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silkenstarlight · 3 years

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a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself.

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories.

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat.

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do.

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them.

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed.

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp.

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that.

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly.

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.”

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more.

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky. Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge.

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing.

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that’s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices.

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?”

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back.

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes self insert #bucky barnes fluff #fluff #bucky barnes one shot #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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First Date(s) With Mr. Compress

Request: such lovely dates, all of them! you're spoiling us darling <3 now this really put me in a mood, would you consider making a first date for mr compress aswell? i would just love to see what this gentleman would have in store for us

A/N: I want him back,, i just wanna see him and his theratics again (also takes place little after mva arc) (i also did two parts for this because i wrote one as already having an established relationship but the first date for the brothers wasn’t established so you get two!)

The Very First Date:

Atsuhiro has had his eyes on you for a while now, but he’s never quite made the move to go after you. It’s difficult to do so with his reputation and lack of actually being able to go and do something with you. His anxiety comes in waves, his hands fiddling with a marble letting the small, cloudy object roll over and under his knuckles as he approaches you. His words catch in his throat, his mouth drying and the fears of humiliation roll over, heating his body and lighting him aflame. It’s difficult for him to try to be composed- he usually is and he can keep a level head but asking you out on a date is something that he just can’t do. It was a spur of the moment that he had come up to you and asked if you would like to go out, nothing that he was able to plan out and he regrets taking this leap; he wishes that he had planned what he could ask you. The marble is held in his hand, his eyes meeting yours and he asks you if you’d like to go on a date with him; something simple, his smile appears for a moment- crooked and charming as ever.

Taking the initial leap to asking you out- while proved to be effective considering you did agree- also proved that he should always plan before leaping into action. He doesn’t have a clue as to where to take you. He wants you to have fun on this date and the goal of it is to have you go out on another date with him. However, he can’t figure out where to take you. There’s only so many places a villain can go out without being reported to the authorities and he doesn’t want to risk you being caught up in his affairs. He’s been on plenty of dates before, so he does have an idea of what to do and how to entice you, but it isn’t seduction that he’s seeking- at least not yet. He just wants to take you out and show you that he’s fun and that you can have a fun time with him.

On the night of the date, he arrives with a bouquet in hand. He’s made sure to choose flowers that mean only good things, that establish love to prosper and to be long lasting. He gifts it to you, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, telling you that you look lovely tonight. With you in hand, he leads you outside, helping you into a car and closing the door behind him. He didn’t want a classic date, he wants to show you off and he manages to find the perfect location. He takes you to go play pool and while it’s more him to show off his skills and watch you lean over in order to get the perfect score, it’s something fun and new for the both of you. After so long in hiding and not being able to do anything in public together, this is the perfect place. He wants to watch you struggle for a bit so he can come be your savior- he’ll lean up close behind you, wrap his hands around yours and let his lips brush against the shell of your ear, only to have you miss your shot. His grin is cheeky and he’ll shrug it off, not wanting to tell you that he wanted to win the “playful” game.

The aim for this date is to be something that you’ll remember. He wants to show off a bit with you, to have you roll your eyes at his antics but still notice him. The bar is less than perfect, a few unsavory guests that he would rather not have you associate with, but it’s what he has to work with. At the end of it, he pulls you to a somewhat secluded table, a shared platter between the two of you as you eat and chat among the low music. You two joke over a plate of half-finished food, your arms crossed above the table as you lean towards him, your eyes closed as you laugh at a story of his. The tips of his ears burn, his cheeks colored red as he stares at you. His hands twitch at his sides, his eyes glued to your smile, only to dart to your hands and lift back to your eyes where you finally open them. All air has left his lungs leaving him feeling constricted, a tight feeling that coils around him and leaves him breathless as his heart pounds against his chest. He wonders for a moment, a fear that settles at the base of his stomach, that his heart is giving away how he feels at that very second just looking at you.

Of course, all good things must come to an end. He takes you by the hand and interlinks your arms once more. Staring straight ahead and speaking so quickly that his words slur together, Atsuhiro sneakily holds your hand, palms touching and his fingers covering yours, only to stop speaking and smile widely when you interlink hands together. He listens to you talk about your woes and lows, watching as you wave your hand in the air, and he must look so love-stricken because you turn to him, a heavy flush against your cheeks as you ask him if he has anything to say. The corner of his lips twitch upwards and he simply asks if you would like to have another date. It’s too early for all the deeper kinds of emotions that he should express or even know what he’s talking about, but he knows that he wants another date, he wants to spend more time with you. At your door, he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles once more, bidding you a good night and behind closed doors, he swears that he can still smell your perfume.

The First Actual Date In A Long While:

It’s rather difficult for Atsuhiro to take you out on a date given his status. He really wishes that he had met you earlier in his life- when his identity wasn’t plastered and he could simply just take you out during a late night. During the relationship, he does his best to mimic an actual date with you. He’ll set up a nice table for two, have white candles with dried wax at its side, light up the room, and offer you a meal that he could best prepare for you. He does what he can for you but to him, it isn’t enough- it’s never a proper first date. He wants to take you out and show you off. He wants to interlock arms and help you into a car without it resulting in a high speed chase. If he could, he would have taken you out so many times, visited various places and gave you the life and fun that you deserve, but he’s here- he’s fighting the long fight and he knows that one day the winner will be decided, but for now, it’s just you two together and without a proper date night.

When the League of Villains evolves into the Paranormal Liberation Front, he’s finally found a way to have a date with you. He’s a high ranking officer and the city is able to cover for his identity- at least most of it. So, he comes to you, eager and his smile wide underneath his mask. He doesn’t just want to tell you to get ready- he wants to have the joy of asking you and having you accept his offer. With a nervous heart, he walks to you, his breath held and face kissed red with ears hot as he calls your name. He holds your hands in his and sits you down, and with your hands in his, he asks you out on a date- something simple, just to test the waters of this new city. It isn’t until he’s in his room that he’s realized that he doesn’t have a date planned. It’s been so long for him that he doesn’t have anything planned. He doesn’t want the classic dinner and a movie, he wants something special. He wants this date to be considered one of the best ones that you’ve been on.

On the day of the date, he arrives at your room with flowers in hand that he gives to you gracefully. He holds his hand out, a cheeky smile on his face as you place your hand in his. The city is safe enough for him to go out without the fear of being arrested or at least an attempted arrest. While the city may be damaged, there are bits of it that have remained relatively untouched that he’s grateful for. The point of the date is to have fun and you’re going to have fun and enjoy every minute of it. You both eventually arrive at a community theater house. The play is fine- nothing too grand, and the performances fine, but he likes to sit at the back with you, hold you close and hear you hum along to the few songs sung. He’ll whisper snide comments to you, let his lips linger close to you for a moment, his hands curving around your tummy. He’ll back away when you smack his arm playfully, his laughter muffled by the palm of his hand so as to not draw attention. The play ends and it's nothing noteworthy, your comments about it as polite as can be while he can merely roll his eyes and change the topic on the way to the next location that he has set up.

You both arrive at a secluded area of the town- right at the edge, the trees blocking the view from the city lights and the faint sound of the city life still in the air. The trees are stung up with lights, white and yellow twinkling lights that dangle from the trees and the debris round clear, few flowers freshly placed at the ground if the dark soil is anything but a give away that he had worked on this- the only other give away is the flowers matching the ones he gave you. He fiddles with his phone for a minute, a marble expanding until a speaker is revealed, and there’s a short pause of silence where the wind brushes against the nape of your neck. When he turns back around, the phone connects, a loud beeping ruining the quiet mood as he walks towards you, his hand held out a song playing. The lyrics are unheard, only the sweet melody of the song played as he holds you close to him. There’s no real dancing, just simple swaying as you rest your head against his chest, your hands resting and grabbing loosely at his shirt. His words are delicate as he tells you what he wishes life was like, promising that one day, it will be like that, a gentle kiss is placed against your head, acting as a promise and as gratitude for coming along with him.

Once home, he rests beside you, under the covers and grabbing at your body, pulling you close to him. Atsuhiro will always like to think of you being the dependent one- to fall for him first and wanting him close by- but he knows that that isn’t the truth. He’s the dependent one in the relationship, the one that needs to be held and kissed, to have your lips brush along the scars that decorate his body. He needs tenderness, he yearns for it. A show is played in the background, the voices garbled in his ears, his head resting on your chest as your hand holds his. His free hand traces shapes along your body, goosebumps pricking your body from the cold feel of him, as he offers a kiss as an apology, letting his eyes close slowly, as you twist an end of his hair around your finger, the apology taken. He falls asleep to your beating heart, the way that you chuckle as the television plays and how you continue to play with his hair, letting the tips of your fingers scratch along his scalp and soothe him.

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sytco · 3 years

Text

common blessings [joochan]

pairing: childhood friend!hong joochan x reader

word count: 3.5k (!)

requested: "toothrotting fluff ft. joochan"

dedicated to @sahiflowers.

a/n: im SO SO sorry this took so long and i hope u like it even a little and that it makes u smile thank u for being so patient ily!! ily!!! reminder im always here for u!!

In which you find that time is meaningless when Joochan is not by your side.

wonderboy.

Sometimes, you speculate whether Joochan has some kind of genius for finding you as soon as the school bell rings, signalling the end of another day.

Today, he surprises you behind the auditorium where you lean against a maple tree, hugging your bag to your chest, because you’ve skipped your last period (Introduction to Psychology) in favor of lying on the grass so you can watch the clouds in peace. And Joochan smiles a fond, fond smile because you have that look on your face again that you only get when you’re lost in thought.

“Missed me?”

You tense from shock before relaxing at the sight of your boyfriend who widens his arms so you can walk right into them.

“How’d you find me?” Your voice is muffled in the fabric of his vest and Joochan reaches up so he can play with the back of your collar.

“Just had a little hunch you might be here.” And this is the answer he always gives, accompanied with the same smug smile each time.

You pout even if Joochan can’t see it. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“Well now,” he says in an affected voice that sounds like the narrator from that National Geographic documentary on penguins the two of you watched last week, “I can’t afford to have you getting your hands on all my secrets, can I? I’ve got to keep some things to myself so that in ten year's time, you’ll still think I’m the most amazing and magical boy in the universe.”

It’s ridiculous, you think, how it’s nearly winter but the way you can feel the laughter that starts in his chest and electrifies you to your fingertips is more than capable of keeping you warm and making you feel like you’re really alive.

“Doesn’t matter if I find out all your secrets or not,” you mumble, “you’ll always be the most amazing and magical boy in the universe to me.”

From the courtyard around the corner, you can hear Jaehyun shouting a loud “Oi Joochan!”.

Joochan ignores him and instead casually pecks your cheek with a kiss that feels like a blessing. “Always?”

You tilt your head as though unsure. "Well… for at least fifty years, probably.”

“Fifty?!” Joochan echoes in mock outrage, and you playfully poke his side to which he flinches slightly.

“I was lying. I meant for all of time ever.”

And despite him doing his best to hide it, your boyfriend melts instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck where he’s probably smiling his brilliant smile that feels like the sun against your skin.

Jaehyun’s voice interrupts the peace and quiet once again with a noticeably louder and more panicked tone.

“Hong Joochan! We’re going to be late for soccer practice!”

Joochan groans exaggeratedly and you can’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “Wish I didn’t have to go to stupid practice,” he grumbles.

“You know, I’ll wait for you in the library until you’re done,” you offer and Joochan perks up - if only slightly because your arms still feel like heaven after years of loving you, and two hours of kicking a ball around (while Donghyun and Jibeom brainstorm inventive ways to trip each other up, much to Coach Lee’s chagrin) just can’t compete. He tells you as much in the way his arms tighten around you.

“You’re the best,” Joochan declares suddenly, “I might be the most amazing and magical boy in the universe, but you’re the best.”

You snort. “Go to practice already before Jaehyun starts going spare, wonderboy.”

Joochan kisses your forehead one last time before he detaches himself from you with a dejected sigh and picks up your bag, slinging it over his shoulder despite your protests. “Walk with me to the oval?”

You slip your hand into his hand only to find it a perfect fit and wonder briefly if there is anywhere in this world you would not walk to with Hong Joochan, the boy who has a smile like sunlight and a personality like a billion shooting stars.

“Of course.”

fm.

There is the occasional moment in which you wish that your boyfriend wasn’t so exceedingly talented in nearly every field he tries his hand at, because the various extracurriculars that Joochan (being the naturally energetic and enthusiastic person he is) involves himself with have an awful way of making tremendous demands on his time towards the end of the semester.

Right now is one of those moments when Joochan trudges into your room and dives face first onto your bed without even bothering to shake his coat off. “So what was it today?” you ask in a voice that betrays your concern and Joochan can’t help but smile at it.

“Theatre rehearsal,” he yawns, “then string quartet practice. Also an hour of soccer drills with some of the boys. Even though it’s a Saturday.”

You get up from your chair at the desk so you can sit on the bed where Joochan immediately moves his head onto your lap, lifting your hand and resting it on his hair. You absentmindedly start stroking it, staring out the window at a soft grey sky.

“Did you eat?”

Joochan shakes his head. “No time. My dumb E string broke again so I barely managed to have half an apple before we went straight into a new Mozart piece today. Think we might perform it at the next concert. You’d come, right?” And he asks that in a self-assured tone, because he already knows what your answer is going to be.

You give it to him anyway because there’s no point in hiding your blatant admiration for all that he does. “No matter what.”

“And just to see me, right?”

You fake a pause that has Joochan peering up at you suspiciously.

“You do know I have friends who aren’t you that are participating in the concert, right? Like Jangjun and Sungyoon?”

Joochan scowls. “But none of those hooligans are your boyfriend, who - in case you forgot but I do know you’d never - is me.”

“That’s quite true,” you concede before leaning down to kiss his cheek with a smile that makes Joochan’s stomach fill with butterflies which are probably colored pink and green and blue. It never gets old, he thinks: your talent for turning his world upside down in a look or a word or an action. And you don’t even know you’re doing it most of the time.

