Uncle Lulu (including in front of his employees, which embarrassed him). He would come to live in our house, meaning he would be as close as anyone could be. I never thought of him a new father like I thought of Lena, mostly because I thought him to be sort if weird and uptight. My mom told him this, which made him loosen up which made him ever weirder, but sort of endearing, because I knew he was actually trying to impress me by being more casual. I still call him uncle to this day.

HOWEVER, later, in the cringy times of 2010, when I was around 12, my dad introduced me to Melissa, who had become my stepmother just recently. Despite loving her two boys - and later my sister - for the next 6 years, I tried to call her anything other than her name. I tried nicknames, but it never felt natural. My middle sister (Aunty Lena’s daughter) had more success in this area.

The reason for that is because our new stepmom would pick at any detail she could and continuously sabotage our attempts to feel at home on her house. She never antagonized us directly, but in several occasions it became clear she was competing with us for our dad’s attention.

Alternatively, I frankly don’t remember when my mom introduced Eddie into our lives, but I’ve been calling him by the nickname from the start. Not having any other children, he walked into our family with open arms. He pampers me and is always getting me stuff and taking me places. I’m not sure I’d call him a new dad - because out of the two of us, I’m the responsible adult - but he surely is my family now.

Finally, just last year, when I was 20, dad introduced the three of us to my new stepmother, who I have no problem calling by her nickname and that was super kind on accommodating the three of us in her life.

So as you can see, how your character refers to their step parent depends on a variety of factors, and it’s up to you to choose how it goes in your story.

Previous divorces

After a couple of divorces, things start to get hairy. Children miss their parents, resent the new step ones, have to addapt to new routines, to seeing their parents less, learn how to deal with this new set of circumstances, including new siblings, new houses, new people. But parents also have messy business going on inside their noggings.

Sometimes, your current step parent was unvolved in the previous one’s abandonment. When you’re a kid, that hardly matter because people won’t tell you anything and even if they do, you don’t understand what it means. When you’re older, there are decisions to be made. If you’ll take a stand and chose one of the person’s side.

Previously, I always took my father and mother’s sides. I regret that decision only once in my life, but what’s done it’s done and I know I did the best I could at the time. Your character will be under a lot of pressure from emotional change. He won’t always make the best or most logical choices. But just know that supporting their step-parents when their parents frick up is an option and it should be considered.

In other times, divorcees might see themselves getting involved with their children’s new siblings that have nothing to do with them. My step mother’s ex-husband grew to really like my youngest sister, for example. These new kinds of families get real complicated really quickly. And taking advantage of that would be a great idea and I’d love to read something like that.

Maturity

Some people are not ready for the responsibility of receiving a sad child of divorcees into their homes. Some people are not used to a reality where not all children are shared and attention from their betrothed needs to be divided. Or they’re not mature to divide how they feel about their spouse about how they feel about their children or their spouse’s children.

This section is here because of one of my stepmothers. She frequently competed with me and my sister for my father’s attention, frequently invented plots we it our mother’s would plan against her and her daughter, and one time even vandalized one of my books because she was mad at me. All the while, trying to make me and my middle sister feel bad about not liking her. When my dad divorced her, she constantly tried to guilty my sister (her daughter) into pitying her and spy in my dad - which my super smart 7 year old of a sister refused and told her to get lost.

She was everything that media said she would be. But when I think of her, I’m not angry at her. I never did anything to antagonize her when they were still together. Because I pity her. She’s not evil, she’s not a bad person. She’s just immature and we all knew it. Out of my six experiences, this was the only truly bad one.

But also, no one is obligated to accept this treatment. At one point, I told my dad I loved him and my sisters, but that from that day forward I would not go to this woman’s house again. I was mature enough, at around 18, to separate what I felt about my dad and sister from what I felt about this woman. And to feel confident in my dad’s love for me to tell him I wasn’t comfortable with this in a non-violent way. And I had the luck that my dad did the same and eventually chose me. Once again, this is not a choice that worked for me and it’s not one everyone can make.

Certainly it would make things interesting. Want examples? Instead of killing parents, try a hard divorce. Try someone choosing themselves over feeling bad at a house. It doesn’t have to be traumatic to work or feel realistic.

Accommodation

The main reason for me to love some of the step-parents that I had is because they accommodated me in their lives, in their homes. Like Aunty Lena, who gave me a bed and closet space in her house. Like Uncle Lulu, who got over his distaste for dogs because I loved them so much and wanted one.

Again about my stepnightmare, she would never have a bed for us at our house and refuse to give us closet space. She’d put down matresses for us and they had to be at their daughter’s room and nowhere else we wanted to choose. These were things that at the time didn’t seem like a big deal - we were hardly ever there - but when comparing to the way Aunty Lena treated me, it was clear that something was wrong.

And this is a major thing I think good step-parents do and it breaks my heart in fiction when it goes under appreaciated. Because it’s no easy feat to open your heart and house to a little person who is literally the product of a love that came before you. And to do it graciously, treat them as your own and help provide for them is such a great effort that I would love to see it praised more.

