#if I’m picking a fiction character to hang out with even briefly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thrillridesz · 3 years

Text

obsessed | 𝐣.𝐲𝐧 - [ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒 ]

pairing: stalker!jaehyun x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing, yandere themes, stalking

a/n: unedited!

taglist: @geminirules @koo-18 @fruityutas @chocolattees @trashlord-007 @sly-merlin @sichengszn @carefulee @jenorenle@yoonohing @thejungjaehyun @hyunjaethereal @preciouslee @httpjeongjaes @captainsjoongs @mieohmy (send me an ask or dm if you’d like to be included!)

disclaimer: everything written here is FICTIONAL and I am in no way saying that the mentioned characters act like that irl!

masterlist.

This place is rustic, quaint and so… you.

As you shuffle from one aisle to another, your eyes are trained intently on the row of books displayed so much so that you don’t notice me standing just a few feet away. I glance briefly at the old grandfather clock sitting at the corner of the little bookshop and you have been in here for approximately 41 minutes which is honestly a long time for someone to spend looking at books alone.

Yet, that is what makes you so endearing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so concerned over the synopsis of a book like you are right now, as you furrow your brows while reading the summary of a slasher book you drew from the shelves. Nowadays, everyone is absorbed in social media, their phones, laptops… but not you. You are different, special.

It’s been ages since I’ve spent close to an hour in one but I feel no inclination to leave, no boredom of any sort. This whole place, it embodies you. Watching you wandering about in between shelves looking so at home among the piles of books and just being in your element feels like watching something sacred, almost like a ballerina gliding across the stage and as you slide your fingers over the spine of the books, I imagine how they would feel like on my skin, my neck, my abs and my-

The store clerk drops a heavy box of books on the floor, grunting as the books spill out over the top of the box and you turn and I duck just quick enough that you don’t see me. You hurry over and bend down to help pick up the books and as you lean forward, your skirt rides up a little and it’s teasing me. The store clerk thanks you brusquely and I know he must be forced into a part time job by his parents. He doesn’t look a day over 16 and from the way he keeps looking out the window, he would rather be anywhere but here.

Unlike you. This place is heaven to you. As is to me now.

I whip out my phone and look through your calendar from your laptop which I had synced with my phone. It was easier than I expected, swiping a keycard from your unsuspecting friend. Your friends ought to be more careful with how they keep their valuables or else, it’s really anyone’s game. In this case, it’s mine.

Getting into the building was the easy part, nobody even cast a second glance when I walked in with that same ill-fitting varsity jacket but the hard part was picking your lock. That lock was one hell of a bitch to pick but I know what I’m doing. It might have taken longer than I would have liked but I made it.

Your dorm room was messy but not too messy, it’s an organised mess if you will. When I first stepped in, the first thing that caught my attention was the ungodly number of empty coffee mugs lying around and the stack of papers and lecture books filled with highlighted text. Your room smelled like black coffee and honey shampoo and I never thought it was a combination that worked but it did. Your wardrobe is simple with a few essentials but I see that you are not a spender. The off-white blouse you wore the day we first met is hung, crisp and ironed and I reached out to feel the fabric between my fingers. I love the way it smells like you here and I could spend forever here but I can’t so I looked around for what I came to look for.

“Bingo,” I whispered under my breath as I saw your laptop sitting at your desk, amidst scattered pens and stray pieces of paper. The same hideous curtains hang over your windows and I pushed them away as I booted up your laptop and here we are.

My thumb swipes quickly to your to-do list and from there, I know that you had plans to come here to purchase a book you had been eyeing - a 1932 original copy of Aldous Huxley’s ‘Brave New World’.

It seems like you’ve found it when your eyes brighten and you pick out a ratty looking book with the largest, most lovable grin I’ve seen on your face. You walk over to the cashier where the same shop clerk sits, staring into thin air with that dazed look in his eyes, daydreaming of god knows what. If I had someone like that working for me back at the hardware store, they wouldn’t last a week.

My phone suddenly rings and both you and the clerk turn to look and I want to curse out loud but I simply tip my cap and move away. I stare at the caller ID and it’s the store.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jaehyun. Do you think you could come back to the store soon?”

It’s Haechan and the kid has such poor timing.

“Why? I’m on lunch break. I’ve left you and Lucas in charge, haven’t I?”

Lucas is a new employee of the store who I hired the other day but I’m not sure I made the right decision doing so. All hawaiian shirts and silver neck chains with a hairdo styled to look twice the size of his own head, he didn’t exactly look ready to start selling ropes and tools but I decided to have faith anyways. I’m nothing if not forgiving.

Everything about this call feels a little off and I have the sinking feeling that someone bailed.

“Lucas kind of left halfway through. Said he had an urgent appointment.”

I am disappointed but not surprised. That’s usually the deal with people - they are such disappointments.

I can only sigh, ignore the annoyance in me and reply, “I’ll be back soon. Give me half an hour.”

“Aight. Gotcha.”

As soon as I hang up, I become aware of the distress emanating from the counter. I turn and see you fumbling around your bag, your eyes squinted with disbelief and worry. There is anxiety radiating from you and the store clerk looks on, unbothered if not a little irritated. Before I can stop myself, I call out, “Is there something wrong?” I almost want to kick myself for doing something so foolish but the anger dissipates quickly as soon as I make eye contact with you.

You look up frantically and you know me so your shoulders relax but your eyes widen with surprise.

“Fancy seeing you here!”

I feign surprise as well and chuckle, “wow, we keep running into each other.”

You smile but don’t say anything and I feel a spark of happiness within me. You can feel it too, can you?

“What’s wrong?” I ask and your chin lowers with embarrassment while you continue fumbling.

“I can’t find my wallet.”

I look at you, trying not to smile. Are you doing this on purpose expecting me to swoop in to help you? Could this be your way of starting a conversation and possibly a solid connection? I have to admit, it’s unconventional but I like it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll foot the bill for you.” I say, drawing out a wad of cash in my coat pocket. I want to charm you like you want me to, I see what your game is and I’m more than willing to play it. You immediately frown and attempt to push my arm away, protesting that I shouldn’t and that ‘I’m too kind’ and with each word you say, I can’t help but notice the way your hand grips on my arm and the way your lips pout.

Seriously, you’re good. You have to be careful how you wield that pretty mouth though.

You are still attempting to stop me but then finally you relent with a sigh.

“Alright, fine. Thank you so much though. I should treat you to coffee or something, you’ve helped me so much in the times we’ve ran into each other. It really is a small town.” You say, grinning gratefully at me and I feel like I’m on top of the world.

“Hey, don’t mention it.”

We’re leaving the store and you drop your book into your bag before you groan. I turn to you curiously and you have a deadpan expression on your face as you withdraw your wallet from your bag.

I knew it.

“It’s been in here the whole time, buried beneath my cardigan.” You roll your eyes before drawing out a note.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I ask as you hand it to me.

“Paying you back?” You cock your head like you’re confused and it makes you look so fucking cute I almost want to lean forward and kiss you.

“Nah, it’s fine. You don’t have to.” I wave but you cry out, “I insist!” You are more persistent than I thought. Before I can reject you (I like this back and forth game we’re having), you suggest, “How about I buy you coffee at the very least?”

I feel my lips quirk into a grin. Ah yes, coffee. The starting point of most romantic relationships.

“Sure.”

Sicheng has been having a slow day at work, manning the dessert counter as he watched Jaemin text excitedly on his phone, no doubt talking to another girl, different from last week’s. He leans his head against his palm, elbows resting on the glass case, boredom written all over his face at which Sana tutted.

“Any way you can try to look a little less deadened?”

“I’m just tired, Sana. I had a long night last night.” Which was true to say the least. As a biochemistry student, he had numerous lab reports to finish and countless meetings to attend. By the time he’d showed up for his shift, Sicheng had already been thoroughly drained.

She looked at him with a look of sympathy before she sighed.

“Fine, alright. Look, if you need anything, you can help yourself to some coffee in the backroom.”

He smiled at her weakly. “Thanks.”

A sudden tingling sound at the door made by the door chime startled him, making his eyes shoot open and he turned his attention to the incoming customer.

“Welcome to…!”

Instantly, he could feel his cheeks heat up as a blush crept up his neck and to his face. It was her again. That girl he’d found cute and promptly made a fool of himself every time she dropped by. Today, she looked radiant as always, with a bright smile on her face, her infectious bright energy filling up the empty cafe. Just the sight of her made his heart pound and he was suddenly aware of how unkempt he must look.

His hair was disheveled and his eyes felt crusty. There were dark circles hanging underneath his eyes and his shirt was wrinkled, having thrown it on in a haste to make it for work.

The smile on his face however, quickly dropped when he saw that you had someone with you. Despite himself, he tried not to compare himself to the man by your side. What this man was, he wasn’t. With a soft, dark brown hair that framed his handsome face perfectly, there was no denying that this man was attractive even by male standards. Tall, athletic in build with a charming dimpled smile to match, Sicheng definitely paled in comparison. Somehow, Sicheng felt like he had seen him before, perhaps as a patron but now, he knew for sure he’d remember his face. He was with you after all.

The two of you seemed to be talking before the man left to sit at a nearby table, his eyes following you as you walked over to the counter.

“Are they together?” He wondered to himself as Jaemin took your order. From where he sat, he found himself staring at you before he caught himself and shook out of his daze. He blinked furiously, his face turning red. How could he let himself look so obvious? It was then when he felt a pair of eyes on him and he turned to see the man you’d come in with staring directly at him.

Sicheng stiffened as he held the man’s gaze, feeling an odd chill down his spine. There was something cold, dark beneath those dark eyes that seemed so kindred at first glance but there was no way he could ignore what he’d just felt. It felt like his stomach had dropped to the floor, a fear wrapping around him and just as soon as he felt it, the man turned away.

What the hell was that?

“Right, black coffee with no sugar, no milk?” You ask, holding out a steaming mug of hot, black liquid to which Jaehyun accepted gratefully with both hands, his dimples showing as he beams at you.

“That’s right, thank you.”

You laugh, “I owed it to you.”

At the sound of your laughter, his smile grew wider and he tipped his mug towards you.

“Well, I guess we’re even now.”

“Not really,” you shrug and he lifts an eyebrow at you questioningly. “Hm?”

“You helped my friend and I back there at the party yesterday. I still owe you for that one.”

Understanding dawns upon him as his lips form a small ‘o’. “Oh… I see. Right.” He continues, “Well, you’ve already bought me coffee. Isn’t that enough?”

“I feel bad,” you chuckle and he does the same.

“Why don’t you give me your number then? Maybe one of these days when there’s a chance, you can buy me a meal.” He says casually.

You ponder over his suggestion for a bit before grinning.

“Alright.”

As the two of you exchange numbers, you suddenly receive a call. You look towards Jaehyun who nods before you mutter a soft apology and answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Y/n? Are you free tonight?”

You glance at Jaehyun but he’s looking away, sipping quietly on his coffee.

“I’ve got a project to complete tonight. Why?” You whisper into the phone, turning away from him.

“Just thought we could have dinner. It’s been a while, y/n.”

You chew at your lip, mentally working out your schedule. On one hand, the landscaping project is due next week and considering the time crunch, you would need all the time you can get to perfect it yet on another, it’s really been awhile since the two of you had dinner. Surely, just one meal wouldn’t hurt?

“Alright, ok.” You reply and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Great, I’ll pick you up at 7. I’ll see you!”

“See you.”

I notice the lifting tilt in your voice, the kind of voice a girl makes when she’s simpering and the slight flicker of excitement and joy in your eyes put me on high alert. I know it’s not your friends because I’ve seen you with them and I feel a sense of dread start to creep in. Underneath that dread, a green eyed demon starts to stir.

Who the fuck was that?

You see me staring and you grow shy, avoiding my gaze and being so unaware of how that makes my heart race and my jeans just a little tighter. I beam at you, careful not to sound too desperate or overeager.

“Who was that?”

What you say next hits me with such a pang that I struggle to keep my smile on my face.

“Oh, it’s just my boyfriend,” you smile with that smile that isn’t mine and only mine anymore.

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

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Is it possible that you write a fiction in which Hero and Villain are on a road escape somewhere not their country and they couldn’t speak the local language, but Villain is hiding his injury until he passes out from fever and Hero has no idea what to do in a foreign country and in the center of nowhere?

I'm so sorry this took so long. This is a lovely ask and I hope you enjoy it.

Out of State

@the-sky-writes

Warnings: fever, delirium, exhaustion, hiding injury, passing out, pus/infected wound, injured character

*not edited*

Hero looked to the passenger seat only to see Villain's head hanging as he lightly dozed off. She sighed, he was exhausted, as was her, but she just woke up from her own nap so it was her turn to drive.

"Villain," Hero murmured as she pressed the gas pedal. "Why don't you go and lay down?"

"Mm," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes before opening them. "No... I'll stay... h-here wit you." His voice dropped to a drawl as his heavy tongue struggled to form the words.

"Villain c'mon," Hero pleaded, but Villain only shifted in his seat, resting his forehead against the window. Before long, any tension in his muscles dripped away and he was completely limp.

Hero sighed. She was beyond worried about him. For the past few days, after Supervillain attacked them during their own fight, Villain and Hero have been running away from the angry claws of Supervillain's henchmen. They passed through many towns and cities, briefly stopping to fuel Villain's sportcar up and get food.

But Villain had been running himself ragged- driving for hours into the night until he was practically sleeping and veering off the road, refusing to let Hero investigate a road stop before they pull in, and also his blatant stubbornness when it came to staying awake.

Though now Villain was out like a light. Not even the bumps in the road roused him from his deep slumber. Which, Hero thought with a smile, is a really good thing. He needs rest.

Hero drew her attention to the road. Reading the road signs, she found that a gas station was only a couple miles away. It would be- Hero glanced down at the sleeping villain- very nice to gather some food for him when he woke up.

Hero pressed on the pedal, mentally begging the car to go faster. She slumped into her seat, impatiently tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in an awkward pattern.

Before long, Hero pulled up to the eerie looking gas station. No cars were present- other than a old-looking navy blue van. The small building was alight with bright neon yellow lights, illuminating the small station as dusk dawned.

Hero pulled in, positioning the car to a pump and proceeded to fuel up. All the while, she observed Villain. He was still sleeping, Hero noted the obvious. His mouth was parted, hand strewn below his drooping head serving as a makeshift pillow.

Something about it bugged her. Villain should be awake now. She slammed the door shut, on accident of course, and the car started screaming at her. But he remained deeply asleep.

That was, until Hero shoved her credit card in and slipped back into the driver's seat.

Villain's eyes shot open. He looked around before racing to unbuckle himself. Hero tried to ignore the way his hands shook and focused on his utterly scared face.

"Villain calm down," Hero said, placing her hand on Villain's unnaturally sweaty shoulder.

"No, no, no," he mumbled incoherently. "Supervillain.... Supervillain gonna... onna... k-kill us." Villain slid back into his seat, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before they opened and he rushed out the door.

Hero had barely any time to react before Villain blacked out in the parking lot, his body crumbling like a collapsing brick wall.

Hero started out the door frantically, running to the side where Villain laid unconscious. Her hand rushed to his neck where she felt a steady, but faint, thump-thump of a pulse.

And boy was he burning up. It was only then that Hero noticed his pale, flushed face beaming in the early stages of the moonlight.

Hero sighed as she clenched his wet shirt with her fingers. He had a fever, a very high fever.

"Okay buddy here we go," she said absent-mindly to the unconscious man as she picked him back up and laid him in the back seat of the car. She shut the door and started to examine his weak body.

Upon rolling up his shirt, she found a deep gash running from the middle of his chest to below his right ribcage. Even not conscious, his body involuntarily stiffened under her tender touch. It was filled with pus, capped in an abscess. Hero shuddered, averting her gaze.

He must've gotten injured during Supervillain's assault and that was... four days ago?

He was hiding this for four days.

Fury raged inside Hero, along with a curt feeling of betrayal. But then she remembered that Villain wasn't doing good and it was not time to dwell on emotions. He needed help and fast.

She scrambled to the driver's seat, turned the key and sped back onto the vacant country road.

The speedometer reached 80 before Hero realized that she had no where to take the feverish villain. Her hand wavered over her phone, but then again with Supervillain's tech he could track it and find him at the hospital.

She would have to find a clean place and care for him herself.

After a long five minutes, Hero approached a quaint town. Eagerly, she literally jumped out of the car while it was still moving and galloped over to a young woman picking some basil.

"Hey, hey I need help!" Hero called, running to the white picket fence. The woman looked up at her with a peculiar look on her face, then turned around and continued gardening. She shook her head disapprovingly and tutted.

"Please, my-my...my friend is hurt. He's really sick."

"Skildu mig eftir," the woman suddenly yelled. Hero jolted backwards.

"Can you speak English?"

"Farðu með vandamál þín til lögreglu," the woman continued, waving a dirty carrot in her face. Hero took one look and headed back to the car. In a mad rush, she pulled the limp man out od the car and dragged him to the fence.

"Please," Hero begged. "He's very weak and needs medical help."

But the woman was already headed up to her house, tapping something into her phone.

Hero had thirty seconds before she heard the strident ring of a police car's sirens.

#villain whumpee #hero caretaker #hero x villain #hero x villain community #whump community #hiding injury #supervillain whumper #injured villain #feverish villain #i just scrolled through Google Translate and chose Icelandic for the foreign language #if anyone was wondering

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maemi324 · 4 years

Text

Burned

Hello all you lovely people! Today I come to you bearing gifts!

the gift that is this fic, which is quite possibly the longest fanfic I’ve ever done. Period. I’ve written more for a personal story of mine, but this one…this just takes the cake.

14 pages, 6988 words. That may not sound like a lot, but for me it was a huge thing, and I’m actually pretty proud of it.

this was inspired by the song “Burn the Witch” by Shawn James, which I highly recommend listening to towards the end of this.

So this involves witches, as you might have guessed. I did do some research on this, referencing a few holidays. With that being said, this is not the fic to go to looking for accurate information about Pagan Holidays, their differences, similarities and all the right customs. This is all mixed in with some fictional things that I felt helped the story flow. If you want an accurate description of their holidays, practices, beliefs, please go do your own research, or ask someone that knows about them, as that person is not me.

With that out of the way! here are some mentions of some characters in here!

Aizawa, Present Mic, All Might, All for One, Shigaraki, LOV (vague description), Ochaco, Iida, Todoroki, mama Midoriya

Warnings: Character Deaths (kind of) vague descriptions of death, witch hunt, stakes, fire. OOC Shigaraki probably, and Izuku. If there are more warnings needed let me know. Only edited by me. May edit later. Right now i just wanna post this guy.

@katsukikitten, @what-the-censored-xd I hope you enjoy!

You were standing beside your mother, hanging onto her skirts as she placed a flower crown in your hair, your small hands reaching to gently feel their soft petals.

X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.

It was the brightest summer you could remember, the first thing you could remember actually.

You could see your father, as well as some of your parents’ friends, all gathering wood into this large pile to be lit that night. You felt a thrum of something run through your fingers as your hands fell back to your sides. Excitedly you tugged on your mother’s skirts.

She’d just placed a crown upon a friend’s head, looking down at you with that sweet smile that had you giggling.

“What has you so giggly darling?”

She bent down to your level, nearly falling over as you thrust your zinging hand in the general direction of her face. She carefully pushed your fingers back, a gasp at her lips as soft yellow hues glowed from your fingertips, your other hand still preoccupied with the soft flower petals.

“Well would you look at that! I knew you’d be getting it soon!” She pressed kisses all over your face, the last one landing on your forehead. Her attention was pulled from you as someone called out to her, a young woman, no older than your own mother, with hair so dark it was almost green, carrying someone who’s hair matched hers.

“Inko! You made it!” She hugged the woman- now named Inko- closely, only pulling back after a tight squeeze.

“Thank you for inviting us! Are you sure it’s alright that we’re here? These aren’t, well, really our traditions to do-”

“Nonsense! You’re family, you are just as welcome here now as any other part of the year. Now who is this young one?” You watched as she motioned to the, what you could now see was a young boy, who had the brightest green eyes you had ever seen, with a magic all their own.

“This is my son, Izuku, my pride and joy,” She nuzzled his cheek, pressing a kiss there. In an attempt to get him to smile she blew a raspberry on his cheek, which had him giggling, but his eyes remained trained on your mother. “He’s a little shy around strangers however”

“ That’s the same little one I saw last year? Goodness, he’s grown so much!”

“Oh I know! It seems like only yesterday I just had him!

You frowned, you wanted mama’s attention! It was like she’d forgotten you were there. You tugged on her skirts with a whine, hardly mollified when she only gave you her hand. You pressed it against your cheek.

“And this is the lady of the day?” Inko set down Izuku in favor of looking you over.

“Yes indeed, our little Birthday girl, (Y/N)” She smiled down at you letting go of your hand, “Why don’t you show Izuku how to make a flower crown, hm?”

At the idea of doing something fun your mood brightened immediately, offering your hand to him. He instead looked up at his mother, now adorned with her own flower crown, who gave him a light push towards you.

He nervously gave you his hand and you pulled him over to the circle of people braiding flowers together.

Somehow, that little moment blossomed into friendship. As the hours passed, he’d opened up, little by little, much like the flowers in your hand had when first blooming. He told you stories from his village, tales of a heroic man- a knight you would later remember- under the name of “All Might”.

As he talked, he paid close attention to how your hands moved as he made his crown. While it wasn’t perfect, he placed the small crown over the one your mother had given you, saying it wasn’t any good. You told him right then and there you were proud to wear it. You had yet to finish yours, so you asked him to continue his stories as you worked. It may have been all he talked about for the first hour since then, but you were keen to hear his tales, eyes sparkling with something wonderful as his freckled cheeks turned pink at the sound of your laughter.

He was also incredibly interested in your traditions. You were too young to have them all memorized by heart, but you did know that at every celebration, you, and others of your kind in the area, came to this specific clearing in the woods.

The area had been used for as long as any elder could remember, slowly built into a circle with a place for the fire in the center, steps built into the hill as makeshift seats, the grass around the area lush and green, the best to dance around the fire in. During this celebration in particular you adorned crowns of flowers and built the fire, dancing and offering praise to the gods. Hardly any from the village came to these celebrations, but they did not condemn your ways and kept to their own.

You danced and played the day away, the other children chasing after you in good fun. Giggles and loud shrieks filled the air, air soft and warm with the scent of the lavender fields so close by.

Of course, you were both so young then, by the time the stars were high in the sky, the both of you were out like lights, leaning against one another with a blanket draped over your laps. You only remember briefly waking as you were cuddled next to someone in your bed. You paid no mind as your father kissed your forehead, leaving you with a whisper of ‘goodnight’. You snuggled back into the person beside you, green hair tickling your nose as you slipped back into sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, breakfast lingering in the air. Your heart clenched sadly as you were alone. Had yesterday been a dream? Where had your new friend gone? You scrambled out of bed into the main room, Izuku sitting next to his mother, stuffing a sweet bread your father had made into his mouth, whilst Inko and your mother talked about the previous night.

Since then, Izuku and his mother had returned to every holiday, the Autumn equinox, Samhain, the Winter solstice, every single one. You would count down the days, a small piece of charcoal to mark on your wall until the day he arrived.

With every visit came more tales of knights and their battles, He’d even started writing them down, so that way no one would forget them and their deeds. You had joked that with a memory like his, he would never forget.

During the time in between visits, you learned how to help manage your father’s shop. He taught you which herbs and plants had medicinal properties, how to bring a potion to the right temperature and keep it there, hands glowing a soft blue.

Your mother taught you the other properties of magic, warding away evil and the right way to banish an evil that had long sunk its roots into it’s target, hands glowing a soft purple. You were all too happy to learn from them, how to help people with a kind hand and a soft smile.

But there were times your heart had wanted to be cruel, to be angry. When all you wanted to do was place something wicked on the boys that ran around your village and teased you. Especially when they had torn apart a necklace your mother had given you.

It wasn’t rare by any means, but your mother had given it to you and thus it was special.

You told your mother as such after hours of searching for the pendant, with little to no luck of even finding the chain. She had nearly dropped the jar of spices into the soup she had been making.

“Curses are not things to be taken lightly darling,” She sat you down at the table, your feet kicking in an irritated fashion, toes barely touching the floor. “They are dangerous, and not for the faint of heart. But most importantly, that is not what our magic is for” she tilted your pouting face up to hers, so she could look you in the eye, her other hand taking your smaller one into hers. “Our magic is to help and heal. Those of our magic who choose otherwise have…They have died, or worse even. So promise me you’ll never curse or hex anyone. Alright?”

“I promise mum,” you sighed, anger dissipating into a strange form of disappointment and forced contentment. She let go of your hand with a smile, a confused expression on your face as you opened your hand to find the necklace sitting on your palm as if it had been there for hours.

That promise only lasted a short time. The next time Izuku had visited, the boys began to pick on him as well, he was shorter and smaller than they were, a prime target. That was all easily ignorable, taking his hand and leading him off somewhere else. The last straw had been a kick to his dream.

“You’ll never be a real knight, no matter how hard you try! You’re too much of a mama’s boy, too weak!”

You could have sworn you’d seen red, though Izuku begged you not to do anything. It was only his asking that spared the boys a beating they would not come out of unscathed.

So instead, come nightfall, you had slipped from your bed, careful not to step on Izuku as you passed. You snuck into the shop, grabbing one of your father’s bowls and setting out into the forest. You picked at your ingredients with haste, mashing them together with water and a stone. You uttered the foulest curse your young mind could think of; giving the boys a taste of being so close but never there. An itch they couldn’t scratch, they would never be able to scratch, no matter how sharp their nails.

Pleased with your work, you washed out the now empty bowl. You ignored the sickly feeling in your stomach, setting the bowl back in its place. You closed the door as softly as you could, sneaking back into bed.

However, that morning you awoke to your skin feeling itchy, the sensation unrelenting no matter how hard your nails scratched. Your whimpers of panic woke Izuku, eyes wide with panic of his own, he dove out the door and ran for your mother.

That’s how you found yourself alone, with your mother, the offending bowl in question as well as one that had an ointment of some kind in it, your mother smearing it over your red skin.

“I hope you’ve learned something from this,” her voice held just the barest hint of amusement, though only just barely. “Poison ivy isn’t exactly a walk in the park” she finished with your arms and moved on to your back.

“If you weren’t careful however,” her voice turned hard, your body tensing at the shift in tone, “This could have turned out far worse. Far more dangerous. Magic isn’t a game, there are real consequences to your actions, just as there are in any other parts of life” You nodded your head solemnly, the back of your mind thanking just about everything for the relief the ointment brought.

Of course you had to learn the hard way the effects of going against your own nature.

You’d spent that Summer Solstice wrapped up with an ointment, dealing with Izuku’s annoying little smirk.

“I appreciate the thought (Y/N),” He whispered to you, the two of you sat a ways from the fire as you watched the others dance, “You wanted to defend me, but please, don’t go around cursing people, for my sake if not yours” he laughed, swatting your hand away from your own arm as you tried to itch it.

“Yeah, yeah, see if I ever do anything nice for you ever again” you groused, no heat behind your words. You were best friends, you’d do anything for him, just like he would you.