“Mean,” he accuses but in a half-hearted manner and your smile only widens because you know that Joochan is supremely happy despite his exhaustion, if the way his brow has smoothed completely and he has started drawing little stars on your knee is anything to go by.

There’s a gentle lull in the conversation while you continue to run your fingers through Joochan’s hair, and especially his fringe. It’s almost as though time has passed you by, leaving you together in your own little reality where things like hazy futures and big concerts and broken violin strings do not dare draw near.

“Wanna order something later on for dinner?” you ask quietly.

“Maybe,” he grins through closed eyes, “but nap first.”

Your radio continues to run, and you drift in and out of listening to the DJ duo while watching the rain finally fall outside.

“It’s been pretty cold recently, hasn’t it?” one of the DJs opens the conversation after a small stream of ads.

“Sure has, pal. And speaking of the cold, apparently our first snow of the season is scheduled for next week Friday!”

“So do you have any plans lined up with a special someone?”

“Just had to remind me of how single I am, didn’t you”- rambunctious peals of laughter crackle from the speakers - “but maybe some of our lovely listeners will send in their plans for next Friday.”

“I sure did - and wow, they’re already pouring in! Do you wanna read one out?”

“Let’s see… Listener ha_miii_ran says: ‘I’m planning on confessing to my crush of two years. I’m pretty nervous about this so I’m hoping the two of you will wish me luck!’ All the best of luck to you, Ha Miran-nim, from the both of us. I don’t know how you’re planning on it, but hopefully the first snow will act as a good luck charm for you!”

“Yeah, good luck Ha Miran-nim!” the other DJ chimes in. “Be sure to update us on how it goes!”

“Well, we’ll be back with some more stories after this excerpt from a famous piano concerto - maybe some of our more classically-inclined audience will recognise its globally renowned composer.”

A beautiful melody begins to play and you’re on the cusp of losing yourself in the music when you are most abruptly interrupted by a sleepy, but decisive, “Gershwin.”

You blink down at Joochan. “What?”

“It’s Gershwin. The composer. Don't you think your boyfriend's clever for knowing that?"

“I thought my boyfriend was asleep, actually,” and you narrow your eyes.

“I was,” Joochan protests, “I only woke up when they were talking about the snow or something. And then they talked about that person who’s confessing to their crush of two years - got me thinking about how I can relate because I vividly remember having a crush on you for at least three before I could muster up the courage to confess. Which ended up working out for the best, you know,” he adds in a thoughtful tone, “but sometimes I’d get so nervous just thinking about it that I couldn’t sleep at all. Anyways, I’m really hungry now, so can we order something soon please?”

Maybe it’s the way he so nonchalantly wears his heart for you on his sleeve, or maybe it’s the way he looks at you as though you have strung the Milky Way itself together and made a gift of it to him. Maybe it’s the way you simply realize that you might not be able to live with yourself if you were to lose your boyfriend, ever. But for whatever reason it is, a thousand smiles bloom in your heart and you lean down to give Joochan a kiss that hopefully tastes like everything you cannot possibly put into words.

“Anything you want,” you whisper, and Joochan draws a heart on your knee in response.

enchanted.

You’re outside the auditorium again but in front of it, this time, and not behind. The post-concert hubbub has died down, mostly owing to the fact that much of the audience has left already whether it’s to a late congratulatory supper or down to the boardwalk where fireworks are scheduled to go off at midnight. The bouquet of lily of the valleys in your hand trembles slightly as you use your other hand to fumble around for your ringing phone.

“Hello?”

“You’re waiting outside, right?” Joochan asks.

“Yeah, I am.”

“See, Donghyun, I told you I was right about - wait. Wait! Don't move!”

And then you have less than two seconds to process exactly what is happening before your boyfriend catches you up in a running embrace that sends the world spinning in a flurry of snow and stars and kisses that Joochan plants all over your cheeks. He remains blissfully unaware that somewhere in the vicinity, Donghyun has started making gagging sounds at your very public display of affection, punctuated by Jaehyun’s giggling. (You pay them no mind.)

“Did you enjoy the concert?” he asks, fond expectation twinkling in his eyes.

You nod too much. “You were incredible,” you tell him honestly, and Joochan beams.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he says in a satisfied voice as he pulls you closer. “Guess all those hours of practice paid off.”

“It’s almost like that’s the whole point of practicing,” you tease.

“It’s lucky you’re cute and I’m hopelessly in love with you,” Joochan crinkles his nose in contrived distaste for your little jab before hugging you again so he can hear you whisper just how proud you are of him, right into his ear.

And the two of you stay like that for a little before you remember the gift you brought with you.

“For me?” And the look in his eyes reminds you of how he looked at you when you first told him that you loved him too - or maybe of every time you’ve told him that you love him too.

“Who else?”

He snaps up the bouquet, pressing it against his nose and inhaling deeply with a smile. "This is a nice surprise."

"They mean 'return to happiness'," you say, gently touching a little white bloom that looks like a star against the backdrop of Joochan's black school blazer. "Thought it was cute. And the florist was sold out of roses anyway."

Joochan laughs with the warmth of a thousand sunbeams and puts your hand in his so he can start gently tugging you away.

“But your violin”- you begin protesting.

“But nothing,” he shushes you as the school gets smaller and smaller behind you in the distance. “I don’t even want to see that thing for a week. Hey, and guess what - I found a secret place for just you and me so we can watch the fireworks without being pressed up against everyone else like sardines in a tin can.”

“You and I are going to watch the fireworks?” you echo, surprise colouring your voice.

Joochan’s exhale turns into a giggle. “Who else?” And you dig an elbow into his side, hiding a smile at his antics.

The two of you stroll down quiet streets and you lean into your boyfriend’s comforting warmth. Most shops are closed with the exception of some fast food chains and convenience stores, but you notice almost none of them now as Joochan picks up the pace, his excitement bleeding into the quiet song he sings that floats up in the air and is lost somewhere in the stars above.

“Here we are,” says Joochan proudly and he helps you up into the little gazebo at the top of the hill you hadn’t realized you were climbing. “Take this,” he adds as he tosses you a torch that brightly illuminates the space you’re in as soon as you switch it on. You turn to the rustling sounds on your left, finally seeing the wooden bench that Joochan is busy spreading a rug over.

“You planned this beforehand?” And there’s a note of wonder in your voice - the same kind that only Joochan ever seems to be able to evoke. “I thought we were going straight home.”

He gestures for you to sit next to him with a charming smile and you do so immediately. “Told you I can’t give up all the secrecy. Not yet.” Or, he thinks privately to himself, not when you look at him like that.

The golden light from the torch casts long shadows over the grass and gives Joochan’s face a nearly ethereal glow that reminds you of summer sunsets despite the cold. You slip into a soft and easy silence - one that comes from memories built upon memories, resulting in a code made up of gazes and touch that only the two of you will ever understand. And so when he squeezes your hand gently, you instantly open your arms for him to sink right into.

There’s only a few minutes left until midnight when you finally speak.

“Joochan,” you murmur.

“Mm?”

“You ever think about where we’ll be this time next year?”

Joochan shifts his posture slightly. “Often, actually. Especially when I go to sleep at night and think about tomorrow - then I’ll wonder if it’ll even remotely go the way I want it to.”

“And how do you usually want it to go?” you ask.

“Someone has a lot of questions today,” Joochan remarks with a droll look on his face that makes you laugh briefly before his expression sobers. “But usually I want it to go safely. You know? Everything in its proper place and things like that. And more importantly, I want to know all the time that I’ll be able to see you.”

You’re silent for a moment, looking out over the view of the city. If you squint, you can just make out the boardwalk by the beach and the crowds of people who have gathered there, young and old alike. “I’m scared sometimes.”

Joochan frowns. “Scared of what? I’ll fight it off for you,” and he waves a threatening fist at nothing in particular.

“The future, I guess. It sounds silly but… sometimes I don’t know if we’ll always be okay. Like this, the way things are right now. Whether it’s tomorrow or next year or even after that.” Your voice fades in volume until it’s nearly lost against the threads of your scarf, and Joochan’s heart breaks a little when he hears it: the genuine uncertainty and timid fear that seeps past the smile you give him in an effort to hide it.

“Why do you think we might not be okay?”

You look down at your feet, almost embarrassed by your own honesty. “Well, people… change, Joo. They move places, and have goals to achieve and dreams to chase down. And we’re not immune to that either.”

It’s Joochan’s turn to be silent for a bit as he mulls over your words before he straightens in your hold, turning his face towards you so he can affectionately bump his nose against yours. “You’re right,” he says in a voice that mirrors your sadness, “and it would be a lie to say I don’t think about the same things you do. But”- and he leans in to give you a quick kiss that’s shaped like a smile - “it’d also be a lie to say that every dream doesn’t feature you in it. Because every dream of mine that I’ve ever had places you centre stage.”

He kisses you again, a little longer - a little more wistfully.

“You see, the real problem here is that you have me perpetually thinking that I can’t do any of this without you,” he says simply. “Whether it’s late night phone calls or early morning messages; or maybe we’ll find ourselves having to book flights for each other, holding bags full of gifts that remind us of us. And maybe it’ll be hard and maybe I’ll wake up some days, knowing I won’t be able to see you. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be okay.”

You swallow and Joochan watches you carefully, the urgency in his eyes prompting him to lift your chin so you can see it too.

“Even if we change,” he continues in a whisper, hoping you will understand the heart in his words. “And we should. And we will, and we’ll still be okay. You believe me, don’t you? Seeing as I’m the most amazing and magical boy in the universe?”

Somewhere, midnight comes and goes and the fireworks start, dousing you and Joochan in bursts of coloured light.

“Of course I do,” you smile with eyes that glitter with tears of relief and he pulls you into a tight hug, so tight you can feel every movement of his rib cage as he breathes in and out.

For once, you do not feel that fear deep down that threatens to taint your time with the only boy you think you cannot live without. And so you unreservedly hold him in return, fingers running through his hair as he tells you that he loves you, over and over again.

up, up and away.

There had been a time during your childhood when your one greatest wish had been to go see the stars.

So your friend Joochan, in all his clumsy sincerity, had done his best to make you a rocket out of a box he’d found at home. He’d then brought it to your house after he’d finished it, blue marker staining his fingertips and glitter shaped like stars lost in his thick fringe.

The two of you had sat in it together and looked up at the moon, holding hands from childish innocence and recounting thrilling tales of adventures you’d never had. And before having to go home to bed that day, he’d made you a promise that present-day Joochan complains about not being able to fulfill.

“I know I said I’d take you to the stars,” Joochan sighs in displeasure from where he lies on your bed, right next to you, “but while your boyfriend is exceptionally talented, you do know I’m no astronaut, right?”

You hold his hand in response and look into his eyes that sparkle with mirth and deeper in, shine with a love that always gives you peace.

It may be that Joochan will never be able to keep his promise of taking you to space in a real, functioning rocket. But, as you drop a kiss on his mouth that soon widens into a brilliant smile, you can’t find it in yourself to really care.

After all, it’s hard to miss the stars when for you, they all start with Joochan and end with him.

if u liked this please consider dropping a like and reblogging with ur thoughts because feedback is!! always appreciated thank you!!!

#SCREAMS IT'S FINALLY DONE WITH I'M FINALLY FINISHED #golden child #golden child scenarios #golden child imagines #hong joochan #golden child hong joochan #golden child joochan #joochan #ju writes #gncd #golcha #im now off to go cry. or nap. both

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miracleonice87 · 4 years

Text

Begin Again

a Mathew Barzal song fic

a/n: a one shot based on “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift. obviously I don’t own any of Taylor Swift’s music/lyrics! I’m not even a big Swiftie anymore (edited: lol dying bc I wrote that before she released folklore and evermore and sucked me RIGHT back in) but I love her “Red” album and always listen to it in the fall. also, the NYC traffic/parking/location situation in this is purely fantasy BS, lol.

summary: Mat Barzal meets Hayden Parker (fictional) in a coffee shop, and they start something new.

warnings: swearing. talk of a concussion/migraines/weight loss — otherwise, complete and total fluff.

______

With a deep breath, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror hanging near your front door before you left your Brooklyn apartment. You hadn’t worn these heels for several seasons now — he hadn’t liked it when you wore high heels. You had let his opinions — on your clothes, shoes, music, books, movies, and friends — dictate how you lived for too long. You smirked now, admiring how the pointed-toe snakeskin stilettos looked paired with your raw cut black jeans and silky pink blouse. He would’ve hated this look (“too gaudy,” he would have said), which made you love it that much more.

You popped in one AirPod and flipped the inside lock on your door before pulling it closed. You made your way down the hall as the lyrics started to flow.

There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range

His horse and his cattle are his only companions...

You fought the urge to roll your eyes thinking about your former flame’s constant unwarranted comments about this classic ballad which often wafted through your apartment from the record player in the living room.

“I don’t get this song — like, is he singing to himself?” he would ask. You never bothered to tell him the real background and meaning — you loved the song, and you got it. You always had.

Emerging from the main entrance of your building, you hummed along to melodies from your favorite playlist, and walked the three or so blocks to your destination. Soon, you were stepping in from the bustle of the street to find solace in an only-slightly less busy coffee shop, one you had come to frequent because of its location — sandwiched within the six blocks between your apartment and the fashion magazine where you were interning this semester.

“Hi, one large double shot mocha, please?” you requested, stepping up after the man in front of you paid for his order. You tapped your AirPod to pause your music, just in time to hear: “Nice shoes.”

You lifted your head and glanced toward the pick-up section of the counter, where a classically handsome man in his twenties stood donning a well-tailored navy blue suit. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized he was looking straight at you.

“Me?” you inquired softly, just to be sure, as you slipped your bank card back into your wallet. He nodded, smiling. “Yes, you. Nice shoes.”

You bit your lip involuntarily, slowly walking his way to wait on your coffee. “Thanks. You’ve got nice style yourself,” you complimented, and you were surprised by your own boldness in that moment. Something about his confidence made you confident, too. And something about his model good looks seemed unsettlingly familiar somehow.