My sister’s grandmother and my ex-ex-stepmother’s sister

Getting new step parents doesn’t stop at having step and half siblings. It means that you have a whole new step family. Step grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and everything else.

It gets confusing so easily when telling stories. I’ve grown accustomed to asking people if they want the short version of the long version. If it’s the short version, I say “an old lady did this when I was at their house”. If they agree to the longer version (and they normally do), I say my sister’s grandmother was a german old lady who would make pickles and plant flowers. They ask why is she not my grandmother too, and then I explain the whole three divorces thing.

This would very much vary from person to person: how easily they get attached to people, if they live with the new family, if they’re welcomed by the new family. In wife #2’s family, all of the aunties and uncles were my a uncles and aunties because I was still a child. Their mother, however, wasn’t my grandmother. She was Mrs. Paula, because I didn’t feel like she felt like I was her grandchild.

In angry lady’s house, all of her siblings I called by name - because I was older by then and I didn’t feel like they wanted me in the family ( just like said wife). HOWEVER, gossip I heard points that these people were the ones who constantly told this woman off for being rude to me and my sisters and wanted us to stay around. Their children, my sister’s cousins, I love them to death - and I recently found they still love me too.

So take into consideration all of the family mess that can happen. In a post-apocalyptic environment, for example, I would go looking for some of those people. Just imagine someone trying to leave a resistance for your lost sister’s cousin. The leader doesn’t understand: “this person isn’t even your family”, but they don’t know.

You never know until you’re in it.

As I said before, this is a very short guide and it could never encompass the myriad of experiences that compose new types of families, but I did my best. If you feel unsure about any step-situations in your story, shoot me an ask. Also if you have any suggestions on topics you’d like to hear about for your writing.

And again, I’d really really appreciate any adition you can make with your own experiences.

Happy writing!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing #writer #writers #writing guide #writeblr #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr

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pixieungerstories · 5 years

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Housemate - 3

Sticker Promotion is still up on Patreon until Feb 2. Get a housemate sticker for each dollar pledged. I have one for each character.

Vinny was a lot less sure of this once she saw all the other… people who lived in the house. It was one thing to understand, intellectually that she was going to be the only human, and the only woman in the house. I was another thing to be faced by a number of large males, any of whom could end her life without trying. It looked like they all had assigned seating. Vinny watched them start unpacking the food. It was a lot of food. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

Vinny jumped. The voice behind her was deep with an accent that was really weird hybrid of Scottish and Texas. She turned and came boobs to belt buckle with a minotaur. While she stared up at him in shock, he eased past her and took a seat at the table. The drider dropped from the ceiling and slid into one of the other seats. Vinny came over to the table and considered the last two chairs. Then she looked at Bazur. “Which one is Kevin?” Something bumped into the backs of her calves, making her wobble and dance to the side. A small truck walked past her and jumped into one of the remaining chairs. “Huh.” she said, finally as she took the last seat. “What?” rumbled the orc, as he watched her through narrowed eyes. The tusks meant that orcs always looked like they were frowning, but the wrinkled brow suggested that he was actually frowning. Vinny cleared her throat and accepted the fried rice the minotaur was passing her. “I, um, I’ve never… “ She stopped and tried again, “Mimics are rare. I’ve never actually seen - met one before. I was half convinced that was just some prank you pulled to see how people would react. Kevin opened his lid and reached out a midnight black arm holding a pair of chopsticks. Vinny realized she was staring. She blinked and looked over to see the minotaur patiently holding a carton of lemon chicken in her direction. She hurried to take some rice so she could pass it along and take the chicken. “I don’t suppose you would take a moment to introduce yourselves?” They all froze and looked at her like she had grown a second head. “Ok. I’ll start. Hi! I’m Vinny. I’m in my fourth year of biochem at the local U.” No one said anything. They all just stared. Vinny cleared her throat. ‘If you can’t be bothered because I didn’t pass the interview, it’s ok to tell me that. I would rather know.” The mostly normal looking guy sitting to her left said, “Haven’t we scared you off yet? You smell scared.” Vinny narrowed her eyes. “That would make you …” she drew out the last syllable as she racked her brain then blurted out, “Derick” a moment before he did. Derick smirked, “See! You didn’t need introductions after all!” The minotaur cleared his throat. “We can be polite, we are just out of practice. I’m Tristan.” Vinny nodded. The rest of the men introduced themselves after that, except for Kevin who was busy shoveling food into his mouth and Thea who just waved shyly.

Vinny sighed.

----

“No! Absolutely not!”

Vinny took a deep breath and considered her mom across the breakfast table. Her little brother was snickering into his milk. “I really did investigate every other possibility before I applied and-”

“And that’s another thing! You went there by yourself? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? What if something had happened?”

Now Vinny narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “I took Jenn with me. And you don’t like this solution? Fine! Tell me how this is supposed to work?”