It was on your seventeenth birthday, a coming of age for a young witch, when you learned how far those feelings would go.

It was one hell of a birthday, you thought, sitting behind the wagon full of flowers that had yet to be formed into crowns, crying pitifully. The young girls of the village had teased you, your dress was so short compared to the usual style, even the sleeves! Your ankles were on full display and your feet were bare.

You hardly minded their comments, their concerns didn’t matter. It was your coming of age celebration as well as the Solstice. Everything was perfect, you’d even woken up early, gotten all your chores done and had enough time to have a relaxing bath beforehand. Their sense of fashion didn’t matter compared to your traditions. Not only that, but your mother had made the dress herself, it was soft and comfortable.

It was only when the other witches your age had decided that the color you wore wasn’t appropriate for the celebration, in these ‘modern’ times, far too dark and disrespectful. While they had etched a seed of self consciousness into your mind, you carried on, your mother had chosen this color specifically for you and the celebration at hand. The colors were fine! In your irritation, you stomped away hardly looking where you were going, falling face first and sliding into a patch of mud, probably leftover from yesterday’s rain.

You looked up from your predicament, one of the others dogs lifting up its leg to pee near you but not on you. At that angle it hardly mattered. The giggles from younger children were harsh enough, grating on your ears, whispers from some of the elders of this being a bad omen. But what was the worst of it all? The concern in Izuku’s eyes. He’d made a beeline towards you, but before he could reach you, you had sprinted off, just away from everyone.

You didn’t know why his eyes made it all the worse, that look never would have bothered you before, right?

The sun was starting to set, the wood was almost arranged perfectly to burn all night long.

You wiped your eyes, glaring down at the mud now on your hands.

“I thought I might find you here”

You jumped, heart launching itself into overdrive as you whirled around only to see Izuku.

“Oh! Izuku…you scared me” you placed a hand over your heart, as if it would slow to a normal pace if you did so. “Shouldn’t you be helping with the fire?” you asked, scooting over so he could sit next to you.

“What kind of a friend would I be if I let you be here by yourself?” he asked, his gaze patiently waiting to meet yours, as soon as you had the courage to.

“You seemed alright with me being here up until now” you muttered. A flash of hurt appeared in his eyes, you immediately regret your harsh tone.

“W-Well, I had wanted to let you cool down before I just got in your space-”

“No, that was unfair of me Izuku, I’m sorry. I just…everything was supposed to be perfect. Or realistically perfect. Falling flat on my face in mud wasn’t exactly a part of the plan” you wiped your hands off on what little remained of your dress. “Or being considered a possible bad omen”

“I know what that’s like, remember on my fifteenth birthday, when I was helping carry all those crates?” You had to hold back a snort, as you recalled the story.

Your father had arranged for you to meet a supplier of a rare type of herb, as well as a few crates of spices for one of the shopkeepers in the village. The poor man had fallen ill this year and had somehow convinced his supplier to meet him halfway instead of going to the nearest town.

Izuku had been visiting at the time and, of course, offered to help you. You had just gotten over the main hill, you could see the people of your village milling about. You turned to look over at Izuku, only to watch as he fell face first onto the ground, tripping over a root. The barrels of spices went rolling down the hill, him rolling after them.

The barrels landed with a crash against some boxes stacked near the well, Izuku was hardly so lucky as he had rolled right into the wells wall.

“You were so lucky that you came out of that with only a broken arm” you laughed softly, a huff of laughter escaping him as well.

“At least the spices were alright, I’d have felt so bad if they’d all gone to waste because of my clumsiness” he placed a hand over yours, not even minding the dirt and tears that clung to it.

“It’s not quite the same as a ‘bad omen’, it’s also probably a little thoughtless of me to say ‘ forget them’ when they’re a huge part of your culture, your traditions. But…I want you to know that, they could call you any and all these bad things under the sun…and your parents wouldn’t believe them for a minute…I wouldn’t believe them for a minute.”

He stood up then, pulling you gently along with him. You allowed him, though your eyes were too preoccupied with seeing what everyone else is doing. Most were gathered around the fire, listening as one of the elders spoke, others talking and laughing amongst themselves, their cups full of sweet liquid.

He led you down to the river, the water warmed by the long summer day, softly babbling as the wildlife went about their ways. He sat you down on one of the rocks, taking one in front of you for himself.

“What are we doing over here Izuku?”

He didn’t answer you, reaching into one of his pockets and dunking a cloth into the water.

“Isn’t that your handkerchief?” you ask, face molded into disgust as the cloth came closer to you.

“What? No, well yes, but this one is an extra one, it’s clean I promise” he gently placed his hand on your chin, tilting your face up as he wiped the muck off of your face.

His touch was soft but firm, eyes only taking in his work as your own counted the freckles that danced along his cheeks, the way he bit his lip in concentration. Somewhere in the deepest part of your mind and the very center of your heart, you knew why that look had your cheeks turning red and your heart hammering in your chest. But at the forefront of your mind, you couldn’t tell why.

The two of you were silent as he continued his pattern, dunking the cloth into the water, washing out the dirt and wringing out the water to carefully wash away the dirt on your face.

It doesn’t take him long however, to finish with his task, washing and wringing out the cloth for the last time. His eyes finally meet yours, offering a gentle smile that only widened as he booped your nose with the cloth, the face you made sending pink butterflies through his stomach. You couldn’t help but laugh as well, his good mood far too contagious.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his hand still holding your face as he took in your smile. You only hummed in agreement, internally mourning the loss of warmth from his hand as he pocketed the cloth.

“Thank you, Izuku, that was…you are too kind for this world, I think” You stood up from the rock, you couldn’t stay down by the river all night. Your dress may have been ruined, you’d have to apologize to mother for it, but someone must have brought an extra. Or so you hoped.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the clearing, trying to slip past the majority of the party to get to your mother, only for a gentle hand to stop you both in your tracks.

One of the elders, Mrs.Tachibana, looked up at you with kind eyes. She was mostly known for her talent for seeing into the future. That’s what the majority said it was, she described it as, ‘ getting a feeling I’ll need such and such object today’ only for it to come in handy at the oddest of times.

“I’m sorry Mrs.Tachibana, did I bump into you?” She shook her head at your question.

“Oh no dear, but I do have something for you. I had made it for my daughter, but it seems she made her own dress this time. I think It’s a good color for you!” She carefully handed the dress to you, to which you handed to Izuku, your body was covered in mud! You weren’t about to dirty some other dress.

“Oh are you sure-”

“Oh yes of course dear, no one else is going to be wearing it tonight!”

You quickly changed behind a tapestry your mother had been working on, feeling much better and cleaner in this new dress, it was a little on the short end, but just barely past what your mother’s dress had been.

You walk back out to find Izuku waiting for you, the fire having been lit. The music was hardly loud, but the drums struck a chord within your heart that pulsed with energy, a need to sing along, to move to the beat. You bound over to him, taking his hand in yours.

“I see you’re feeling better” He mused, his foot tapping to the beat.

“Much better. Come dance with me?” You tugged gently on his hand toward the fire.

“You know I’m not the best dancer (Y/N)” He warned, as if you didn’t have years of experiencing it first hand. You shrugged your shoulders, even though he was far from good, he was most definitely not a disaster.

“Is that a No?” You swayed back and forth on your heels, looking up at him with what you hoped was a sweet enough look to get what you liked. He let go of your hand, for a moment you feared you’d pushed your luck too far, suddenly his hands were on your waist, lifting you into the air as he spun you into the dancing circle, your shriek of surprise worth the slight pain of him stepping on his own toes as he brought you back down.

You danced the night away together, hardly pausing for a break, you didn’t need to for whatever reason. You just wanted his arms around you, spinning you this way and that, lifting you in time with the music that had your stomach doing somersaults that tickled.

He felt the same, your laughter had his heart soaring, the smile on your face shooting Cupid’s arrows right through his heart. He tripped and stumbled every so often, but it was all worth it if it meant you were having a good time.

The two of you finally stopped to take a break, the moon high in the sky. You pulled him towards the river once again, the cool air there was bound to cool you off.

You sat down in the grass, pulling him down with you as you laughed at his startled expression.

“Well I’d say you did quite well with dancing!”

“Oh do you really? Even with all my fumbles?”

“Eh, you just added a few new steps!”

“A few new steps she says!” He barked out a laugh, tears gathering in his eyes, your own giggles twisting into his like sweet music.

Your laughter died out naturally, the music of crickets and rushing water kept you company, the drums from the music thumping distantly. He leaned back, looking up to the sky, you followed suit, your shoulder pressed against his as you pointed up at the stars.

“I think I’ll draw a new image in the stars. Just for tonight” You traced the shape with your fingers, Izuku mirroring your actions to see if he could get the shape.

“And, what are you going to call this new one?”

“Hmm…I’m not sure yet. It’s a process”

Your brow furrowed as you thought, the thoughts clear in your eyes, oh he was hopeless.

You jumped slightly at the feel of his hand cupping your jaw. His eyes were full of an emotion you couldn’t name, but it set your skin ablaze.

“I’ve had a great time tonight” you murmur, eyes wide and watching. What was he going to do?

“I have too,” he matched your volume, thumb idly stroking your cheek gently.

“I’ve actually thought about this for a while, but I was…afraid to ask you, in case I somehow ruined our friendship. But…the thing is (Y/N), I know our friendship is strong enough to withstand that. I want more than a friendship with you, I…I want to be with you all the time. I wanna be there on your good days, bad days, those days where everything and nothing are going on at once, I want it all,” he took a deep breath, steadying his shaking limbs and resolving his nerves.

“What do you say (Y/N)? Be my Love?”

Your eyes had watered considerably, your own hand holding his, you couldn’t help but nod.

“I was starting to think that my feelings were one sided,” you laughed, tears dripping down your cheeks. “I would love nothing more than to be yours”

He leaned into your space, so carefully, his hand gently pulling you closer until your lips met his, soft and warm, just like yours. You slowly pulled back, only to be gently pulled back in again, over and over until you were used to one another’s rhythm, kisses becoming slower and longer.

His tongue softly asked for entrance, and you readily allowed him access. He tasted of the sweet drink that had been served, goosebumps raised along your skin as he leaned you backwards into the grass, his eyes half lidded as adoration danced along the pinks of his cheeks.

He was careful not to press you too hard into the ground as he kissed you again, your tongues dancing as your hand gripped the hair at the base of his skull. The groan that rumbled through his chest and that particular rough pass of his lips had your toes curling.

He parted from you again, staring at your kiss bruised lips, wet and so inviting looking, moving slowly towards your (E/C) colored eyes, finding the same emotion fluttering in his heart. Carefully he sat up, you following after him with a smile on your face. You sat together, curled into one another as you watched the stars.

It had been four years since that Solstice, the two of you now adults. A year or two after becoming lovers, Izuku had finally found someone to train him into becoming a knight, a real hero. It meant that you would see him less, but he would always write to you when he could.

You were saddened at the news, but also so proud. Finally after all these years, his dream was coming true. He promised you that he would always come back to you, that once he had become a knight, able to help you build your own healing stand in the main city, He’d properly ask you to marry him. You knew he always kept his promises, one way or another.

How could you deny him his dream? You couldn’t truthfully.

That brought you here, scratching out another day along the tally you made. Only a few more days until Izuku came back. You helped your father run the shop now, almost fully taking over as the village healer.

You braced the day with a smile as the regulars came in, the usual ointments for Mrs.Tachibana, some medicine to the mother of some poor twins who had caught some sickness during the seasons change to spring, a wooden spoon covered in semi-crystalized honey for the wailing babe, their teeth slowly but surely coming in.

The morning rush could hardly be considered as such, your doors opening right at the first peak of dawn. You waved off the last of the morning patrons in no time at all.

You bend down to grab a few herbs, mixing something to help soothe Mr.Yamada’s vocal chords. You hear the door push open, pulling you from your line of thought, your eyes meeting bright green.

“Izuku!” you cry, rushing over to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug you could manage. He’d grown so much taller than you last remembered- well just bigger in general!

He’d bulked up considerably- he joked he wanted to get better at giving hugs along with being a Knight- and was now a full two heads taller than you. You only pull back to place your hands on his jaw, pulling him down to kiss you properly.

“Did I surprise you?” he laughed, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“Yes! You weren’t due back for a few more days! Oh I’m so happy your home!” You stood back up on your toes to press more kisses to his face. “Tell me everything!”

He told you all about the training he went through- hell as he called it, eyes looking back with a slight fondness that only nostalgia could bring- the antics he and some other knights in training had gotten into. His teacher, Aizawa, was a hard man, but ultimately soft hearted in his own way. He couldn’t wait for you to meet the friends he had made, and you were excited to see them.

“I have heard some…other things though” he hesitated, leaning against the counter as you finished Mr.Yamada’s medicine, the yellow glow from your hands dimming until it was no more. “In the city they’re telling stories of witches…and not good ones either.” you hummed in agreement, concern laced into your features.

You’d heard of rumors of witches in nearby towns and villages. At first, nothing was seemingly worrisome about it. So some covens had decided to announce their place in the world, big deal.

Until the rumors had become something dark. Stories of sacrifices, hexes and curses upon innocent bystanders, children. Soon there were rumors of witches in every town, every village.

“Even the people here have started to become…nervous” beforehand, the villagers not a part of your coven had nothing to fear from you, you’d never given them any reason to. But these new witches, witches that were said to be everywhere, brought fear into your community.

“I’m worried Izuku, they’ve started burning people in the next few towns…I’m not sure what we could do, a show of our magic could scare them into a frenzy, but not doing anything could be just as bad. They even have a witch hunter!” you set down the pestle gently, Izuku taking your hand in his.

“I’m worried too. But for right now, the best we can do is wait and see how things go. No matter what, I’ll always be here, you won’t go through this alone.” your heart fluttered warmly at his words, pressing a kiss to his hand.

The next few days did little to raise or diminish your worries. You walked about the village, showing him what all had changed in his absence, ignoring the stares of the same village girls that had teased your dress all those years ago.

It wasn’t until the third week that had changed. Even that morning, the dew felt strung and the air was hot and still. Your father had asked you the night before to gather some lavender from the fields in the morning, he was running low on stock.

The two of you agreed, baskets in hand you walked to the fields.

The breeze began to pick up as you climbed up the hills, the sweet scent dancing around you as you looked up into your lovers eyes.

“Is it just me, or have the lavender fields gotten smaller?” he joked, sitting beside you as you carefully snipped away at the plant, making sure to cut the stalk specifically so the flower could regrow.

“No, I think you’ve just gotten taller.” You mused, handing him the stalks to carefully separate the leaves and the flowers themselves.

It was a tense silence as you worked, though you couldn’t tell what was on his. On yours however, was the frequent news of witches being killed. But not only witches, but innocent people as well, for the slightest and most ridiculous thing. Spoiled milk, your neighbor suddenly falling ill after accidentally tripping over your shoe?

These people wouldn’t know a witch if one kicked them in the ass.

“I think,” Izuku startled you from your thoughts, “It would be best if tonight, you and your family leave with me. At least until all of this calms down.” There would be no reasoning with the public, not with the mass hysteria and distrust of everyone.

“I would agree, but papa would never give up his shop, we’ve been there for years, generations even” you handed him a few more stalks.

“We’ll have to convince him somehow. I had hoped things would die down, considering the evidence and logic-”

“Since when have the masses and logic ever seen eye to eye?” you quip back, brow raised into bittersweet amusement.

“Since never, but I had hoped…Well It doesn’t really matter what I’d hoped. What I’m thinking now is, I write to my fellow knights in training for help. To help move your coven safely” He started to mumble, various questions littering his mind, how fast could a letter get there?

Their letters had been casual, while important, they weren’t of any dire emergency. Would his friends believe him? No of course they would, once he proved to them the logic of things. The masses may not be so…sensitive to logic, but his fellow knights were not the masses.

It takes you until sunset to gather enough petals to fill the basket, though the two of you were hardly in any hurry. You walked back to the village, the tense air having loosened just ever so slightly.

All the relaxation the lavender provided was gone the second black smoke was visible over the hill. Lavender forgotten, you ran to the village, the smoke billowing from two stakes. You raced down the hill, passing the well.

No…No gods please no!

On one stake was the remnants of your mother, her eyes open towards the sky as her body drew no more breath. Beside her was your father, eyes closed. A cry of rage and sorrow rang loose, distant from your ears as strong, familiar arms wrapped around you. You screamed and kicked, clawed at his arms. Your throat felt raw as you cried, eyes looking for someone, anyone to blame.

You’d only heard descriptions of him, hairdo pale it was blue, with eyes as red as the blood of innocents he condemned- Tomura Shigaraki.

“Let their souls be cleansed of this evil, so they may find rest at the side of the great one, All for One” his voice was horrid, nasal and cruel, the imagery of snakes filling the back of your mind. He didn’t believe a word he was saying, so evident by the snarl at his lip he called a smile, twisted pleasure saturating his eyes.

“Ah, the main event has arrived!” he snapped his fingers motioning towards you and Izuku, his guards making their way over to you.

One man pulled you from Izuku’s grasp, two men grabbing Izuku by the arms. He swore, headbutting one of the guards, kicking back on the others shin. “You let go of her!” he growled, another pair tackling him down to the ground to restrain him.

“You evil, wicked thing! How dare you kill these innocent people, how dare-” you shrieked and shrieked as you struggled against your captor, another guard capturing your other arm.

“You may struggle now witch! The evil within fights back! But don’t worry, you’ll soon be cleansed.”

Despite your struggles, the both of you are taken into one of the old jails, hidden underground.

The place was dusty from lack of use, the packed earth against the stone kept it cool. You were leaned up against the bars, Izuku leaning against the same ones across from you. He couldn’t hold you like he wanted, the bars too small for anything else but his hands.

“I should have thought about this harder…I should have made a plan sooner” he murmured, breaking the silence. “If I hadn’t wasted time, then maybe-”

“Don’t” your voice was clipped and harsh. You hadn’t meant to be, regret adding to the myriad of emotions pulsing around your broken heart. “Mum and Papa wouldn’t want you to…to talk like that.” you wipe a tear as best as you can, your hand reaching to find his again.

“It’s no one’s fault but that damned Shigaraki” you hiss, “ He’s the witch hunter. He’s selling the world a story and they’re all buying it.” you could feel his lips pressed against your forehead. You shift so you are on your knees, holding onto the bars for balance, you kiss him, deeply, trying to memorize the taste of him one last time.

You stay like that, murmuring sweet nothings to one another, for who knows how long. You only know that it is all too soon when they open the doors again, dragging you out to the stake. Izuku struggles against the guards as they force him into a kneeling position beside Shigaraki.

Your heart hammers in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you struggle against your bonds. What you wouldn’t give to become the witch they so feared, maybe then your parents would be alive. Maybe then you and your betrothed would have a chance of surviving.

The fire starts all too quickly, Izuku’s agonized screams of horror sharp in your mind as tears run down your cheeks. Your last image of him couldn’t be of his eyes filled with hopelessness.

“I love you Izuku! I love you so much, We’ll be together again I swear it-”

“Silence Witch! Your spells have no power here!”

You ignored them, screaming louder, a cool burning sensation wrapping around the ring finger of your left hand, “I will find you! I don’t care how long it takes, we will be together!”

“I love you (Y/N)!” he cries back, a cool burning sensation around his left ring finger was left unnoticed. He was focused entirely on you. Until his world went black.

The guard righted himself, adjusting his hands behind his back, Izuku sat there, his head tilted forward, unconscious. Your heart finally severed, the only explanation for the black ink that spilled from it, tainting all in its path. The wind howled as a sudden storm raged above you, hair twisting this way and that, fueled by the wild look in your eyes, satisfaction found within the fear of Shigaraki’s red irises.

Your magic wasn’t made for curses or hexes. But with your heart broken, the once golden light of your magic turned vengeful, bubbling and vicious. Even as the smoke rose, your voice boomed across the village.

“May your days be numbered!” the crowd gasped, your voice multiplied, as if thousands were speaking at once, your eyes roaming across all of those who had cheered for you and your parents demise, of all those who died before you.

“May your last passing hours be filled with my ghostly visage, as all your loved ones choke on my ashes they thought long swept away! May you die in fear, knowing your bloodline will end with your hatred!”

The smoke from your pyre weaved around the guilty villagers, more thickly located around Shigaraki and his group. Your vision was turning spotty, but you didn’t care, you weren’t done. If you had to die, you were going out on your own terms.

“To those of you who survive, may you always see my shadow at the end of your beds as you sleep! May your Children curse your name! For your evil, your wickedness! For your Injustice!”

The storm raged on, even as you choked your last breath, your vision turning dark.

I’ll be with you soon my love…

.X.

You blinked, your eyes wet with unshed tears as you glanced around the room, your friends, Ochaco, Iida, and Todoroki were all behind you, looking at you with wide eyes. Next to you sat your boyfriend of two years, now in your third year at UA. His eyes were also wet, slowly turning to gaze towards you.

You had all decided to go to the fair that had opened up. Towards the end of your merriment, you spotted a fortune teller of a sort, and decided to go inside. Everything had been fairly light hearted and fun, until the two of you sat down for your turn. The fortune teller was shocked, the past had something important for you to see, and by all that was good you were going to see it.

You looked down at the promise ring Izuku bought you. It burned with the same cool sensation as you remembered…saw past you. It felt like…a small part of you had been unlocked, as if some part of you had been missing for all of these years.

“We found each other after all”

He gave you a gentle smile, one you returned.

95 notes · View notes

sourbat · 3 years

Note

okay, okay, some dark shit? magnus casually putting out cigarettes on his arms seemingly obvious to people's horrified stares. self-harm turned into a habit.

TW: SELF-HARM

I love unique perspective, especially dark ones. However, this feels a tad too Hollywood for me. I read this and I feel like I’ve been handed a scene from an edgy, early 2000’s film that’s attempting to shock more than it is trying to engage and make the readers think.

This is where I normally would tell someone interested in dark headcanons to take the time to do the necessary research (be it on self-harm, Borderline Personality Disorder, mental illnesses in general, etc.), but I'll bite and break down (briefly) the issues I have with this, and provide a less romanticized alternative instead.

When I'm handed character traits like this, I ask what is the point? In this case, "Why is Magnus self-harming, and why should we care?"

Assuming your questions isn't poorly worded, the answer you seem to derive is "he harms to horrify the audience (reader and surrounding fictional character)," which I find incredibly lazy and uninspiring. As far as caring goes, well, that would be up to you (or me if I did this), and, admittedly, there are people who do fall for these scenes. I still think this can be handled better, because at the end of the day, if you're going to discuss something as serious as self-harm, you should take the time to treat the issue with the respect and care it deserves.

An act so personal as self harm would be kept hidden. Even an addict knows when to hide away to the bathroom to take a line while their family chats at the dinner table, completely unaware. If Magnus is doing this in front of others, it’s because they’re also “in the know,” you know?

Next, one thing you need to remember here is that Magnus is male (or present himself as such), and given societies viewpoints of male weakness and mental illness... I don't know. It's one thing to be oblivious, but being caught harming yourself is pretty serious. In certain states, it's enough to land you a trip in the emergency room for a psych eval.

If Magnus is truly addicted to the pain and fleeting sense of control, would he not pick a quicker, easier to hide method? I’m not suggesting that cigarettes can’t be his go-to, but in public and in front of the guys? Frankly, no man wants to be seen caught with his pants down, but if he HAD to do it and there was no where else to go, I think he’d pick another means. For obvious reasons I’m not going to discuss these means.

But you’re suggesting oblivious, which implies this has become part of the habit. If you’re hellbent on going dark, be realistic about it. Don't glamorize it with this ideal version of Magnus who can "take the pain of burning ashes tarring his skin," and give us, the readers, something to care about.

(Note: I thought about going into why people self harm, but realized I'd be essentially being doing the work for anon. If anon actually cares about self harm and the characters they headcanon them living with the issue, they will take the time to do their research)

...

Magnus is absent-minded because he’s putting it out in the bathroom, away from prying eyes. If he’s caught, it’s because it’s 2 AM, and he chose not to lock the bathroom door. The obliviousness was built from months of him carefully structuring a routine to use the bathroom for this incredibly personal ritual, and after getting away with it for so long, Magnus broke from his routine tonight because everyone was piss drunk and there was half an American Spirit hanging off the ashtray that Pickles never returned to.

Magnus normally locks the door because no man on this god damn planet wants anyone to know he’s a self-harmer. Maybe in a fic where he’s falling in love, but I doubt that’s what you had in mind. But Magnus is harming himself in a tiny room that likely has piss stains in the wall. He's used to the smell. If Magnus has been doing this for a while, he likely has other artifices out for clean up/to increase the pain/disinfectant.

The first true glimpse of horror comes from Nathan, who wake up already nauseous and unwell from an overabundance of alcohol, and feeling worse on their way to a bathroom that reeks of beer vomit. Nathan doesn’t want to go in there anyways, but he has to because he needs to shit. The trek to the bathroom is long, and when he does open the door, finds Magnus on the toilet with his pants down and a cigarette wedged in his thigh. I know you said arm, but why the hell would he place it in an area that would be so easy to spot (the man doesn’t wear shirts)? His legs are likely shaking in some strange, sickening euphoric bend (made better with the booze in his system), but in the end of the day it’s Magnus sitting on the can, burning himself with a cigarette, and being caught by someone who is likely to throw up and break down after what he’s seen. And Magnus can’t do shit about it, because he’s gotta pull up his pants, deal with a fresh burn, put away the wet towels, rubbing alcohol, or any other thing he might include in his acts. And he has to do it quickly…because now that Nathan’s left the scene, everyone is awake and wants to know what the fuck is going on. And Pickles is heading to the bathroom right now.

That’s horrifying. That’s real dark shit.

#I'm drunk #self harm discussion #imma add magnus hammersmith here #anyways this HC isn't bad #but the way its presented lacks forethought #and i take dark shit seriously #magnus hammersmith

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the-13th-rose · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 Day 5 - Misunderstanding

Universe: Currently unnamed horror crossover

Characters: Annie (oc), The Miner (My Bloody Valentine)

Content warnings: Broken bones, vomit (character is briefly said to have thrown up, but it isn’t addressed again)

All of my writing is intended for a teen audience or older, unless otherwise stated! My writing often contains violence, strong language, and/or horror, so please use your head and don’t read my work if you think you might be triggered by it.

Summary: Annie is a young woman cursed to be eternally pursued by Hunters, various fictional slashers that come from the media Annie has seen in the past. She’s sick of the cycle, and unbeknownst to her, so is one of the Hunters, who she’s led to an abandoned factory. The Hunter, however, doesn’t speak, and Annie isn’t willing to pay attention to his attempts at forming a truce, still fully convinced he’s trying to kill her.

Word count: 2,261

Oh, Annie. Unfortunate Annie, whose mother unwittingly crossed a witch in her youth. Yes, a witch who saw fit to curse not the “crosser” herself, but her future firstborn instead. It was a wicked curse, designed not to go into effect until the firstborn reached her 18th year, so that she could become fully accustomed to a fear-free existence before having it ripped away from her. And the effects of the curse? To spend eternity pursued by monstrous Hunters. Annie found herself unable to die at all unless by the hand of a Hunter, and upon meeting her end at the hands of one, she would awaken in the morning of that same day, forced to re-do the events of the day. On days when a Hunter pursues her, Annie would have to survive its attempts to kill her until the break of the next day, or be forced to continue repeating the day until she managed to survive the encounter. This was Annie’s fate. To never truly know peace, for death to never be a release.