He extended his hand as you took your position next to him. “I’m Mat,” he greeted. You couldn’t help but smile, nearly breathless from his innate charm.

“Hi, Mat,” you replied, engaging his handshake. “I’m Hayden.”

“Hayden. Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Mat mused, holding onto your hand for just a moment longer than was customary. You knew it was silly — God, was it silly — but you felt yourself blush at his flattery.

“Large Americano,” a barista called out. Mat stepped forward, thanking her and stuffing a bill — you couldn’t help but notice that it was a large one — into the tip jar atop the glass pastry display. He turned back to you as he unfastened the lid and blew gently on his coffee. Another thing you couldn’t help but notice — his perfect pink lips.

“So, Hayden, are you a native New Yorker?”

Hmm, you thought. Why isn’t he running for the door after getting his drink? You decided to play along, feeling more daring than you had in ages.

“I am not,” you confessed. “I’m from Maine, actually.”

“Ah, still an East Coast girl,” Mat remarked with a grin. “I’m from the West — near Vancouver.”

You arched your brows. “Wow, Canadian, huh?” Mat chuckled.

“Born and raised. You know what they say, though: opposites attract,” he commented, hazel eyes piercing into you even as he took a cautious sip from his cup. You studied his face — he seemed more familiar with each word he spoke.

“They do say that, don’t they?” you retorted, skirting his inference. Just then, the barista set your mocha on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” you said, also pushing a tip into the jar, thankful that Mat’s attention was on grabbing a cup sleeve from the island nearby instead of on the much smaller bills you had to offer the staff.

You turned toward the island, too, reaching for the cinnamon. Mat offered you a sleeve as if it was second nature, and you graciously accepted, trying to relax the muscles on your face that seemed to have permanently turned upward into a smile since you’d been in the man’s presence.

Suddenly, you gasped.

“Islanders,” you whispered under your breath as Mat watched you stir your cinnamon into your drink. He froze.

“What?” he asked with a nervous laugh, wondering if he had heard you correctly. Your eyes darted around, making sure no one within earshot was paying attention.

“You play for the Islanders. Right?” you asked softly. He nodded, silent, ducking his head a bit; you began to backpedal.

“Oh, God... I didn’t mean - I, uh... I promise I’m not like a hockey fangirl, or anything,” you choked out, cheeks flushed. Your hands started to shake slightly as you replaced the lid on your to-go cup. “I just, uh, my brother. My brother played hockey. He always talked about you, and, uh, I just realized that that’s why I recognized you.” You winced.

“This... this isn’t as weird as it sounds, I swear,” you insisted. “It’s just that, my brother played in the Q. He was good, and, uh, I knew about all the other good hockey players, because of him.”

Mat’s demeanor had quickly changed — from slightly uncomfortable to giddy. He was smirking at you while you sputtered, taking a sort of masochistic pleasure in watching you squirm. His grin was infectious.

“What’s your last name?” he asked when you finally stopped talking. “Parker,” you responded, the two of you stepping away from the island and taking up residence near the front windows of the cafe.

“Parker... Parker,” he repeated. You were distracted by how good your name sounded falling from his tongue. Then, he gasped, too.

“Oh shit, your brother’s Nick Parker? Damn, how’s he doing?”

Your brow quirked as you watched the light flicker on in his eyes when he pieced it together. A National Hockey League star recognized your brother’s name, your name. What the hell was happening?

You cleared your throat, attempting to come back into orbit. “Uh, yeah, he’s good now. He, uh... it was a battle there for a couple years. He had migraines every day for about 16 months... lost a lot of weight. It was... it was tough,” you told him, your voice lowering noticeably. Mat watched you carefully, concern written all over his striking features. It was evident that Mat knew your brother’s story.

Your older brother Nick had been a top 20 prospect in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League as a teen, playing forward for the Halifax Mooseheads. But after a nasty late hit during a playoff game, he had been left with a debilitating concussion and, after a long period of unsuccessful rehab, had been forced to walk away from the game just as he was entering his prime.

Those troubling days hung like a thick, black fog over your family’s history, and you suddenly recalled being 15 again, cross-legged outside Nick’s bedroom door for hours, begging him to let you into the dark room to hold onto him as he cried, both because of the pain and because of the weight of his unrealized dreams. It had taken countless neurologist appointments, physical therapy, and your parents’ unwavering insistence that he regularly see a sports psychologist for him to return to some semblance of normalcy after a long road to recovery.

Now, minus the occasional treatable migraine, Nick was thriving. You beamed at the thought, your well-polished black nail picking at the corner of the cup sleeve on your mocha as you looked back to Mat and continued.

“But he’s finishing law school now, seeing a therapist and keeps himself in great shape, which helps. He’s getting married next summer to this great girl,” you finished, pride swelling in your chest at how far your brother had come. Mat’s eyebrows lifted, his worried expression morphing into elation.

“No shit!” he exclaimed. “Damn, I’m so happy for him. Tell you what, lotta guys wanted nothing to do with him when he was tearing it up. And we were all gutted for him after it happened.” You gave him a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “I’ll have to let him know you said that.” Mat nodded, then pressed on. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to tell him myself one day,” he added brazenly, casually taking another sip.

No response came to your brain, so you curled your fingers around your own cup and took a long draw, eyes darting to the activity outside the window, Mat’s never leaving your unsure face.

The church bells chiming from a nearby steeple were the only thing that could pull Mat’s gaze from you, as he checked his large-face Rolex. He seemed angered by the time staring back at him, and he ran his hand aggressively through his hair as his eyes rolled just slightly.

“Listen, Hayden, I hate to do this,” Mat began with a sigh. “But we’ve got a game in Pittsburgh tomorrow night, and the team plane leaves in like half an hour.”

You’re surprised by how deflated you feel in that instant, casting a downward glance at the shoes Mat had complimented only minutes ago, before you’d started feeling like maybe you’d known him your whole life.

A quiet, “Oh,” was all you could muster, still not meeting his eyes.

His hand then came to rest on your upper arm, and it’s only then that you noticed how big it was, long fingers curling easily around your bicep.

“But hey... I’ll be back late tomorrow night. Whaddya say we grab coffee here the next morning? Wednesday. Maybe 8?”

You turned your eyes upward to take in his face. He looked hopeful. He was hopeful that he’d see you again.

You nodded. “I’d love to, Mat. I’ll meet you here.”

Mat beamed, a relieved breath falling from his lips. “Good,” he commented. “I’ll see you then.” He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, leaving you reeling when he pulled away.

“Bye, pretty Hayden,” Mat said with a wink before turning and exiting the coffee shop, walking down the block to the Cadillac he’d just unlocked. He was still in sight when he glanced over his shoulder and threw you another breathtaking grin. You smiled back, frozen in place as you watched him drive away.

_____

Mat was going to be late.

At least, that’s what you had convinced yourself at some point within the last 48 hours.

He was either going to be late or he was going to stand you up altogether. So even though you woke up at 5:30 and initially felt the need to rush through your routine to get down to the coffee shop as quickly as possible, you didn’t. You forced yourself to slow down. Because Mat was going to be late. Or, he wasn’t going to be there at all.

So you were surprised when, after throwing on a red chiffon dress with tiny white flowers and a cognac leather jacket, you walked through the coffee shop door at 8:02 and heard, “Hayden!”

Your head snapped up.

At a corner table in the back of the shop was Mat, dressed in a smart grey sweater and distressed black jeans, a silver chain looped around his neck, standing to wave you over with a broad smile across his face.

He came. And he’d arrived before you did.

You walked over to Mat and he embraced you warmly, the two of you exchanging kisses on the cheek. He squeezed your elbow affectionately as you stepped back from him.

“Oh, here. Let me,” Mat said as he pulled your chair out and motioned for you to sit.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, his chivalry catching you by surprise. Once you were seated, he pushed your chair in slightly before taking his place across the table from you.

“I got you a mocha,” he told you, nodding at the cup in front of you. “Double shot, right?”

You nodded. “You’re sweet. Thank you,” you said, the two of you beaming at each other for a moment, lost in a daze.

“So how was the game?” you inquired, pulling you both back to earth. Mat cleared his throat before answering you.

“It was good! We won. It’s usually a tough battle with them but we kinda dominated, which was nice for a change,” he spoke, looking pleased.

“You score?” you asked teasingly as you sipped from your cup.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he told you with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Two goals and an assist.”

Your eyebrows lifted on your forehead. “Mat, that’s amazing! So my brother was right. You are good.”

Mat shook his head, trying to shrug you off.

“Ah, nah. I kinda think it had more to do with a good luck charm I met this week,” he remarked slyly. You licked your bottom lip before biting on it gently. Mat took notice, mirroring your motions as he stared at your lips.

“So, how’s work been this week?” It was Mat’s turn to deflect.

You told him how hectic it had been, with you arriving at the office around 9 and leaving at 6 on the day you’d first met, then departing after 7 yesterday, despite it being only a part-time internship in addition to the five classes you were taking online. He asked about your combination of on-campus and online learning throughout your college career in order to accommodate your dream internships, and he was already in awe of what a hard worker you were.

You pointed out that you weren’t the only one at the table with a crazy schedule, and you asked him how he balanced hockey with his personal life. He answered you easily, launching into stories about his teammates and his family and his friends who all kept him grounded in different ways. There was one name he kept bringing up — Tito. He told you that you’d have to meet him. Before you could hesitate, you said you’d like to. His visage brightened at that answer. He reminded you of sunshine.

He continued to regale you with a vast array of stories, stopping often to ask you questions and invite you to tell him stories of your own. It took a bit of time, but soon you were opening up about your own life — your parents’ recent and shocking divorce after 30 years of marriage, and your struggle with your grandmother’s death last fall.

It wasn’t all dark, though. In fact, most of it wasn’t. You also told him about the crazy theater actor roommate you’d had when you first moved into the city to study fashion at NYU, and how her frightening antics had eventually pushed you into accepting your uncle’s offer to pay for your own apartment in the city, as he was single and childless and had always delighted in spoiling you and your brother. You told him about your only two cousins on your dad’s side, two siblings bracketing you and your brother in age, and how the four of you were more like siblings than cousins. You told a slightly off-color joke at your own expense that most of your friends and coworkers would never laugh at, but it left Mat breathless, throwing his head back with boyish giggles flowing from his mouth like your favorite song. This caught you off-guard — you couldn’t believe he actually seemed to think you were funny. The last one certainly never did.

At some point, the conversation shifted to music. Mat’s jaw dropped when you told him that you own every James Taylor album on vinyl, after he told you that that’s one of his favorite artists of all time. He said he’s never met anyone who has as many James Taylor records as you. You simply shrugged. You explained that you and your mom have seen every tour James Taylor has been on since you were eleven and had started playing guitar. Mat’s eyes went wide — he told you that he dabbles in guitar, too.

After this, you quieted a bit. He noticed. It comes off to him as shyness, but you know what it really is. It’s fear. All at once you realize just how far you’ve let your guard down with this stranger. You’ve only just met this person, yet you have more in common with him than anyone you’ve encountered since moving into the city.

He sensed that something was off, so, in the silence, he reached a hand across the table and took yours in his grasp, stroking the back of it with his thumb. You looked into his mesmerizing eyes, and your hesitance melted.

After several more minutes of easy conversation, you check the time. You need to be at work in ten minutes.

“I’m sorry to be the one to break this up this time,” you started, and Mat sat back, looking understanding though disappointed. “But I’ve gotta get to work. Thankfully, it’s just right down the street.”

“Let me walk you,” Mat quickly insisted. You smirked at him, digging in your purse to find your office key.

“Didn’t you drive here?” you asked, chuckling. He simply shrugged. “Yeah, but if pretty Hayden works just down the street, I might as well walk her to the office and spend a few extra minutes with her,” he told you with a smug grin. You felt your cheeks get hot.

“Sounds good to me,” you admitted quietly. Mat nodded, then rose from his chair, reaching for his wallet to leave another tip.

“Thank you,” you said, putting your hand on his forearm tenderly. “For the coffee. For this.”

He smiled down at you. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

The two of you walked out the cafe door, which Mat pushed open even from behind you. You pointed in the direction of your office building and the two of you fell into step, side by side. Your heart leapt when Mat reaches for your hand. It felt unbelievably natural — which terrified you.

Your recent relationship history flashed through your brain all at once, like a film reel. Your brain screamed, “Slow down!” while your heart whispered, “Relax.” You weren’t sure which to believe. You opened your mouth to bring him up, to give a fair warning, to tell Mat that you might not be ready for... whatever this was.

Then, he started to talk about the movies that his family watches every single Christmas. You weren’t at all sure what had brought that subject to his mind — maybe your earlier questions about his younger sister back in Coquitlam — but you’re grateful for the diversion from your own messy mind. You decided to engage him on that topic instead, rather than bring up your last boyfriend who’d shattered you then walked away.

And for the first time in eight months, you decided to leave what’s past, in the past.

Like a pinball machine, Mat had already bounced to yet another new topic — his practice later this morning. As he finished a story about pranking Tito in the locker room after a skate last week, you bubbled over with giggles. He watched you with admiration and wonder coursing through his entire being. You eventually observed how he was gazing at you, and you sensed that he had something more important to say than his joke on his teammate.

“Hey, so, uh,” Mat started, clearing his throat. Your suspicion had been correct. “What are you doing tomorrow night, after work? We have a home game tomorrow at 7:30 and I, uh, I wanted to see if maybe... you wanted to go? I requested a ticket for you... just in case you want it. If you do... I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner after?”

The sentences Mat spoke seemed to be rolled into one giant question mark. His unwavering self-assurance had seemed to falter slightly for the first time since you’d met him, surprising you. You only needed a moment to consider your answer.

“I’d love to come watch you play,” you told him, wrapping your hands around his upper arm affectionately. You watched him exhale, a smile slowly overtaking his face.

“Thank God,” Mat breathed, making you both burst into hysterics as he leaned his head down to touch yours for a moment.

Bewilderment overcame you as you realized that you hadn’t felt this way about anyone in... you couldn’t even remember how long. You’d thought it might never happen again. That for you, this feeling might just be... gone.