“You can take a cab home.”

“Really? After hours rates would be $40 a trip, twice a week for fifteen weeks a semester. That’s like $1200 a term. You flat out refused to let me take Uber at that time of night. Which is worse? Random, stranger driving an Uber at 10:30 at night? Or a ex-military orc who was honourably discharged? And you get to know exactly who the orc is and you can give his very specific details to the cops if I go missing.”

“I don’t like this, Vincenzia! We can get someone to pick you up.”

“Ma! Who? You need to be home with JJ-”

Vinny’s little brother looked up from his cereal and said, “Hey! I can take care of myself!”

They both ignored him. “You can’t load him into a car at 10:00 on a school night to drive the half hour trip to campus. You going to leave him here, alone for the hour minimum that it is going to take to pick me up? And that’s ignoring that you don’t like driving at night. And that you have to be up at five thirty to be at work on time.”

They glared at each other. Everyone said it was easy to see where Vinny got her tenacity from.

“It’s Saturday. Kogan is coming to church with us tomorrow and we are invited over there for brunch so you can meet the guys and see where I’ll be staying and everything.”

Valerie Jovani narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said you were going to be the cook. How are we going to go for brunch at their house if they don’t cook?’ She asked the question like a poker player laying down an ace.

Vinny shrugged, “It doesn’t matter if they feed us pop tarts and beer, the brunch isn’t the point.”

“No, the point is that you are not moving into a house with a bunch of men. You are not Snow White, they are not the seven dwarves.”

“Does that make you the evil queen?” JJ asked with his mouth full.

Mrs Jovani was stunned into silence for long enough for Vinny to make her get away.

----

Vinny knew this wasn’t going to work as soon as Kogan pulled up to their church riding a Road Hawg Orc motorcycle. It was big. It was loud. It was built for a seven foot, three hundred pound plus rider. He removed a helmet that had a stylized orc skull on the side. He pulled off a pair of sunglasses and tucked them into the pocket of his worn leather jacket. He looked a little better when he took off the jacket to reveal a blue dress shirt and navy tie. Except...

“Well, bless me father for I have sinned, ” it was muttered darkly under her breath, but it still wasn’t something Vinny wanted to hear from her Aunt Toni.

Val tried to be subtle as she kicked her sister in the shins.

Toni turned on her heels and made eye contact with her sister as she mouthed, “oh my god he is hot.”

Vinny rolled her eyes. Yeah. Kogan knew how to fill out a shirt. And the slight paunch somehow just made his shoulders look broader. This was not the reaction she was hoping for.

She wasn't pleased when Aunt Toni invited herself to brunch. Jesus.

At least Kogan knew the words. And when to stand and sit during mass. She almost died during the sign of peace when JJ pushed up Kogan’s sleeve and announced, “Whoa! Cool rosary tattoo dude!”

Brunch was in the garden. It was crepes and fruit with whipped cream. Everyone was dressed up. Sort of. Bazur was at least wearing pants. Thea was wearing a brown tartan bow tie and a polo shirt. He wasn’t wearing anything else, but clothing was also optional for driders. It might have been better if JJ hadn’t asked if he could pet the drider. Vinny grabbed his arm and dragged him a way to explain that his had just asked to rub the nice man’s ass. JJ thought that was hilarious.

Aunt Toni spent entirely too much time staring at Tristan thoughtfully.

Vinny felt like she spent the whole time trying to wrangle her family so they wouldn’t be completely rude to her potential bosses.

OMG! Aunt Toni just slowly sucked whipped cream off her finger while making heavy eye contact with Tristan. Vinny was on her way over to have words with her aunt when the woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat and blushed.

Val frowned from across the table, “You ok, Toni?”

Vinny watched as her aunt started to fan herself, “Hot flash,” Toni announced. “I’ll be fine in a moment.” The last word came out as a squeek.

Vinny felt the blood drain from her face as she looked around and couldn’t find Kevin. She looked at Bazur in horror. He blinked, then quickly shook his head and pointed to a side table where JJ had set his orange juice. Vinny marched over picked up the glass and muttered, “Come with me if you want to live,” under her breath. She didn’t wait to see if it was going to work but after a few steps she heard the pitter patter of mimic feet behind her. She marched right in the back door and made a right into the living room.

Once she was in the center of the room she spun on her heels and came face to face with a giant rocking horse.

“Really? That’s what you are going with here?”

The rocking horse blurred and was replaced with a sea trunk. Vinny wished she knew how that worked but also was kind of glad she didn’t.

“I have been assured you talk, even if I’ve never heard it.”

The sea chest gave no indication of life.

“I wanna know if you are gonna sabotage this for me. I don’t exactly have a lot of options here. I know it. Ma knows it. But she isn’t gonna want me staying here if she thinks it isn’t safe and I’m not gonna wanna stay here if I know she is worried about me. Pop left years ago. It’s been her and me as a team since then. And, yeah, I know Aunt Toni is being inappropriate. But she’s not the one who will be living here. But she is mom’s sister and her opinion will count for something too.”