So, understandably, Annie had no patience for these Hunters anymore. She’d taken to a more proactive approach to survival, opting to fight back against the Hunters instead of simply running away or hiding. She wasn’t always successful in besting the Hunters, but her infinite re-dos allowed her to train and improve. By now, she’d become quite adept at fighting off and defeating the Hunters that pursued her. In fact, it had resulted in them leaving her alone for longer periods of time than before. Unfortunately, it had also forced them to get craftier. Annie and the Hunters were locked in a seemingly infinite arms race.

When one of the Hunters decided he’d had enough of the endless cycle as well, he saw befriending the cursed girl as his best option for a chance to break it, and finally stop being tethered to the curse. Unfortunately, he just so happened to be selectively mute, which would no doubt make explaining himself to Annie quite difficult.

Fleeing a pursuing Hunter Annie had designated “The Miner”, she soon found herself in the middle of an abandoned factory. As strange as it might seem, Annie had deliberately fled to this location, in the hopes of having an advantage over the Miner. Since he typically attacked with wide swings of his pickaxe, narrow corridors and paths surrounded by broken-down machinery would surely impede his attempts to attack her.

Panting, Annie paused in the middle of the old work floor. “Man, don’t you guys ever get tired?” She called out to the approaching Miner. “Seriously, though, how do you manage to make keeping up with someone for multiple city blocks look so effortless?”

The Miner stopped in the middle of the floor, mere feet away from Annie. Now that she looked closer, Annie noticed that he actually did appear somewhat winded, slouching a bit and breathing a little heavily through his gas mask.

“Guess you’re only as immortal as me, huh?” Annie quipped. She placed her hands on her hips and tried to make herself appear dangerous. “Well come on, take your best shot! I’m fucking tired, man. I want to go home and sleep, already!”

The Miner shook his head, which confused Annie a little. “...No?” Annie huffed. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Why would you follow me this far if you’re not trying to kill me?”

The Miner took a few steps closer to Annie, which she responded to by backing away and reaching for her survival knife, concealed in her pants pocket. Against a pickaxe, it wouldn’t do much good, but that’s what the tight corridors were for. She just had to make sure she led him into them. It didn’t really register to Annie that the Miner had his signature weapon still upon his belt, rather than holding it out, ready to attack.

What is your deal? Annie wondered, squinting angrily at the Hunter. Oh well. Doesn’t matter. I just have to keep you from giving me a re-do. “Hey, if you’re not going to leave me alone, then keep following me. I want to show you something,” she said to the Hunter, as she walked backwards towards the stairs leading up to an overhead walkway.

The Miner was no fool. At this point, he could tell Annie was trying to trick him. All the same, he had a goal in mind, and whatever half-baked trick Annie had up her sleeve wasn’t going to make him give up and turn away. So, still keeping his hands free of his weapon, a gesture he hoped she’d notice, he followed Annie as she slowly led him onto the walkway.

“That’s right…,” Annie encouraged the Hunter. “Right this way…”

The Miner followed her to the overhead walkway. They were both quite a distance from the factory floor now, surely far enough to cause serious injury if either of them were to fall.

“Miner, I brought paper, so you can talk to me for once,” Annie spoke up at last, rummaging in her pockets. “Get closer so I can give it to you. I can’t just throw it at you, that’d be rude. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get close if I didn’t trust you, right? That just doesn’t make sense.”

The Miner tilted his head at her words, but admittedly, the idea of being able to actually explain himself to her was too enticing. Sure, it could be a trick, but if need be, he could defend himself. Surely against someone like Annie. And so the Miner walked forward, closer and closer to Annie, until he was right in front of her. He held out one hand, waiting for the paper to be placed into his hand.

Annie rifled through her pocket for a moment, and then, when she thought his guard was at its lowest, she swung outward towards him with her survival knife.

The Miner lunged back, stumbling backwards at first, but quickly catching his footing. As he backed away from her rather reckless knife-swinging, he reached for his pickaxe and held it out in front of Annie to block her knife strikes.

“Come on, you’re just gonna play defense this time?!” Annie snapped, fury burning in her eyes. “What happened to swinging your pick through my face? Into my chest? You could knock me off this walkway, easy! Why won’t you try?! You’re being so weird!!!”

The Miner didn’t change his strategy, merely continuing to step backwards as Annie advanced towards him.

“Come on! I don’t want to be the only one on offense, here! It feels weird!”

Lunging towards him, Annie got in a lucky strike and her knife scraped across the Miner’s fingers. In reacting to this, he dropped his pickaxe onto the floor of the walkway. The weight of the impact must have knocked something loose in the rusted, worn metal, because in the next moment, the panel he stood on fell out from underneath him.

Annie had a split-second of expecting him to hang there in the air for a moment like they do in cartoons. Instead, he fell through instantly. The impact noise his body made against the factory floor made her wince, despite her intentions of harming him.

Annie peered over the walkway’s railing to the floor below.

The Miner was crumpled against the floor, splayed out on his back. His legs were bent horribly out of their proper positions. Even from 20 feet above, she could tell they were totally wrecked. This Hunter wasn’t going anywhere now. At least, not any faster than he could drag himself.

Annie looked behind her, knowing she couldn’t leave the walkway the same way the Miner had. She didn’t want to stay up there, either, considering that the rest of the walkway could easily be just as fragile. So she slowly turned around and gingerly, yet quickly, made her way towards the stairs at the other end of the walkway.

The Miner came back to his senses, having been momentarily dazed by the fall. He tried to sit up, propping his body up with his arms. The pickaxe that had sent him plummeting in the first place was lying a good few feet away. When he tried to move towards it, however, he was met with a wave of sharp agony shooting through his legs. Out of impulse, he let out a scream. He turned to inspect the state of his legs, and...was met with disgustingly wrong angles and a small spot of white through a new hole in his pant leg. Recognizing this as bone, he cried out in shock and frantically lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth.

Annie heard him retch as she reached the bottom of the steps without incident. She lingered by the bottom of the steps for a moment, unsure if she should get near him to finish him off, despite him not looking like he could possibly put up a fight at this point. She walked over to him as he replaced the gas mask and the noise-amplified breaths resumed, heavy and fast.

“...” Annie kept the hilt of the knife gripped tightly in her hand. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” She called out to him. “Maybe that’ll finally teach you to leave me alone, next time you come back. Why don’t you tell your Hunter buddies about this, get them off my back too, huh?”

Annie raised her knife as she stood beside him, poised for the perfect final stab. But as she looked over him, noticed his body language, and watched him flinch away from her final blow, shutting his eyes, which she was only just now seeing underneath the lenses of his mask. And her grip faltered, until she wound up dropping the knife altogether. “Dammit,” she swore, stamping her foot against the floor in frustration. “I really thought I’d be able to do it this time….I’m not really a killer, am I?”

The Miner shook his head, before slouching over and trying to pull his legs along with him. Merely touching them caused him to throw his head back in pain.

“...I guess this would be more of a mercy thing than self-defense at this point, huh?” Annie muttered, mostly thinking out loud. “...Yeah, so I led you here with the intention of killing you as a way to send a message. But I guess I’m kind of pathetic. At least when you’re pathetic, too. Now I can’t do it.”

“...I also didn’t really have paper.”

At this, the Miner shot her a glare, but quickly returned to flinching over his wounds.

“...I can’t believe I’m saying this but...sorry.” Annie muttered, running her hand through her hair. “...You really were just defending. You totally could have killed me back there, but you didn’t, so...dammit, maybe I misjudged you. At least this time, anyway. Because, like, you have killed me before.”

The Miner shrugged half-heartedly, leaning back on his arms and staring at the ceiling, every now and then squeezing his eyes shut and hissing through his mask.

Annie pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. “...11:30 pm?” She slipped it back into her pocket. “Didn’t feel that late…” She shrugged. “Well, at least I’ve only got to survive for 30 more minutes. She eyed the knife at her feet, and the pickaxe lying a little ways away. “...Do you need a weapon to...reset?” It felt incredibly awkward to ask, but he did seem to be in horrible pain.

The Miner shook his head, gesturing first to his legs, and then to Annie’s phone. The answer seemed clear.

“...You guys reset at midnight?” Annie guessed, to which the Miner weakly nodded. “...Still, 30 minutes is a long time with something that bad. Are you sure--?”

The Miner shook his head, and started pulling at his clothes, trying to tear off a strip of fabric.

“...Oh. I guess I can try to patch you up for now.” Annie replied, turning around to search for a first aid kit or some kind of fabric to turn into makeshift bandages. “...My clothes are cleaner,” she muttered, picking up the knife and carefully cutting strips from the hem of her shirt. “There’s not much, it probably won’t really help, but…” She started gingerly wrapping the strips around his legs.

He gave a loud, sudden cry when she touched his legs, and screamed at her attempts to set the bones. It was horribly amateur. Annie clearly didn’t really know what she was doing, but it was better than her trying to kill him again, he figured.

“Um…” Annie would have to admit it didn’t look very good at all. “Well...it’s only 20-something more minutes,” she tried to reassure him.

The Miner groaned, leaning back on his arms again.

“...Sorry, again, for being too dense to realize you weren’t trying to kill me this time…,” Annie sighed. “I’m just so sick of all this. Was...was that what you were trying to tell me? That you’re sick of this, too, and you want to form a truce?”

He threw his hands down against the floor in frustration, then nodded.

“...Guess I’m not as good at reading people as I thought. Well, at least you get to reset after all this. If you really mean it, I’m willing to forget about all the times you killed me...you gonna forget about the whole ‘breaking your legs’ thing?”

The Miner sighed, but nodded slowly and held out a hand for Annie to take.

“Alright. We’ll shake on it.”

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #misunderstanding #my bloody valentine #fic #broken bones tw #vomit tw #oc annie #the miner

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taeminyourmind · 3 years

Text

The Good in Good-Bye (A)

SHINee x Original Character (OC)

Genre: Angst, Non-Idol!AU

Synopsis: A love here one day is gone the next. Iris Young's boyfriend, Choi Minho, is missing. Fearing the worst, she travels to Seoul in search of answers as to where he could be. In her search, she befriends a kind local cafe owner, Taemin, a strong-minded hacker, Kibum, and an attentive junior detective, Jinki, who form an unlikely team to track down Minho's whereabouts. But as she inches closer to the truth, Iris must decide if there is such thing as a good in good-bye.

Word Count: 7.3k+

A/N: This story does not reflect any of the members in any way, shape, or form. This story is purely fiction.

The smell of rain engulfs the city as roaring gray clouds hover above the skyscrapers, giving the illusion they’re close enough to touch. The city bustles, ignoring the incoming storm’s anger, as they rush from destination to destination. The growing wind sends drops of rain with each gust causing people to hurry in their strides, afraid to get stuck in nature’s tears.

Among the crowd, a young lady tightly grips a piece of paper in her hands, her face blank and eyes discouraged as people bump past her. She glances at the sky as a drop of rain lands on her face and gives it the smallest smirk. Is this a metaphor come to life? There’s an actual cloud looming over me, she thinks. Leaves are ripped from tree branches and get lost in the wind. The young lady zips her jacket up more and hurries to the safety of a cafe, a place she’s heard about often but never got the chance to visit.

The welcoming bell sounds as she pushes the door open. She wipes her feet on the rug and carefully ascends the stairs. Framed pictures of art and people line the walls while art deco-inspired chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The sound of popular ballads and the smell of freshly brewed drinks grow stronger as she reaches the top of the stairs. The open floor plan brings a welcoming vibe as each piece of furniture shows a different personality, yet finds itself complementing one another.

Ordering a hot chocolate, she sits near a window and rests her head on her palm. The rain is now downpouring making people either run for safety or hurriedly open their umbrellas. Her hand gripping the piece of paper lessens its grip as she watches the rain droplets race to the windowpane. Where are you? she wonders, her eyebrows furrowing as she sinks deep in thought.

“Miss. Iris?”

Iris snaps back to reality and glances up at the voice. The smell of hot chocolate swirls in front of her as a young gentleman holds a mug on a saucer in front of her. He gives her a warm smile before placing the saucer on the table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he softly begins, “I added chocolate shavings to the whipped cream. It’s a rainy day and it looked like you could use a little sunshine.”

The gentleman’s gentle voice warms Iris’s heart, melting away the building wall of cold that appeared around it. She gives him a smile and slight nod before thanking him.

“Did you need anything else?” He asks.

Iris begins to shake her head before looking up at the young gentleman whose eyes stare at her in curiosity. His eyebrows raise slightly as a way to tell her to say what’s on her mind.

“Actually, I have a question. Have you seen this man?” she asks, stammering over her words as she places the piece of paper on the table. The gentleman takes a seat across from her and studies the paper. Her heart, once pounding with hope drops when the gentleman shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he apologetically says before handing the paper back to Iris. “How long has he been missing?”

“A week, I can’t get to him. He always handled business in Seoul and talked about this cafe’. He never stopped talking about it when he came home.”

“I’m sorry you had to visit under these conditions.”

Iris nods before folding the paper and placing it in her jacket’s pocket. “You’ve been more than kind…” She trails off, waiting for the gentleman to give his name.

“Lee Taemin,” Taemin smiles and reaches out his hand. “I'm the owner - well part owner, I own this cafe with my brother.”

Iris nods and shakes Taemin’s hand. “Iris Young. Or I suppose Young Iris since I’m in Korea.”

Taemin chuckles at her attempted humor which brings a smile to her face. For a moment, they sit in silence while Kim Taewoo’s Love Rain plays from the speakers above. The lyrics “Once someone I loved left me, and I thought it was all because of me” causes Iris to sigh before taking a sip from her mug. The silky chocolate liquid flows down her throat before warming her body, making her forget the coldness of a love believed to be lost.

“Was Minho someone special to you?” Taemin asks after a moment, his eyes peering at her from under his nearly too-long bangs.

Iris hesitates before nodding. “We used to talk about marriage, but then those conversations stopped. It felt like a wedge was coming between us and when he didn’t come home, I thought nothing of it. But one day turned to two, and two turned to three, and before I knew it, a week had passed and I didn’t even get a text. If he picked up the phone and told me “Stop calling me, you crazy bitch,” I would be content because I would know he was alive, heartbroken, but content. He always came to Seoul for business meetings, but never at the same place. So I thought since he always came here that I would get some answers.”

Taemin nods, careful to not interrupt her. His heart fills with sorrow at the tears beginning to well in her eyes. Quickly, she blinks them away and focuses her attention on Taemin. Even with her eyes filled with sorrow, they glisten and innocently shine in the light.

“I wish I could help,” he finally speaks, his fingers playing with a loose string on his apron.

“It was nice being able to speak to someone. Everyone else just ignores me when I show them Minho’s picture.” Pausing for a moment, Iris shifts in her seat and clears her throat. “Could you tell me where the closest police station is?”

“Sure, it’s about two blocks from here. I can walk you there if you don’t mind I mean.” Taemin backtracks with wide eyes. “I mean, it’s getting late and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I would like that,” Iris says with an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Taemin.”

Taemin offers his arm as they descend the stairs. Iris hesitantly holds it with one hand and the rail with the other. Together, they take their time to not slip on the slippery stairs. When they step onto the street, Taemin places a gentle hand over hers as he guides her in the direction of the police station.

“Where are you from?” Taemin asks, his eyes shifting from her back to the sidewalk ahead.

“Is it that easy to tell?”

Taemin shrugs. “You pronounce some words funny, other than that I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

Iris feels her face grow warmer. Her body presses closer to Taemin’s as the crowd multiplies, her hand grips his arm tighter in fear of losing him in the crowd.

A wave of sadness washes over her as she thinks about the many walks she and Minho would take. She remembers the feeling of the sun shining on her face as she gazed up at him whenever he talked. To her, nothing in the world was more important than Minho and the words he would say. His wise and vivid words would paint her a picture of different perspectives and stories that she never thought about. At night, she would beg him to tell her a story to which he happily obliged. Those days, though not too long ago, seem so far away now.

“I’m from Philadelphia. I studied Korean since I was young and found a love for the language. So, I took a job as a translator.”

“Is that how you met Minho?”

Iris nods with a vague smile. She paints a story of the first time meeting Minho. He was an innocent and wide-eyed junior partner at an architecture firm trying to close an important deal. They met briefly before a meeting where she acted as a translator between him and an American firm. He treated her to sweet rice cakes after the meeting as an appreciation gift. Soon, they would bump into each other more often in the tall office building and began a friendship. Within a few months, they were a couple and madly in love with one another.

“Wow,” Taemin whispers. “Your life is like a drama.”

Iris shakes her head and looks around her. Her eyes immediately fall on the couples she and Taemin pass. She wonders what their lives were like behind closed doors. Did they feel heartbroken like her? Or did they live happily with one another? Her eyes slightly lower as she sinks herself into her thoughts. Taemin looks over at Iris, her serious expression burns an image in his mind - an image he wishes he could erase. For Taemin, he wishes he could erase all pain from the world. They walk another half block in silence until they reach a large white stone building with a police crest placed above the columns.

“We’re here,” Taemin gently says. His voice brings Iris back to reality as she stares at the building.

Iris swiftly slides her hand from Taemin’s possession and digs in her purse, bringing out a pen and piece of paper. “Will you call me if you find out anything? Even the smallest thing would be a lot of help.”

She secretly places a piece of paper in Taemin’s hand with hopeful eyes. Taemin grips the paper tightly in his hand and nods. His honest eyes make Iris smile before slightly nodding and walking through the automatic doors. Before she disappears completely, Iris turns back to Taemin. His thumbs-up gives her confidence as she mirrors his action before disappearing from his sight.

The clicking of the clock mounted on the cement wall mocks Iris with each passing second. Her hands tightly grip her purse in her lap as she stares at the detective perched behind his desk. His eyes study the picture before pinching the bridge of his nose and sliding the paper back to Iris.

“You made a fuss because your boyfriend is missing?” The detective irritatingly asks. He scoffs when Iris nods. “Look, lady, we have more important cases to solve.”

“He’s a human, is he not? What if something happened to him?” Iris trails off before swallowing her words. The thought of Minho hurt, or dead, makes her stomach churn.

The detective mumbles something to himself before looking up to the ceiling as if he’s pleading with God to have mercy on him. “You said yourself that there’s activity on his bank account, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then it’s probably just a case of cold feet. We see this all the time with young lovers.”

“You mean Minho was afraid of getting serious and decided to leave without a word?” The detective nods. Iris scoffs at his response causing him to look at her with raised eyebrows. “Minho is the same one that calls me to ask what kind of bread to buy or to tell me of a new flavor of ice cream at our local parlor and you tell me to not worry about not hearing from him because he ‘got cold feet’?”

The slight raise in Iris’s voice makes the detective stand to his feet. His irritated eyes and red ears make Iris feel like David standing in the shadow of Goliath. She swallows back her words.

“Exactly. Do you know how many reports like yours we get about missing lovers only for them to be found with a mistress? Too many! We have too many more important cases to worry about than a runaway love.”

Iris’s nostrils flare under the detective's annoyance. She rises to her feet, her lowered eyes burning a hole through the detective’s forehead.

“You don’t want to take the case? Fine. But if he shows up dead or injured, it’ll be your fucking head and career.” She hisses through gritted teeth. Her harshness makes the detective lean back a little.

Iris sneers at the detective and takes the paper before walking out the door, slamming it shut. Tears of anger well in her eyes, stinging them as she quickly brushes past people until she steps out onto the top of the stairs. The cool night breeze soothes her face as gazes at the cloudy sky. A lump forms in her throat - she wants to cry, scream, and laugh. So many complicated emotions swirl within her until the sound of her name stills everything.

“Miss. Young?”

Iris turns towards the voice and comes face-to-face with a young gentleman sporting a police jacket and dark-colored slacks. When he straightens his posture, he stands at the same height as Taemin. He takes a moment to catch his breath before giving a bashful smile.

“I’m Detective Lee. I couldn’t help but hear about your report, and I wanted to help.”

Iris’s eyebrows furrow as she leans in closer. His voice, though soft, is deep and soothing. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

Detective Lee ponders her question for a moment before ultimately shaking his head. “Not unless someone gets really injured or dies. If I get a complaint, I’ll get a slap on the wrist.”

“But don’t you have more important cases? Why would you help me?”

Detective Lee glances around before gently pulling Iris to the side. “My sister’s ex-boyfriend also did the same thing yours is doing. I remember the many nights of crying she did and what it did to her. I wish I could’ve done something. So when I heard your story, I thought this was my chance to help.”

Iris nods, understanding Detective Lee’s motive. “I would really appreciate it, Detective Lee.”

“Please, call me Jinki. I don’t like the whole formal thing.”

“Iris,” she responds, nodding slightly at him “Why did you join the police force if you don’t like formality?”

“Helping others beats formality,” Jinki smiles. He looks at the paper in Iris’s hand and takes out his phone. “May I?”

Nodding, Iris hands Jinki the picture and watches him take a picture of the flyer. With a few quick taps, he places the phone back in his pocket and hands the picture back to Iris.

“I think we should get started as soon as possible. How about we meet at 6v6 Cafe at 9 p.m.?”

Iris glances at her watch and gives Jinki an appreciative nod followed by a deep bow. “I’ll be there.”

The night air turns humid as the rain clouds above disperse, revealing the stars. The streets are filled with even more people as the city truly comes to life. What was it about the night that made people come alive? Does the darkness give an illusion that what they do and enjoy will be unknown? Is there less judgment as the night gives everyone permission to indulge in themselves? But even what’s done in the dark must come to the light. You cannot live in darkness for the rest of your life, eventually, you yearn for the sweet kisses of freedom from the sun.

When Iris thinks back on her relationship with Minho, it was plagued with nothing but sunshine, a happier time. Iris approaches 6v6 and peers inside to see all lights off except for the one coming from upstairs. Her heart drops when she reads the closed sign. That crazy detective, she thinks before dropping to sit on the stoop. Her head hangs low as she tightly shuts her eyes, refusing herself to cry because if she cries, she will have to admit that Minho is truly gone.

The sound of footsteps growing closer to her makes her snap her head up. It takes time for her eyes to clear and adjust to the darkness. A pair of familiar and unfamiliar eyes shine at her.

“Iris! I’m glad you’re here,” Jinki exclaims and holds his hand out to her. He swiftly helps her to her feet and wraps his arm around the young man beside him. “This is Kibum, one of the best hackers I know.”

“What are you talking about?” Kibum scoffs while shrugging his arm from his shoulders. “I’m the best and the only hacker you know.” He turns to Iris and offers a smooth smile. “Nice to meet you, Iris. Let’s catch this lowlife son of a -”

Jinki cuts Kibum off by gently ramming his elbow into his ribs. Kibum’s harsh glance at Jinki softens when he turns his attention back to Iris. He offers an apology while rubbing the area where Jinki’s elbow connected with him. Iris reassures him of no harm. She takes a moment to look Kibum over, his hair is crimped and he’s dressed in a plain white long sleeve shirt, basic dark-washed jeans, with converse. The pair reminds Iris of Minho and his brother. Though Minho bickered with his brother, he would always soften his gaze towards her.

“Shall we go in?” Jinki asks with a bright smile.

“It’s closed,” Iris says, stepping to the side.

Kibum immediately steps up and begins pounding on the door. “Hey! Open up! It’s the police!”

Iris nervously glances at Jinki who gives her a reassuring smile. Kibum’s banging grows louder until a figure descends the stairs. Iris hides behind Kibum. She peeks over his shoulder and recognizes Taemin.

“We’re closed,” Taemin says pointing to the sign.

“I’m not blind,” Kibum scoffs and grabs Jinki’s arm to bring him beside him. “Show him your badge.”

Jinki proudly displays his badge that shimmers in the outside light. “May we come in?”

Taemin’s curious eyes study the two men before landing on Iris. He moves his body slightly to get a better look, wondering if it’s really her. But his curious eyes turn frustrated when Kibum stands in his view and impatiently taps on the glass.

“Hey, stop staring and let us in.”

The sound of the lock unlocking causes Kibum to pull the door open and offer a quick ‘thank you’ before storming up the stairs with Jinki on his heels. Iris steps across the threshold and gives Taemin an apologetic smile. He closes the door behind her and locks it.

“I didn’t know they would be so adamant on meeting here,” she says in a low voice. Her eyes fall to the ground.

Taemin pushes his hands in his front pockets and shrugs his shoulders. “If I can help in any way, I’m happy to do so.” He leans in with a playful smirk pulling on the corners of his mouth. “Even if that means turning this place into a stakeout after hours.”

Taemin’s playful tone makes Iris meet his eyes with a small smile. She giggles low enough for only she and Taemin to hear. Her smile makes him chuckle before nodding towards the stairs.

“Let’s go before they think we abandoned them.”

Taemin places a tray of coffee, creamer, and sugar at the end of the table before taking his place besides Kibum, who whines for him to pass him a mug like an older brother. Taemin sighs heavily before passing him the mug. Before Iris can blink, Kibum and Taemin begin bickering like brothers. She can’t help but smile at the memory of Minho bickering with his brother out of love. When Minho’s face flashes before her eyes, the corners of her mouth begin to fall, though she tries her best to keep them up.

“Kibum is an only child,” Jinki whispers, leaning close until his shoulder brushes against hers. “So, he has a way of treating those he meets like his brothers and sisters.”

Iris nods at Jinki’s comment. As an only child herself, she wishes she had a brother or sister, someone she can run to and fall back on. To her, the relationship of siblings goes beyond blood, so even if she doesn’t have one by the grace of biology, she can have one through a deeper connection.

“Alright you two, let’s get to business.”

The boys settle down at the sound of Jinki’s authoritative voice. Even Iris fixes her posture. Pleased with himself, Jinki turns to Iris with soft eyes.

“Iris, tell us what happened from the beginning to now.”

Iris holds her hands together under the table and shifts in her seat. The thought of Minho’s disappearance makes her expression fall. Her eyes tightly close as she recounts the past two weeks. All of the boys listen attentively, nodding along with her story. When she gets to the end, she can’t bring herself to open her eyes to see their empathetic gazes. Behind her lids, a flood of tears breaks free as she brings her hands to cover her face. Her sobs seem to still the room as everything goes silent. For a moment, she feels alone until she feels warmth surrounding her. Arms wrap themselves around her from the sides and behind.

“It’s okay,” Jinki soothingly whispers, his hands rubbing her arm in a nurturing manner.

Iris takes a deep breath and looks at all the boys. Taemin gently strokes her hair and gives her a reassuring smile while Kibum promises to kick Minho in the balls when they find him. Kibum’s comment makes Iris burst into laughter and gently nudge him away. Kibum softly pokes her cheek before he and Taemin go back to their seats.