You couldn’t believe that on a Wednesday, in a cafe, you’d watched it begin again.

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cursed-or-not · 4 years

Text

Suptober Day 11: Rock and Roll

Music heard so deeply / That it is not heard at all, but you are the music / While the music lasts

(T.S. Elliot, “The Dry Salvages”)

Cas thinks that of everything humanity has made, music has to be the best.

There have been more impressive creations—buildings meant to reach the stars, codes of law that formed the first societies— but not all masterpieces last.

Humans have never stopped making music.

Cas has always appreciated it for its longevity, but he doesn’t truly understand it until he pulls Dean Winchester from Hell.

It’s a process. At first, Dean can’t make sense of Cas’s voice, a voice that doesn’t sound like music but like martyrdom, like Heaven and holy wars, but slowly, Cas starts to understand the pitch that Dean lives in.

He doesn’t realize that Dean is starting to understand him, too, until later.

“Don’t ever change,” Dean finally tells him, and Cas thinks this was the first time their music converged.

…

They’re sitting in a bar, and Dean is wincing. Cas still doesn’t understand entirely, because he knows Dean likes this song, but Dean keeps saying something about cover bands and bleeding ears, and Cas just smiles along.

“You’ve been quiet,” Dean accuses after another string of complaints about the band, and Cas tilts his head in confusion.

“I don’t want to talk over the music,” Cas says simply.

Dean’s expression holds something soft but fleeting.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t music.”

Dean’s words just confuse Cas further.

“I thought… you liked this song,” Cas says, wracking his brain for the memory of this playing in the car.

Dean shakes his head.

“No, no, no,” he begins, “If you think this is the same as what I made you listen to, then I didn’t teach you very well. Trust me, there’s a difference between a classic song and a shitty garage-band cover of it.”

“Oh,” Cas says in response. He still doesn’t understand.

“Oh?” Dean prompts, seeming to notice Cas’s confusion.

“It’s just… wouldn’t you rather hear a bad version of a good song than nothing?”

Dean considers the question.

“I mean, on principle, no. But you might have a point,” Dean responds. “I guess I’d have to really like the song.”

“And this one? Do you like this one enough?”

Dean thinks about it before responding, “You know, I guess I do.” He huffs a laugh. “I guess music is music, no matter how shitty.”

Cas looks at Dean through startling blue eyes and tries not to think cursed or not.

…

Sometimes, Dean wishes he could hear everything that Cas does.

He wishes Cas spent less time marching to his own beat, to the orders he hears on angel radio, to the music only he can hear.

They try to share it with each other, sometimes. It’s why Cas spent so much time trying to make Dean understand and why Dean spent so much time on a mixtape. But sometimes, they just can��t find it in themselves.

This time, it’s about the nephilim.

Cas is convinced that Lucifer’s son will do something good, something great, even, and Dean isn’t willing to take the chance of him doing the opposite.

It’s hard to be angry.

He knows Cas isn’t lying to them about the future he believes in. When Cas talks about this kid, about the future he saw he could make, something in Cas’s expression turns so hopeful that it makes Dean ache.

It’s not that Dean doesn’t think Cas believes he’s doing the right thing; it’s that Dean can’t convince himself of it.

Whatever brave new world Cas thinks will come from this kid— Dean just can’t see it.

Cas hears music that no one else does.

…

When Cas dies, Dean doesn’t listen to anything for weeks.

The cassettes in the car stay untouched, the records unplayed.

There’s a boy with the blood of Lucifer who they have to save now, too, but Dean doesn’t care because he couldn’t save anyone when it counted, so what’s the point now?

Jack doesn’t know music. It’s not even that he doesn’t know good music; he’s never even heard the bad kind. Someday, someone might teach him, might show him how to drive with it playing and hum it while he fishes, but for now, he doesn’t ask, and no one offers. Dean doesn’t talk to him.

Jack misses Castiel, too. He’s the father he never got to meet, his unknowable savior, and maybe, just maybe, Cas could have taught him. Now, though, everything is silent.

They don’t know where angels go when they die. No one knows, Sam told him, but all that Jack knows is that it has to be somewhere, and he just wants his father.

When he cries out, the universe hears.

Somewhere, there’s music still playing.

…

It’s Thanksgiving, and the bunker buzzes with life.

They don’t do this, don’t celebrate normal holidays, but with the end of the world looming over them, now’s as good a time as any to start.

It’s not just them. Jody and the girls agreed to come, and they’ve made a mess of the kitchen, but no one seems to mind. Garth brought his family, too, and the babies have been looking wide-eyed at the bunker since they arrived. Eileen is due to arrive any minute.

There is happiness in the air, but Dean is terrified.

He knows about the deal.

Today isn’t the first day he’s known, but it’s brought up a whole new wave of fear and grief.

Giddy voices sing from the kitchen, and it’s a song Dean knows he recognizes—something by Pink Floyd—but he can’t bring himself to hear any of it. He’s standing in the doorway of his room, anger preventing him from joining. He feels like he’s living with one foot in and one out.

Cas stands across from him.

“Dean, I know why you won’t join,” Cas says, and Dean lets out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

Cas’s brow furrows, and he asks, “Are you angry?”

Dean shrugs, but the way his shoulders move jerkily answers the question.

Cas begins, “I know you think this will make me happy enough to—”

“That’s not the only thing, Cas!” Dean interrupts, and anger has seeped into his voice.

Cas stays silent, waiting for Dean to continue.

“It’s— yeah, I’m worried that today’s gonna make you happy and you’re gonna die in the middle of eating a piece of pumpkin pie,” Dean says, frustrated. “But what about the next time? And the time after that? Are we just gonna make sure you’re always miserable so you don’t die?”

Cas looks at Dean with sadness written on his face.

“Well,” Cas begins, and the calm of his voice contrasts starkly with the sharpness of Dean’s, “I think I’m safe at least until we beat Chuck.”

Dean makes a sound of disbelief.

“So, what then?! We just keep trying to find a way to dust God, and we ignore that it’ll probably kill you?”

Cas blinks.

“Yes,” he responds, and Dean’s face twists with anger.

“If you’re not gonna be around when we save the world, then what the hell are we even fighting for?!” Dean shouts.

Dean’s voice is loud, too loud, and now he can hear a baby crying from the other room. He’s not sure if it’s baby Sam or Castiel, but in the next moment, Jack’s voice filters in from another room where they left him watching the twins sleep. He keeps his voice soft and soothing.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay. It will be okay,” Jack says gently, and Dean can’t see him, but he’s sure Jack is holding the baby as he speaks. In the next moment, the crying has stopped.

The music from the kitchen is still playing.

“Them,” Cas answers then, and any frustration has melted from his voice. “We’re fighting for them.”

...

Some days, it all comes back to the mixtape.

It doesn’t matter what else there is; it doesn’t matter that there’s still God to fight or a deal to cheat, and it doesn’t matter that there’s fear and grief or anything other than love. On days like this, it all comes down to the music between them.

They’re in the car together, and they’re on the second to last song of the mixtape, but Dean doesn’t think he’s heard a single word of it.

It’s not that they’re speaking over it; every time they play the mixtape, Cas listens like he’ll never get another chance, but just because there are no actual words drowning it out doesn’t mean there’s nothing distracting Dean.

Something hangs in the air between them that’s louder than the music, and when Dean finally catches Cas’s eye in the passenger seat next to him, the notes all shatter.

“Cas—”

“I know.”

It’s a simple response, and Dean almost has to laugh at it because of course Cas knows.

Before Dean can tell him anything else that he already knows, and before he’s quite sure what he’s doing, Dean’s pulling the car over.

If Cas already knows, then—

“Cas, can I—”

“Please.”

And that’s all it takes.

There’s a moment of waiting, a break before the chorus, and then they meet in the middle.

It’s soft where they come together, but it’s not so tentative that Dean doesn’t feel his heart race. Neither intends to waste a second of this, and when they draw back for air, their cheeks are flushed.

“I’m sorry,” Cas blurts as they pull away, and for the life of him, Dean can’t imagine why he’s apologizing.

“You’re sorry?” Dean questions, still not quite trusting himself to string too many words together.

“The mixtape,” Cas says, still breathing heavier than usual. “You made me the mixtape, and I never got you anything in return.”

Dean almost laughs at Cas’s sincerity and timing, but when he responds, Dean’s voice is low and just as sincere.

“Don’t say you never got me anything,” Dean breathes, and then he pulls Cas in for another kiss.

It’s short and gentle, but Dean already can’t imagine how he’s gone so many years without this.

“Kisses aren’t an actual gift,” Cas says skeptically, but the way he leans closer to Dean takes away some credibility from the statement. “Not like the mixtape.”

“Cas, I hate to say it,” Dean responds, “but you’re better than rock and roll.”

It doesn’t matter that the song’s almost over, or that they still have a world to save, because Cas’s hand is in Dean’s. Maybe there’s the Empty waiting around the corner, but here, there is music.

For now, this is enough.

#suptober20 #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #castiel #dean winchester #spn fanfic #spn #Supernatural #the empty #mixtape #so this isnt my best writing but i.... poured my heart n soul into this #my suptober stuff #mine

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hjh-ceilo-monster · 3 years

Text

Dear letter... To you... (KTH)

Summary : There was no connection between these two strangers accept a letter in one’s hand.

Story inspo : a story from a wedding

Author POV.

*click*

The camera captured the scene of an empty alley. It was just another ordinary day for everyone to wake up and start their routines. In this little town, almost everyone knew each other-despite a few unfamiliar faces who might appear around the street.

Kim Taehyung was one of them, a wanderlust soul. He found this little town not long ago on a travel site. Visiting this beautiful and classic area for a week, he could tell that he fell in love, even if; there was nothing much to attract a large group of tourists.

*click*

Taehyung snapped another shot. This place was nothing but calming for him. He took a turn at a random corner and met with a local restaurant. Taehyung opened the wooden door. The bell shimmed as a signal of a new customer.

“Good day sir, what would you like to order?” Taehyung looked above the waiter for a menu.

“Any tradition dishes?” Taehyung asked. Every dish seemed to look the same since there were no note up on the board.

After having description from the waiter, he decided his dish. A waitress, who finished preparing a table, gestured Taehyung to take a seat.

“What would you like for today?”

The door opened and closed from time to time. Taehyung was still in the restaurant and enjoyed his meal. He looked through a photo album. He was so busy with his camera without noticing that someone approached him.

“Sir, can this lady have a seat here? The restaurant has no seats available at the moment.” The waitress interrupted him. Taehyung didn’t look up, but nodded as an answer.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Taehyung POV.

I felt like I was acting rude. However, I didn’t know how to start a conversation with the stranger either. I sat in silence and continued to play with my camera-taking the picture of the lake outside the window.

A glance at the person, but I only met a journal book. The person behind the book was so focused on the paper. Drawing or writing? I looked at the actions and kept those questions in my head.

I then put my attention back into my camera. I snapped a few shots and checked them. I did it again and again like a loop, not caring for the stranger who sat opposite me.

And both of us continued sitting there in silence.

“Have a good day miss.”

I looked up and met with an empty seat. The loud bell sound then appeared out of nowhere. I assumed that might come from a clock tower nearby. I checked my watch and gasped.

“I’ve been here for hour and a half already?” I started packing my camera and some postcards that I didn’t finish writing.

The moment I stood up and stepped toward the door, one of the waiters stopped me. He handed me a piece of brown ripped paper and a postcard.

“These aren’t mine.”

“It was on your table, sir.” I didn’t care about it that much and put both into my pocket.

‘What a tiring day.’ I thought to myself. I strolled down the eat part of the town today. The beach was nice. I could feel the breeze wash over me and left a fresh sea salt scent.

“What could it be?” I picked up the thing I got in the morning. Inspecting the handwriting, it must belong to that stranger. She surely had a neat yet unique handwriting. I assumed these were a part of her journal.

There were a few translucent color dots on a paper. She spilled something? She painted? I flipped the paper and searched for any clue to find her. Fortunately, there was something.

“Interesting.”

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

2 years later

“Any meeting?” Taehyung asked his secretary to check his schedule. He had been busy for awhile after his father stepped down from the position.

“Sir, you have a meeting around…” His secretary reviewed his schedule.

“For the project, we have an appointment with the artist in the evening.”

The secretary closed her iPad and left him in the elevator. Taehyung went up to another floor before he left. He then stepped into his office.

“Sir, the artist arrived.”

After he ended the call, he stepped into a metal box. The door closed and the digital screen ran a set of numbers as he went down.

“Here is the copy of their plan.” Taehyung received the file and scrolled through the plan. Checking the details, he decided to wait for their presentation.

Everyone stood up and bowed to him as a greeting when the glass door slid open. He took a seat and the others followed.

“Shall we start?” When he asked, a woman stood up from her seat. She walked toward the screen that had already prepared the presentation.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Y/N POV.

‘Here we go.’ I thought to myself and the glass door slid open.

The CEO stepped inside the room. His every step echoed in the room-making my heartbeat went faster. When we all took our seats, I then noticed his feature. He looked young, probably around my age. His posture was calm yet intimidate.

“Shall we start?” Ok, y/n, you got this. I stood up with confident. I tried my best to look calm. If anyone could read my thought, they would know how nervous I was.

I started by explaining my inspiration a little bit before moving on to the concept and its details. It was nerve-wracking since the guy stared at me throughout my presentation. I felt him monitoring my moves, and that made me anxious.

“Is there any question?” Now, time to face the real anxiety.

I was right. He then started asking millions of questions about my idea.

The scribbling sound was loud and clear. I was now sitting in the CEO’s cabinet. He noted down the details while I explained. He dismissed everyone from the meeting half an hour ago since their working hour was end.

“Have we ever met before?” He asked a random question out of the blue.

“I..I don’t think so.” Why did I stutter?

I saw him smiled a little. Did I say something wrong? He knew me before? I was sure that I didn’t meet him before. My forgetful self started recalling his face.

“My secretary will contact you for our next appointment.” I nodded and stood up-ready to leave.