Still no response.

“And, yeah, I have no idea how her thing with Tristan is going to play out. But I can’t exactly ask her if she recognizes him in front of my mom and my brother now can I?”

Nothing.

Vinny hesitated, “If you are actually a really nice guy who is just being slandered by the others, I am sorry.”

After a moment she said, “Ok. Good talk,” and she went back outside. At the threshold she was sure she heard snickering.

When she got back out to the garden, Ma and Kogan were having a quiet word in the back corner. Tristen was giving Aunt Toni and impromptu lecture about varieties of lily. Toni looked bored out of her mind. JJ was playing Go Fish with Thea and Dren.

Finally, it was time to go and as they all loaded into the car, Val turned to Toni and asked, “What the hell - sorry JJ - was that thing with the whipped cream?”

Toni laughed, then coughed, and said, “I thought I recognized the minotaur. But I was thinking of someone else.”

“Yeah well now Vinny’s gonna haveta apologize for you when she moves in. Otherwise they won’t let us come back to visit.”

#drider #minotaur #werewolf #gargoyle #slime #gelatinous #orc #mimic #monster boyfriend #monsters #monster harem #co-ed #terato #exophilia

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dashielldeveron · 6 years

Text

A Prologue in Venom

Part One of the Viper AU: a Mob!Tom Holland AU in which you are a political author, Tom’s personal lawyer, and eventually his consigliere.

Warnings: violence, swears, the law.

Summary: an introduction to the ongoing AU of you working for the mob tirelessly out of your innate sense of justice and thirst for the mob boss. You have an incredible mentor who is pushing you down a path of crime in order to do the right thing. Your mentor forgot 1) to mention that your new employer is so fucking charismatic and 2) that you’re a dramatic little bitch.

From: Tracey Prine To: [email protected] Subject: article attached

Thought you might want to see this. You’ve made the papers for your real job for once, although your name still isn’t mentioned—but I expect you enjoy that. It’s all over the news stations, and NPR is currently airing the story. Congratulations. There’s a nice quotation from Polson near the bottom that you’ll get a kick out of.

Additionally, I’m going to need your piece on the refugee crisis within twelve hours if it’s going to be published this week.

Thanks, t.

[attachment]

FALSELY ACCUSED, JULIA LAURENS ACQUITTED

In the late afternoon of October 17, the protracted trial of Julia Laurens came to a sudden end in light of new evidence. Laurens, on trial for the murder of Moira Herrington, daughter of celebrated actors Jay and Melissa Herrington, walks as an innocent woman this morning.

As Moira’s violin teacher, Laurens would have had access to the Herrington residence during lessons on Mondays, but, it turns out, she was not the only one. It seemed like an open-and-shut case when Moira’s body, dismembered, was found in various black bags in Laurens’s garbage bins, along with the ice pick used to gouge out Moira’s eyes under the seat in Laurens’s vehicle on the day Laurens was stopped on the route from the Herrington residence. Laurens had said that she had driven to the lesson without being able to find Moira and was returning home, but the body had already been discovered.

However, as the defence exposed, all supposed evidence was a plant by perpetrator Johnson Mays, a colleague of Laurens who had a secret, unhealthy obsession with the underage Moira. Mays, a mechanic, had attended the weekly game night at Laurens’s apartment on Sunday and had sabotaged Laurens’s car and planted an ice pick similar to the one used. With this setup, Mays would have time to commit the murder during the scheduled violin lesson, while Laurens would have to attend to her car.

You kicked your feet up on the coffee table and flicked through the article. Fucking yes. You’d made national news for being a lawyer, for once. You were the one who’d done the intricate research to discover Mays’s connections, and when Dr. Prine gave you leave, you had driven upstate to investigate Mays’s house under warrant, posing as a general lackey. You had felt the need to see his place with your own eyes, and you had struck gold: not only had you found the real ice pick in his wood pile, but you had found one of Moira’s contacts stuck to the back of his freezer. Her fucking contact. When the lab reports came back, complete with the drop of blood on the ice pick matching Moira’s, you forwarded everything to Dr. Prine, and she sent it to her attorney acting defence in the trial. Mays wasn’t even a player in the game before you, and now the rightful murderer was going to jail. An innocent woman walks free because of you.

Justice felt fantastic. Your work being in the national headlines felt a little better.

You scanned the rest of the article until you reached the quotation Dr. Prine had told you about.

…Out of the clamouring press following the trial, only this was squeezed from a fuming Prosecutor James Polson: “I [redacted] had them. Whoever dug up the dirt on Mays, they’re a [redacted] viper, sinking their fangs into the status quo and letting their venom spread.”

Grinning, you took another bite of Ben and Jerry’s, straight out of the carton. Dr. Prine was right. You were going to have to find a hard copy of the Times so that you could post this on your bedroom wall. You had to bite your lip you were smiling so hard.