“Alright, this is what I’m thinking,” Jinki begins. He stands to his feet and places a hand on his hip while the other relaxes on his chin. His eyes narrow as he sinks deep in thought. “We need to begin somewhere. Iris, you give Kibum all of the information you have on Minho, even the sensitive stuff like phone number, bank information, social media, and so on. Taemin, you keep a lookout for Minho, keep a picture behind the counter so your workers can be on the lookout too. I will look into the system and see if I can get any additional information on him. And Iris," his softened expression lands on Iris's face, "if he contacts you or if you remember anything, even the smallest thing, give either Kibum or me a call.”

Everyone nods and Jinki’s plan. Taemin gives Iris a pen and a piece of paper and watches her scribble down all of the information she can think of. He notices her hesitancy and hand trembling before she gives the paper to Kibum. Iris watches Kibum’s eyes move across the paper before looking at Taemin and Jinki with worried eyes.

“What kind of guy doesn’t have personal social media?” Kibum asks under his breath. He slightly sucks his teeth before locking eyes with Iris. “We’ll get him. I promise.”

Kibum’s stern promise makes Iris exhale in relief. The determination in his eyes and strength in his voice brings hope to a place that seemed hopeless. Jinki and Taemin also promise to catch Minho, their voices filled with the same determination as Kibum’s. The overwhelming support brings a smile to Iris’s face. Standing to her feet, she welcomes the boys into her open arms, wrapping them around their broad shoulders the best she can.

“Thanks, you guys,” she whispers. “I mean it.”

Sunlight blankets the city in warmth, its rays bouncing off the windows of the towering buildings. Joyous chatter and laughter fill the streets as people flock to outdoor venues and linger outside a little longer before reaching their destination. The early spring weather makes Iris forget her problems for a moment. She tilts her face slightly towards the sun and walks a little slower, enjoying the beauty of nature that surrounds her.

When she left the hotel this morning, there was no destination in her mind. She would walk until she couldn’t any longer she told herself. The fresh air and bright sunlight drive her drowsiness and clouded mind away. But no matter how far she walks, the image of Minho possibly hurt or dead swirls in her mind. She heaves a sigh at the images haunting her mind and quickens her pace. Within a few minutes, her feet lead her to a familiar street. Her eyes widen at the ‘6v6’ sign hanging from the side of a building. She hesitates for a moment, rocking back and forth on her feet, fighting with herself whether or not she should go in.

The familiar scents of the cafe welcome Iris as she ascends the stairs. Her fingers slide on the rail beside her, tapping it every now and then out of nervousness. The sunlight brightens the room giving it an ethereal feel. She stands in the doorway, looking around for a familiar face. She feels herself about to turn around to leave when she meets the friendly gaze of Taemin. He offers a small smile before placing two mugs at a table he was serving. He straightens his back and motions for Iris to come to the counter.

“You’re back,” Taemin beams when Iris approaches the counter. “I’m glad you’re here. I want you to meet someone.”

Taemin calls for a server to take his place before inviting Iris behind the counter. Feeling her hesitancy, he gently holds her wrist and guides her through the double doors that lead to a small hallway. He knocks on a door opposite the employee bathroom and enters. A young man sitting on a cushioned stool playing a game on his phone perks his head up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes land on Iris before looking to Taemin.

“Iris, this is my brother, Taesun,” Taemin says. “I figured maybe he could be of some help since he’s here on the days I’m not.” He redirects his attention towards his brother. “This is Iris.”

Taesun sets his phone down and rushes to the two and shakes Iris’s hand. “Taemin explained the situation to me. I can try to help. Do you have a picture?”

“You didn’t get my text?” Taemin quickly asks before Iris can open her mouth. “I told you I printed out his picture and they’re on the desk in the drawer.”

Taesun’s eyebrow raises as he rushes to the desk. He pulls open a couple drawers before holding up a sheet of paper. He gives his brother an apologetic smile. Shaking his head, Taemin mumbles inaudibly under his breath.

“Choi Minho,” Taesun reads to himself before looking towards a nervous Iris. “The name is familiar, but I can’t make out the face. Normally, the Minho that comes in wears a mask and cap. It’s even hard to see his eyes.”

Iris’s face drops a little before thanking Taesun for his help.

“We’ll keep the picture behind the counter,” Taemin says, his voice gentle and low.

An appreciative smile spreads on Iris’s face as she thanks the brothers for their help. Stepping onto the street, a helpless sigh pushes past her lips as she leans against the side of the building. Her fingers twitch before reaching for her phone. The sight of Minho’s contact makes her heart pound as her thumb hovers over the call button. What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he does pick up? What if someone else picks up? she repeatedly thinks to herself. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses the button. Her hand tightly grips the phone against her ear. Expecting to hear a series of rings, she bites the inside of her lip when she’s met with a robotic message saying the person she is trying to reach is not accepting any calls at the moment. Her heart drops as she slides down the wall, shock paralyzes her body as she zones out. Some people give her a strange look while whispering to their friends. The figure of someone standing in front of her makes her gaze towards the figure’s face. She blinks to adjust her sight against the beaming sun and recognizes the figure as Taesun. Tears well in her eyes as her bottom lip begins to quiver.

“He blocked me,” her voice trembles while Taesun helps her to her feet. “How did you find me.”

Taesun points to the cameras on the side of the building. “I saw you sit next to the stoop and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Iris pauses for a moment before nodding. “I’ll be okay. I’m just going to lie down. Thank you for your concern.”

Iris turns and begins walking away before Taesun has a chance to say anything. He watches her disappear into the crowd. Silently, he prays she finds answers to her question or else they will destroy her, eating her from the inside until she’s empty.

The darkness of the hotel room brings a sort of peace to Iris as she lies in bed, the covers lying over her head as she holds a pillow close to her chest. She tosses and turns when her mind deceives her, making her think the pillow is Minho by playing once fond memories like a movie. She sits up and tosses the pillow to the ground and hugs her knees. Each breath burns as she fails to control her sobs. Her fingertips press firmly into her skin while she shakes her head, trying her best to rid her mind of Minho. Is this worth the pain? she wonders.

The sound of familiar pounding makes Iris jump. For a moment, she stays still, afraid to move until she hears the whine of Kibum begging her to let him in. Walking to the door, she quickly wipes her tears away on her sleeves. Her hand rests on the doorknob as she takes a deep breath before opening the door to see Jinki, Kibum, and Taemin. Taemin’s bright eyes turn sad when he sees you.

“What are you guys doing here?” She asks in shock. “And how did you know I was here?”

“You weren’t answering our calls, so we got worried,” Kibum says.

“And I may have looked into your bank activity to see which hotel you were staying at and used my power to find out your room number,” Jinki adds.

Taemin throws his hands up in defense. “They dragged me here.”

Iris opens the door more to allow them inside. Kibum goes in first and quickly sets his computer up while Jinki and Taemin file in behind him and take a seat on the couch and chairs. Iris sighs before taking a seat next to Kibum.

“He blocked me,” she says suddenly, her eyes fixated on the floor. “Is it really worth all this trouble? He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me anymore.”

The room falls silent with exception of the light hum from Kibum’s laptop and the air conditioner. Afraid to look up, Iris rises from the couch and goes to open the curtain to reveal the city skyline. The night allows the lights to shine brighter than the stars.

“Iris,” Taemin softly begins. “I think it’s worth a shot to actually talk to him. If nothing else, it’ll give you closure so you won’t have to ask any more questions or think about the what-ifs.”

“He’s right,” Kibum adds. “He’s an asshole that left you and you deserve to have your answers.”

Jinki nods in agreement. Iris chews on the inside of her cheek, her mind pulling in numerous directions. Scenarios race through her mind making her close her eyes tight. Is it worth it? she asks herself. It is.

She turns to face the boys with a rejuvenated determination in her eyes. “What do you guys have?”

Taken aback by her sudden determination, Kibum begins typing on his computer until Taemin hands him a USB.

“My brother got footage from our surveillance cameras and thought this could be of some help.”

“What’s on it?” Kibums asks.

“A customer named Minho getting into his car. He says he wasn’t able to see his face but managed to view the cameras and spot him going to his car. There’s a license plate visible, so maybe that could help.”

Kibum thinks for a moment before his eyes open in realization. He quickly gets to work, his eyebrows furrowing while his eyes dart back and forth against the screen. The others lean in towards him in curiosity when he curses under his breath and leans back a little.

“Jinki,” Kibum says while writing a set of numbers on a piece of paper before handing it to him. “Check to see who these identity numbers belong to.”

Jinki asks no questions and takes the paper and his phone to the bathroom. Iris goes to sit beside Kibum with Taemin bringing his chair closer.

“What’s going on?” Iris asks.

Kibum shakes his head. “I don’t want to say anything until I’m certain. When Jinki comes back, that’ll decide if I tell you.”

Iris and Taemin exchange weary looks. She rises to her feet and takes her place by the window again. She nervously chews on the tip of her thumb as she hides within her thoughts. Death no longer terrifies her, but the thought of Minho alive and possibly well strikes fear in her heart. Which was worse - Minho being dead or him being alive and well after he disappeared?

It feels like an eternity before Jinki exits the bathroom. His lowered eyes make Kibum sit up straight. He takes his original seat and calls Iris back to the couch. He exchanges no words except for a slight nod towards Kibum, who opens his laptop.

“Well,” Kibum clears his throat before taking a moment to find the right words to say. “Let’s start from the beginning. Jinki and I have been working together to compare our findings. I was able to pinpoint his location in Seoul based on his recent bank activities, which have huge amounts taken out every few days. I looked into his records and found he’s in a luxury apartment complex not far from 6v6 Cafe - it looks like he’s had it for the past year. Jinki managed to get his address and we can confirm our findings are the same. I noticed he’s been leasing a car, so when Taemin gave me the footage from the cafe’s surveillance, it matched the description. But, that’s not it,” Kibum trails off, his eyes uneasy. Iris, Jinki, and Taemin lean forward. The trio press Kibum for answers to his findings. “There’s another woman. I managed to look into her social media, email, and other accounts and -”

“Spit it out, Kibum,” Iris breathlessly says.

“According to her and her private messages, she’s pregnant.”

The world stops rotating and begins to close in on Iris. Her heart beats faster while it feels as if life has its foot on her neck, restricting her airflow. Her nails press into her palms as she tightly balls her fists. She hears the boys talking, but it sounds like white noise. A baby, she thinks.

“A baby?” She repeats aloud. She opens her mouth to speak again, but nothing comes out.

“We have the address,” Jinki slowly says. “You can do what you want with it. Just think it through before you decide anything.”

He slides the piece of paper across the coffee table and gives Kibum and Taemin a sorrowful glance. Iris takes the address and looks it over. She closes her eyes tightly only to be met with images of Minho lying with this unknown woman. The way he cared for her, praising her body with sweet words and gentle touches, these things that were supposed to be reserved for her were being used on another woman. How long has this been going on? Iris thinks.

“When did they first begin talking?” She indirectly asks Kibum.

“Iris, I don’t think -”

“When did they first begin talking?!”

The sound of her raised voice brings a heavy sigh from Kibum’s core. “For the past year and a half.”

Iris sadly chuckles to herself while shaking her head. Is this why you stopped talking about marriage? she wonders. Her thumb rubs over the address’s indent from Jinki’s writing.

“Will you guys come with me tomorrow?”

“Are you sure?” Taemin softly asks. His gentle eyes watch Iris’s face soften and her eyes well with tears.

Iris nods. “If I’m going to go on with my life as he has, I need closure.”

Iris’s fingers nervously tap the top of her legs. The sound of moving traffic fills the car’s silence. Being so close to the building that fueled her lover’s betrayal makes the pit of her stomach drop. She looks at the towering building before looking at the clock on the dashboard - 10 minutes have already gone by. The longer she waits, the more nerves come to paralyze her. She looks at the three boys in the car - Jinki in the driver’s seat, Kibum busy with his laptop in the passenger seat, and Taemin humming to himself beside her.

Iris begins to think about Minho and the love they once shared; the promises that they made; and the betrayal that’s fallen upon them. Then she thinks about her life, what will she make of it when everything is over? Will she dwell on what could have been with Minho or will she begin to heal and enjoy the life that is ahead of her. She takes a breath and places her hand on the door handle. With a swift movement, she exits the car and quickly walks towards the building. Remembering the code Kibum gave her on the ride over, she enters the pin into the keypad and enters the building.

The modern and futuristic furnishings decorate the lobby and hallway. For a brief moment, she stares in awe at its beauty before heading towards the elevators. As the elevator ascends, she looks out the glass windows that show the busy city. Her heart aches at the realization of Minho's promise of a home with a view of Seoul. ‘One day, we’ll own a place in the sky.’ Yeah right, she thinks.

The doors to the elevator open. A tall figure stands at the entrance busy on their phone. When they step into the elevator, their eyes widen in surprise.

“Iris?”

Iris looks up from the piece of paper Jinki gave her and stops in her tracks. Her eyes widen at the view of Minho, dressed in a tailored suit with hair parted on the side with half gelled back. They don’t exchange words for a moment, both searching for words to say to one another. The look of surprise in Minho’s eyes turns to anger as he steps into the elevator and presses the ‘lobby’ button. He doesn’t bother to say a word to Iris the way down, and she can’t find the words to say. When the doors open, his hand wraps around her wrist as he pulls her towards an empty conference room. The touch that was once warm now stung her skin with its coldness. He locks the door behind them and begins to pace the room.

“What are you doing here?” He lowly asks, his eyes facing a wall. When Iris doesn’t answer he turns to her and asks the question again in a stern tone.

“You left,” she finally says. “I thought something happened to you. I’ve been worried sick and you’re upset at me? Why, Minho? Just why?”

“Because there are things you will never understand.”

“When did you stop loving me? Was it when you met that girl?”

Minho stays silent.

“Who is she anyway?” The silence from Minho makes Iris frustrated as she raises her voice to ask her question again.

“Her name is Heejin. We met at a company party in Seoul. She supported my ideas and dreams -”

“And I didn’t?” Iris interjects with hurt lacing her voice. “Minho, I’ve been by your side.”

“You had your own dreams and when I needed you, you weren’t there.”

Iris balls her fists and feels her nails press deeply in her palms. “I wasn’t there? I helped you prepare your pitches, I helped you in meetings as your translator, I did things I regret to get information for you so you could get ahead and I wasn’t there for you?! A relationship isn’t a one-way street, Minho. You need help from both sides and though I lacked in some places, I wasn’t completely absent from your dreams.”

Minho opens his mouth to say something but closes it back. He looks away from Iris and falls into a chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Did you plan all of this?” Iris quietly asks. “Did you plan on moving in together and having a child and leaving me behind?”

The harshness of her words causes Minho to flinch. The severity of his actions being spewed towards him makes him heavily sigh. He remains quiet, having no excuse for his actions. He’s been conscious of his affair and continued to toy Iris along, even if it meant her getting hurt. But there was something about Heejin that pulled him in and trapped him. Each hour with Heejin erased Iris from his mind, and he never remembered her until he came home or her name popped up on his phone. It’s true, he was done with her, but the sight of her face makes memories of happier times rush back to his mind.

“Nothing was planned. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“So, you did want it to end,” Iris says. She looks at Minho who averts his eyes to the floor, afraid to face the person he hurt most. “I just came here to get an answer, and now your silence is deafening. Good-bye, Minho.”

Iris turns towards the door and places her hand on the handle. The urge to turn back and lay her eyes one more time on Minho exits her mind as she yanks the door open and walks out the room. The heaviness and anxiousness that’s been sitting on her chest lifts when she walks out of the building and to the car. All of the boys give her a curious look while she settles in her seat. She exhales deeply and gives them a smile to which they return.

“Where to?” Jinki asks, his eyes looking at her through the rearview mirror.

Iris looks at the setting sun and softly smiles. “Han River.”

The gentle breeze carries the delicious aroma of street food throughout the area. Jinki, Kibum, Iris, and Taemin lean against the rails of the river, watching the sun paint the water in hues of orange and gold.

“You know,” Kibum says while tilting his face towards the setting sun. “Maybe we should open our own P.I. firm. Jinki can be the orchestrator, I can be the brains, Taemin can be the lookout, and Iris can be the muscle.”

“How do you know if I can fight?” Iris asks.

Kibum shrugs. “You don’t have to physically hurt them. You can use your words.”

Everyone laughs at Kibum’s suggestion while he continues to pitch his idea.

“Are you going home?” Taemin asks, turning towards Iris. The warm hues of the sun paint his face gold.

“Only until I find somewhere else to go. There’re too many memories back home.”

“Hello!” Kibum says with his arms raised. “Come to Seoul! You can’t move far away from us after all we’ve been through.”

Iris laughs at Kibum’s dramatic gesture and promises to give it some thought. The look of satisfaction on his face causes her to smile before trying to wrap her arms around all three of the boys.

“Let’s promise to meet at the cafe every month,” Jinki smiles. “As Kibum said, we didn’t go through all of this for nothing.”

Holding out his pinky, everyone wraps theirs around his. The sound of the boys’ laughter brings a wide smile to Iris’s face. When she came to Seoul, terrified of what could have happened to Minho, she didn’t expect to not only get her heartbroken but begin three new friendships. What the future holds for her, she doesn’t know, but with friends like Jinki, Kibum, and Taemin by her side, she can find herself looking for happiness in them when darkness nears.

#shinee angst #kpop angst #shinee scenarios #kpop scenarios #shinee imagines #kpop imagines #shinee imagine #kpop scenario #SHINee FanFic #kpop fanfic #SHINee fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #angst scenario #angst scenarios

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davidcampiti · 3 years

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A SCREENPLAY IS NOT A COMIC BOOK SCRIPT

I'm frustrated by writers who hire a comicbook artist then send a screenplay as their script. My first question to them is, "Are you hiring one of our writers to adapt this into a comic book script?" Usually they'll respond, "No that's the script to work from."

But it's not.

Word balloons aren't broken out or numbered, SFX aren't identified, the pacing is wrong, and most panel descriptions are missing, causing the artist and the editor to do twice as much work without a corresponding increase in pay.

Here's a good article from Nick Macari about the differences --

I think you’d be hard pressed to find some work of fiction, some type of writing, that you could NOT turn into a comic. That is to say, you could create a comic from notes on bar napkins, a published novel, heck I bet you could even create a comic using nothing but a movie as the source material.

If you’re making a comic yourself, like literally by yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you do it… only the final product matters. If you have some crazy process that gets you a beautiful finished product, good on ya mate.

But for those writing spec scripts, trying to write for others, or trying to entice others to their project, it pays to create scripts that open doors instead of closing them.

In 2020, there are a million writers writing screenplays and pawning them off as comic scripts.

If you want to be one of those guys… as you were.

But if you actually want to write comics, if you want to be a comic book writer, you should learn how to write an actual comic book script, not how to sell some other script as one.

There are lot of useful technique comics can borrow from screenplays.

For the innocent novice writer, it’s understandable to see some technical execution confusion. But for working and professional writers, knowing what transfers over and what doesn’t separates the riff from the raff.

Before we get into it, let’s put to bed, once and for all, why a straight screenplay script is not a comic script. Here’s why;

Director Production Designer Art Director Costume Designer Cinematographer … Camera Assistant Director of Photography Scenic Artist Set Decorator Storyboard artist … Makeup artist Wardrobe stylist Assistant Director Production Assistant Production Coordinator Production Designer … Script Supervisor Sound Mixer Special Effects Coordinator

oh yeah, and actors.

These are a few of the people involved in a film.

Individual roles dedicated to a specific area of production. In essence, a screenplay can deliver fairly minimal information and it’s someone’s specific job to interpret that information, its context, and otherwise apply their knowledge, experience and skill, to turn that information into some tangible, successful element.

If you think it’s the artist’s job to fill all these roles, you’re crazy… and mean to artists.

Ok, you still here?

Good.

Let’s showcase some specific examples of why a screenplay doesn’t hold up for comics;

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Drug Dealer I don’t…

Doyle Ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer What?

Doyle Did you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.

Doyle Were you ever in Poughkeepsie?

Drug Dealer No… yeah…

Doyle Did you ever sit on the edge of a bed, take off your socks and stick your fingers between your toes?

Drug Dealer Man, I’m clean.

Doyle You made three sales to your roaches back there. We had to chase you though all this shit and you tell me you’re clean?

Russo Who stuck up the laundromat?

Doyle How about that time you were picking your feet in Pougheepsie?

The drug dealers’ eyes go to Russo in panic, looking for the relief from the pressure of the inquisition.

Russo (in pain) You better give me the guy who got the old Jew or you better give me something or you’re just a memory in this town.

Drug Dealer That’s a lot o’ shit. I didn’t do nothin’.

14 dialogue exchanges, with for all intents and purposes not a single visual description (one minor one toward the end about the dealer’s eyes.). This is likely at least one page of comic with this volume of exchanges and dialogue, and there is literally, nothing cuing the artist as to how this should go down.

THE FRENCH CONNECTION

Mutchie

That’s right, he couldn’t fight legit. One night at the Garden about 1950, ’51—he fought either Jake LaMotta or Gus Lesnevish, I think it was—he took one o’those cream puff punches in the sixth—the laziest left you ever seen—missed him entirely. Down goes Blackjack without even workin’ up a sweat and the whole Garden gets up on its feet and I swear to Christ, everybody starts singin’ “Dance with Me Henry.”

75 words. Way too much for a single panel.

How many ways can you break the dialogue into how many panels?

Is one way to break it up more effective than the others?

Because if it is, and that’s NOT the method you write up, you’re producing a less effective script.

But ultimately, what works in film as a 30 second monologue (doesn’t work in comics), would be far more effective as caption narration over flashback action.

THE EXORCIST

EXTERIOR – IRAQ- NINEVEH- DAY

The old man arrives back at that dig site in a small jeep. As he pulls up two armed guards rush out. When they see who it is the old man gives them a wave and they slowly walk back to there quarters. The old man walks up the rocky mound and sees a huge statue of the demon Pazuzu, which has the head of the small rock he earlier found. He climbs to a higher point to get a closer look. When he reaches the highest point he looks at the statue dead on. He then turns his head as we hear rocks falling and sees a guard standing behind him. He then turns again when he hears two dogs savagely attacking each other. The noise is something of an evil nature. He looks again at the statue and we are then presented with a classic stand off side view of the old man and the statue as the noises rage on. We then fade to the sun slowly setting as the noises lower in volume.

Hey! this has some nice direction, this screenplay stuff is perfect for a comic.

NO.

Let’s break it down;

This passage is 15 beats, give or take. One beat a panel, 3-5 panels per page, we’ve got 3-5 pages of comic in this passage alone.

Hang on we’re not done.

If you fill your page with this type of description (you shouldn’t, but let’s say you did), you could get almost double that amount of beats. So one page of screenplay delivering nearly 6-10 pages of comic content!

Tell me, when was the last time someone delivering a screenplay “comic script,” delivered a 2 page script for a complete issue? Never says I.

BONUS on this example:

Did y’all notice the soundtrack emphasis in this excerpt from the Exorcist script? Of course you can have sound effects in a comic, but no matter how you crack it, comics DO NOT have soundtracks. Relying on film soundtracks in a comic script is a sure fire way to deliver less effective scripts.

BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

WANG Forget about your truck, Jack. You don’t wanna go back there. You’ll have to go through the Wing Kong to get it. It’s insured, right?

JACK Of course it is. But that’s not the point.

WANG The smart man comes back for it later…

JACK The smart man calls the cops!

WANG Cops have better things to do than get killed.

We showed the typical lack of visual description a screenplay gives in the first example. [Screenplays tend to focus on the scene setup, then briefly hit key actions of the scene.] Here we have another example of missing visual description, but I point it out for something more specific–LACK OF EMOTIONAL context.

As I point out in the Writer’s Guide, Emotional content is one of the essential elements of each and every comic panel. So not only do we not have visual cues to support the action in the screenplay, but how are the characters delivering these lines!?

JACK Alright, where’s my truck, Wang? I’m outta here. And my money, too.

How many ways can you say this line?

I can say it pissed. Irritated. Fearful. Sarcastically. Comically. Those are just a few that pop in my head… and I’m no actor.

Leaving emotional context open to interpretation undermines narrative control–in a big way.

A good, effective scene, could die a horrible misinterpreted death.

For the record, you can use parentheticals in a screenplay. This can give emotional context, like the one from Jack’s first line I omitted to make the example more effective

JACK (pissed off)

But where parentheticals do contain emotional context, you use them in a script sparingly. Just like you don’t tell the director how to do his job filling your screenplay with camera direction, you don’t try to tell the actors how to do theirs. (Remember, the answer to why Screenplays aren’t Comic Scripts, there’s a lot of people, hopefully professionals, bringing their expertise to the table.)

CASABLANCA

Ilsa Your secret will be safe with me. Ferrari is waiting for our answer.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ferrari Not more than fifty francs though.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo We’ve decided, Signor Ferrari. For the president we’ll go on looking for two exit visas. Thank you very much.

Ferrari Well, good luck. But be careful. ( a flick of his eyes in the direction of the bazaar) You know you’re being shadowed.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

Screenplays live in movement. Unless you’ve got a static insert of a letter or photo or something, everything is in motion and there is constant change (even if subtle) from micro-second, to micro-second.

While comics work to capture movement (and there are some tricks), it is ultimately a static medium, locked into showcasing moments frozen in time.

What I explain in the “works in movies not in comics article” is that the constant movement and motion, supported (primarily) by actors, but by the lighting people, the art direction people, director, etc. all gives depth and purpose to every single second of a film.

With all these people doing their job, a screenplay can give super general stage direction, like what we see here in this Casablanca excerpt.

At the bar Ferrari talks to a waiter.

Ilsa and Laszlo walk up to him.

Laszlo glances in the direction of the bazaar.

These trivial actions carry no narrative. They work in film because of performance and motion, which steps in to create narrative.Without performance and motion, a single frame captured from core stage direction translates to ineffective comic panels.

By the way, all the examples I’m giving here, are from solid movies. The big pink elephant in the room when writers deliver “comic screenplay scripts,” is that they assume they know how to write a good screenplay in the first place. Trust me, novice writers rarely do.

There’s a lot of technique and skill in writing a solid screenplay. And if you think a good screenplay causes problems converting to a comic, wait till you try it from a shitty screenplay.

Still thinkin’ screenplay is synonymous with comic script? Well you’re wrong sunshine, but what do I know?

I’m just a non-famous full-time mercenary writer, writing almost exclusively in comics and games for a decade or so. :p

I’ve spent a few hours writing this article, but there are plenty of other examples I haven’t touched on.

I’ll come back and add some more as I think of them in my down time. Maybe eventually when the list is so long it takes you a couple hours to read this article, y’all get it through your noggins that comics are there own medium which demand the attention and respect of a unique format and writing approach. Something the comic book writers reading this, already know. #justsayin

About the Author — Nick Macari is a full-time freelance story consultant, developmental editor and writer, working primarily in the independent gaming and comic markets. His first published comic appeared on shelves via Diamond in the late 90’s. Today you can find his comic work on comixology, amazon and in select stores around the U.S. Visit NickMacari.com for social media contacts and news on his latest releases.

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autisticsupervillain · 3 years

Text

The Macabre Madame Megido

Here it is. My take on an Evil Aradia. Get cozy, it's a long one.

Oh, Aradia. Everyone's favorite chaos loving time goddess.