“Oh, can you leave your personal contact? In case, we have to call you for the urgent work.” I then left him my personal contact and left the place.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

With the contact you left a week ago, Taehyung always messaged you. Even if it was about work, you were a little puzzled. Is it common for that huge interior company to let the boss directly contact any worker (even though you weren’t his employee directly)?

The clock was ticking. The sky gradually changed its shade. Everyone continued working on the job as usual. Taehyung was so busy surfing through the site and gallery of the artist. Lucky that he had his own office because if someone found him smiling like an idiot in front of the screen right now, they would think he was weird.

“I’ll see you soon.” He spoke to himself while looking through your work.

After Taehyung met you, to say Taehyung was head over heal into you wasn’t an exaggerated liar. He was even more obsessed with you when he saw your handwriting. He got his answer that you were ‘that’ stranger.

“Why are we here today? I thought we are going to work on the project.” You and Taehyung got closer after a week of him messaging to you unstop about work (A/N: *Ahem* work you say?)

“Well, this is also work, is it not?” His boxy smiled plaster his face.

“At the art exhibition?”

“Yeah, because I want learn about them. It can help me better understanding what you are doing and fuse them into my collection as well.”

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Taehyung POV.

‘Is that excuse work?’ I looked at her face. She seemed to not catch my real intention. I still put on my signature innocent smile-using it to persuade her.

“We better to be hurry then. Today we also needed to buy my equipment.” I succeeded. She entered the place without asking any further.

I snapped many shots when we were inside. She was so passionate about the exhibition. I usually preferred a peaceful atmosphere while walking in the exhibition hall. However, the way she kept talking about each piece of art, I didn’t find it annoying or boring.

“You seemed to be into this piece. Do you want it to be the main pantone of your collection?” I got out of my head and nodded. She then chuckled lightly.

‘Ah, I embarrassed myself, didn’t I?’

“Ok, we should leave then.”

We were here for a few hours now. She was lost in her world. When she picked the colors, she wouldn’t forget to ask for my comment. If I approved, she would be happy. Her eyes glowed thousands of lights. I couldn’t help but stare. She was indeed passionate about our work.

‘Our?’ When I realized that I used that word, I somehow felt a tingle feeling inside.

“We can get out of here soon. Do you think this is enough?” I snapped back to reality. I then met a cart full of art tools.

“I think these will do.” I emphasized the word these to remind her that it was enough.

“Sorry, I picked them for personal purpose as well. Hope you won’t mind.” I gave her a disbelief look while she grinned.

“If you mind, you can cut it from my salary.” She pouted and wheeled the cart.

‘Cute’

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

Little by little, you fell for Taehyung. It was a feeling that gradually develop without your notice. By the time you realized it, you had already established your status with him.

“And again, you bring me to somewhere out of our schedule.”

“And you like it as always.” You rolled your eyes and entered the restaurant.

Entering a familiar elegant restaurant, a waitress led you both toward the VIP table. Guess who booked that?

The waiter then approached your table and left the menu on the table. He stood there and waited patiently for your order. You finished ordering your meal in the blink of an eye since you only had one fav dish. However, for Taehyung, it took ages to order.

“Why is it so quiet today?” You asked. You glanced around the floor and saw no one other than your table.

“Oh, I booked the whole floor today.” Taehyung answered it as if it was a normal thing to do.

“You did what?” You looked at the guy with a shocked face. He noticed your expression and chuckled.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Y/N POV.

This was unbelievable. Why on earth did he need to book the whole floor? I had no idea of what was on his mind. Being close with Taehyung, I learned one thing. That one thing was sometimes you needed no rational thought to do something.

The quiet atmosphere then got replaced when a musician started playing some tunes. The soft melody filled the air.

‘He is up to something?’

I monitored his expressions and actions, but I didn’t get the answer. I couldn’t keep the curiosity any longer. I opened my mouth to fire out the question.

“Please, enjoy the meal.”

‘Lucky you, Tae.’ A waitress interrupted me before I could ask. Both of us started eating our meal.

I felt the meal was more delicious. Is it because of the atmosphere?

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Taehyung POV.

‘Phew she didn’t ask anything yet.’ I thought to myself while eating the meal. Thanks to that waitress, she didn’t get her chance. I didn’t want her to know my surprise just yet.

Curious right?

Today, I booked our favorite restaurant to discuss on the work like always. It looked ordinary until here. Now, the surprise plan will start.

I signaled a waiter who stood beside. He knew that it was the time for the special menu. Waiting for a bit, a box finally landed on the middle of the table.

“Open it.” I ordered her. She gave me a suspiscious look before carefully opened it.

*gasp*

“And that is your answer.” I spoke. I knew what she was about to ask before our meal arrived.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Author POV.

“That was such a lovely story. I could see ladies in the venue look jelous at you both.”

Wedding day

The MC spoke. Taehyung give his signature smile. He isn’t shy about it. You can tell that he is bragging your story to the audience.

“And I told her about the letter. I still remembered how she was surprise and then her face flush. It was really cute.” The audience awe at him.

“Ok, we will now moving on to the surprise of tonight.” Taehyung glance at the MC. He remembers that the next thing is throwing the bouquet.

“You didn’t expect it, did you? Since you gave me such a surprise that day, I am going to give you one today.”

You look at your husband who look so lost. You chuckle at his expression before 2 staff step on stage with a gift. They then hand it to him and you wait for his reaction.

“Oh my god.” He looks shock when he tears off a wrapper. It was a sketch of him from the day you met him.

“So is this why you didn’t have any conversation with me or even look at me?” He smirks and teases you.

“There are more.”

The MC now hand him a box which is much smaller than the first gift. He shakes a few time after recieves them. When he know that isn’t going to help him to guess, he open the bow.

He gasp so do the aucience. His eyes filled up with tears. His hands are shaking. The MC take the little gift out of his hand and show it to the audience. The audience go wild. The cheering and whistling sound echo in the venue. You then grab the mic and speak.

“Congratulation my dear, you are going to be papa.”

Author note : This story was inspired by the story from a wedding of my friend’s cousin. Her cousin met his bride because he found her note. Their story then began. My friend told me the groom’s comment about the bride. “I thought the handwriting was beautiful. When I finally found the owner, she was more beautiful.” It sounded cheesy, but that was their story. I hope you enjoy this one. See you in the next os.

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chiseler · 3 years

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The Mysterious Death of a Hollywood Director

This is the tale of a very famous Hollywood mogul and a not-so-famous movie director. In May of 1933 they embarked together on a hunting trip to Canada, but only one of them came back alive. It’s an unusual tale with an uncertain ending, and to the best of my knowledge it’s never been told before.

I. The Mogul

When we consider the factors that enabled the Hollywood studio system to work as well as it did during its peak years, circa 1920 to 1950, we begin with the moguls, those larger-than-life studio chieftains who were the true stars on their respective lots. They were tough, shrewd, vital, and hard working men. Most were Jewish, first- or second-generation immigrants from Europe or Russia; physically on the small side but nonetheless formidable and – no small thing – adaptable. Despite constant evolution in popular culture, technology, and political and economic conditions in their industry and the outside world, most of the moguls who made their way to the top during the silent era held onto their power and wielded it for decades. Their names are still familiar: Zukor, Goldwyn, Mayer, Jack Warner and his brothers, and a few more. And of course, Darryl F. Zanuck. In many ways Zanuck personified the common image of the Hollywood mogul. He was an energetic, cigar-chewing, polo mallet-swinging bantam of a man, largely self-educated, with a keen aptitude for screen storytelling and a well-honed sense of what the public wanted to see. Like Charlie Chaplin he was widely assumed to be Jewish, and also like Chaplin he was not, but in every other respect Zanuck was the very embodiment of the dynamic, supremely confident Hollywood showman.

In the mid-1920s he got a job as a screenwriter at Warner Brothers, at a time when that studio was still something of a podunk operation. The young man succeeded on a grand scale, and was head of production before he was 30 years old. Ironically, the classic Warners house style, i.e. clipped, topical, and earthy, often dark and sometimes grimly funny, as in such iconic films as The Public Enemy, I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang, and 42nd Street, was established not by Jack, Harry, Sam, or Albert Warner, but by Darryl Zanuck, who was the driving force behind those hits and many others from the crucial early talkie period. He played a key role in launching the gangster cycle and a new wave of sassy show biz musicals. At some point during 1932-33, however, Zanuck realized he would never rise above his status as Jack Warner’s right-hand man and run the studio, no matter how successful his projects proved to be, because of two insurmountable obstacles: 1) his name was not Warner, and 2) he was a Gentile. Therefore, in order to achieve complete autonomy, Zanuck concluded that he would have to start his own company.

In mid-April of 1933 he picked a public fight with Jack Warner over a staff salary issue, then abruptly resigned. Next, he turned his attention to setting up a company in partnership with veteran producer Joseph Schenck, who was able to raise sufficient funds to launch the new concern. And then, Zanuck invited several associates from Warner Brothers to accompany him on an extended hunting trip in Canada.

Going into the wilderness and killing wild game, a pastime many Americans still regard as a routine, unremarkable form of recreation, is also of course a conspicuous show of machismo. But in this realm, as with his legendary libido, Zanuck was in a class by himself. He had been an enthusiastic hunter most of his life, dating back to his boyhood in Nebraska. Once he became a big wheel at Warners in the late ’20s he took to organizing high-style duck-hunting expeditions: the young executive and his fellow sportsmen would travel to the appointed location in private railroad cars, staffed by uniformed servants. Heavy drinking on these occasions was not uncommon. (Inevitably, film buffs will recall The Ale & Quail Club from Preston Sturges’ classic comedy The Palm Beach Story, but DFZ and his pals were not cute old character actors, and their bullets were quite real.) Members of Zanuck’s studio entourage were given to understand that participation in these outings was de rigueur if they valued their positions, and expected desirable assignments in the future. Director Michael Curtiz, who had no fondness for hunting, remembered the trips with distaste, and recalled that on one occasion he was nearly shot by a casting director who had no idea how to properly handle a gun.

But ducks were just the beginning. In 1927 Zanuck took his wife Virginia on an African safari. In Kenya Darryl bagged a rhinoceros and posed for a photo with his wife, crouched beside the rhino’s carcass. Virginia, an erstwhile Mack Sennett bathing beauty and former leading lady to Buster Keaton, appears shaken. Her husband looks exhilarated. During this safari Zanuck also killed an elephant. He kept the animal’s four feet in his office on the Warners lot, and used them as ashtrays. If any animal lover dared to express dismay, the Hollywood sportsman would retort: “It was him or me, wasn’t it?” Zanuck made several forays to Canada with his coterie in this period, gunning for grizzly bears. Director William “Wild Bill” Wellman, who was more of an outdoorsman than Curtiz, once went along, but soon became irritated with Zanuck’s bullying. The two men got into a drunken fistfight the night before the hunting had even begun. In the course of the ensuing trip the hunting party was snowbound for three days; Zanuck sprained his ankle while trailing a grizzly; the horse carrying medical supplies vanished; and Wellman got food poisoning. “It was the damnedest trip I’ve ever seen,” the director said later, “but Zanuck loved it.”

Now that Zanuck had severed his ties with the Warner clan and was on the verge of a new professional adventure, a trip to Canada with a few trusted associates would be just the ticket. This time the destination would be a hunting ground on the banks of the Canoe River, a tributary of the Columbia River, 102 miles north of Revelstoke, British Columbia, a city about 400 miles east of Vancouver. There, in a remote scenic area far from any paved roads, telephones, or other niceties of modern life, the men could discuss Zanuck’s new production company and, presumably, their own potential roles in it. Present on the expedition were screenwriter Sam Engel, director Ray Enright, 42nd Street director Lloyd Bacon, producer (and former silent film comedian) Raymond Griffith, and director John G. Adolfi, best known at the time for his work with English actor George Arliss. Adolfi, who was around 50 years old and seemingly in good health, would not return.

II. The Director

Even dedicated film buffs may draw a blank when the name John Adolfi is mentioned. Although he directed more than eighty films over a twenty-year period beginning in 1913, most of those films are now lost. He worked in every genre, with top stars, and made a successful transition from silent cinema to talkies. He seems to have been a well-respected but self-effacing man, seldom profiled in the press.

According to his tombstone Adolfi was born in New York City in 1881, but the exact date of his birth is one of several mysteries about his life. His father, Gustav Adolfi, was a popular stage comedian and singer who emigrated to the U.S. from Germany in 1879. Gustav performed primarily in New York and Philadelphia, and was known for such roles as Frosch the Jailer in Strauss’ Die Fledermaus. But he was a troubled man, said to be a compulsive gambler, and after his wife Jennie died (possibly of scarlet fever) it appears his life fell apart. Gustav’s singing voice gave out, and then he died suddenly in Philadelphia in October 1890, leaving John and his siblings orphaned. (An obituary in the Philadelphia Jewish Exponent reported that Gustav suffered a stroke, but family legend suggests he may have committed suicide.) After a difficult period John followed in his father’s footsteps and launched a stage career, and was soon working opposite such luminaries of the day as Ethel Barrymore and Dustin Farnum. Early in the new century the young actor wed Pennsylvania native Florence Crawford; the marriage would last until his death.

When the cinema was still in its infancy stage performers tended to regard movie work as slumming, but for whatever reason John Adolfi took the plunge. He made his debut before the cameras around 1907, probably at the Vitagraph Studio in Brooklyn. There he appeared as Tybalt in J. Stuart Blackton’s 1908 Romeo and Juliet , with Paul Panzer and Florence Lawrence in the title roles. He worked at the Edison Studio for director Edwin S. Porter, and at Biograph in a 1908 short called The Kentuckian which also featured two other stage veterans, D.W. Griffith and Mack Sennett. Most of Adolfi’s work as a screen actor was for the Éclair Studio in Fort Lee, New Jersey, the first film capital. The bulk of this company’s output was destroyed in a vault fire, but a 1912 adaptation of Robin Hood in which Adolfi appeared survives. That same year he also appeared in a famous docu-drama, as we would call it, Saved from the Titanic. This ten-minute short premiered less than a month after the Titanic disaster, and featured actress Dorothy Gibson, who actually survived the voyage, re-enacting her experience while wearing the same clothes she wore in the lifeboat. (This film, unfortunately, is among the missing.) After appearing in dozens of movies Adolfi moved behind the camera.