You set your ice cream on the coffee table and lay back on the couch to compose a response to Dr. Prine, but you called her instead. As your phone rang, you kicked back and stared at the ceiling fan, its pull making small circles as the blades spun.

“Dr. Prine,” you said when she picked up, “Holy fuck! Holy fuck!”

“Congratulations,” she said, her smile coming through over the phone, “I’m proud of you. You did some really solid work.”

“I didn’t think this would happen! I saved someone’s life! Julia Laurens can go to fucking Hobby Lobby, and no one will accost her. It’s my fault, and she doesn’t even know me,” you said, sitting up to grab your ice cream again.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yeah,” you said thickly through a chunk of frozen brownie, “It is. I wish I could tell my mother, though, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Is she still doing all right?”

You swallowed, choking a bit to get it down. “Yeah. How’s work for you?”

“The freshman students write the worst papers I’ve ever seen,” said Dr. Prine with a clattering in the background, “Damn, I just—hold on. Dropped the binders.” A door creaked shut on her end, and Dr. Prine spoke more loudly after. “I miss your work. It was nice grading it, since I didn’t have to mark it up much. These kids can’t even handle a mock trial yet. I worry for your generation.”

“Don’t worry. We’re all just tired,” you said, “Speaking of my work, I’ve almost finished the refugee piece. Once I get a solid closing statement, I’ll send it your way.”

“Well, don’t procrastinate. Your deadline’s soon. You got anything lined up this evening?”

Scrunching your eyes shut, you winced. “Don’t remind me. Polson’s got me doing menial work again. Something totally useless with spreadsheets and the expenses of the fucking break room and secretarial offices. If he knew what I was capable of—”

“If he knew you worked against him in the Laurens trial? I know,” said Dr. Prine, her voice softening, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something. It’s your ticket out of Polson’s firm. I’ve found a place where your talents would be…much more appreciated. You could start within the week.”

“Say more right now.”

***

2,132.

2,132 rejections via mass email, starting in your second year of law school. All from different firms that didn’t want you. Rounds upon rounds of interviews, competing with your friends and total strangers who held themselves like they were Croesus, reaching the final interview, only to get rejection emails three days later from firms you would have quite literally killed people to work for. Years of working for and studying under Dr. Prine, editing her national law journal, diligently dotting the is of her excruciating cases late into the night. Getting a taste of the allure of wealth and entrenched power, and never having it want you outside of the knowledge that you were her student. All of it—from the cases you and she never could crack and stood outside in the rain pulling your hair out over, to the parts of your life you missed out on, like your best friend’s wedding and your mother’s last birthday before you started growing apart—leading up to this: walking into a high-rise building with mirror-like windows in the middle of Manhattan and staring up at an embossed, brass nameplate on a door that read Harrison Osterfield.

The next chapter in your life, and it sank like a stone in your stomach. You raised your fist to knock, but before you could, someone snatched it away.

“Ripley,” said the bony man maybe a decade older than you, pulling on his collar and dropping your hand, “and you’re not getting my first name. We’ve got to get upstairs before they see you. No time to lose. I’m the lawyer you’re replacing.”

Glancing back at Osterfield’s door, you followed behind Ripley up a few floors (the elevator was too risky, he told you.) and into a crusty, windowless office with water damage dripping in a back corner. After closing the door, he sat in one of the two chairs in front of the desk (one leg was propped up by a book) and gestured for you to do the same.

“You’re Dr. Prine’s student, aren’t you?”

“I am,” you said, sinking into the leather, “She also told me that you’d be waiting for me, but considering this business belongs to a Mr. Thomas Holland, one would think I’d be meeting him on my first day.”

Ripley pulled a leg into his lap, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. “With any luck, you won’t have any direct interactions with him. Nasty man in a nasty business.”

“Being in an IT consulting company can’t be that bad,” you said, head snapping towards a bucket against the wall once water dripped into it from the ceiling. “What’s with the, uh…?” You nodded your head towards the leak.

“They shoved me down here while the real office is getting renovated, or so they say. Doesn’t matter,” said Ripley, “You and I have a lot of work to do. You’re one of Dr. Prine’s. So am I. They’re working me to death here, and apparently you’re a masochistic workaholic. I need to get out, and this is—well, what we’re about to do is going to be easiest for everyone in this room.”

You tapped your fingers against the split leather, each landing with a dull thum. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to be needlessly complicated?”

“Please, trust me, or at least trust Dr. Prine,” he said, untwisting the cap of a nalgene from his desk, “It was her idea. I can call her up, if you want.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Shaking your head, you said, “I’ve already seen your credentials. Dr. Prine gave me more information on you than I need to know, Jerome Ripley. I know you’re trustworthy. What’s the plan?”

“I hear you’re into anonymity.”