I'm going to have to take a different approach to Aradia then I did with John and Karkat. Out the three big bads I've created so far, Aradia has probably coped best with everything that has happened to her. She still has a lot of the same light in her eyes and she's able to accept her tragic past as a part of her. It certainly helps that the loved ones she's lost along the way came back to life, which is more than can be said about John and Karkat.

Simply digging open old wounds and then hammering in the nails in won't cut it this time. So, here's a different method...

After the creation of Earth C, Aradia distances herself from the rest of the cast somewhat. Not for any angsty reasons, mind you. It's just that, aside from Sollux, she isn't especially close to any of the people who made it to Earth C. Instead, she dedicates herself towards serving as a grim reaper of sorts. She seeks out the recently deceased in the dreambubbles and works to guide them through the afterlife, helping them come to grips with their death and work through their grief.

When she isn't doing that, she's hanging out with Sollux. Playing video games, talking shit, and making sure Sollux gets out of the house and doesn't waste away into his couch. It all settles into a nice little routine.

...Which she eventually gets bored of.

Aradia is an adventurer at heart. Yes, this happily ever after is nice. It's nice to finally live somewhere peaceful. It's nice to finally kick back and relax. It's so damn nice to not get yanked around by fate anymore. But, it's not in her nature to sit around and do nothing.

So, she grabs Sollux and drags him with her to the dreambubbles, intent on discovering her next adventure.

In time, she discovers it. Whispers echoing across Paradox Space of a mysterious artifact that reveals to its holder one absolute truth. That reveals one small part of how Paradox Space operates and puts its user one-step closer to absolute understanding of the nature of Paradox Space before vanishing to be found again by some other adventurer. They call it The Scroll of Secrets.

Aradia can't resist that challenge and Sollux knows damn well that he couldn't talk her down even if he wanted too.

Aradia and Sollux spend the next few years searching for this artifact. Investigating rumors, running into dead ends, and chasing desperate leads. In the end, it takes a bit of reasoning to figure out the truth. Aradia reasons that something that freely reveals cosmic secrets of that caliber would most likely belong to a Lord of Light, so they'd just have to find one and steal it from them. Sollux points out that stealing from someone who is both nigh-omniscient and nigh-omnipotent is likely to go horribly, but Aradia has an idea.

A Muse of Void would be the Masterclass that passively hides things. As such, even the barest influence of a Muse of Void should be enough to hide them from the Lord's sight, so long as he isn't actively looking for them. Just learning the name of a Muse should be influence enough to keep a Lord from seeing them and the only people who would know such a thing are the Horrorterrors. Lickily, Feferi is on good terms with the Horrorterrors and Sollux is on good terms with Feferi.

Aradia and Sollux track down Feferi in the dreambubbles and the three of them catch up. Aradia puts the whole quest thing on hold for awhile so they can catch up and spend some time together. Feferi admits to being weirdly nostalgic for questing with Sollux during their time in SGRUB and is quiet happy to help with their quest. Sollux and Aradia would also be happy to find a way to revive her afterwards, but Feferi asks them to hold on that idea. She's more useful to them dead then alive right now.

A few trolls against impossible odds, just like the good old days!

So, Feferi asks one of the Horrorterrors for the name of a Muse of Void and the three set of to steal from a Lord of Light. Sneak into the Lord's castle, steal the scroll, sneak out. Aradia had to stop herself from nabbing every ancient relic that wasn't nailed down.

The Scroll of Secrets shows the three a horrible truth.

Simply put, history is destined to repeat itself. There must always be a big bad. Some grand villain who will spread chaos across Paradox Space. A villain will rise, causes death and destruction, and will then be defeated by some underdog heroes.

As the scroll vanishes, Sollux grumbles about losing their hard earned happy ending. Feferi optimistically points out that they don't know when the next villain will rise. It could be long after they're all dead. Aradia suggests that they just look for some way to see into the future. That way they could see who the next villain was gonna be and plan accordingly.

While the Lord of Light would likely have something that would let them view the future, trying to steal from him again would be stupid. So, they instead decide to try their luck with his opposite. A Muse of Light would be able to grant them this level of precognition, the only issue was finding one. Luckily, Feferi had them covered. She just asked Horrorterrors to point them in the direction of the nearest Muse of Light.

The Muse is actually quite impressed that they managed to steal from a Lord of Light and finds Aradia to be quite the interesting conversational partner. She’s able to keep up with all the meta-narrative mumbo jumbo and her rebellious attitude provides a breath of fresh air for the Muse. So, the Muse agrees to give Aradia the future sight she needs.

Aradia looks into the future to find that she’s destined to be the next main villain.

She sees herself reclining in a large throne draped in shadow.

She sees herself floating in the sky as Earth C burns.

She sees herself staring down at the golden blood on her hands.

Aradia is taken aback briefly… but she quickly brushes it off. Aradia is used to being toyed with by fate by now and, more importantly, she has an out here.

Remember, John has Retcon Powers. He exists outside the typical rules of Paradox Space. If anyone could feasibly help them deny fate here, it’s him.

So, Aradia thanks the Muse for her time and she and Sollux head to visit John (Feferi can’t really join them, as she’s still dead and, thus, confined to the dreambubbles). They explain their situation and Aradia reveals her plan. Have John teleport her over to the Retcon Juju before John himself picked it up so she can collect it. The Retcon Powers would then allow Aradia to exist outside the laws of Paradox Space and keep her from turning evil per what fate had intended.

While that does sidestep the issue, Sollux cynically points out that now someone else would become the next villain. Aradia hadn’t so much solved the issue as she had handed off the “become the next villain” problem to someone else. They’re still likely to lose their happy ending.

So, Aradia, Sollux, and John meet back up with Feferi to discuss their next move. John brings up how Lord English seemed to be able to influence fate and the plot somewhat at the peak of his power, which he noticed while fighting him. Sollux cynically remarks that imitating Lord English is the very thing they were trying to avoid and Aradia kinda agrees. Aradia feels that she doesn’t really want to control the narrative. She wants to destroy it.

Think about it. Nothing suggests that they need a narrative to exist. Even if they were to operate under the assumption that they are fictional characters, they still wouldn’t need a narrative. Minecraft is a game with no narrative. No story. No plot. But characters still go about their lives within it. Villagers still live their daily lives, mobs still exist, and players still build things. All destroying the narrative would do is give them control over their lives.

John agrees with the idea, he felt he got dicked around by the plot a lot too before he got the Retcon Powers. Even Sollux admits that the idea would be pretty nice while Feferi just kinda goes along with it. She hasn’t really had the same experiences as the other three, but she trusts their judgement.

But, the same question remains. How are they gonna do it?

The four of them bat some ideas back and forth and this is the plan they come up with:

The Retcon Powers are the only known way to defy the plot and break the rules of the story. So, it makes sense that if they find a way to empower the Retcon Powers, they could be used as a means of destroying the narrative. They’d just need to find a way to do that. Aradia suggests asking a First Guardian, but John laments that Earth C doesn’t have one or, if it does, they haven’t found it yet. While they can time travel, none of them would be able to understand Becquerel and there’s no way they can trust Doc Scratch. Then, Feferi pipes up.

She’d been in the dreambubbles long enough to hear about Beforus and, logically speaking, Beforus would have a First Guardian. While they may not know where that First Guardian is, it’s likely Feferi's Beforus counterpart would. As the Empress, she’d have an interest in keeping tabs on an asset like that. So, the group teleports in to a Doomed Timeline Beforus and explain their situation. Her Everlasting Compassion specifically asks Feferi for proof. Aradia and John promptly demonstrate their God-Tier abilities, proving to the Compassionate that they are in fact Gods from another world.

In the ensuing conversation, HEC continues to only refer to and address Feferi, even occasionally speaking over the rest of the group. The group is quick to get annoyed and Feferi asks her to stop. HEC takes her younger self aside for a private chat, leaving her guards to “watch the lowbloods". Aradia is amused that she thinks the guards can do anything against two Gods and the strongest psionic on Alternia.

The Compassionate asks Feferi why she allows “her lowbloods" to be so mouthy. Feferi is very… put off by how the HEC sees it that way. She asserts that her companions deserve more respect. HEC dismisses this as a case of “agree to disagree" and changes the subject. The HEC promises that she’ll speak with her First Guardian and find a way to empower their Retcon Powers.

Her true intentions are a little more sinister however.

The next night, she has John and Aradia strap themselves into a machine she swears will enhance their powers and even makes a point of apologizing to them for last night. All Sollux has to do is start it up. All seems to be going well… until Sollux hears Aradia’s voice.

He hears Aradia’s voice in his head.

Sollux’s warning gives the two just enough time to escape the machine before it blows, although all three are highly injured.

Sollux doesn’t notice his injuries at first.

That's twice now he’s heard Aradia’s last words in his head. Twice that he knew that she was about to die. And this time he saved her life. He defied fate. He’d never felt so… free.

HEC orders the three be put into medical care faculties and consuls a distraught Feferi.

In truth, John and Aradia are being taken away to gave their powers studied and potentially extracted, while Sollux is chipped with a psionic dampener and taken to a daycare to be “re-educated so his needs can be met".

There, Sollux sees firsthand how lowbloods and mutants are treated on Beforus. They’re coddled. Handheld. They’re treated like children, well into adulthood, and have all their freedoms stripped away. Any showing of disobedience has them treated with shock therapy and, at worst, lobotomy .

HEC tries to guilt Feferi for this failure, implying that if she had taken “better care of her lowbloods” that this wouldn’t have happened. She’s trying to bring her counterpart around to her way of thinking.

In the HEC's mind, the highbloods protect and coddle the lowbloods from an uncaring world that they aren’t ready for. Lowbloods aren’t people her. They’re pets. Feferi, by contrast, has spent enough time with Aradia and Sollux to respect them and she finds the HEC's implications to be disturbing.

Luckily, Aradia and John prove to be difficult to contain. They easily escape their restraints, even with their injuries, and they team up to rescue Sollux.

The HEC sees this as another opportunity to try and make her point.

She has Feferi sent away to a separate location, knowing the three will first look for her at her palace. The HEC meets them there and, after feigning a fight, lies about Feferi’s location when defeated.

In truth, she sends them towards one of her daycares. The ensuing struggle with security inadvertently gets several bystanders killed.

While everyone is reeling from what they just did, the HEC spins the incident as “two lowbloods and a mutant" rejecting her “compassionate guidance”, resulting in massive casualties. She uses this to justify her policies to the public and tries to use this to convince Feferi that “her lowbloods" need her guidance and will only hurt themselves without her. Feferi almost believes her, but then questions what she could’ve done to stop them from screwing up like that.

John, Aradia, and Sollux regroup and teleport over to The Compassionate, overthrowing and killing her. Sollux finds and rescues Feferi, but he comes back to see Aradia staring blankly at the HEC's throne.

It’s the same throne Aradia saw in her vision.

It used to belong to HEC. From a certain point of view, Aradia inherited it.

Aradia notes this out loud and the three move to comfort her. Sollux brings up how, for the very first time, he was able to save someone who he heard die in his head. For the very first time, he defied fate, defied the inevitable, and saved her life. They clearly aren’t bound by inevitability anymore. Feferi, meanwhile, relates to where she’s coming from. HEC was… uncomfortably close to what she would probably be like if she hadn’t met any lowbloods growing up. If she hadn’t gotten to know Sollux and Aradia as people. Highbloods aren’t exactly raised to think of the needs of lowbloods very often, even in a comparatively peaceful setting.

Even still, Aradia is disturbed by the coincidence. Fate is an insidious thing. You tend to end up doing what it says, even when you think you’re ahead. So, Feferi comes up with an idea to ease Aradia’s conscience a bit.

Logically speaking, Beforus Feferi ending up the way that she die would be predestined to happen. She’d need to rule the way she did so that the Alpha Trolls would fail their session, allowing the Beta trolls to exist and so on. So, if they’re able to prevent Beforus Feferi from turning evil, that would prove that they’re still operating outside of the plot. John points out that that this is a Doomed Timeline, meaning they’re already outside of fate's boundaries anyways. Preventing Beforus Feferi from ending up like the HEC wouldn’t do anything. Feferi sheepishly admits to still not fully understanding how timelines work, as she has the least experience with all this meta narrative nonsense.

Regardless, Aradia agrees to go back with Feferi to prevent Beforus Feferi from becoming the tyrannical despot they had to deal with. Both Aradia and Sollux can kinda tell that this is affecting Feferi more than she lets on, even if they don’t say anything about it. Plus, it’ll help take Aradia’s mind off things, while Sollux and John stay in the present to find the First Guardian and get their advice.

Feferi and Aradia visit Beforus Feferi at various points in her life, giving her life advice and giving her the perspective Her Everlasting Compassion didn’t have. Meanwhile, John and Sollux are able to find where the First Guardian lives via the Beforus archives. The First Guardian tells them that, while this is slightly outside the realm of their omniscience, they do believe it could be possible to enhance the Retcon Powers with energy from the Green Sun.

The two teams meet up again in the dreambubbles afterwards and catch each other up on their little side adventures. Feferi wants to see how Beforus has changed now that they’ve fiddled the Beforus Feferi’s past.

When the group arrives on New Beforus, they find Her Imperious Benevolence waiting for them. They make polite conversation, getting HIB caught up on who John and Sollux are. HIB thanks Aradia, specifically, for all the advice she’d given over the sweeps and says she wants to thank her. So, as a gift, HIB gives her the throne of Beforus.

The same throne that Aradia saw in her vision.

All that existential dread that she’d been burying and avoiding all this time stabs through her all at once. No matter where she goes, no matter what she does, fate is still there. Mocking her. Taunting her. Controlling her. Just when she thinks she’s escaped it, something reminds her of that vision. Reminds her that she isn’t free.

As long as the narrative exists, she’s doomed to become the bad guy. That’s the only way she can interpret this. The only conclusion she can offer to the throne in her vision being outright handed to her.

Aradia maintains her composure and politely refuses. After Feferi talks HIB down and the group teleports back over to the First Guardian again. The First Guardian offers up a bit of their energy over to Aradia, explaining that she should be capable of absorbing it thanks to the Retcon Juju. Aradia takes the amount of energy offered, but then a thought occurs to her.

She’d get more energy if she absorbs more. And, with all the hints fate has been giving her, it’s entirely possible she’ll need it. She might still be on track to become the next villain, so she’ll need to destroy the narrative quickly. It should be fine, First Guardian’s are tough. She’ll just absorb a little bit more….

Next thing she knows, the First Guardian has dropped dead on the floor in front of her.

Everyone freaks out. Aradia quickly explains that it was an accident. She admits that she was likely still distracted by the throne earlier. She was still worried. Afraid that fate was hanging over her.

So, the group buries the First Guardian, show their respects, and leave.

As soon as she’s able, Feferi takes John and Sollux off to the side and expresses her concerns.

Between the throne cropping up twice now, and Aradia killing the First Guardian, maybe she’s still going to become the villain after all? Maybe they haven’t actually escaped fate at all. John and Sollux are still unconvinced. John maintains that he knows how the Retcon Powers work and Sollux knows he’s never been able to defy his precognition before. Feferi concedes but remains skeptical.

The team puts together a new plan. Now that they know Aradia can drain First Guardians until they’re just lifeless husks, they could farm them. More specifically, they could farm Doc Scratch. Scratch is a complete monster, so there’s no moral reservation to be had in doing so. So they farm versions of Scratch from Doomed Timelines and each time, Aradia meets an alternate version of the Handmaiden.

Each time, Aradia’ conversation with Handmaiden gets her thinking.

What makes you think you’ve escaped fate? Why aren’t you doing more to get more powerful, to destroy the narrative faster? Surely doing so would be in everyone’s best interest, right?

After a few stops, Aradia notes that she hasn’t really gotten all that stronger. Absorbing the Green Sun outright isn’t an option, absorbing that much power at once would likely kill her. But, maybe there are other power sources she could drain from? Aradia notes how Jade and Calliope are both stronger than Scratch, which gets John immediately protective. He makes it clear that Jade is off the list and Aradia backpedals. She didn’t mean anything by it. She was just thinking out loud. Still, she can’t help but notice the looks both John and Feferi are giving her now. Apparently Feferi’s concerns influenced John more than he realized.

The versions of the Handmaiden Aradia meets now note the distrust most of the team holds towards her. If they can’t trust you, how can you trust yourself?

One Handmaiden claims she has a way to get the power Aradia craves faster. Aradia says she’ll think about it.

The cycle continues for a few days. Eventually, Aradia comes to Sollux in the middle of the night, asking him to come with her. She wants to have his opinion on hand, to keep her from doing something stupid. The two approach the Handmaiden and Aradia asks about her offer.

The Handmaiden takes them to a timeline where the Condescension won. The heroes were destroyed, the Earth belongs to Condy forevermore… and a Grimbark Jade will be forced to serve the Condescension for eternity.

Surely, it would be more merciful to put her out of her misery.

Sollux immediately tries to veto this idea.

Killing a version of John’s sister behind his back like this, even one that’s nothing but a mindless drone now, is unbelievably cruel.

Aradia looks at Sollux and then she looks down at her hands. She remembers the golden blood dripping from them. Sollux’s blood.

She decides she can’t take that risk.

So, Aradia sucks the life out of the Grimbark Jade.

Sollux tells the others what happened when they get back and the three confront her about it.

Aradia begs for them to understand it from her perspective. She just did what she had to do. It was a mercy kill. She wouldn’t have stooped that low if she had a choice.

The group wants to pull out of this plan. Get Aradia locked up until the narrative can be destroyed. For everyone’s safety.

Aradia teleports away. Since her Retcon Powers are now far stronger than John’s, he can’t keep up with her.

Aradia hides in a dark corner of Paradox Space, trying to keep herself together.

She’s gone to far now. She has to destroy the narrative and fast. It’s the only way she can fix this. It’s the only way she can keep everyone alive.

Part of her even believes it’s the only way she can get her friends back.

So, as John, Sollux, and Feferi teleport back to Earth C to get everyone caught up and prepared for war, Aradia does some preparations of her own.

She creates a horde of her time duplicates and sends the all across Paradox Space. They bring First Guardians and God-Tiered Space Players to her for her to suck the life out of, fueling up the “main" version of herself to be as strong as possible. Her end goal is to become strong enough to absorb the Green Sun. And if that didn’t make her strong enough, she’d invade Earth C as a Plan B. Overpower everyone and absorb Calliope's life force. Then, she'll be powerful enough to destroy the narrative.

She'll free herself. She'll free everyone. Even if she has to fight her closest friends.

As her body count rises, her reputation spreads. Every Space Player knows now to run when a horde of Aradias appear outside your door.

They know none survive getting dragged before Madame Megido.

#villainstuck #aradia megido #homestuck #long post #sollux captor #john egbert #feferi peixes #beforus feferi #arasolfef #kinda if you read between the lines #up to interpretation really #Madame Megido

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sunlightdances · 4 years

Text

Through Lines (40′s!Bucky x Reader)

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Nurse!Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for war-typical violence and descriptions of PTSD. Summary: WW2 canon-divergent AU - Bucky lives. One of the things Bucky thinks about when he’s trapped in a foxhole and trying to stay alive is the pretty nurse from the Red Cross. Author’s Note: I re-watched Band of Brothers recently, so this popped into my head. Please excuse any inaccuracies/suspend your belief briefly - I did my best with a bit of research, but obviously some of this is OOC/not canon. I don’t own Bucky or Marvel (or the character cameo who is clearly from HBO War). Please don’t re-post anywhere without my permission!

You meet James Barnes for the first time while you’re packing a Red Cross truck in England, hair neatly curled and pinned, lips painted a fiery shade of red.

It’s easy, then, for you to flash him a smile as he removes his garrison cap, tucking it neatly into his waistband as he approaches you.

“Ma’am,” he greets, and even though you think he’s about the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, you still bristle a bit.

“It’s Lieutenant.” You say, returning to your work. You know he likely didn’t mean anything by it, but ever since you shipped out, you’ve found yourself defending your rank and training more than once.

He clears his throat. “Lieutenant,” he corrects himself, and even salutes you. It surprises you. You return his gesture. “Just wanted to see if you needed a hand.”

You falter, and smile gently at him. “I’m sorry for snapping. It’s been a long day.”

“Moving out tomorrow?”

You nod. “To France, to one of the field hospitals.” You can see the concern in his eyes, and it makes you roll yours. “We’re trained just as you are, Sergeant. The men need help.”

He puts his hands in his pockets. “They’ll be happy to see you, no doubt.” He rocks on his feet. You realize how young he is, how young you both are.

The next time the two of you see each other, it’s nowhere near as formal, or casual.

The sunshine of that day in England is a distant memory compared to this. It’s raining and the sound of shelling not far off has you gritting your teeth.

The flap of the tent flies open with a rush of noise — a familiar voice and steel blue eyes that you both hoped you’d see again, and prayed you never would. He’s with a medic, a stretcher between them.

“Here—“ you say before he even opens his mouth. “Put him here.”

The medic is rattling off information - shrapnel to the stomach and leg, given morphine.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you bark, snapping him out of his daze. “If you’re not going to help, then you need to get out of the way.”

He moves so you can get to work, but stays close, and you notice with a jolt when he takes the hand of the man you’re working on, squeezing gently.

He doesn’t make it.

You’re so frustrated you can barely speak. Every time you lose someone, it’s a burning ache that settles deep in your heart. No matter how bad off they are when they come to the hospital, you feel the guilt of not being able to do your job.

“You did everything you could.” He says next to you, outside the tent, cigarette dangling from his lips.

You don’t reply. There’s nothing to say. You won’t cry - you can’t allow yourself to cry. If you break down now, you might never get your composure back.

The shelling begins again, and a jeep pulls up nearby, someone shouting for Sergeant Barnes. You try not to notice the way his hand starts to shake as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it to the ground and stamping it out before he goes.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmurs, and then with a weak salute, he’s gone.

Bucky Barnes is a romantic at heart. He pictured seeing you again back at some pub in England on leave, in his dress uniform, you in a red dress. When he was at his darkest point, he pictured it, and that’s why it’s so unfair that he’s seeing you again now, like this.

It’s been six months. France, and then Belgium, and then Italy, and whatever hell came after that. He’s grateful he doesn’t remember the entire thing. Azzano was like nothing he ever thought could happen to him - something from a science fiction novel.

His unit is completely gone. Every one of the men he trained with, fought with, shared a foxhole with… they’re all gone.

Steve is here now, something that should make him relieved, but all it does is add to his never-ending bad mood. His best friend, his brother, literally charging into harm’s way every chance he gets. Except now it’s not just back alley fist fights. There are bullets and fire and mortars, and Bucky doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

It’s bad enough that they’re hot on Hydra’s trail - a shiver ripples up his spine every time he sees the insignia - but the original Nazis are still everywhere. The German army is tough, and everywhere he goes it’s pure destruction.

They’ve been called in to support another Division, and Bucky is relieved for the tasks of a new squad to take his mind off everything. Being a platoon sergeant comes natural to him, and he looks after the replacements like he did his last group. It gives him something to keep busy.

Until they get to the Ardennes.

It’s hell on earth. The trees are sawed in half by shelling every night, the shrapnel alone enough to kill someone who isn’t hit directly.

It’s colder than anything he’s ever felt, and they lose more and more of the line between them and the enemy every day.

The field hospital is barely a field hospital. It’s in a partially bombed out church, and Bucky spares a thought that he hopes to hell you aren’t here, because he can’t stomach it. Of course his instincts prove to be right.

He drives one of the medics to try to scrounge up some supplies, and when he steps inside, your voice is the first one he hears. It’s chaos in there, and he’s surprised by the number of soldiers in beds, on chairs, or just laying on the floor.

His eyes fall on you and it’s like he can finally breathe again, though his relief is replaced by worry when you meet his eyes. He barely recognizes the look on your face. He sees the recognition when you first spot him, the barely there softening of your gaze, but he doesn’t recognize the rest.

You��ve lost weight. Everyone has, but it’s stark in the way your cheekbones jut out slightly, and the way your uniform hangs on you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you say, your voice lacking it’s usual enthusiasm. He understands. Nothing seems important anymore, nothing seems worth getting excited for. All there is, is survival.

“Lieutenant,” he says softly, giving a brief salute.

“Nurse!” A call is coming from the other side of the church, and you glance away from Bucky briefly. He wants to grab your hand, your arm, anything to keep you from heading back into the fray.

“Are you hurt?” You ask him, looking him over. He finds he’s not sure how to answer. Physically, no. But in his head? The nightmares are atrocious. The headaches-- and on top of all that, he has no idea what that Hydra scientist actually did to him.

“No,” he replies carefully. “Came to beg for any bandages and plasma you have for our medic.”

You frown. “There isn’t much. I have to see this patient, but wait here.”

He watches you go, watches the slight limp to your gait, and he finds himself clenching his fist when he hears a doctor order you around.

A few minutes later you’re back with a small box. “This is all we can spare.”

“It’ll do us good. Thank you.” He doesn’t want to leave. “What a pair we make, hey?”

You meet his eyes, untrusting. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You need to get some rest,” he counters.

“There’s too much to do.”

He knows he has to leave. He needs to get back to his unit. He wishes this were another time, another place… that he could have met you back in Brooklyn.

“Be safe.” His voice is rough, and he hates himself for it, because he barely knows you. He doesn’t know why he feels so connected to you. You’re beautiful, of course you are, but for all he knows, you have someone back home, wherever that is.

“You too, James.”

The use of his first name floors him, not just because it’s so personal, but because he can’t remember the last time someone called him by his name.

“Barnes!” A shout from the door from an agitated soldier and another shout for you by the doctor, and you’re both pulled in separate directions.

The jeep is halfway back to the line when he hears the first shell. He forces his eyes shut and takes a deep breath to try to steady himself.

It’s not until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Steve again that he allows himself to think of you briefly before he’s forced to fight again.

Always fighting.

They move out two days later.

He’s never been so happy to get out of the woods. The high spirits of the rest of the men are contagious, and he finds himself nearly grinning ear to ear as they make their way slowly down the road, the hellish cold of the night before long forgotten in the new day’s sun.

The jeeps roll to a stop and there’s a long while before they get moving again. At some point, Steve had climbed out and headed up the line to see what the hold up was.

When he gets back, he hauls himself inside, and Bucky eyes the spot where he grips the door, the spot slightly dented by his strength. He’ll never get used to it, but in the moment he’s less worried about that, and more worried about the thing he does recognize - the crease in between Steve’s brows.

“What’s wrong.”

Steve waits. When he speaks, his voice is low. “The field hospital was bombed during the shelling.”

Bucky’s entire body goes cold. Steve seems to understand, and the two of them make their way to the front of the unit on foot. When they get to the hospital, there’s a few members of the 101st Airborne milling around, the medic from Easy picking through the rubble.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. His knees feel weak. He wants to demand answers, wants to ask what happened, but it’s a stupid question.

He feels sick. They bombed a hospital.

“Did anyone--” Bucky starts, pausing to clear his throat, “Casualties?”

The medic meets his eyes. “A few nurses and a couple patients made it out. They’re being sent back to England.”

“Buck, we have to go.” Steve says somberly, apologetically.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He can’t breathe.