Much of his early work as a director was for a Los Angeles-based studio called Majestic, where he made crime dramas, Westerns, and comedies, films with titles like Texas Bill’s Last Ride and The Stolen Radium. In 1914 the company had a new supervisor: D. W. Griffith, now the top director in the business, who had just departed Biograph. Adolfi was one of the few Majestic staff directors who kept his job under the new regime. A profile in the February 1915 issue of Photoplay describes him as “a tallish, good-looking man, well-knit and vigorous, dark-haired and determined; his mouth and chin suggest that their owner expects (and intends) to have his own way unless he is convinced that the other fellow’s is better.” It was also reported that Adolfi had developed something of a following as an actor, but that he dropped out of the public eye when he became a director. Presumably, that’s what he wanted.

Adolfi left Majestic after three years, worked at Fox Films for a time as a staff director, then freelanced. During the remainder of the silent era he guided some of the screen’s legendary leading ladies: Annette Kellerman (Queen of the Sea, 1918), Marion Davies (The Burden of Proof, 1918), Mae Marsh (The Little ‘Fraid Lady, 1920), Betty Blythe (The Darling of the Rich, 1922), and Clara Bow (The Scarlet West, 1925). Not one of these films survives. A profile published in the New York World-Telegram during his stint at Fox reported that Adolfi was well-liked by his employees. He was “reticent when the conversation turned toward himself, but frank and outspoken when it concerned his work. Mr. Adolfi is not only a director who is skilled in the technique of his craft; he is also a deep student of human nature.” Asked how he felt about the cinema’s potential, he replied, with unconscious irony, “it is bound to live forever.”

III. The Talkies

In spring of 1927 Adolfi was offered a job at Warner Brothers. His debut feature for the studio What Happened to Father? (now lost) was a success, or enough of one anyway to secure him a professional foothold, and he worked primarily at WB thereafter. Thus he was fortuitously well-positioned for the talkie revolution, for although talking pictures were not invented at the studio it was Sam Warner and his brothers, more than anyone else, who sold an initially skeptical public on the new medium. After Adolfi had proven himself with three talkie features Darryl Zanuck handed him an expensive, prestige assignment, a lavish all-star revue entitled The Show of Shows which featured every Warners star from John Barrymore to Rin-Tin-Tin.

Other important assignments followed. In March of 1930 a crime melodrama called Penny Arcade opened on Broadway. It was not a success, but when Al Jolson saw it he sensed that the story had screen potential. He purchased the film rights at a bargain rate and then re-sold the property to his home studio, Warner Brothers. Adolfi was chosen to direct, but was doubtless surprised to learn that Jolson had insisted that two of the actors from the Broadway production repeat their performances before the cameras. One of the pair, Joan Blondell, had already appeared in three Vitaphone shorts to good effect, but the other, James Cagney, had never acted in a movie. Any doubts about Jolson’s instincts were quickly dispelled. Rushes of the first scenes featuring the newcomers so impressed studio brass that both were signed to five-year contracts. While Adolfi can’t be credited with discovering the duo, the film itself, re-christened Sinners’ Holiday,remains his strongest surviving claim to fame: he guided Jimmy Cagney’s screen debut.

At this point the director formed a professional relationship that would shape the rest of his career. George Arliss was a veteran stage actor who went into the movies and unexpectedly became a top box office draw. He was, frankly, an unlikely candidate for screen stardom. Already past sixty when talkies arrived, Arliss was a short, dignified man who resembled a benevolent gargoyle. But he was also a journeyman actor, a seasoned professional who knew how to command attention with a sudden sharp word or a raised eyebrow. Like Helen Hayes he was valued in Hollywood as a performer of unblemished reputation who lent the raffish film industry a touch of Class, in every sense of the word.

In 1929 Arliss appeared in a talkie version of Disraeli, a role he had played many times on stage, and became the first Englishman to take home an Academy Award for Best Actor. Thereafter he was known for stately portrayals of History’s Great Men, such as Voltaire and Alexander Hamilton, as well as fictional kings, cardinals, and other official personages. The old gentleman formed a close alliance with Darryl Zanuck, whom he admired, and was in turn granted privileges highly unusual for any actor at the time. Arliss had final approval of his scripts and authority over casting. He was also granted the right to rehearse his selected actors for two weeks before filming began. All that was left for the film’s director to do, it would seem, would be to faithfully record what his star wanted. Not many directors would accept this arrangement, but John Adolfi, who according to Photoplay “was determined to have his own way unless he is convinced that the other fellow’s is better,” clearly had no problem with it. His first film with Arliss was The Millionaire, released in May 1931; and in the two years that followed Adolfi directed eight more features, six of which were Arliss vehicles. He had found his niche in Hollywood.

One of Adolfi’s last jobs sans Arliss was a B-picture called Central Park, which reunited the director with Joan Blondell. It’s a snappy, topical, crazy quilt of a movie that packs a lot of incident into a 58-minute running time. Central Park was something of a sleeper that earned its director positive critical notices, and must have afforded him a lively holiday from those polite period pieces for the exacting Mr. Arliss.

In spring of 1933, after completing work on the Arliss vehicle Voltaire, Adolfi accompanied Darryl Zanuck and his entourage to British Columbia to hunt bears. Arliss intended to follow Zanuck to his new company, while Adolfi in turn surely expected to follow the star and continue their collaboration. Things didn’t work out that way.

IV. The Hunting Trip

It’s unclear how long the men were hunting before tragedy struck. On Sunday, May 14th, newspapers reported that film director John G. Adolfi had died the previous week – either on Wednesday or Thursday, depending on which paper one consults – at a hunting camp near the Canoe River. All accounts give the cause of death as a cerebral hemorrhage. According to the New York Herald-Tribune the news was conveyed in a long-distance phone call from Darryl Zanuck to screenwriter Lucien Hubbard in Los Angeles. Hubbard subsequently informed the press. The N.Y. Times reported that the entire hunting party (Zanuck, Engel, Enright, Bacon, and Griffith) accompanied Adolfi’s remains in a motorboat down the Columbia River to Revelstoke. From there the body was sent to Vancouver, B.C., where it was cremated. Write-ups of Adolfi’s career were brief, and tended to emphasize his work with George Arliss, though his recent success Central Park was widely noted. John’s widow Florence was mentioned in the Philadelphia City News obituary but otherwise seems to have been ignored; the couple had no children.

V. The Aftermath

Darryl F. Zanuck went on to found Twentieth Century Pictures, a name suggested by his hunting companion Sam Engel. One of the company’s biggest hits in its first year of operation was The House of Rothschild, starring George Arliss and directed by Alfred Werker. The venerable actor returned to England not long afterwards and retired from filmmaking in 1937. In his second book of memoirs, published three years later, Arliss devotes several pages of warm praise to Zanuck, but refers only fleetingly to the man who directed seven of his films, John Adolfi, and misspells his name.

In 1935 Zanuck merged his Twentieth Century Pictures with Fox Films, and created one of the most successful companies in Hollywood history. He would go on to produce many award-winning classics, including The Grapes of Wrath, Laura, and All About Eve. Zanuck’s trusted associates at Twentieth-Century Fox in the company’s best years included Sam Engel, Raymond Griffith, and Lloyd Bacon, all survivors of the Revelstoke trip. Personal difficulties and vast changes in the film industry began to affect Zanuck’s career in the 1950s. He left the U.S. for Europe but continued to make films, and sporadically managed to exercise control over the company he founded. He died in 1979.

In 1984 a onetime screenwriter and film critic named Leonard Mosley, who had known Zanuck slightly, published a biography entitled Zanuck: The Rise and Fall of Hollywood’s Last Tycoon. Aside from his movie reviews most of Mosley’s published work concerned military matters, specifically pertaining to the Second War World. His Zanuck bio reveals a grasp of film history that is shaky at times, for the book has a number of obvious errors. Nevertheless, it was written with the cooperation of Darryl’s son Richard, his widow Virginia, and many of the mogul’s close associates, so whatever its errors in chronology or studio data the anecdotes concerning Zanuck’s personal and professional activities are unquestionably well-sourced.

When Mosley’s narrative reaches May 1933, the point when Zanuck is on the verge of founding his new company, we’re told that he and several associates decided to go on a hunting trip to Alaska. The location is not correct, but chronologically – and in one other, unmistakable respect – there can be no doubt that this refers to the Revelstoke trip. From Mosley’s book:

“There is a mystery about this trip, and no perusal of Zanuck’s papers or those of his former associates seems to elucidate it,” he writes. “Something happened that changed his whole attitude towards hunting. All that can be gathered from the thin stories that are still gossiped around was that the hunting party went on the track of a polar bear somewhere in the Alaskan wilderness [sic], and when the vital moment came it was Zanuck who stepped out to shoot down the charging, furious animal. His bullet, it is said, found its mark all right, but it did not kill. The polar bear came on, and Zanuck stood his ground, pumping away with his rifle. Only this time it was not ‘him or me,’ but ‘him’ and someone else. The wounded and enraged bear, still alive and still charging, swerved around Zanuck and swiped with his great paw at one of the men standing behind him – and only after it had killed this other man did it fall at last into the snow, and die itself. That’s the story, and no one seems to be able to confirm it nor remember the name of the man who died. The only certain thing is that when Zanuck came back, he announced to Virginia that he had given up hunting. And he never went out and shot a wild animal again, not even a jackrabbit for his supper.”

VI. The Coda

Was John Adolfi killed by a bear? It certainly seems possible, but if so, why didn’t the men in the hunting party simply report the truth? Even if their boss was indirectly responsible, having fired the shots that caused the bear to charge, he couldn’t be blamed for the actions of a dying animal. But it’s also possible the event unfolded like a recent tragedy on the Montana-Idaho border. There, in September 2011, two men named Ty Bell and Steve Stevenson were on a hunting trip. Bell shot what he believed was a black bear. When the bear, a grizzly, attacked Stevenson, Bell fired again – and killed both the bear and his friend.

That seems to be the more likely scenario. If Zanuck fired at the wounded bear, in an attempt to save Adolfi, and killed both bear and man instead, it would perhaps explain a hastily contrived false story. It would most definitely explain the prompt cremation of Adolfi’s body in Vancouver. Back in Hollywood Joe Schenck was busy raising money, and lots of it, to launch Zanuck’s new company. Any unpleasant information about the new company’s chief – certainly anything suggestive of manslaughter – could jeopardize the deal. A man hit with a cerebral hemorrhage in the prime of life is a tragedy of natural causes, but a man sprayed with bullets in a shooting, accidental or not, is something else again. That goes double if alcohol was involved, as it reportedly was on Zanuck’s earlier hunting trips.

Of course, it’s also possible that Adolfi did indeed suffer a cerebral hemorrhage. Like his father.

John G. Adolfi is a Hollywood ghost. Most of his works are lost, and his name is forgotten. (Even George Arliss couldn’t be bothered to spell it correctly.) Every now and then TCM will program one of the Arliss vehicles, or Sinners’ Holiday. Not long ago they showed Adolfi’s fascinating B-picture Central Park, that slam-bang souvenir of the early Depression years in which several plot strands are deftly inter-twined. One of the subplots involves a mentally ill man, a former zoo-keeper who escapes from an asylum and returns to the place where he used to work, the Central Park Zoo. He has a score to settle with an old nemesis, an ex-colleague who tends the big cats. As the story approaches its climax, the escaped lunatic deliberately drags his enemy into the cage of a dangerous lion and leaves him there. In the subsequent, harrowing scene, difficult to watch, the lion attacks and practically kills the poor bastard.

by William Charles Morrow

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

My sources for this article, in addition to the Mosley biography cited in the text, include Stephen M. Silverman’s The Fox That Got Away: The Last Days of the Zanuck Dynasty at Twentieth-Century Fox (1988), and Marlys J. Harris’s The Zanucks of Hollywood: The Dark Legacy of an American Dynasty (1989). For material on John Adolfi I made extensive use of the files of the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts. Special thanks to James Bigwood for his prodigious research on the Adolfi family genealogy, and to Mary Maler, John Adolfi’s great-niece, for information she provided on her family.

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

—

It was a simple platitude, and one he'd heard quite often growing up: "Be ever honest, forthright, and true, and ne'er shall Woedica frown upon you." The rhyme was reductive and childish, but the sentiment was understandable enough– Honesty is a virtue, and one that should serve any good, upright citizen of Aedyr well.

Of course, Aloth knew better.

He'd known better since he was fifteen years old, clutching his face in his hands and choking on his own tears while his mother tried to soothe him, brushing back his smooth, black hair and holding him close, careful to avoid the bruises, all the while imploring him you must never tell a soul of this, Aloth, never, for even I could not help you then. He'd known better after running to the proctor about the incident with the spellwrights gilde and their damned machine, trying to bring it all to light, and instead of finding himself languishing in a dungeon for the atrocity he'd taken part in, he was instructed to continue to meet with them, to keep his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. No matter the rewards honesty promised, the people in his life always seemed to reinforce the lesson that deception and secrecy were the true keys to success.

Until now. Until her.

Since their very first meeting outside the Black Hound Inn, as far as he could tell– and he considered himself a decent judge of character, most of the time– Axa had not uttered a single lie to anyone she'd spoken with, had not suppressed nor sugarcoated a single truth, no matter how painful. The closest she'd gotten to lying was her reluctance to discuss the chain of events that had lead her to relocate to the Dyrwood, and even that had come out eventually, and entirely of her own volition. In fact, she seemed to not only practice honesty in her words and her deeds, but to relentlessly pursue the truth, to champion it, to draw it out of others like venom from a wound and leave both parties happier for it. Hel, she'd even managed to get him to open up.

How did she make it look so easy?