You always were a dramatic little bitch, so you agreed to the plan: you and Ripley would collaborate on the job until you knew much more of the rope of Osseous Enterprises, and Ripley would fade out as you took on the job by yourself. The plan was sketchy, and everything reeked of ulterior motives. You found yourself addressing stranger and stranger things sent to you in the emails (a lousy lawyer@osseous, how lame) right up until you opened an email from Holland before Ripley could get to it.

Inside were photographs of a human skeleton with the flesh freshly ripped off of it, and that lay to the side of the bones. Boss shot him through the neck, it was labelled, Had me skin it. Wants you to send it along to H. Jones in Queens and cover the death. Victim lived in… And then addresses, social security, et al.

You were supposed to cover up a murder. A murder committed by—oh, um. Hm. You didn’t sign up for this.

Ripley walked into the office right as Dr. Prine picked up on your phone call, and he slapped the phone out of your hands.

Both of them talked you through. The mafia. You were working for the mafia. Not the whole thing, obviously, but you were working for the most prestigious mob family in—fuck, they covered multiple countries, but their base was right here in New York, in the very fucking building you’d been working in for a month—oh, fuck. Were you in the mob? No, you had to be inducted, and to be inducted, you had to be trusted, or at least, even fucking noticed. Osseous Enterprises was a front corporation for Holland’s dealings in the mob, even though it made a lot of money—but significantly less than what was officially recorded. No wonder Ripley was taking certain tasks. He was easing you into it, letting you deal with the surface level shit before you really knew what you were getting into (an aside: this explained why Dr. Prine seemingly sent you to work in business when you specialised in criminal law).

It took hours and hours of skype calls with Dr. Prine and talking with Ripley outside of work to convince you to stay. Dr. Prine appealed to your better nature, damn it, and talked about how even though Holland worked selfishly, he confronted people and solved problems the government was too scared to commit to. All she had to do was talk up your innate sense of justice, and you started changing your mind, albeit with extreme reluctance, especially with the threat of returning to Polson’s firm. Not to mention your first paycheque had your head spinning, and that didn’t hurt your cause.

So, you worked for the mob, and no one knew you did, not even the mob. If Holland knew Ripley were leaving, Ripley would have a knife in his back within the next minute. It was safer for Ripley to phase out, with you proving your worth secretly, until you deemed it time to reveal yourself, after Ripley left.

“It’d be odd if all areas of your life were perfect in tandem,” Dr. Prine would remind you, and you’d affectionately flip her off and get back to writing your next Epiales piece. Deadlines were always too soon.

***

The Epiales project was the only thing going for you right now, aside from the sudden income from Holland. It began your final semester of law school, when you shouldn’t have been taking on anything new at all. You had written, quite frankly, a fucking astonishing article on modern feminism as it functions in the government and in law, and Dr. Prine had featured it in her law journal. You hadn’t wanted recognition, because your views differed drastically from your family’s, and you didn’t want your peers making fun of you, either. You’d decided on Epiales as your penname, because, even though you wanted to follow in the footsteps of political authors throughout history, you couldn’t find a Greek philosopher whose views you agreed with. So, you went with the personification of nightmares, just because it’d be your family’s worst nightmare if they knew you were this politically different from them.

Just as a joke.

But then, the New York Times had bought your article from Dr. Prine and published it on the front page. Eventually, through repetitions of this and an endless string of emails, you had a monthly feature in the fucking New York Times, so long as the article was original to their newspaper and not a republished one from the law journal. They conceded to your continued posting to the Epiales website on the basis that you posted online after they began selling that day’s edition. You didn’t care. You were in the New York Times, for Christ’s sake.

And no one knew it was you. You were completely safe, from hecklers, from your family, from disgusting men threatening to ruin your life and/or end it. You had taken too many precautions. Hell, if someone tried to trace your IP address, it’d relocate to the middle of a sulphur pit in Yellowstone.

Through a series of accidents, you garnered respect.

***

The day you should have been waiting for comments to roll in for your latest instalment on the refugee crisis, Tom Holland needed his lawyer present at a tennis match in the Hamptons. Holland intended to ensure political ties with Senator Hernandez, whose daughter was playing in the tennis tournament. A sizable crowd at a public outing, all distracted and getting steadily drunk? Holland could make his move easily.

Thus there you stood under the scant shade of a pine tree in the ninety-seven-degree heat, sweating through your jet-black blazer, sucking on a piece of ice, and damning Tom Holland to his grave. You glared daggers into the back of his pretty head as he leant against the railing of the pavilion, laughing with the crowd and swirling an old fashioned in his palm against the muted sounds of rackets hitting the ball in the background. When Harrison bent in to whisper to Holland, Tom took off his amber-tinted sunglasses and cleaned them on the inside of his suit jacket, and once finished, he nodded and started weaving his way through the spectators.

Holland wanted his lawyer here yet wasn’t doing anything worthwhile, you thought bitterly. You were too good for him, really, because you’d planted yourself near Senator Hernandez’s bench as he watched his daughter. While Holland flirted, you were eavesdropping and sweating your fucking skin off.