It’ll be months before he finds out what happened to you.

You don’t sleep much, anymore.

The War is over, but in so many ways, you feel like you’re still in it. Your dreams are filled with explosions and screams, and during the day, you’re forced to pretend that everything is normal, when in reality, nothing will ever be the same.

There’s a large scar on your right arm. The limp you picked up in Bastogne lingers, and is worse when the weather is cold.

You’re trying to be “normal” but can’t understand what your purpose is. After everything you’ve seen, you can’t stand to just be content to go to parties and luncheons and listen to your mother talk about marriage. It feels so trivial.

The only person you’ve talked about the War with is your father. You don’t allow yourself to get emotional, but you make it clear to him how close you came to dying. How close to the front lines you were for months.

Your friends talk about the Red Cross nurses like the whole thing was one big party - dressing up and flirting with soldiers, bringing them coffee and enjoying a European vacation. Maybe it was that way for some, but for you and the women you served closely with, it was a nightmare.

Still, you don’t regret it. You wanted to do your part, and you did more than that.

On your way to your office job, a car backfires on the street, and you jump, stumbling slightly as instinct takes over. You feel embarrassed when you remember where you are, but then there’s a hand at your elbow and gentle eyes assessing you.

“Are you okay, miss?” He looks familiar, but you can’t place him.

“Fine, fine. Sorry, I--”

“It’s okay. It startled me too.” He says, and when you meet his gaze evenly, you recognize the look there. After a moment, you recognize the face, too.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. Your heart starts to speed up, not because you’re starstruck, but because of the possibility that he’s here too. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t thought of James Barnes since you’ve been home, wondering about him.

You’ve seen the newsreels enough to know he and the Commandos made it home, thanks to Steve saving James’ life on one of their final missions.

“Steve, we haven’t got all day, we have to--” His voice interrupts your thoughts, and when you finally see him, he’s gone pale, eyes as sharp as you remember, though there’s more shadows under his eyes than you’d like to see.

He says your name on a low exhale, but it’s a question, like he can’t believe you’re here.

“Sergeant,” you reply, a smile growing on your face, and before you can object, Steve is making some excuse about ducking into the shop you’re in front of, and then James is right in front of you.

“It’s Bucky,” he corrects you gently. “My friends call me Bucky.”

“Is that what we are?”

He’s so close you can see the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “I thought you were dead.”

You’re used to lying to everyone about what happened to you; trying to make it more palatable for those who thought you just handed out coffee and raised soldiers’ spirits. It’s refreshing to be able to tell him the truth.

“I almost was. We were almost evacuated when the bomb hit. There were still patients and nurses in the church--” You stop yourself, feeling short of breath.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

You look down at your feet, feeling awkward. You don’t know what else to say. It’s suddenly dawning on you that you don’t really know him at all. Except when you look back up at him - you can see the kindness and understanding in his eyes. The connection is there too; the one that kept you thinking of each other and seeing each other again again against all odds.

“I’m glad to see you.” You tell him honestly.

The smile that slowly grows on his face is so charming. “I’m very glad to see you too, Lieutenant.”

Despite yourself, you roll your eyes, a smile of your own on your lips. “I think we can drop the formalities.”

His eyes are intense as he takes a step closer, “Let me take you to dinner.” He takes a deep breath, “This is probably too much, but you were one of the only things to get me through the last two years. I saw you once, and I was done for, sweetheart...” He trails off, shrugging.

“You think you’re pretty cute, don’t you, Sergeant?”

“He does, so please take pity on him and go to dinner with him,” Steve’s voice interrupts, “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since I met up with him in Italy.”

You look back at the dark-haired man fidgeting next to you, rolling his eyes at his friend, and for the first time since you came home, you feel like there might be something to look forward to.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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prisoncitystories · 4 years

Text

Fiction: Just Another Day at the Office

The smoke from the cigarette wafted freely through the air like the sultry melody of the dingy saxophone on the radio. I, however, was tied to a chair.

“What shall we do with the pig, Ms. Morgana?” The thug in the dragon mask said to his partner.

“Surely, we can have a little fun before we gut him, Mr. Pendragon,” Ms. Morgana replied. The pair are part of the Round Table Gang, the latest colorful characters to hit the city with their own particular brand of crime. Of course, they chose the boring task of robbing banks but really who’s keeping track, right?

“Fun, huh? What are we playing? Parcheesi?” I say, with a smirk. Pendragon rears up a fist and drives it right into my gut. I feel his knuckles press against the skin through my shirt. Thankfully, this isn’t my first rodeo.

“Quiet, pig!” Pendragon said. “How about a different game? Five finger fillet?” Pendragon pulled out a knife, waving it back and forth in front of my face.

“Maybe we could play chess, instead?” I said, edging him further. He threw his fist into my stomach again, this time a little harder. Thankfully, he didn’t notice my slight adjustment to put most of the pressure on the back of the wooden chair. A few more moves and the knight would take the bishop.

“Yeah, wrong supervillain, mate. Chess makes my head hurt. Now, Ms. Morgana, she’s the only one smart enough to handle that black and white board.” He said, turning to her and grazing her ornate horse mask granting him a devilish purple-lipped smile.

“Oh? I just assumed you were the same annoying, narcissistic, backwards-” I said, interrupted by a slap across the face from Morgana.

“I’ve trained you so well.” Pendragon said, pulling Morgana into a kiss. Who says crime doesn’t pay?

“If you’d like me to come back, I’d be happy to go. Otherwise, let’s get this threesome underway.” Pendragon stopped and turned to me. Even underneath the red dragon mask, I could tell I was getting on his nerves. It’s all in the eyes. The little flicker that hides a deep, deep rage and right now, my voice and face are like a broken urn full of oil.

“If you speak one more time, I swear to the gods I will cut your tongue out. Do you understand?” I remain silent. “Do you understand or are you just as dumb as we thought you to be?” He repeated much angrier.

“You told me if I spoke that you’d cut my tongue out. Not an outcome I’m betting on if we’re being honest here.” His face turned to stunned surprise and he brandished his knife again. He raised his leg to boot me backwards and I made my move. As he sent his leg toward my chest, I titled the chair back with my feet that could still touch the floor even tied up, sending me back faster than his boot could catch. While his boot was catching nothing but air, the chair was breaking against the cold concrete. I was initially a little jarred as my hands were the meat in a wood-concrete sandwich (which really hurt), but I quickly scrambled to my feet as Ms. Morgana regained her composure from the sight.

“Why you little bastard!” She said, sparking up her electrified gloves. I have to stay away from those. She stepped forward but her form was so uneasy. Unfortunately for her, confidence isn’t everything. She swiped like a cat and I only narrowly avoided a swift jolt by deflecting her strike with my forearm. I did the same maneuver but this time added a leg sweep, surprising her and sending her to the floor. I heard the clatter of a knife behind me as Pendragon swiped his knife, gashing my thin black necktie in the process.

“Eh, I never really liked it anyway. Gift from a few exes ago,” I said as he continued swiping. Similar to Morgana, I had to subdue him by using his strikes against him. I batted his arm aside as he hacked and slashed and when the moment opened up, I used a classic disarm and sent the knife out of his hand and back to the floor. Suddenly, I felt way too many volts pass through my leg, bringing me to my knees.

“What kind of detective are you? You fight like a drunkard. You can’t even disarm us both.” Pendragon said. He walked over to pick up his knife again as Morgana stood back up and placed one of her gloves on my shoulder. “Any last words, pig? You blew your chances on a last request.”

“Is it just you and Morgana or are Percival, Lancelot, and Galahad screwing around in your pants too?” I said, baiting him again. As he drove the knife forward, I ducked to the side making him lunge a little too far towards Morgana. I grabbed her arm at her forearm and hand and pushed them into Pendragon’s gut and activated the shock gloves. The electricity ran through him and sent him toppling. I shot up and brought a swift elbow to Morgana’s chin, flooring her as well. I finished her off with a blow to her face. I walked over to the table where that cigarette was still burning. I picked it up, began a drag, but quickly pulled the disgusting thing away.

“Menthols? Dear gods, you guys really are stupid,” I said, throwing the cigarette on the ground, stamping it out, and clicking off the jazz music at the radio. I look around the dingy, chip-titled torture room and find my coat hanging on a coat rack. “At least they aren’t savages.”

I made sure they didn’t steal anything. Pockets still have all my belongings. For bank robbers, they certainly aren’t great at petty theft. I throw the brown trench back on and move towards the door. I slowly turn the handle and open the door to the hallway where fortunately the other members of the gang are not waiting for me. I handled Pendragon and Morgana easily but three more thugs would land me back in the chair. Not to mention if they’ve added more since their last hit. We’ve been chasing them around the city for about three months, and they’ve robbed four banks in that time. We still can’t peg why they would need that much cash or how they could possibly spend it. They certainly aren’t investing in a headquarters.

Suddenly, I hear a voice from around the corner. I slink behind an open door in the hallway, making sure just to stand in the doorway and not shut the door. I spied through the peephole and saw a blue wolf mask. Lancelot. I think our dossier said he was a sharpshooter. Seems like he’d be useless in a fist fight. He was radioing to someone on his walkie.

“Pendragon, you done with the cop yet? Pendragon, I said are you done with the cop yet?” He put his walkie-talkie back in its holster and pulled out his sidearm. Something street trash would use, not really the mark of a deadeye. “By the gods, do I have to do everything myself?” He said, scoffing and stomping down the hall. I moved into the open room and behind the wall as he walked by towards the torture room. He opened the door and before he could reach for his walkie, I sprang into action and put him in a headlock. He quickly pushed back and slammed me into the wall behind us, but I held firm. I knew if he even got one good aim with his pistol, I was toast. He stomped his feet wildly, trying to bash me anyway he could. He bashed me back again, this time against the door frame, loosening my grip. We both fell to the floor, me out of breath and him gasping for air. We both took a second to regain our bearings and then shared a brief cutting moment. He got up quicker than I could and kneed me in the face. I shook off the throbbing pain and used the wall behind me to brace myself.

“Percival, Galahad, get-” He started to say into his walkie-talkie but I gave him a solid haymaker to the head.

“Now now, none of that.” I said, taunting him. I used his imbalance to disarm him of his gun, sending it to the floor. He grabbed my neck, but I kicked his legs out from under him. I used the momentum of the fall to bring my forearm down on his face, disorienting him again. He relinquished my neck and I dealt him a clean knockout blow to his smug face. I stood up and dusted myself off and down the hall were the last two members of the Round Table Gang, Mr. Percival and Mr. Galahad, staring at me. I was admittedly a little disoriented from the last two altercations but I can’t imagine I was getting out of here without at least one more.

“Well come on then. Let’s go.” I said, putting up my dukes once more. I examined the two of them briefly, really hoping that Percival came at me first. He was small, compact. Intel said he was the demolitions expert of the group. Can’t be that great of a fighter either, although Lancelot surprised me. He adjusted his gold hawk mask. Mr. Galahad was much larger and muscular than his counterpart. Comically, he had a green cat mask. I don’t know what these guys’ fascination with stupid masks is. Galahad came stomping towards me.

I delivered several quick blows to his abdomen which frankly hurt my knuckles quite a bit. He just chuckled.

“That ain’t going to work, little man.” Unfortunately, he was right. I had to use his weight against him. He reared up for a downward strike, but I only narrowly avoided piledriver fist to the top of my skull. He came down on my shoulder which sent pain through my arm. I used the other arm to swing a fist, tilting his head to the side. He cocked his head back at me and I could see the annoyed look in his eyes. He grabbed me by the shoulders and sent me swinging through one of the walls of the hallway and into the room I initially hid from Lancelot in. Same dingy tile as the other room hit the back of my head hard.

“You call that a throw? Better invest in some gym memberships, mate.” I said, as he stepped through the me-shaped hole he just created. “Although your budget might be taken up by renovations.” He didn’t care for the banter. He stomped up to me and raised his leg up to smash me, but I rolled to the right. The tile cracked underneath and I got an idea. While his foot was still depressed, I swung my body around and kicked his stomped leg with all the force I could muster. His leg jutted further into the floor as he fell and the angle caused him to slam down harder than just a simple fall would do. I clumsily stood up and went to the groaning bastard.

“Nighty night, kitty cat.” I said, stomping his face and breaking his mask in the progress. I briefly take a look at his face. Ugly bastard, really. Maybe it was better with the mask intact. “Alright, Percival. We both know you’re a cowardly bastard so let’s get this over with. If you come quietly, I won’t have to break your nose too.” I said, walking out into the hallway and Percival was kneeling on the ground and he had already cuffed himself.

“Please don’t hurt me! Just don’t tell the others I surrendered.” I chuckled at the weakling. Just another day at the office, I suppose.

#prison city #detective squall goode #round table gang #mr. pendragon #ms. morgana #mr. lancelot #mr. percival #mr. galahad #dnd #dnd homebrew #prison city stories #noir

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floweryfreelance · 4 years

Text

𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER TWO

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

Alois had only spent only an hour at home reading before he couldn’t help but start getting dressed. A royal blue ensemble he had chosen, caked in golden trim and dripping with gemstones on the buttons. Alois dripped wealth once again. He had thrown his clothing from the earlier part of the day in the fire, burning his memories with it. Forget about France, forget about Jean, forget about Alice - that whore. He was home, he was back, and he was going to dinner with his real love. It was the first time he’d danced in ages, telling Claude he was excited to tell off the bluenette or plot against him, or- oh, hell, it didn’t matter. He could stack his lies again. He was unbothered.

When the carriage pulled up to the manor, he couldn’t help but betray his excitement. He stepped out, assisted as usual, but positively buzzing.

“Master,” Sebastian spoke through a cracked bedroom door. “Our guests have just arrived in their carriage.”

Ciel joined his butler and servants and fiance just inside the front doors, everyone seemingly taking position to prepare to welcome their guests. Ciel rarely invited guests, he never wanted anyone in his home unless he had no choice. For this evening, he chose his nicer evening attire, a deep blue ensemble with black lace trim along the sleeves and ends of the coat, with trousers and black boots to match. He adjusted the patch over his eye, nodding to Sebastian as a cue for him to open the door.

Lizzie slid her arm through his, squeezing him softly. “You don’t need to be so nervous, my love.” She cooed to him, a comforting and motherly tone coating her voice. “It’s just Alois.”

Ciel let his eyes fall shut for just a moment before opening them once more, turning to Lizzie with the most subtle of smiles on his face. “I know.”

Dinner was served rather quickly once the guests were welcomed. Alois and Ciel sat opposite of each other, while Lizzie took her place adjacent to the two young men. Placed before them were heaping plates of richly seasoned pork with sides of roasted potatoes and vegetables, accompanied by both a water glass and one of wine. The table was decorated with extra pieces of the fine China, as well as softly lit lavender candles to calm the atmosphere.

Excited to hear his stories, though trying to keep her proper composure, Elizabeth wasted no time in poking and prodding at Alois. “So, Alois,” She started, flattening her cloth napkin over her lap. “You said you went to France to attend a boys’ school, didn’t you? You must have had loads of fun when classes were over.” She giggled.

Ciel locked his gaze on his plate, eating small bites quietly.

Placed now across from the other man so close, Alois looked over the spread before him. Decadent food was a memory from times past, but the wine was familiar. Thin fingers curled around the stem, eyes unsure but smile bleeding out. It felt oddly like home, though it was a frame from an old movie now, dressed in fine china. His gaze lifted to the woman now, sinking into a character of himself.

“Loads of fun.” He specified, secretly hoping it would perk Ciel’s ears. “It was beautiful there. I simply realized I wished to see the world I’d been reading so much about at home, I suppose.” He paused to take another sip of wine and picked up his fork. “Though it was only a matter of time before I came home.”

Excited by his answer, Lizzie lightly clapped her hands together. “Oh, I knew it! I haven’t been to France since summertime four years go. I’ve been dying to go back. Their parties are always so lavish and the people so extravagant. Don’t you agree, Ciel?”

Ciel nearly winced at the mention of his name, secretly praying he wouldn’t have to partake in this dinner. “Yes,” he agreed in a monotone voice. “Very lavish and extravagant. You fit right in, Mr. Trancy.” He stated flatly, eyes only briefly looking up at Alois at the mention of his name.

Elizabeth shook her head at his mannerisms, smiling softly. “Ciel hasn’t been to France in ages either. When he went last, he had a beautiful portrait painted of himself.” She poked at her food. “I do wish you would hang it, my love. It is such a lovely painting.” She cooed to her fiance.

My love. “You were the one who convinced me to have it painted,” Ciel said. “I don’t have any need for self portraits.” He continued in a slightly quieter voice, hand coming up to his eye patch for no more than a second before returning to his lap. Half the time, he only knew what he looked like because Sebastian checked. He didn’t usually enjoy looking at himself.

Alois smiled at the glance, leaning back ever so slightly in his chair. False comfort suited him well as a man, clearly grown-up now and only slightly better at holding back the things he really wanted to say. Stories bubbled behind his lips, but he offered few.

“I agree. I’ve never seen it, but should it betray any of your looks- as a couple,” he added, as if an afterthought, “I can imagine the French did you well.”

The man smirked, toying now. He took another sip of his wine before placing it back down with grace and cutting off a piece of his pork. “If you ever get the chance to go again, I recommend Provins. The trade fair there is simply to die for.”

Provins, the city where Jean and himself shopped for meats and vegetables every weekend. Alois swallowed, the light in his eyes dimming for only a second. He wondered if any of the others could tell - something happened in Paris.

Ciel inhaled a bit of his wine upon hearing the Earl’s underhanded nuance. He coughed lightly, setting his wine glass down and dabbing at his lips with his napkin, shooting a piercing glare across the table at him. While he wouldn’t admit to himself that he missed Alois, he most certainly didn’t miss these little games of his.

“It truly is such a lovely painting.” Elizabeth smiled at Alois, oblivious to Ciel’s minor coughing fit. She paused slightly, curiosity creeping into her thoughts, but worried she may overstep a boundary. “Alois, if you don’t mind me asking,” she began, placing her hands in her lap. “You mentioned you met someone while in France.”

Upon their first meeting, Ciel had been in such shock he must have missed that comment entirely. He had met someone? He quickly averted his eyes to his plate, trying desperately to push the intrusive thoughts from his mind.

Who was he? Or was it a woman? Had he fallen in love or just found another toy to use for his own amusement? How long had it lasted?

No, he didn’t care. He couldn’t dare care. It would hurt too badly.

Alois coughed nervously at the question, playfulness leaving his face. It was truly a sad story that he wanted his lover to know. However, he had to play it cautiously, for it was also a forbidden story, one that could in the wrong hands land him in prison. Or worse, cut off from his loved ones, the only few he’d ever found.

“I supposed I don’t mind, no.” He took a bite of his dinner before a lump found its way into his stomach. “I did meet a woman. We… we were betrothed for a period of time. But she wanted another kind of life.” He said, soft for once. “I left her the house in Paris. It was right on the lake. Beautiful, really.” He paused, “it was the least I could do for her after seven years.”

Betraying this fact, he picked up his wine glass by the stem once again, forcing a smile to return to his face. “I haven’t decided what kind of life I want without her quite yet. She was…” Alois trailed off, unable to describe it quite yet. He ran off in the night, though Jean had asked him to stay. Jean loved them both, but Alois was possessive as all knew of him to be. The violent packing, the screaming, slamming doors and pretending it was a family squabble and not the ending of lovers. He really did leave Jean and Alice the house on the lake. It was not for the couple’s sake, but he couldn’t bring himself to ever return. At the very least, his histrionics had never left him. The blonde bit the corner of his lip nervously before returning his attention to his wine.

The air felt thicker suddenly. Elizabeth nodded slowly, feeling intrigued by the Earl’s story but also feeling pity for him, worried she may have crossed a line. A moment of silence passed before Ciel spoke up.

“It sounds like it would have been a beautiful life, nonetheless.” Ciel commented, a sudden wave of confidence washing over him as he lifted his head to look directly into Alois’ icy blue eyes. “I’m sorry things ended the way they did.” Something in his tone was off, and he knew it, and he wondered if Alois noticed it. In a way, he meant what he said, and he was sorry that Alois had endured such a romantic tragedy. But another part of him, the part tainting his tone, almost felt prideful that it hadn’t worked out.

Lifting his glass slightly, he proposed a half-hearted toast. “To new beginnings, if I may say so myself.” His eyes lingered on Alois’ for a moment before averting to meet Lizzie’s, a soft smile lighting up her face as she raised her glass as well.

Alois was taken aback, shaken out of his memory. He picked up on the tone to Ciel’s voice, once he hadn’t heard before. They locked eyes for a moment, Alois suspicious of the congratulation. In a way, it pissed him off. Cocky asshole. His lips set into a light scowl as he rose his glass with the other.

“To new beginnings.” He echoed, lifting his glass to his lips. His tone was tinged with sour feelings - if only he knew how it had really ended. If only Ciel knew just how doomed he was to repeat the same pattern in every country he ever settled in. The blonde had made peace with his sexuality, but not his life due to it.

He wondered just how much of this Ciel could pick up off of his sudden change in demeanor. The game was on once again, he decided as the alcohol clouded his mind ever so slightly. In the others’ eyes, he found his determination.

The remainder of the dinner was filled with light conversation, none of the three nobles taking notice of the rain outside becoming heavier and heavier. They drank and feasted on small desserts, making casual smalltalk. Most of this, of course, was Elizabeth milking Alois for every detail of France he could remember. Ciel simply listened, keeping his guard up and listening closely for Alois to step out of line.

It wasn’t until a loud crack of thunder and lightning boomed through the dining room, shaking the chandelier above their heads, that the three turned to look out the large window beside the table. The trees bent with the wind and the Trancy carriage rocked back and forth. Leaves blew by along the ground and the rain pooled in every crevice it fell into.

“Oh, how dreadful!” Elizabeth said with a small gasp. “I thought I smelled rain earlier. It’s just as I told you, Ciel, isn’t it? I knew a storm was on it’s way.” Ciel nodded silently, still a bit shaken from the sudden burst of thunder. Ever since he was a child, he always hated storms.

Elizabeth stood from the table, walking to the window to peer outside. Shaking her head, she folded her hands over her chest. “This won’t do.” She turned to her fiance. “Ciel, we can’t send them all home in this weather. The carriage will surely tip over with this wind.”

Ciel swore he felt his eye twitch beneath its patch.

Lizzie turned towards Alois. “Alois, you and your servants ought to stay here tonight.” She offered with a smile sweeter than honey. “There’s a spare room and plenty of space in the servants’ quarters, and-”

“Elizabeth.” Ciel stopped her, trying his best to withhold a glare. He wanted to scream no, but his manners kept him from doing so. “We- We would need to make certain preparations in order for a guest to stay. I’m sure they’ll be fi-”

“Are you sending me home as well, then?” She inquired. Despite their long engagement, Lizzie still lived at her own estate, only frequenting the Phantomhive Manor. She crossed her arms, staring him down expectantly.

She trapped him. Damn. His eyes briefly darted towards Alois, then back to his fiance. Damn it all. Doing his best to conceal his disgust for the situation, he stood, waving a hand. “Sebastian,” he called, his butler stepping forward from the corner of the room. “Prepare our two spare rooms, and fetch one of my bed robes for Mr. Trancy.”

“Yes, Master.”

Without another word, Ciel stood from the table, cane in hand, and made his way to the drawing room, where more fine wine, a fireplace, and an old chess set sat waiting.

“Hm… such a shame.” The smirking blond allowed, finishing his glass of wine before Ciel wandered off. Truly, such a storm made for a perfect situation for him. Plans began to form in his soured mind as he stood, fixed. “Claude, I need you to tend to the carriage. It looks like it’s going to be a long night.” He ordered, straightening his frock coat and wandering into the drawing room behind the other man.

Alois emerged in the doorway, cocky and playful yet again. “A storm..” He began in a low voice, walking into the room and to the bookshelf. He pretended to peruse as Ciel looked on. “So, you’re… still unwed? After eight years?” He remarked with a light smile on his lips. “Hell, even I moved on.”

Standing in front of the fireplace, his cane by his side, Ciel stared into the flames and felt the warmth on his face. This was indeed going to be a long night.

“I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question for a guest to be asking.” Ciel turned his head towards Alois slightly, though he refused to look at him. “Especially after disappearing for so long. I’m shocked you even remember who I am.” He said sharply, words like razors coated in sticky tension.

A moment of silence passed them as Lizzie entered the room, saying she was turning in early for the night, as the long day had drained much of her energy. She thanked Alois for his company and lovely conversation, bidding him goodnight before leaving her fiance with a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand. Ciel’s hand lingered on hers as she walked away, in an effort to prove his loyalty to his fiance in front of Alois. Not that that would be enough to convince him. And with that, they were left alone again.

While Alois noticed the prolonged contact, even he could read through it. With a comment on his sham of an engagement, he’d rattled the other’s pride and he knew it. The playful smile returned to his face, his fingers tracing the backs of books on the shelf as the fire’s light played in shapes on his back. Unfortunately, Alois enjoyed Lizzie’s company as well and the whole scene did nothing to shake him.

“Guest or not, it’s true, isn’t it?” He prodded, pulling a book off the shelf to inspect the cover. “You fixated on a romance from ten years ago, and I’m still the one who shared a home with hi-. Her.” Alois paused, lightly sighing while he opened the cover. His fingers traced the leather with care, a distraction if nothing else. “I mean, I got somewhere.”

His words stung like alcohol on a fresh wound. But he was right, to at least some extent. Ciel had been putting off his marriage to Lizzie for as long as he could remember, and her pure soul remained ever patient, simply waiting for Ciel to be ready. She wanted a happy marriage with him.

Ciel noticed the blond stumble over his words, a small smirk appearing on his lips. So it was a man he met. He turned on his heel, moving to take a seat on the purple velvet couch in front of the fireplace as he formed a rebuttal.

“And how did that go for you then, hm?” He prodded, leaning his chin into his palm as he stared into the fire. “If it had really gone somewhere, you likely would still be in France, would you not?”

“Well, that’s the tragedy, isn’t it?” The other Earl replied, putting the book back and wandering over to the fire himself. Picking up the fire poker, he stabbed into a log and watched the sparks fly. Something about it felt nostalgic. His glance shifted to the other man. “Men like us never find happy endings. Be it long life or otherwise.”

A double-entendre spoke volumes. While they were both aware of their connection, they were also both keenly aware that they were only alive for revenge and anger, nearly demonic creatures themselves by the standards of the society surrounding them. Alois pushed a hand through his hair. “The home is shared with another now, so I let them keep it. I’ll take it back after their life poisons the walls. Maybe tear it down.”

Ciel couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. “I see you still haven’t changed, even after all this time,” He stated bluntly, his words sharp. “Still destroying and abandoning everything you don’t like. Are you sure it’s been eight years?” He quietly scoffed.

He could taste the poison on his own words even as they left his mouth. But he knew deep down that, though the past eight years had been peaceful, they weren’t what he wanted. They were lonely. He grew to resent Alois for leaving him, even though he knew their options were limited. After nearly a decade, he was finally beginning to get used to his reality, and here he was again. Just as poisonous and beautiful as ever.