Practice, I reck'n. Isnae easy fer ye, tellin' sooth, coz yer nae accustomed to it, are ye, lad? Iselmyr's unwanted commentary was almost constant, now, and Aloth could not tell whether it was due to his control over himself deteriorating further, or if she had simply been emboldened by their secret finally being out after all these years. Either way, it was wearing on his nerves, and he worried that it was starting to show. It certainly didn't help that the others were as curious about Iselmyr as he was eager to be rid of her, and only about half of them seemed to possess the decorum to recognize his discomfort and drop it. Even Axa had asked if it were possible for her to speak directly to the horrid little pest, although to her credit she'd only had to be told "no" once, unlike Edér and Kana who seemingly only deigned to speak with him in order to badger him about his "friend," trying to trade jokes with her or learn Hylspeak from her or– Berath take him– flirt with her.

"Jealous," she'd smirked, and Aloth had gone bright red when Edér had laughed in response, only then realizing that she'd made him say it out loud.

Am only out 'n' jawin' wie kith cozza yer wee burd, laddie. If ye've aught t' complain about, tell it t' her. As much as he hated to agree with Iselmyr, he had to admit that she had a point– if he'd been left to his own devices, he might never have told anyone about his Awakening and simply lived his whole life suffering in silence. But since he'd started following Axa, talking with her, fighting alongside her, earning her trust and starting to trust her in return, he'd found that opening up about himself– and Iselmyr– was far easier than he'd ever expected it would be. The clever little woman had had him halfway figured out by the time he finally told her anyway, which had certainly helped speed things along. She had even suggested a method by which he might finally learn more about his condition, although the thought of letting some jackleg animancer strap him to a table (don't think about the spellwrights the experiment don't think about Targun his eyes empty and lifeless and dull don't think about it don't) and peer into his soul made his skin crawl.

But it didn't seem quite so dismaying when he reminded himself that she'd be there with him.

The events of the day thus far had only served to reinforce this notion. She'd broached the topic over breakfast, suggesting that after they finish their business with the Knights, they make the sanitarium their very next stop of the day– "May as well get it over with, right?"– but he had deflected and redirected, stating that he'd hoped to read up on animancy a bit more before making the plunge– "After all, I've waited fifty years, I can wait a few more hours"– while reminding her that she had expressed a desire to parley with the Eyeless Face sometime soon. A little nudge in the right direction was all it had taken for Kana to commandeer the conversation, excitedly gushing about banned books and Waelite secrets, and Aloth had sighed with relief even as he'd winced at the knowing look Sagani had given him. But Axa had not seen fit to press the matter, and so they'd agreed on their plans and headed for Crucible Keep, turning over the research for their new Forge Knights without any issues.

And upon arriving at the Hall of Revealed Mysteries, the distractions had quickly accumulated, as they tended to do. The forgemaster at the Keep had done little to assuage his worries about animancy in general, and every book about animancy he'd half-heartedly attempted to peruse only ended up making him more anxious, so instead he'd spent most of his time leafing through old favorites, comforting himself with the certainties of the classics, repetitively tracing his slender fingers over ancient runes in arcane treatises he'd practically memorized years ago during his training. It was a surefire method of calming himself down, helping him to collect his thoughts– or it would have been if he hadn't been continually interrupted by Iselmyr's whining, Edér's yawning, Kana's incessant attempts to "help" him with his research.

Aloth had just suffered yet another of these intrusions (Kana had jokingly shoved a primer on orlan physiology and anatomy under his nose, opened to a page with some... detailed illustrations) when the messenger from the palace had arrived, summoning Axa to court. He'd have been pleased for such a convenient excuse to continue the deferral of their visit to the sanitarium, but the scene at the Hall of Records had been far from a pleasant one.

"This is she?" Arledr Gathbin had glared down at the little woman, naked contempt on his sneering face. "This little varlet, she's the one who murdered my kin and now clings like a leech to my ancestral land? I'd thought she was just some servant, a wench from the scullery."

"This wench," Axa had snapped back, "claimed that land– a keep abandoned by your noble line for well over a hundred years, I'll remind you– by strength of arms, and with the assistance of the few good men and women standing alongside me." Sagani and Pallegina had blinked in surprise at her words, but raised no objection. "And in any case, I didn't see your name on the door."

Gathbin had reared back as though she'd spat at him. "Never speak to me so brazenly again, cur," he'd hissed, "or you won't have time enough left in your miserable life to regret it."

Chancellor Warrin had been quick to bring the meeting back to order, but the calm had not lasted long. Upon learning that Caed Nua would only be his upon the condition that he pay reparations to Axa for services rendered in recovering it, Gathbin had flown into an even greater rage, going so far as to raise his hand to the Chancellor. And although he had effectively just declared Axa homeless, she had still leapt between the two men to defend the Chancellor, her eyes blazing as she'd roared at Gathbin to stay his hand.

"You dare to issue orders to me, you hairy little wretch!?" He'd whirled on her, his face beet red, and the captain of his personal guard, a sharp-featured elf in gleaming black plate, had grinned eagerly as her hand flew to her pistol. Aloth had been surprised to suddenly feel the spine of his grimoire under his fingertips, his heart racing. And he hadn't been alone: all of Axa's allies had prepared to draw arms as well, Pallegina's blade already halfway out of its scabbard by the time Marshall Forwyn had stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his weapon, calmly but firmly suggesting that Gathbin contain himself.

After Gathbin had stormed off, after the dust had settled and Axa was officially declared thaynu and roadwarden of Caed Nua, she'd still had enough composure to ask the Chancellor to invite his lordship to settle their differences over dinner sometime– in her halls at Caed Nua, of course– before immediately turning to the record keeper who'd seen it all and asking him if she was now "established" enough to access the records from the Saint's War she'd inquired after previously. Edér's eyes had gone wide, his jaw rigid with apprehension as he'd accepted his prize at last, and as he'd flipped anxiously through the casualty listings, Aloth had mused on the little woman's fortitude, her quick wit, the loyalty she inspired in those who followed her.

And that loyalty was not misplaced. Even now as he struggled to gather the resolve to say what he needed to say, he couldn't stop thinking of the lost, haunted expression on Edér's face as he'd found his brother's name, looked up into Axa's eyes, asked her as though she'd known all along: "Why'd he fight for Readceras?" She hadn't hesitated for even a second when he'd beseeched her to go with him to the battlefield where Woden had died, laying her small, fuzzy hand on the blond man's shoulder and assuring him she'd do whatever it took to give him peace of mind.

Be ever forthright, honest, and true–

Maybe it was bearing witness to all that– her ironclad resolve in the face of a daunting foe, her powerful devotion to those who placed their trust in her– that made Aloth face Axa now, standing outside the Ducal Palace, and tell her he was ready to head for the sanitarium. "If you're still amenable, of course," he added quickly. If you'll help me stay strong enough to see it through, he thought.

If ye'll held me haund, kiss me wee arse–

She blinked in surprise, recovered, smiled warmly at him. "Of course," she replied. "We can go there now. As long as you're comfortable with the idea."

"Oh," he sighed, smiling pleasantly, "I'm not, no. But to be frank, I'll almost certainly never be more comfortable with the idea than I am right now, so honestly, it's now or never. I'm... simply choosing now."

"I can get behind that," she nodded, turning to the road before them. "Shall we, then?"

She lead, and he followed, desperately hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #kana: just admits to himself he has a crush on axa #aloth: does this instead #next up: super fun times at the fantasy psychiatrist's office!#thanks for reading ♡

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shade-romeo · 3 years

Note

Heard you wanted to talk about your new ocs?

-What are their hobbies/interests?

-Do they have any regrets?

(wow huge jump there-)

YES OKAY- I should probably explain stuff about the story first so this makes sense but whatever.

This got long

Arlen (a human girl, she/her, living with Adore in a fantasy world, having been teleported here from the real world) - Arlen loves reading and learning things, a classic dnd nerd, so you can imagine that when she was dumped here she immediately was all over asking questions about the land and the history, and just so fuckin excited. Her regret would be that she ended up dragging her best friend Kell here with her. She knows Kell isn't good with new environments and new people, she was just so excited and figured they'd end up together. She can't find them anywhere, she's just so worried about them getting into serious trouble.

Kell/Kelly (a human kid, they/them, who got pushed in the portal by Arlen, landing with Duncan and Amira.) - Kell listens to music and generally follows Arlen around mostly, she's their only friend and they're always just going with the flow. They play dnd with Alren in their little group, and they play other rpg games as well, but definitely isn't into them as much as Arlen is. Their regret would probably be that they were always too cold to other people. Here they are, dumped into a whole new world with no way to defend themselves, no way to get home, and no way to know what the fuck is out there. They could die here, they could die here and they'd die alone. They never made any friends aside from Arlen, and they were always so distant with their family. If they died here, they would be dying comepletely and utterly alone, and for once they're really truly scared of that fact.

Adore (a witch infused with magic, she/her, she lives in a cute little cottage in the woods, doing her magic and staying away from the neighboring towns. A cottagecore lesbian) - She loves to garden! She has a huge flower patch behind her house, with planted fruit trees, vegetables, and a whole slew of other things. She does use magic to help the dying plants, but mostly she does all her gardening by hand. She also likes to make potions, mostly stuff for plants or protection, but occasionally she'll experiment a bit. Her regret would be never leaving her cottage. She knows she's strong, she knows she could handle herself out in the woods, but she's too frightened to even step past the front porch. She knows she's missed so much, and she could've helped so many people if she just got some guts. Which is why she's so determined to help Arlen find her friend and get her home. She's dead set on finally doing something worthwhile.

Duncan (a half elf scholar, they/him, stressed out of their mind and suffering a great deal from overworking himself so hard, they're quite snippy. He's Amira's best friend, and plans to be for a long time coming.) - Duncan obviously likes to write. But that hasn't been working out too well for them. They also like to draw and dance, but he's so dead set on getting this writing done for himself that they're working themself to the ground and ruining their love of writing in the process. His biggest regret would be delving himself so deep into his work. They've lived so long with Amira, they figured she'd always be by his side, but recently she's been pulling away from him. They know logically that's they're own fault, and they can't bear the thought of losing Amira and being comepletely on his own, so he's using Kell's quest to get home as an opportunity to finally take a break and get themself back to reality.

Amira (a turned vampire, she/it, Duncan's best friend, always trying to get Duncan back to themself and failing miserably. It's not a very happy camper ever since Duncan started ignoring her.) - Amira fucking loves to hunt. Not just for food, and not huge endangered animals, beasts that terrorize towns and kill innocent people, deranged terrifying monsters. Not only is it a thrill, the chase, the fight, the adrenaline, the triumph, it also brings a good meal along with it. It also likes to dance, it used to dance with Duncan all the time, before they started ignoring her. Its regret would be letting Duncan drive himself so far into the ground without intervening. Duncan had distanced themself and started being a little rude with her, at first her walls had gone up and she'd stormed out the house, pissed out of its mind. But after a month or so it came back to reconcile, and realized it was so much worse than it thought before. Now she's trying to make up for what it let happen, pulling Duncan along with her and Kell to go on this quest, hopefully they can reconcile then.

Ross (a former elven knight, she/him, kicked out of the guard for the murder of a higher officer. Lives in a pathetic little tent deep in the woods, having nowhere else to go. 100% a butch lesbian.) Ross likes to fight. Mostly recreationally of course. Using trees as dummies to slash and kill. She never actually hurts the trees, just clang clangs her sword against it. He also likes to run. He doesn't now, since he's too afraid he might run and get lost away from his tent, but sometimes he'll pace around his campsite for hours at a time to get the energy out. Her regret would absolutely be that she never questioned authority. She was born into the guard, having been a squire at age 5 and a fledgling knight at age 11. By 24 she was the head of two fleets, following every order given to him, no matter how gruesome or grave. But one day after being called to his higher ups office, she's attacked and almost killed, and in order to save himself she kills the man instead. The head of the whole guard banished her, going so far as to strip him of his armor and sword. But he slipped a second *cough* better *cough* sword into his clothes as he was thrown out. He sees now that he was simply a pawn. Perhaps she could've used her power to do more good while she still had it, had it not been for the brainwashing she had gone through from birth. Eventually Adore and Arlen stumble upon his campsite, and he promises his duty to both of them, ensuring that he'd never ever let anyone do any unnecessary harm ever again.

#my ocs #:)c btw Ross and Adore r gay for each other haha

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my-brothers-corrupted · 3 years

Text

Book Four - Part 12

Anti has realized he will never control Jackie, Marvin, and Henrik fully - but that only makes them expendable to him. Meanwhile, Dapper and Trick are locked in the upstairs room, and Anti is done messing around.

Tws for imprisonment, severe abuse, severe manipulation, and death threats.

Part 12 - Jack's Protagonist

Anonymous asked: Anti? Hello? We're completely cut off from everyone, please, we just want to know if they're okay... Even if we can't talk to them, we just want to know how they are.

It’s quiet in the room upstairs.

Really quiet. Quieter than it should be. There should be…

There should be…

Something.

Noise!

Right?

He doesn’t know what he’s listening for.

Just that it’s quiet in the master bedroom at the top of the house in the woods. Crazy quiet. Painful quiet. He closes his eyes and hears himself blink.

Anti steps past him, tidying clothes along the room. He tosses the camcorder, freshly activated, onto the bed, letting it flop over on its side, so you stare at him askew.

You can just see Trick’s head over the side of the bed. He sits up straight, watching Anti move. Eyes wide. A trickle of blood stained down a few stuck-together strands of his yellow-green hair.

“It’s really quiet,” he whispers.

“That’s why I’m letting you talk with the cameras,” Anti answers evenly, knocking his head at the camcorder. “Not for their sakes.”

Anti shoots you a glare, eyes slitted. “Yeah, yeah, hello, you’re welcome, whatever.”

Other than the nasty expression, he looks… fine.

He’s a classic early 2020 Jack, with glasses and short hair at its max waviness, making him look young and polite. He’s got a green hoodie and shorts on. Black gauges in his ears. He looks nice. A nice young man. He smiles, too, and cups Trick’s face in his hands.

“You’re being good,” he says soothingly, rubbing his thumb down Trick’s cheeks. “Don’t break that streak now and you don’t have to get hurt.”