Near the end of the second set, you caved and shrugged off your blazer when you caught the latter half of something Hernandez was saying: “—read it? It’s brilliant. Next time Congress is in session, I’m bringing in that Epiales article.”

Your jaw dropped, and so did the ice from your mouth. Your blazer hung limp from one hand, and you steadied yourself against the tree, your high heels sinking into the earth. Fumbling around for your phone, you barely had time to get to Dr. Prine’s contact entry before someone gently nudged your arm from behind with a glass tumbler, condensation sticking to your skin.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here,” said Tom Holland, his voice hot in your ear, while he’s standing a little too close for comfort and holding out an old fashioned identical to his, “I can offer a distraction, at the least.”

You don’t drink, but you took what was offered. “Am I that transparent?”

“Like glass, sweetheart. What’s bothering you?” He leant against the tree trunk, slumping a little, and tapped his index finger against his tumbler.

“Afraid I’ve been dragged here for work.”

“On a Saturday?”

You met his gaze, completely fixated on you through the amber sunglasses. “My boss is a bit of an ass.”

“Sounds like it,” Tom said, cracking a grin, “Forcing you to come to some silly tennis match on the hottest day of the month and flat-out ignoring you.”

“It’s better than putting me in a sundress and having me on his arm.” Like Polson did once that summer. You had kicked his ass, verbally, about it, but since he threatened to smear your name through the mud for the rest of your life, which he was capable of doing, it had to be done. “At least I’m here for a reason, supposedly.”

“Who treats his employees like that? Wouldn’t dream of it.” Tom brought his glass to his mouth as his eyes flicked up and down your body, taking his time about it. “Though I’d put you in a green sundress. Something that shows off your shoulders.”

“And I’d put you in navy, in something with a high neckline. Anything to accentuate those pretty-boy cheekbones you’ve got,” you said.

At this, he ran his tongue over his lower lip, pushed off the tree, and took a step closer to you. He may be enjoying it now, but this motherfucker would regret this conversation in about five minutes. To be honest, you were enjoying it a little too much. To have someone as powerful, confident, and attractive (the grey tweed suit buttoned over a tight, white button-down was doing things to you) as Tom was having his complete, unadulterated attention on you? It was a taste of something you denied yourself. But no matter how fast his charisma held you, it was time to wrap it up. You planned to work for this man a long time.

“Listen,” said Tom, “Why don’t I give you a tour of the country club?” He trailed two fingers from your wrist over the back of your hand to take your drink. “It’s not much, but we’ll get you into some air conditioning. We could find a place to talk without anyone overhearing, if you like.”

You rolled your shoulders back, and for the first time, you began to smile. “Hardly professional, Holland. To think I expected better of you.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Shouldn’t you be giving this attention to Senator Hernandez’s daughter? It’ll be easier to get to him through her.”

And there it was: his face hardened, his eyebrows furrowing and lips puckering very slightly, the brief clenching of his jaw and the flush around the tops of his ears—the face your opponents got in court when your research that would pack the case into a tight box was brought to the stand. “Who are you?” Tom asked flatly.

“You’re going to have to work for that information, Holland,” you said, “Be careful about how you respond. As much as you should like to, you can’t make a scene with so many witnesses.”

“I own all of these people,” he said through his teeth.

“Go ahead, then,” you said, and you clasped your hand behind your back, waiting.

After a beat, Tom sighed exasperatedly and grabbed you by the wrist to pull you somewhere, but before he could take two steps, you yanked yourself out of his grasp. He didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. “Are you going to follow me?”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He turned his head enough to look you in the eye. “You’re going to talk.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You appear to know who I am. Use your imagination.” He jerked his head towards the country club’s restaurant, not far from the tennis courts. “C’mon.”

Death sounded good at all occasions for you, but since someone needed to feed your cat this evening, now wouldn’t be the best time to die. Not to mention you still had half a croissant left over from that morning, and you couldn’t let that go to waste. You followed behind Tom at a couple of paces, checking to ensure no one was watching you leave, because it sure looked like you were sneaking off to give him a blowjob behind the ice machine.

He made you go first once you reached the stairs to the upper storey restaurant, and he cornered you at the far end of the balcony, trapping you against the iron railing with the metal pressing into your back and his hands planted on either side of you. Tom stood close enough that you had to lean backwards a little over the railing, and you had to grip the railing just inside of his hands to stay upright.

His mouth twitched. “Why are you here?”

Your gaze flashed from his lips to his eyes. “I’m here to supervise the contract you’re making with Senator Hernandez, and I’m ensuring that he does sign it.”

“And why’s that?” When he jerked forward in an attempt to make you lose your balance, you stifled a cough at the wave of the oversaturated cologne that hit you.

“Like I said, my boss is a bit of an ass.”

“Damn it,” Tom said, breaking eye contact for the first time. Freshly determined, he moved closer, his hipbones poking into you with one hand gripping your waist. “Who’d be stupid enough to provoke me? Who do you work for? Fletcher? The Fratellis?”