Alois let a smirk cross his lips. He knew that he was consistent, if nothing else. Though that consistency was tainted with flame and gasoline, it was that fire that kept him moving. He crossed the room to sit in the seat opposite his ex-lover. Placing his chin in his palm, his gaze found the other man’s.

“Eight long years.” He repeated, looking a little more tired than usual admitting it. “I would’ve burned those two inside it if I had only the time.” Alois admitted under his breath, idly picking up the king on the chessboard and knocking over the queen with it.”I never get used to betrayal.”

Seeing that smirk on his lips sparked a feeling in Ciel’s stomach, one of longing and betrayal and anger.

“Was this all part of a plan of yours, then?” He spat, struggling to keep his composure as he had over dinner. “To just disappear for a decade, let me settle with my life as it is, and then turn up here again to tear it all down?” His voice almost cracked with his final word. He silently prayed Alois hadn’t heard it. Ciel cleared his throat, turning his head away and holding his head in his hand, fingers covering his mouth. “If you told me you controlled the weather, I just might believe it.”

Alois turned to anger at the suggestion that he wanted any of this to happen this way. He felt the fight coming from deep within, all the anger he felt for something that had only happened months ago. It wasn’t as if he wanted to be back in London in the first place. Had he controlled anything, he would have stayed. As much as he’d loved Claude when he was younger, that was also the demon that ripped apart his only known path to happiness. He swallowed a small amount of the venom about to cross his tongue.

“What I wanted was a normal life! Claude wants you dead, remember?” He spat, taking a breath before speaking again. “And then I go away, find someone who’s willing to kiss me in our home, and they go and fall for some dumb blond whore who prowls my backyard! And to marry her-” He stopped again. Alois looked into the fire behind the man, wishing he’d set the French traitors ablaze. “If I can’t marry him instead, I can at least pretend I chose to leave.”

Ciel still refused to look at him, though he shuddered slightly at the sound of Alois raising his voice at him. Once his tangent had finished, Ciel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, and sat up straight, crossing his legs.

“Perhaps it’s time we both accept these are the lives we’re destined to lead.” He admitted quietly, despising the thought of it just as much as he believed it. “Forced to either be alone, or live a lie.” His eyes darted towards Alois’, not expecting for their gazes to lock. Cheeks flushing softly, Ciel stood from his seat, standing straight and strong as he looked down at Alois. This was his home.

“I won’t have any of your games during your stay here. Do you understand me?” Ciel spat in an accusatory tone. “I’ve moved on from this.” Lies. He could hear it in his own voice, all lies. “This is nothing more than a coincidence.” One that he had prayed for for years. “...Goodnight.” He turned on his heel, moving to exit the room before Alois could stop him.

Alois, in a reflexive motion, shook himself out of his shock and stood quickly. Before thinking it through, his hand reached out, snatching Ciel’s hand and holding tightly. It was the first time they’d touched in years, the first time at all as adults with lives and pasts that contradicted everything he felt in that moment. It was as if they were kids again, discovering themselves in late nights and bedsheets that cost too much to worry about the future. That was the beginning of it all, but in the back of his head, the blonde always knew it wasn’t the end when he looked back at London in the rear-view window.

“Do you think I would’ve come back if I didn’t know that?” He accused, grasp tightening even more. Pleading entered his tone, an oddity. “I know it’s all a lie. My departure was a lie, Ciel. You’re the only thing in this world I want to protect and not kill. So I did that. Hell, I lied to Claude to come back here too.” He paused, making sure the other man was looking at him. “I don’t know about you, but I’m doomed to repeat this pattern until I die. But I would do it a thousand times with you. Do you realize just how much I thought of you while I was gone?”

The pounding of his heart was so loud, he wondered if Alois could hear it. His legs felt weak, and he grasped Alois’ hand just as tightly without even realizing it. Ciel stared into the piercing blue eyes of his former lover, his favorite and most terrifying secret, wide eyed and stiff.

He thought of him. How many times did he think of him while with that other lover of his, he wondered. How many times did he close his eyes and pretend it was his hand he was holding, his lips he was kissing, his bed he was sharing.

My love.

Lizzie’s voice echoed through his mind, snapping him out of his trance. He ripped his hand away from Alois’ grasp, only to reach forward and grab him by the color of his dress shirt. “Do you know how terrifying that pattern of ours was? It was like playing chess with Satan himself, one wrong move and all of your secrets would be revealed, your life ruined.” He was nearly out of breath, staring deeply into Alois’ eyes. He missed being this close to him. “I can’t do it again, Alois, I-”

He stopped, composing himself. Releasing Alois’ collar, he turned away again. “...Sebastian should have given some of my old night clothes to your butler. I’m sure he’s waiting in your room now.” He lowered his voice in an attempt to hide its quivering. “I’m sure you remember where the spare room is. Goodnight, Mr. Trancy.”

And with that, he left, leaving Alois alone in the drawing room in front of a hot fire, the sound of rain beating violently against the window panes.

Once his collar was released, the man flung himself back into the chair behind him. Defeated for once and tired from the weight of his sins, he slouched into the back and stared up at the ceiling for a while. Time passed as he watched the shadows dance on the ceiling the way he wished he could.

Terrifying, huh? His whole life was just that. Everything he loved, up in flames for reasons of his own or otherwise. He’d found it ironic when he read of the Phantomhive tragedy in the papers for the first time. Both held history born of fire and only one lived as though he wasn’t doomed to perish in it. Alois knew he lived his life on the edge, but if he were to stop and attempt to find stillness in the web he’d woven his whole life, the web would stop weaving. Over the years, it would simply fall apart, a cobweb of lies and missed opportunity. While boasting a similar lifestyle, only one of the two could ever be wealthy. Unlike his ex-lover, he couldn’t pretend to love someone he didn’t for the rest of his short, doomed life. Unlike Jean, he couldn’t give up his own selfish desires for stability and peace.

He spent at least an hour in that crushing room, watching the fire crackle until it finally burnt out. He even attempted to read to calm himself down, a pursuit that proved pointless. Finally, he chose to walk to his room and wait until sunrise. Perhaps he could slip out in the darkness if it would just stop raining. However, as he walked down the hall, he crossed Ciel’s room as well. He stopped in the hall, looking around for a moment while he decided to follow his impulses. His pale hand reached out in the darkness to the knob, turning it with enough force to wake the other if he had even been asleep to begin with. As he opened it, he slipped in quickly, shutting the door behind him and pressing himself against the wood.

“You do not speak to me that way.” He said, though his voice was unsure.

Ciel, now in his warmest robe and tucked away in bed, hadn’t fallen asleep since returning to his room. He was just nodding off, pushing away the intrusive thoughts that used to keep him awake eight years ago, only just returning.

Shaken awake by the sound of his door opening, he sat up quickly, clasping his hands over his robe to be sure he was covered. His eye, stained with the contract of a demon, glowed softly from beneath his bangs, piercing Alois’ gaze from across the room.

Realizing now who had entered his room, he calmed down slightly, but still felt threatened. He had been in this situation too many times before; Alois sneaking into his room to try and squeeze more love and affection from his body, doing things to him that put them both in such danger of being found out.

He narrowed his eyes, not moving from his position. “Leave my room.” He spoke sternly, but softly. The pounding in his chest returned, flooding his ears with thundering noise as another flash of lightning lit up his bedroom for a split second, followed by the boom of thunder that shook the walls. He shuddered again, grasping his robe tightly. “Get...out, Trancy..”

Alois shrunk against the door, reconsidering for only a second. It had been such a long time since either of them were even in the same room together that his tone sparked uncertainty. But he quickly regained his rage enough to overpower it.

“Absolutely not!” He gritted through clenched teeth. “You are not sleeping unti-” Cut off by thunder and Ciel’s remarks, he was brought to pause and without thinking, he walked closer to the bed in the center of the room. He sat at the end, recognition on his face of the other’s fear. The man looked out the window to watch another crack of lightning as it lit both their faces. Either he had forgotten or he had never known about this fear of his. Taken by concern, Alois’ gaze wandered back to Ciel’s as another crack of thunder rolled. Silence overtook the moment once the shaking passed through the manor. It was as if the building was an extension of the men’s thoughts itself, crushing and yet so empty, awaiting the next crash.

“I… left for you. And I came back for you. And who knows, in the years, we could both be dead. I don’t want to spend that time pretending I didn’t know you.” He said softly, pleading now. It was the first sense of caution that seeped into his voice regarding the subject. He absolutely knew where it could land them. “I didn’t even do that in France.”

“I don’t believe you..” Ciel interjected, leaning away against the headboard as Alois sat on the edge of his bed. “I.. I don’t believe you came back for me. For all you knew, I could have been married by now. Or sickly, or dead, or far away from here.”

It was challenging to keep his eyes locked on Alois’. His gaze desired to wander, taking note of how the moonlight cast shadows on the blond’s clothes and face. The way his hair fell in front of his eyes, in this dark bedroom where so many nights had been shared between the two of them, reminded him of everything.

“We.. We were boys, Alois..” He tried to convince himself, voice threatening to break. “We were just boys, we..” Gather yourself. “I’ll call for Sebastian if I must. Your butler is likely wondering where you are.” No matter how hard he tried, Ciel failed to be threatening when his butler was absent from his side. He was helpless, and he knew it. He was caught in this goddamn spider web again, waiting to be devoured. It was all too familiar, all too desirable, and just as terrifying as it was before.

Alois sighed, looking tired once again. At this older age, one could tell that this was a man who knew tragedy, no longer a scared little boy. His thoughts grew more complex as the summers grew shorter and the winters grew colder. Years of rejection and loss were beginning to catch up with him and it was only noticeable in the light of a chipped full moon.

“And now we’re men. What of it?” He grumbled under his breath, looking back out the window. “That crossed my mind. I would’ve gone to your grave every day, or slept beside you to keep you warm, come up with some lie, or found my way back home.” He leaned into his lap, placing his chin in his hand quietly. “Claude just thinks I’m here to trick you. But what use of that?” He rolled his eyes at the idea of it, remembering the lies he was already stacking just to sit here at the end of the man’s bed. Doomed was the only way to put it, the web he wove years ago even pulling his own self back into its gravity. “Childish romance, innit? I only stayed with that man so long because he reminded me so much of…” He paused again, this time longer as he calculated just how much he wanted to reveal. “Sure, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure if you still felt anything, but you’re at least still real.”

Ciel was listening to every word that left Alois’ lips, he truly was. With every pause, he eagerly waited for what was coming next, hanging onto each syllable. As Alois described what he would have done, even if Ciel was sickly or bedridden or on the verge of death, Ciel pictured every moment. Truth be told, he would give anything to die by this man’s side. Some might say he’s too young to be dwelling so much on the thought of death, but Ciel disagreed. He didn’t fear it.

Relaxing slightly as he saw Alois’ guard falling, Ciel sat up more, leaning in Alois’ direction but not too closely. His heart sank. “He.. He reminded you of me.. didn’t he..” He spoke in a voice not much louder than a whisper.

He looked down into his lap, shaking his head slightly as he rubbed his contract stained eye. “Our lives would completely crumble if we were found out. Even if anyone caught wind of our past, our lives would end. You realize that don’t you?” His voice raised slightly, becoming angry at the idea that Alois simply didn’t care. “What would we do then, Trancy? You obviously must have all the answers, since you’re so determined to pick things up where we left them nearly ten years ago. I couldn’t live with myself if-” He paused, swallowing hard as another crack of thunder and lightning made him wince. “If anything happened to you..”

Alois laughed darkly to himself, lacking any of the confidence he held as a teen. The years had made him uncertain of himself. Letting his guard fall as he felt the moment soften, he again gazed out the window.

“He reminded me of you, yes. And at least with you, I know that your marriage isn’t a betrayal. Hiding me in closets, calling me a cousin, covering up our fights and letting him tell everyone it was a family home and not me trying to fix all our past-” He rambled, primarily to himself. “I have none of the answers, Phantomhive. Absolutely none of them. And yet, I’ve already ended my own life at least three times. I’ve still got to live my life even though I could end it again. And if yours ends with mine for the fourth, I’d call curtain and sneak us off stage.” He paused, nodding once to himself. “It’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I can’t die alone. I know I live recklessly, but regardless, I just can’t stay away for long.”

There it was. Alois had made a web and yet, caught himself inside it instead.

Ciel felt a smile creeping onto his face, but suppressed it. As romantic as the young man’s words were, this wasn’t something to be happy about. This was scary and dangerous and secretive. He had sworn to himself once Alois left that he would seal away this chapter of his life and take it to his grave. And yet, here he was, face to face with the same man he once knew as a boy, just as in love and just as longing.

And then, for the first time since they had run into each other in town, Ciel reached out to him. He gently laid his hand on top of the blond’s, still cautious and unsure. Every fiber of his being was telling him this was a bad idea, that going any further would trap him and send him spiraling once again, but he couldn’t stop himself.

He lightly intertwined their fingers, his eyes till averted to his own lap. This felt so familiar yet so foreign. “I.. can’t afford to live recklessly, Trancy.” He said quietly, wishing he was able to give a different answer. “If things were different, if I didn’t have Lizzie to look out for, if..” There was more he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words. Well, he knew the words he wanted to say; three dangerous words that should only be saved for when you really mean it, three words that he could never truly say to Lizzie; but they wouldn’t come.

Feeling the touch on his own hand, Alois felt a lump form in his throat. He knew it was wrong - it was a secret everywhere they were to go. They could cross the sea, they could drift away into the evenings together and never have a moment of truth again. However, Alois couldn’t remember the last time he’d told the truth to anyone aside from right now. Something about his ex-lover made him feel real unlike anything else. He turned to the other man, taking in just how beautiful he was in the moonlight. A smile crossed his lips without him even realizing it.

“Lizzie doesn’t even know we’re both on borrowed time. You remember that, right? Passion is the only thing keeping us alive. And I know the only passion you’ve felt lately is rage. Isn’t this better?” He persuaded, closing the distance between them by only an inch or two. “I spent eight years wishing I was right here. Do you feel the same about her?” His smile grew soft, betraying the true warmth he felt for the other man in front of him. “We can keep the nights. Maybe the weekends. Holidays, here and there. I’ll play family friend just as I always do. I don’t have family pressuring me to marry. I can play along.”

His face grew hot as Alois moved closer, just inches away now. Ciel lightly squeezed his hand, eyes darting to his lips and then back to his eyes. He let out a breath.

“I.. love Lizzie. I do. Not in the way she wants me to but, she’s important to me Trancy..” He shook his head lightly, his hair falling in front of his eyes. “I.. I thought you were never going to come back. I thought I’d never see you again, be here, like this, again.” He was rambling now, unable to keep his thoughts straight. Another flash of lightning made him jump, his own forehead now resting against Alois’, skin hot and flushed.

How many nights over those eight years had he dreamt of this exact moment; the two of them, close and intertwined, basking in the moonlight under the soft silk covers of his bed, their bed, living as if no one else existed. He missed him. He didn’t know how much until now. Ciel would kill anyone who hurt Alois Trancy, he’d do it himself. The world was against them and he knew it, as painful as it was to admit.

“I missed you so badly..” He blurted out, forgetting for a moment he wasn’t locked inside a dream. Ciel’s eyes widened slightly, looking up into the sky blue eyes of his lover, cheeks flushing as he contemplated if he had really spoken the words aloud.

Seizing the moment, the blonde raised a hand to rest against the back of his lover’s head, playing with his hair. Though he poised himself as put together and sure, in this moment he was the exact opposite as the thunder cracked outside. He was embarrassed at his own gentleness for this man, this dumb, cruel, and yet perfectly matched partner. It was as if the world existed outside of them and only outside of this room.

“I know.” He whispered, “because I never went to bed without you somehow…” He trailed off, pulling the other in impossibly close, so much so that their lips brushed while he spoke, “so stupid, thinking he’d just be you one day…”

With that, their lips met in reunion as if there were magnets that tied them together indefinitely. Somehow, he knew he’d always end up back here. Jean was but a continuation of their story. A chapter left dusty in the attic as years went by and time passed, certainly. Jean was also a preview of what was to come in the future, but as he lost himself in this dream, that didn’t matter. It might matter tomorrow, or next week, but not right now. Minutes passed by, a pregnant pause that the world seemed to give them, just them. It was as if the universe was going to find them pauses in life so they could at least enjoy some of their lives happily. A moment lost in many, an absence of absence.

If anyone saw them, they could both be killed. Alois knew that he would take that bullet, he would allow that wound. The only person he could ever fathom caring about in this way. Even Jean couldn’t have said that.

As the blond man’s lips met his own, every muscle in Ciel’s thin body seemed to release. He melted into the arms of his lover, his one hand refusing to let go of Alois’ while the other gently came up to rest on the other’s shoulder.

A million images and memories flew through Ciel’s mind; every night they spent together in their youth, all lips and teeth and tongue and sickeningly sweet whispers of their love for one another. A secret kept by their servants and kept from the rest of the world. Never once in those eight years did Ciel feel at home in this monstrous manor, not even with Lizzie seated by his side. But here, in this kiss and this embrace, he felt nothing but comfort, he felt right.

Pulling away slightly, the two caught their breath, still embracing one another and showing no signs of letting go. Ciel’s hand ran gently from Alois’ shoulder to the back of his neck, as if worried he would lean away and be gone forever once more.

“Stay..” He whispered, all needy and wanting. “I dreamt of this. I looked to the sky and prayed to a God who had never answered me before. Don’t leave me now..” He shut his eyes, their noses rubbing together gently. “Stay..”

The man chuckled softly, allowing himself to be caught in this embrace despite everything that would normally cause him pause. Somehow, it did feel right to both of them. If the world were more allowing, he knew that this is how they were meant to live life. He nodded.

“I’ll stay here tonight.” He confirmed. “And I’ll cover for us in the morning…” He sighed, pulling himself away to lay beside Ciel’s spot on the bed, never once breaking contact completely and keeping him by the hand. “I am really quite tired, y’know..” he admitted, closing his eyes and tugging on his lover’s arm to pull him into the crevice of his shoulder. “But don’t think it was God who finally answered us.” He opened his eyes slightly to look over at Ciel, “God wouldn’t torture us this way. We’re damned. But if we’re to sell ourselves to demons, I’ll live in sin.” He paused, smiling to himself. “And isn’t that just our brand of sick happiness anyway?”

Following his lead, Ciel laid back into the soft pillows of his bed, curling up against the curve of Alois’ side, his head resting on his chest. He listened to his heart beating hard, just as hard as his own, and he felt comforted.

“I suppose you’re right,” He whispered. “As much as I hate admitting it.” He released a puff of air from his nose as he stifled a chuckle, tilting his head to look up at the man from his past and from his dreams. Ciel leaned up, holding his cheek in the palm of his hand as he directed him to another soft kiss, lingering for a moment to savor the taste of him again.

In his gut, Ciel knew this couldn’t end well. Even if they were able to keep this up for the next twenty years, they would never be able to fully embrace each other without facing the disgusted wrath of others. But for now, just in this moment, none of that mattered. Whatever was coming, he would deal with it when it confronted him.

His eyes closed as he laid his head back down without another word. He felt he could sleep for an eternity in Alois’ arms like this, and for now, that’s what he would do.

Finally satisfied with his return, the man pulled his lover close in the dark of the night. Silently, he knew it to be a fact that this would be all their lives - darkness, silence, and secrecy. Of course, he didn’t enjoy that fact either. It could end in flames. It could end in losing everything they had and they could never share a home or a life truly. One day, Ciel would marry another and the lies would have to find a way to cover them up again. Their whole life would be a web of lies and sneaky ploys, sneaking away from events just to share a kiss in celebration for life events. And one day, he’d need a new reason to spend the night in Ciel’s arms. Despite this, the blonde fell fast asleep beside the other, tied in the silence of the dark and forgetting the fog he’d fought to get there.

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thebutterflyranger · 5 years

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We all know this but I want to give you a reason to talk about Will: your favourite fictional character and why you love them

*Breathes in* Apologies, but this is gonna be a very long post.

John Flanagan has done a lot wrong - so many things that I will never forgive him for. But one thing he did so right, is my man Will Treaty from book 1-11. I know he seems like an average main character, but to me, he is way more than that. He is the embodiment of an imperfectly perfect person. I could talk about him in-depth, including all the headcanons and analysis, but to make it simple, I’ll just focus on the canon.

Why Will Treaty is the fictional love of my life:

1. He is incredibly strong not just physically which he really is idk why people sleep on that but the mental perseverance that is shown throughout the entire series. From the first book to the end. His life is so tough, more than we can really fathom, and yet he pushes through it all.

2. His curiosity is very cute to me. Like the fact that he wants to know everything, but not in an annoying way...his mind is just trying to absorb everything at all times.

3. His ability to catch things on really fast. Like, not much gets past him at all. And once he got something,,,he got it. Halt said it, and so did Berrigan. Whether its picking up songs, or that little coin trick, or a bird whistle. He is quick.

4. His respect for his elders. Whether its Halt or Crowley or Arald or anyone. He is the classic good-boi who just wants the adults to be proud of him. All jokes aside, he is probably the last person to do anything that would remotely make Halt upset. He makes jokes and is light, but never crosses the unspoken line.

5. His sense of humor. Lmfao because he is funny as shit and witty as fuck. That joke about a good knight’s sleep? A riot. Lmfao at I love that he just wants people around him to laugh, and he knows what to say to lighten up the mood.

6. The fact that he always seems to know the time and place for things. He knows when to get serious and when to crack a joke. He very rarely says things out of turn, and when he does he backtracks instantly. You won’t catch Will saying something insensitive or rash. It's shown several times that he makes people around him comfortable by just being around them.

7. THE WAY HE TREATS THE WOMEN IN HIS LIFE. All of the women he has interacted with….ooofh he exudes big feminist energy. From his respect and love for Pauline; calling her “Lady” until she tells him not to, making promises to her that he remembers throughout his mission. The modesty and respect he had for Edwina - and the fact that she took an instant liking to him. His interactions with Jenny - the way he compliments her and makes her feel better about herself, the way he is a literal brother to her. Even Cassandra; the way he took care of her and gave her comfort when she needed it, and afterward how he always had respect for her. Ceilma!!! Delia!!! He is Good to all of them. And then there is Alyss.

8. There are several things about his relationship with Alyss, besides the fact that he would legit commit treason for her, that GET ME IN THE SOUL:

a. The fact that he would go miles out of his way to make her feel loved and not alone. He signaled to her for DAYS in Macindaw, with no reply back from her and no guarantee that she would reach out. But he made sure he would be there if and when she did.

b. The fact that she knows he would wait for her patiently. Like No rush. Take your time baby.

c. The fact that he is a strong enough man to marry an intelligent and highly capable and strong woman like her

d. The fact that he is protective of her, but has no doubt in her ability. The only reason he is reluctant when she goes on missions...is because he loves her and doesn’t want anything to happen to her.

e. He is super affectionate. Holding hands, kissing, hugging. Ahem, I love that for him.

9. His readiness for death. It gets me every time, how he is in the heat of battle and fighting for his life, but the moment he realizes there is no way he can get out of the situation alive...he relaxes. He closes his eyes and waits calmly, seemingly at peace. It is eerily beautiful to me.

10. His selflessness. Putting his life on the line for others - over and over again. He did it for Halt, he did it for Horace, he did it for Alyss.

11. He is perfect Husband Material (see 12-17)

12. He can cook. Very well. As Alyss said: Get you a mans that can cook

13. And he can clean, AND he is organized? O h?

14. He can sing too??

15. Oh btw he can also play an instrument.

16. I forgot to mention that he is very good with young kids.

17. He is loyal as fuck. Won’r cheat, the thought won’t even cross his mind.

18. He is smart as hell. The decision making, the planning, the ambition of his ideas. His innovation. description of his quick mind is just ahskajkh. The fact that Halt would choose him over Gilan and Crowley because of how quick he is (and because that’s his literal son) just gets me. His vocabulary is out of this world - which has convinced me that he is an avid reader. His ability to put two-and-two together almost immediately

19. He has a temper, but when it’s valid and necessary. You hurt the people he loves? He will murder you. You cause harm to innocent people? He will reign justice on you. You annoy the fuck out of him? Best believe he will whOOP YOUR ASS. He is no innocent timid pushover. Things will bother him, and he will lash out. He is human. It’s normal. It’s hot.

20. His love for animals. The way he is with Tug is so heartwarmingly endearing. He genuinely loves him and considers him his friend. The conversations they have together. And his care for his dogs is so adorable I can’t. The way he trained Shadow and Ebony to do those cute things...you know he would be a great father.

21. The energy he gives off to other people. Throughout the series you have people who have only interacted with him briefly, thinking about the pleasantness of him. He is just a good guy and people seem to be comfortable around him. He makes them smile, his face puts them at ease, he speaks softly. Whether it’s the boat keeper at Seacliffe, Umar and Ceilma at Arrida, or Malcolm, or the multiple farmer families he interacts with - they always mention how respectful and lovely he is.

22. His care and love for Horace. Their banter and ease with each other. The fact that he would kill and die for him. The fact that Will wishes Horace could live next to him. Its that classic cute “I-want-to-hang-out-with-my-best-friend-all-the-time-cuz-he-make-me-happy.

23. His relationship with Halt. I need a whole separate post for this.

24. His humility. From his aversion to attention to his inability to take a compliment, to him being watchful of sounding boastful or arrogant. And the fact that he doesn’t even realize how his name and image has impacted thousands of people. He is a whole legend...and he don’t even know.

25. The fact that he is the most capable and skilled Ranger there is. Periodt. I don’t want no one to @ me. You know I’m right. At his peak, he was the best in the history of the Corps.

26. Will is adorkable. The corny jokes he makes, the fact that he talks to his horses, the fact that he doesn’t realize that he is a pull god. Cutie. 10/10 would die for the dude.

27. The fact that he is clumsy when it comes to food. That is me. If food is in my hands, 9 times out of 10 it gets in somewhere on my clothes.

28. His coffee addiction. It geeks me so hard how he literally can’t help himself. He want. He is tired and he just want the coffee. Give it to him

29. His hatred of goodbyes. Idk i just think it’s heartbreaking but also very touching how he doesn’t look back when riding away from someone.

30. The fact that he isn’t afraid to show emotions. I don’t see very much, if any, toxic masculinity in Will. He is manly in his physique and power, but also in that he is comfortable in showing his emotions. He is a strong enough man that he married a strong woman. He doesn’t shy away from saying he is scared, or worried, or anxious. He tells Halt or Alyss all his feelings, without worrying about sounding weak. He openly cries many times throughout the books.

Ummm these are all that I can think off the top of my head.