“You,” you said, and you left your lips pursed as he flinched away from you and bent over the back of a wrought-iron chair, pressing his fist to his mouth.

“I’m your lawyer,” you said, stifling a smile, “I wrote the Hernandez contract. I’ve also been managing your affairs for some time now, specifically covering your tracks for fucking murder—”

“What’d you do to Ripley?” Tom straightened up and removed his sunglasses. He tucked them over his collar.

“Ripley’s gone,” you said, “of his own free will. Or of his will, at least, since he wasn’t free to leave under your—”

“Where is he now?”

“Sorry. Privileged information. What matters is that Ripley’s gone completely off-grid so that you can’t find him. Even I’m not able to reach him.” You tentatively slid from your corner along the railing nearer to the chair he had propped a foot on. “I’ve been working for you for over a month now. You really should keep better tabs on your employees—though, I suspect, that’ll be part of my job soon.”

Tom snapped his fingers twice. “Name.”

“Paul McCartney.”

He narrowed his eyes, his nose wrinkling in the process, and said, “Your name.”

You didn’t hesitate in saying it, a first for you, and as he mouthed the syllables slowly, you said, “And don’t bother looking me up. I don’t have any social media, nor do I have an online presence at all.” Under your real name, that is. “You can find me in a list of interns for a certain renown professor, but I’m about to give you that information, anyway.”

Tom stared up at you, a curl dangling in front of his eyes. “A freely given piece of personal information?” His fingertips pressed above his left lapel. “I’m touched,” he said, his voice dark.

“My mentor for the better part of my life now,” you said, stepping closer to drag the back of your hand over the iron pattern in Tom’s chair (he jolted backwards, just barely, but you caught it), “has been Tracey Prine.”

He tilted his head, and his jaw hung open slightly, his tongue lingering on the edge of his top incisors before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Want me to call her?” You dug your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it to her contact entry, just where it had been before Tom started talking to you. Your thumb waited above the call button for his decision, but whatever. Fuck with him. You pressed it anyway and put it on speaker.

It rang twice before she picked up, and at the sound of her voice stating your name and telling you she’s got a class in two minutes and to check on the Times (you didn’t react to that part), Tom inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders.

“Not much, Dr. Prine, but I’m here with my employer,” you say, the phone lying flat in your palm between you and Tom, whose gaze flickered from it to you.

“Tell Mr. Holland I appreciate his work ethic and that he should value yours to no end,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Tonight?”

“Tonight,” you said, and you hung up on her.

“What’s…?” When you shook your head, he held out his hand. “Let me see your texts.” He swore under his breath as he scrolled through them, going through months and months of casework for notable trials, and he read the attachments you had sent recently. “Lab work, blood results. An ice pi—holy shit,” Tom said, the hand with the phone falling limply to his lap, “The Laurens trial. You.” The corner of his mouth twitched before breaking into a smirk. “You’re the one that solved everything. You’re that viper.”

Oh, my fuck; he’s heard of you. Tom Holland has heard about you. He’s familiar with your work. Oh, holy fuck. You held it all in for the moment, but if you made it home alive, you were going to marathon Star Wars and call in for takeaway. “That I am,” you said coolly, accepting your phone when he offered it, “and what does that mean for you, Mr. Holland?”

Any evidence of doubt about him evaporated, and his charisma returned almost instantly. He was smiling now, his teeth on display, and he leant towards you. “I want you at my side, Viper,” he said, his hands dangerously close to yours on the back of the iron chair, “I want you to do for me what you did for Laurens. Exclusively. I’ll be your only client. I want you to tear apart my enemies and pick their bones clean. I want you to be merciless, and I want you to be mine.”

That’s a lot of subtext you’ll be thinking about in the shower later. But show nothing; be nothing. “You want an awful lot.”

Tom took a deep breath and moved to sit on the wrought-iron table. “That’s why I’m giving you an out,” he said, crossing his arms loosely, “before you’re in. Because once you’re in, you can’t leave. I’ll make sure of that.”

You took a moment before clasping your hands behind your back and taking a step around the chair towards him. “I want my privacy.”

“I can’t guarantee that. I’ve got to keep a close eye on you, since Ripley slithered away,” he said, “You’re a shot in the dark despite your accomplishments.”

“You will guarantee it,” you said, leaning against the table with the iron pattern pressing into your palm, “Addresses, bank accounts, social security, everything that I don’t give you.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t—”

“You will. It’s all I’m asking. I’ll be covering your dirty work from the world, so why can’t I hide mine?” It was your turn to be too close, for your breath to be hot against his skin as you said softly into his ear, “Tell me, Holland: are you afraid of the dark?”

tags: @presidentbttrflyfreak @magstorrn @imstarwarstrashokay @infamous-webhead @starksparker @starksmile @pparkerwrites @softspideys @spidereyhes @bi-writes @iron-spiderr @laurfangirl424 @wheremyotpat @valar--m0rghulis @upsidedownparker @hollandroos

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