#rangers apprentice #ra #will treaty #this is my love letter to the boi #im not even ashamed #ranger's apprentice #will treaty the dark sexy god

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rankdisasster · 5 years

Text

rich boy boredom

Steve Harrington x fem reader

“Could you do a billy or Steve imagine? It’s my 21st today and I feel really homesick and alone (I’m on the other side of the country at uni) and idk I feel like I can’t talk to my housemates so I’m projecting onto fictional characters” requested by anonymous.

word count: 1,922

warning(s): swearing, shoplifting, vandalism (up to no good basically)

a/n: happy late birthday lovely ! birthdays can be a bummer for me too tbh :/ and yes projecting onto characters is valid♥️

—

Steve got a free ride up to some fancy ass university across the country, room and board payed for by absent parents, got everything he could ever really want or need. And it was great. He’ll tell you that to your face, maybe even sprinkle some “I’m so grateful for this opportunity” bullshit into his speech, too. But what he won’t tell you is that being a spoiled child can get fucking dull. God forbid he ever voice these feelings out loud in fear of looking like another useless wealthy white guy that has the audacity to complain about something when he could have everything he could ever want and then some. But it got lonely and dangerously boring. And when Steve was bored whenever his folks weren’t around, he always got the itch to fuck something up just to feel anything other than the tasteless boredom.

Since the boy lost his title in high school and now embraced his new dorky guy status (wearing sweaters, even needing glasses for fuck’s sake) girls have either ignored him or friend zoned him. And yeah, having friends that are only chicks is great and all, but now everybody just thinks he’s a gay rich brat that shouldn’t complain about not picking up a date when he could afford a yacht if he simply felt like it. At least everyone who gave him the stink eye had parents at home that payed attention and cared for their well being.

The only girl (or just person in general) in any of his classes that didn’t treat him that way or roll their eyes if he tried to ask a question in class was Y/N. She was smart, he could tell that by peeking at her test scores whenever they got their exams handed back to correct. Pretty, too. Same innocence as his high school heartbreaker Nancy has. Steve isn’t sure if that’s his subconscious type he’s into or if it’s just coincidences. He’d make a move on her if she wasn’t so quiet all the time, he even contemplated if she were deaf or mute or something. The only words he ever heard her speak were ‘here’ for role call at the start of class. Her shy nature was a little intimidating, he didn’t know what she thought about him or anybody else at all. She was sorta mysterious like that, but damn if he didn’t try at least giving her a heads up that she could talk to him if she wanted.

Now was his chance, he’s had at least a hundred chances so far because they’ve shared this class for months now, but still. Steve has to really hype himself up and mentally give a pep talk about what he was gonna say, how he was gonna say it. Y/N was wearing her regular cozy sweater, baggy jeans and ruffled hair as usual. She looked cute everyday, but today he couldn’t help but think she was extra cute. Steve saw her sit down in her usual spot, taking out her notes and book from her bag and patiently waiting for the professor to start.

“Uh, your name’s Y/N right?” Steve asks. Fucking great start, jackass. Of course he knows her name already. She whips her head around in surprise that somebody actually acknowledged her presence and nodded, still unsure of what to say back to the boy. “I’m Steve. If you didn’t already like, know that or whatever. Sorry. But maybe when class is done, do you wanna hang out and do something? Go somewhere? If you’re not busy,” he finally gets out, begging the heavens that he doesn’t sound too creepy and scare her off from him for good. She still stares at him blankly then snaps out of whatever trance she had been in, and talks. He didn’t ever hear what her voice sounded like before.

“I know your name’s Steve.” she replies.

That’s it? That’s all you have to say?

“Yeah. That’s me. So about that—“

“Sure. I’ll go with you. Could use some excitement today especially,” she shrugs then turns around as the professor enters and walks to the front, announcing to the class what they’re gonna be doing today.

“What’s today?” he whispers, but gets rudely interrupted by the professor’s request for the class to quiet down and gives his lecture.

—

Class was annoying as fuck as per usual, but staring at the back of Y/N’s head was the only thing he really liked. Steve wouldn’t dare say that out loud, but it was true. Finally the professor dismissed all of the students to leave, and Steve was quick to pack up his shit and hang out with the girl. Y/N took her time as opposed to Steve, and he went up to her seat to ask what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go.

“Surprise me,” she answers with a smile. The boy returns it and offers to carry her bag for her, not taking no for an answer.

“Okay. I will, let’s do it,” he pumps his fist in the air and briefly regrets showing enthusiasm but it’s okay because she gives him a laugh, and he likes the sound of it. He likes it a lot, honestly.

Back to Steve’s boredom and stupidity, the combination often leads him into trouble. But Y/N was along for the ride, seeming happy that someone was actually spending time with her. She kept telling him about how afraid she was that today specifically would be another stale, boring day. Whenever the boy asked what today meant, but she shrugged it off and changed the subject to something else. She wanted to talk about him, but he was begging to know more about her. She talked about she feels invisible most days, how nobody really recognizes her existence but Steve sees her. He knows she exists, and he likes that she’s here spending time with him.

“Wanna do something stupid?” Steve asks, eyeing the drugstore that was across the street and how no one seemed to be working there tonight.

“How stupid are we going for, exactly?” She laughs. There’s that laughter again. Steve relishes in the feeling of his heartbeat getting quicker, and grabs her hand to cross the road.

“Like, really fucking stupid, honestly.” He answers as he tells her to keep her head down, both of them staying low as Steve conducts a plan. “What do you want right now? Anything. Could be anything, go crazy.” She looks at him and still has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Um, I don’t know. A redbull I guess?” She answers. Steve smirks at her.

“One redbull coming up. Anything else? C’mon, you could do better than that Y/N,” he playfully pushes her shoulder, encouraging her to speak up about what else.

“Okay, okay! Fine, Steve. Jesus. I really want a cake, too,” she says.

“Cake and redbull. Gotcha, stay out here and wait for my signal,” he whispers, patting her back and entering the store without another word. Y/N doesn’t even know what “signal” he’s talking about. Moments later, Steve emerges from the store in a panic, screaming “RUN” at Y/N with spray paint, her redbull, and a cake stuffed in his coat.

“What the fuck, Steve!” She races after the boy and they don’t stop until they’re in behind a secluded building with brick walls surrounding them. Steve is out of breath, and Y/N is catching hers still before she snorts a giggle and holds onto Steve and her stomach, hurting from laughing so hard. The adrenaline they’re both high on is fueling their energy, making them incapable of stopping their fun. Steve carelessly throws the plastic lid off of the cake and remembers that he never grabbed forks for them.

Y/N takes the redbull and cracks it open, chugging some then handing it over to Steve, who takes it and gulps some too.

“You should see the way your hair bounces up and down when you run,” she giggles at him then runs her fingers through it, making Steve blush but not move, not wanting her to stop. Y/N gestures to the spray cans he also stole. “What’re these for?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of these? It’s like paint, but you spray it, and —“

“No, dumbass! Why’d you take those too? They weren’t on the list,” you interject.

“Ohhhh, right. So like, we could draw or write whatever we want here,” Steve answers simply, taking the can of green paint and spraying your name on the brick wall in front. When he’s finished, he grabs a handful of the cake and shoves it in his mouth and moans at the creamy, sugary fluffiness.

“That is some good shit right there,” he points to the vanilla frosting covered dessert with his messy hand before going to spray more designs on the wall.

“You’re crazy, man.”

“Yeah. No I’m really not, I think I’m just bored. Tired of getting everything I want handed to me. It doesn’t feel like I earned any of it,” his tone switches to something a bit more sad, dropping the can of spray and taking another bite before offering you some cake.

“Eh, sure. What the hell, right?” You shrug, taking the giant bite he fed to you and not caring that some bits of cake land on your sweater. Steve apologizes but you wave it off, it’s just a stupid sweater.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve murmurs, scooting closer to you before you get up and ignore his protests of wanting you to sit back down with him. You take the red spray paint and start marking up the wall, decorating it with hearts and stars. “Y’know, you never told me what today is,” he gazes up at you before shoveling more cake into his palm and feeding it to you. You eat all of it up then laugh but it doesn’t sound like it’s out of a joke, but something else.

“Today’s my twenty-first birthday,” Y/N answered before going back to the task of vandalizing the brick.

“Shit. Happy birthday, Y/N,” Steve smiles when he stands up, watching you in a daze like he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful than you do right now, cake on your shirt and chin be damned. “Should’ve stolen a six pack of beer too while I was at it.”

“My family forgot. Nobody in class even cared either,” you stared down at the ground in embarrassment, knowing that this rich boy from Indiana couldn’t possibly understand what with his money and his popularity. Steve tilts your chin up with his clean fingers then leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss before pulling back.

“I’m still twenty, my birthday’s not till next September. You’re pretty lucky I like older women,” Steve whispers and before you can laugh at that he’s going in for a better one, kissing the hell out of your soft lips and cupping your cheek. Even with the cake all over his fingers, you’ve never felt this seen before, like anybody really noticed you like Steve did in this moment, on this day.

“You should be thankful I like younger men, too. And what’s the deal with the stealing? Pretty sure you can afford an energy drink, some spray paint and a cake,” you say, petting his hair again and making him purr at the stimulating feeling.

“I just got bored.”

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine

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mrswagangel · 4 years

Text

Not Sorry

This is a @soulbounty fan fiction. The story universe and all characters except Brian belong to @whatthehaxx. Check out their art blog: @haxxydraws!

Beatboxxx was having the time of her life. Her hips swayed to the club music. The beat was so loud it felt like it was clutching her heart and compelling her body to dance. She could feel Suxxubus grinding on her front and someone she most likely didn’t know grazing her back, but Beatboxxx didn’t care as long as they didn’t get in the way of her dancing. She had so much emotion and frustration to let loose with no time but now to release them.

Beatboxxx had a job to complete tonight. Yesterday she flirted her way across some intel of where she and Clwn could find their next target. Brian Cyan sold his soul 10 years ago to make his wife and kid “go away” in order to marry into wealth. It was time for him to pay his debt, but he managed to slip away. Beatboxxx found out he had a bit of a gambling addiction landing him to a gamblers club meeting at midnight a few blocks from where she was dancing.

There was nothing to do until the meeting, so there was nothing standing in her way of accepting Suxxubus’ invite to the club... as long as she met up with Clwn on time.

She started to run low on energy and thought it was a great time to get another drink, so Beatboxxx pulled Suxxubus towards the bar. The person who was dancing too close behind Beatboxxx grabbed her arm. She tried bruising some pink strands attached to her forehead via sweat from her face with a hand still on her arm. She finally looked and knew for a fact she didn’t know this person.

“You’re not leaving without me, are you?” The man asked. “I thought we were having so much fun.”

“I need a drink!” Beatboxxx yelled over the music.

“I can’t let a pretty girl like you get away! Let me buy you and your friend a drink!”

“No, thanks,” Beatboxxx said while removing his hand from her arm and immediately grabbing Suxxubus again. “My boyfriend is waiting at the bar for me!”

She quickly lost him in the crowd and made it to the bar.

“Let me get the fruitiest drink you got and a vodka cranberry!” Beatboxxx yelled at the bartender.

“Men!” Suxxubus complained.

“I know, right!” Like I let you grind on me a bit while I dance! That should be enough!”

“This is why I don’t let them even talk to me!” Suxxubus pointed out.

“That and you’re in no way attracted to them!” Beatboxxx tried to get out while laughing.

The bartender gave them their drinks and Suxxubus paid while Beatboxxx checked her phone.

“Shit!” Suxxubus looked over Beatboxxx’s shoulder at her phone screen to see 3 missed calls and 4 texts from Clwn. “It’s 2:22! I missed the job and Clwn is pissed.”

“Well at least you don’t need to watch the time anymore!”

“I’m gonna go,” Beatboxxx said after she drowned her drink. “Clwn might go on a murder spree and I gotta make sure he collected the soul. Sometimes he just kills the target and leaves the soul when he’s in one of his moods.”

“Alright! See ya, girly!”

Suxxubus turned toward the bar looking down for someone to hang with for the night as Beatboxxx grabbed her bag and left.

Beatboxxx found the gamblers club riddled with ambulances and cops. All the members looked confused and terrified letting Beatboxxx know Clwn used his reality warping on them. He at least didn’t go on a murder spree here. The lifeless body being hauled had no soul, so Clwn has the soul or already delivered it. All his text said was that he “handled” it.

There was nothing else for Beatboxxx to see, so she made her way to one more pitstop before heading home.

: : :

Just as Beatboxxx suspected Bootsman was hanging by his harness from the living room ceiling. Because Bootsman had no arms, Clown put him in a jacket that he sew weights inside the sleeves to keep the harness in place.

Bootsman stopped angrily squirming once he noticed Beatboxxx looking at him. She heard a faint whine echo in her head she probably wouldn’t have heard if she wasn’t focused on the gachapon imp.

Beatboxxx put down the pig she caught and roasted with her electrokinesis before helping Bootsman.

Clown had a tendency of fucking with Bootsman when he was upset with Beatboxxx. She’s the one who wanted him as a pet and yet he was the one who took care of Bootsman the most (not that Clwn would let Bootsman know this). Beatboxxx just never thought about the responsibilities or consequences that came with her decisions and actions. Beatboxxx could buy and show off all her gachapon imp merchandise, but couldn’t feed or walk Bootsman half of the time unless she knew Clwn was royally pissed with her (hence the roasted pig).

Once Beatboxxx got Bootsman down, he beelined to Clwn’s door to kick it repeatedly. It raddled with each kick. Beatboxxx ignored this in favor of ripping the pig apart with her bare hands for her and Bootsman to share.

After Beatboxxx finished dividing up the pig, she called Bootsman to come eat. He left Clwn’s bedroom door to fill his stomach. He stopped in front of Beatboxxx who now sat at the kitchen island with pig parts all over the surface. She picked up one piece while Bootsman almost split himself in half vertically revealing sharp teeth. Beatboxxx dropped the pork and Bootsman closed himself over it. Beatboxxx ate and occasionally dropped a piece in Bootsman’s awaiting mouth whenever he split himself.

Beatboxxx made no attempt to clean off the counter after they finished eating. Instead she gagged at the smell left on her clothes and hands from carrying and splitting the pork.

She stripped on the way to the bathroom leaving a clothes trail in her wake. After she finished washing up and removed her make-up, she sat on the living room couch scrolling through Instagram. Suxxubus already posted pictures and videos of them, so she shared those on her story adding stickers and such. Bootsman surprisingly jumped on the couch to snuggle her side waiting for scratches. Really Beatboxxx was avoiding Clwn. His last text just said the words “Fuck you” with no emoji.

Beatboxxx knew she probably shouldn’t have gone to the club or at least kept a better track of time, but the last thing she wanted to do was tell Clwn that or anyone for that matter. Clwn was just always right and he was never nice about it either. It didn’t help that Bootsman kicked Clwn’s door as soon as she let him down. There’s no way Bootsman could’ve got down on his own meaning Clwn had to know Beatboxxx was back. If she goes straight to her room, there will be a bigger fight in the morning.

She looked back at Clwn’s texts:

12:16am Where are you? You should’ve been here 15 minutes ago. 😡

12:30am Forget it. I handed it. 😒

1:30am I made turkey wings for dinner... you know, whatever you get back 😑

2:13am Fuck you

Actually Beatboxxx couldn’t do this. She got up and headed to her room. As soon as she opened her door, Clwn opened his which was directly across from Beatboxxx’s. Beatboxxx reluctantly let go of her door knob and faced Clwn. Bootsman, sensing the tension, ran past Beatboxxx into her room and kicked the door closed behind him.

“Look. I-”

“You should’ve been there. We had a plan,” Clwn interrupted. “Do you think I like this job?”

“Yes?” Clwn didn’t move. The poncho didn’t reveal any hand movement and his mask stayed as the cynical clown face. Beatboxxx, however, did notice the slight leak of black matter from under his mask. “I mean you can legally— or at least legal-ish— kill. You love killing!”

“I prefer picking my own targets and not having to create sneaky plans, so humans don’t see me,” Clwn retorted.

“I swear I was keeping track of time.”

“No, you were too busy with Suxxubus to do your damn job!”

Beatboxxx covered her mouth to giggle.

“Are you seriously jealous? Is that why you cursed at me over text? Because I wouldn’t eat a romantic, homemade dinner with you?”

“No,” Clwn said while holding himself back from telling her off. “I want you to do your job PROPERLY for once.”

“It got done, didn’t it?”

“No. Thanks. To you.” Some of Clwn dripped on the floor from behind his mask. Beatboxxx couldn’t say she wasn’t a bit scared. Usually Clwn could hold his form together. Not now clearly.

“I was the one who found out where he would be!”

“You also need to follow through! You can plan all you want, but, if you don’t do the damn deed, what’s the fucking point?!”

The two just glared at each other. Beatboxxx clenched her fists causing nail dents in her palms while Clwn dripped a small puddle of black matter over his poncho and onto the floor.

He was right. He was always right and it pissed off Beatboxxx to no end. She just had to be patterned up with him of the all Soul Bounty demons.

“Fine,” she exhaled. “I’ll handle the next job by myself. Will that make us even?”

All the matter on the floor creeped up Clwn’s legs disappearing under his poncho only to reappear briefly at his neck to go back under his mask.

“That’s what I like to hear.” One of Clwn’s detached hands came from under his poncho to re-open his door. As she turned around to retreat into his room, he warned, “Don’t let this happen again.” The hand followed him into the room to close it behind him.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Beatboxx mocked as she finally went into her own room. Beatboxxx found Bootsman comfy in his bed. Clwn got him a dog bed as a joke. Although Bootsman was initially upset about it, all it took was a soft blanket for him to reluctantly sleep in it.

Beatboxxx decided to call it a night if you could call 3:45am bedtime. She crawled into her bed and layed down, not looking forward to handling the next mission. Clwn was usually the strategist, but she knew he wouldn’t offer any insight. She supposed she got herself into this one. She would figure it out somehow.

Just as Beatboxxx closed her eyes she heard her door open. This confirmed her suspicion. Clwn was seeking her attention today. He was more mad about her not showing up for dinner than he was about the job.

Nevertheless, she allowed him to get into bed with her. Once he settled, she rolled over to cuddle him. Beatboxxx was the only one of them that had arms, so Clwn reluctantly let her be the big spoon. It had nothing to do with the fact he was 1 foot shorter than her with his heels.

The 2 of them— 3 if you count Bootsman— had a lot to work on relationship-wise, but, for now, they were all tired.

“You smell like a pig.”

#fanfiction

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addictedtostorytelling · 4 years

Text

thoughts

a short fic-ish in honor of the twentieth anniversary of er episode 06x14 “all in the family,” which took place (within the universe of the show) on february 14th and 15th, 2000 and forever broke my heart.

canon. a recounting of the episode, mostly about lucy. not shippy, per se, though there is some mention of her relationship with carter, both the good and the bad. the pov is, uh, a take on second person. ~2,100 words.

here be angst and major character death cw.

how do i still have so many feelings about this fictional character going on twenty years and counting? rest in peace, baby girl.

_________

do you ever think about how when she died, lucy knight was only twenty-five years old, certifiably an adult but unarguably a young one, in many ways still ostensibly a kid, just trying to carve out her place in the world?

if you think about how young she was---about how she still sometimes wore butterfly clips in her hair---then do you also think about how, even though she was young, she already knew that what she wanted to do with the rest of her life was to help people, to heal them?

does it ever hit you how, just before she died, she had recently started to come into her own at the hospital---that for a year and half, she’d been the odd girl out, always struggling to catch her breath, but now she had finally begun to get the hang of things, to know herself and her job, and to form some connections? do you think about how she was going to graduate in june and become a psychiatrist? do you think about how good she might have been and about how many people she could have healed, had she a full lifetime (eighty years as opposed to just twenty-five) in which to work?

---and then does it occur to you that she never got the chance to be any of those things (a med school graduate, a psychiatrist, good at her work) before she was brutally stabbed by someone she’d spent all day advocating for?

do you ever think about how lucy probably knew, from the moment paul sobriki pulled the knife out of her gut, that even if someone were by some miracle to find her before she bled out on the exam room floor, her injuries were too severe, and she was beyond saving? (that was how the speech they had taught her to say went, wasn’t it? “ms. knight, we’re so sorry. we worked very hard to save your daughter. we exhausted all of our capabilities, but despite our best efforts—”?)

have you ever considered lucy’s simultaneous desperate hope and abject terror as she saw the light from the hallway pour into the room from where she was lying, helpless, in an ever-widening lake of her own blood? do you think about how she knew all the while that paul sobriki was still lurking and still armed? do you think about her pleading with the universe that maybe whoever had stepped into exam #3 could overpower sobriki and then find her in time to at least give her a fighting chance? do you think about how she probably also despaired that they might not notice the danger in the shadows until it was too late? do you think she was scared to death that her would-be savior might end up just like she had, in a broken heap on the ground?

do you think about how lucy had to have realized before he even fell to the floor that this new person—this new victim—was carter? do you think about how she probably recognized his shoes as he bent down to pick up yoshi’s valentine off of the tile? or do you believe she could tell it was him right away, maybe by the way that he walked or how he breathed? (because, she supposed she could admit to herself now, the truth so much harder to resist as she pushed up against the brink of her consciousness, that she had always paid too much attention to carter, in one way or another, seeking his approval, his friendship, possibly even more—?)

do you think about how she probably wanted to cry out in warning but couldn’t because her throat had been slashed? can you imagine what she felt like, watching sobriki charge out from the corner and hearing carter give that strangled yelp—“somebody!”—and then clatter onto the instrument table before falling astride from her under the bed?

do you think about how, as she struggled to stay awake for just a few seconds longer, lucy probably wanted so badly to tell carter that she was sorry? (for all of it: for not being able to save him; for the fact that they were going to die together on a cold, linoleum floor; for how their last conversation had been a fight; for how now their last conversation would always be a fight; for the fear that she could, at that moment, as he rolled over to face her, see in his eyes, bright though the room were otherwise black?)

do you think about how the last thing lucy heard before she faded out was him, stuttering out her name like a foxhole prayer through the darkness?

do you think about how the next time lucy awakened, surfacing from beneath the deep waves of her heavy anesthesia, that momentarily she forgot what had happened to her? do you wonder if it were only as her nerves roused and a lacerating, sawed-down pain tore through her that she began to remember that she’d been stabbed—that she was dying? do you think that, briefly, she considered that she might already be dead—that this pain and this darkness perhaps signified the end?

do you think about how when she first opened her eyes, lucy was alone? do you think about how only after she started to stir—to try to speak (something stopped her throat); to try to move (everything hurt, as if she had been ripped in two)—did someone come over to her, not a stranger, but someone she didn’t know well—something, something—the surgical nurse—kit? do you think about how confused she must have been and about how much she must have wanted her mom then, unashamedly, like a child?

can you imagine the horror of her conversation with elizabeth? can you imagine how the medical jargon, the thoracotomies and tracheotomies and splenectomies, which just that morning she would have found fascinating, suddenly made her sick to her stomach? do you suppose that she thought to herself this can’t be real, only she knew that it was real—and knew that, despite that litany of procedures that elizabeth had just rattled off to her, there was no stopping what was coming next, no matter how frightened she was?

doesn’t it track that by that point in her medical training, lucy had probably seen enough lost causes to recognize herself as one? do you think, fleetingly, she remembered back to last spring, to those teenagers who’d gotten in a fiery car wreck on their way to the prom? do you suppose she thought about the burned boy, travis, who, as he had slowly and painfully succumbed to his injuries, had offered his parents an understatement on the phone in order to comfort them? do you think his words echoed in her ears: “i don’t think i’m gonna make it out to the lake this summer”?

though she had been touched enough by his bravery back then, do you think she better understood, now that she was herself dying, how what he had done for them had also been a kind of mercy? a reprieve? a grace?

do you think that’s why lucy asked elizabeth to plug her trach? do you think that’s why she whispered only gratitude with what little breath she had left to her? do you think she hoped that maybe in the days and weeks after she was gone that this final benediction (this gift) would allow elizabeth to sleep---would absolve any errant guilt, because of course elizabeth had done everything possible—they’d all done everything possible—and she knew as much, and she was thankful to them now in a way that just hours ago, before this nightmare had unfolded, she wouldn’t have been able to fully comprehend?

do you think lucy understood that somehow the death they were helping her toward, the kind of death they were trying to offer, with this second’s pause to collect herself before the inevitable end, was also itself a gift (so much better than the cold floor where she would otherwise have perished)?

do you think, just as elizabeth rose to leave, that lucy may have actually felt an instant of peace before a sudden knot formed in her lungs, and breathing (even with the tube) became impossible? do you think that the differential diagnosis—pulmonary embolism—leaped into her mind before she could stop the thought? do you think she knew the statistics? do you think she knew that she was fucked before they even wheeled her to the scan?

can you imagine what she was thinking as corday and romano allowed themselves to be overly optimistic about her chances with the filter? do you think she was aware enough to know that they were kidding themselves but experienced enough to realize that they had to kid themselves, because they needed the hope in order to do their jobs—because good doctors work on hope---because maybe, were she not about to die, she would have herself been a good doctor someday, too?

do you think that was when the truth of everything really hit her—the reality, the senselessness, the fear—because even though she had already known that she was dying, now she was to the point where she was right up against the precipice, and though she was surrounded by many people in a crowded room, she suddenly felt more alone than she had ever felt before?

do you suppose she thought, then, of carter, wondering if he was dying, as well, or already dead, because no one had told her what had happened to him or if he had even made it out of the exam room alive?

do you suppose at that moment she yearned sharply for her mother and for her childhood bedroom? do you think she struggled and writhed and raged inside of herself, because, goddammit, she was just a kid, and she didn’t want to die, and she wasn’t ready—she wasn’t!—and she was going to do things and say things and be things—keep being someone—and she had plans!---but now everything that was her was going to cease, and she knew as much, and she felt scared, she felt so scared, scared of the blackness creeping up in her brain, of her synapses misfiring, as she could already feel them doing, her past and her present blurring together, until she wanted nothing more than to pull the blanket over her whole self to stay safe from the ravening beyond?

do you think that in her swirl of memories she found herself in her grandparents’ kitchen, suddenly a toddler again, playing underneath the table, adult legs and adult voices towering above her? do you think all at once she snapped back to being twenty-five again and on a table, crying? do you think that’s why, when elizabeth explained the versed to her, she so adamantly refused—because she knew that the next time she went under, she would never surface again, and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye?

do you think that as she lied there, with romano making that tasteless (but also stubborn and human and hopeful) joke about how they’d put too much time and energy into her training to lose her, she had one final instant of consciousness and clarity?

do you think that, in that instant, blood wet in her hair and tears salting her cheeks, she saw in her mind’s eye what might have been if she had only had more time---graduation, practicing medicine, finding her place and her purpose, falling in love, being happy, surrounding herself with family and friends and people who knew her---truly knew her?

do you suppose she was thinking, just before the light in her eyes went out, how, in that moment, she wished she could tell them---corday and romano, kit and the other nurses, everyone in the er, carter if he were still alive---everything there was to know about her, everything that made her a person, just so someone would remember, so she would remain in some form present, if only for a little while longer?

can you hear her listing to herself the only vitals that mattered anymore: her hometown, her middle name, her first kiss, that even in her fourth year of medical school she still phoned her mother at least once a day (no matter how busy her schedule), that she had almost ranked emergency medicine over psychiatry on her match application, how grateful she was for everything, how much in this last second before the crash of the wave she missed and loved everyone and everything, all of it, just being---?

_________

he still thinks of her, of course, every valentine’s day, and whispers her name into the darkness like a foxhole prayer.

she would have been forty-five years old.

there are a lot of things she would have been.

#nbc er #er #lucy knight #john carter #er fic #**#my fic #death cw

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