Trick smiles weakly.

There are tears in his eyes and he doesn’t know why.

“Aww, look at him, crybaby Chasey. You really are Jack’s little sad dad, huh? Poor baby boy with no wife and no kids? When it’s just you and me and him, I’ll teach you why Dapper never lets himself cry when I’m around him.”

“Okay, Anti,” whispers Trick, his head lolling to the right. “Um, I – I – I, uh – ”

“I – I – I – I,” parrots Anti, squishing Trick’s face together. “There’s my Stammer. Don’t try and talk, sweetheart, you’re not doing yourself any favors. You know, you really don’t need this when we all sign.”

“Need – need what, Anti?”

Anti is holding his chin in his hands, staring down at his mouth. He runs his fingers over the curve of Trick’s throat.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Trick blinks slowly, trying to think. “What?”

“Don’t be so worried, Trickster. You don’t need to be anymore.”

“I don’t… need to be?”

“You’ll forget how to feel anything other than grateful soon enough,” whispers Anti, stroking his thumb across his cheek. “When I don’t have to focus on whipping anybody into shape but you and my little brother, the pair of you will be goddamn putty in my hands. I’ll take you to England and we’ll finish what was left unfinished, finally. Finish off what was left breathing. And then, at last, I’ll have some peace.”

“You’re… you’re… um…”

He can’t find his words. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, but he knows he’s trying to say something. He thinks maybe it’s important.

“You’re treating me badly,” he manages flimsily.

“And you’re asking to get hit again,” answers Anti.

Trick feels himself start to cry again, big hot tears rolling down his face as he sniffles. Anti coos at him and flicks his yellowing hair from his face, his smile sneering a little. Jack’s stolen eyes gleam.

“When it’s just you and me and Dap,” Anti says, stroking his hair. “You won’t remember how to be scared anymore.”

“I won’t – I won’t b-be – happy with you. Why are you… why are you hurting me?”

Anti takes his head in his hands and pulls him in close, nuzzling their noses for a second. He breathes the smell of Trick in.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re happy,” he whispers. “I will make you complacent.”

Trick is sobbing.

“Now say ‘thank you, Anti.’”

He can barely get it out of his mouth he’s stammering so hard.

“Thank. You. An. Tee.”

“Now say ‘I love you.’”

“I love you.”

“And relax,” orders Anti pleasantly.

A haze like a drunkenness washes over him. He coughs and lies back against the end of the bed, blinking up at his monster, his cries dying off.

“There you go, amata,” says Anti, clucking his chin. “It only gets easier. I’ll be back soon. And as for you – ”

He points at your camera, lying on the bed.

“You’re only here cause I need a babysitter. Make sure neither of them kill themselves, yeah? Bye.”

And he turns his back on you, slams the door shut, and locks it behind him.

ari-trash asked: Trick, I know that it's probably very hard right now but can you answer us? Are you okay? Did Anti do anything to you and Dapper?

Trick sits panting beside the bed, body slumped.

You see him wipe at his face. At his eyes. At his bloodied hair.

He glances up at you, gaze exhausted and dull, but still he wants to sit with you a while. He pulls himself up to his shaking feet and then slides to the ground again, too dazed to get up.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he whispers. “Don’t feel good.”

He licks at his dry mouth, blinking slowly. Trying to breathe. Everything feels cloying and tight. His head hurts.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Everything is going to be okay if I’m good.”

He explores the soft spot on his skull with his fingers, sniffling.

“Scared,” he admits quietly. “Dapper… oh, he’s here.”

Trick turns to look at the bed, but his little brother isn’t there. His mouth parts, confused.

“I thought he was in the room with me. Isn’t he? Where is he? Dapper?”

The whole room is quiet.

“I don’t… remember if he’s okay. I think I remember something bad. He was here. I know cause he ate the granola bars. I remember. And he was all black and white. Like a ghost. And he looked at me like a ghost. That’s my little brother, Dapper, or sometimes we call him Carver. He looks like me but he’s a little younger, really sweet-looking guy. He was around here. Have you seen him?”

ari-trash asked: No we haven't seen him, sorry. It's kinda why I asked if anything happened to him too... Say Trick, do you know if anything happened to Dok too?

“Happened to Dok?” asks Trick, managing to get back to his feet now. “He’s downstairs with my other brothers. I don’t know, we haven’t talked in a couple days.”

Anonymous asked: Dok, Henrik, are you okay? Are you with Anti or did you all get separated again?

“He’s definitely here,” says Trick. “I mean, not here, here, but in the house. Where would he go otherwise?”

Anonymous asked: Are you able to leave the room to have a look around the house, bud? Maybe find your brothers yourself? I know you don't feel well but we can't find them for you without access to another camera.

Trick gets up slowly and wanders to the door, putting his hands on the handle and tugging. The lock snags and the door doesn’t move. Trick’s mouth trembles like he might cry again, but he just turns around, looking lost.

“Anti locked me in my room,” he says. “I don’t know where the others are… Dapper was here, wasn’t he?”

He stares blankly at the bathroom door, and then over at the closet, but he doesn’t move again for a long time. He’s ready to go back to bed is the truth of it. But if you’re worried about Dapper he should find him.

Like, now, probably.

Trick stares down at the floor, eyes wide, swaying a little where he stands. He’s ready to go back to bed. He should find Dapper. He should, he should, he should. He’s going to. Right now.

He stands beside the door, hand on the wood. He wants to faceplant into bed.

There’s a good fifteen minutes of Trick’s internal dialogue urging him, without success, to find his brother before he actually manages to move, and even now, everything he does is sluggish and tired. But he makes his way over to the closet and knocks.

“Dapper?”

No answer, not even a whistle or a click. Except, now that he listens, some kind of faint scratching. He pushes the door slightly open.

Dapper kneels at the back of the walk-in closet, scraping his last stub of charcoal against the wall. He has drawn a crucifix against the plaster and paint with shaking hands, and the expression on the dying Christ’s face is gruesome enough that Trick actually steps back, disturbed.

“Dapper, hey. Hey. You’re shaking all over.”

Dapper’s head turns to Trick in a snap, his eyes looking right through him. Trick was right - Dapper is entirely black and white. His hands and face and arms and white shirt are all stained with charcoal, his skin gone ghostly as Christmas future and the lowlight draining all color from him.

Trick looks at him, frowning. Dapper turns back to his drawing and keeps working, his hair damp with sweat.

Anonymous asked: Dap? Are you awake? You're not hurt, are you? Anti must have left you with a camera too, right? He wants us to look after you.

“Hey. Dap.”

Trick steps over towards him and touches his shoulder, shaking him a little. Dapper doesn’t respond, working frantically on the last bit of his cross.

“Dapper.” Trick takes his hand and stops him, turning his head towards him. Dapper flinches hard when he’s grabbed, squeezing his eyes shut and drawing slightly away from his brother.

But Trick just sits down beside him, cupping his cheek. “Hey,” he says. “You’re okay, right? Not hurt?”

Dapper snuffles a little with every breath, his face sunken and dead. It takes him a second to register the question. Eventually, he lifts his wrist up to Trick.

Worn bandages slide easily away from his thin wrist, revealing Dark’s bite underneath, still miscolored and pussing slightly. Trick blinks at the smell, trying not to draw away. No one has cleaned this in days. He runs his fingers carefully along the stitches, trying to make sure they’re sound.

Dapper relaxes slowly at the feeling of his touch. He crawls slightly forward and then, before Trick can protest, he sets his head down on his shoulder and closes his eyes.

“You’re freezing,” whispers Trick, holding his head. “What’s going on? Are you okay? You haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you?”

Dapper presses himself harder into his shoulder, eyes closed. A moment later, Trick thinks he might have fallen asleep.

“Why are you hiding in the closet, bud?” you hear Trick mutter, scooping Dapper up and carrying him back towards the bed. “I don’t think you’re doing so hot.”

Anonymous asked: Dapper is dying, Trick. He's dying and Anti has just locked you both in a room instead of getting him help. Anti seems concerned about you two killing yourself but I'm more worried about you dying of natural causes because of sickness and being beaten into submission.

Trick rears back slightly even as he sets Dapper down, blinking. His eyes are already watering again. He can’t seem to stop crying.

“Yeah, that was mean, that’s mean to lock us in our room,” chokes Trick, sitting down beside Dapper. “I don’t know why he isn’t acting like himself. Hey, but you’re not dying, little man, no way. Look at you, all covered in soot. I know you’re not really in your right mind right now from the way you’re acting. Haven’t you been taking your medicine? Where is it?”

Dapper just reaches up to hold onto Trick’s shirt with his good hand. “Don’t go,” he signs.

“Hey, I won’t. I won’t. I just want to get you taken care of a little. Um. Where do I start? I mean, like, what do you need?”

“Just don’t go.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, you don't have to be good. You don't have to listen to him. He's separated you from Dok and he's killing every part of you that makes up "Trick". He's tearing you to pieces, man. You have to get out of this place.

Trick hugs Dapper to his chest, his breaths shaking out of him the more he thinks about it. “No, I - I’m scared. We gotta be good cause I don’t want him to kill somebody.”

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, panting. “He keeps talking about killing everyone. And he makes my head hurt really bad when he’s close to me. I want somebody to make this stop, please. He’s not acting like himself. He’s really scaring me. I can’t think straight anymore, it hurts. I just want him to make it stop hurting so so bad. He says I just need to wait.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, has Anti been possessing you this whole time until now?

Trick grips at his head, trying to remember. “I don’t know… I don’t… was he possessing me? When? He said I got triggered so he took something out of my head so I don’t have to be upset. But I still feel upset. I just can’t remember why. I can’t remember hardly anything. Like when I wake up in the morning, I can tell I’m remembering different things than I did yesterday, but I don’t know what or how to remember. My head is so fuzzy. I’ve just been lying here trying to remember for days, I think.”

He hides his face beside Dapper, squeezing him close. “I don’t know where we are. I can’t remember the last time I ate. I can’t keep track of anything. Are Dok and Blue going to come take care of us? If you tell Red Anti is scaring me, he will protect me.”

Anonymous asked: Anti isnt "not acting like himself". He's just showing you his true colours for the first time in months, Trick. He was always this way, always wanted them dead. He's using threats to manipulate you into being good because of how close you all are to freedom.

“I can’t do anything about it,” cries Trick. “I can’t get out of my room or make him stop. He’ll scramble my head again. Will you tell Red and Blue I’m scared and tell Dok that Dapper is sick? I don’t know why they can’t come see me anymore. Anti said they’re being bad and I don’t know what he’s doing to them.”

His tears come fat and rolling, coursing down his cheeks while his body heaves, trying not to sob for Dapper’s sake. “I don’t know why he’s so mean right now. He was being nice. I was helping him but now I messed up I think because he’s being so mean no matter what I do.”

Anonymous asked: All we know is that Anti possessed you last time we saw you. Blue and Red are breaking free and trying to come rescue you from that place, from Anti making you so confused and scared. Anti might have tried to 'remove' you being suicidal after the possession.

Trick shudders and hugs Dapper, but at least a little of this message gives him hope. “Oh, good, okay,” he breathes. “Blue and Red are gonna come get me. They always make Anti a little calmer. I think his partner broke up with him or something and hurt his feelings.”

Trick breathes out, calming down a little. “Yes, you’re right, I think I remember being scared for a minute. And him possessing me? But it doesn’t hurt so bad now. It’s just foggy.”

nikkilbook asked: Jackie and Marvin are safe. They both had a pretty bad time when you saw them last, so they’re recovering, but they’ll come for you. We haven’t seen Schneep yet, but we’ll keep an eye out and tell all of you as soon as we see them. We will keep you all safe, okay? We’ll help you keep each other safe.

“Okay,” Trick breathes out, managing to soothe himself a little. “Okay, yeah. He’s gone now anyway. Probably won’t be back for a little while. And Red and Blue are coming for me, okay. Um, yeah, I hope the others are good. I can’t remember the last time I saw them. Someone shouts sometimes but I don’t know if it’s Anti or somebody else. They shout a lot, though.”

Anonymous asked: Red and Blue are worried about you and will come, but give them some time. You're in a bit of a hostage situation so they aren't sure if they can try anything without Anti hurting you or one of the others first. They want to help you but they want to do it right so everyone is as safe as possible.

“That makes more sense,” says Trick, breathing out a little. “Yeah, I kept telling myself they wouldn’t just leave me up here, but then I thought maybe they would even though I knew they wouldn’t. Like what did I do, you know? What’s so wrong with me no one will come help me even when I’m crying and can’t get out of bed? But they are coming so that’s good. Red always distracts Anti. Then maybe I can sneak downstairs and get something to eat.”

Anonymous asked: You remember the game Anti and Red agreed to, Trick? This is the last time. And Anti is losing, crashing and burning hard. He's being an asshole because he thinks he can win by torturing and abusing you into his loyal servant.

“I don’t know about any games,” says Trick reluctantly, playing with his hands. “I’d just like Anti to calm down and for things to go back to normal. It was fun hanging out with him for a while, but I think I’ve just pissed him off more now. We probably need some space. Probably Dapper too. I don’t remember how long he’s been in his room but I think he should be with Dok for a while.”

Trick strokes his fingers through Dapper’s hair, trying to smile at him. “Dok will make you feel better soon, bud. They’re coming.”

nikkilbook asked: What about a different normal? What about a normal where nobody ever got hurt, because Anti wasn’t around to hurt them? What about a normal where you could see your kids again, without worrying that Anti might hurt them too?

Trick stops short, eyes flashing over to you. “Do you… do you know where my kids are?”

Months later and he still has that piece of baby crinkle paper in his pocket. You see his fingers run over it, making it rustle, soothing and familiar beneath his hands.

Anonymous asked: Trick, how are you okay with being manipulated so heavily that you can watch Anti beat Jameson to a bloody pulp, try to bleed Jackie to death, threaten to kill your twin, and have completely forgotten it the next morning and believe that Anti is still a loving big brother? Don't let yourself be pulled so far under the waves that anyone trying to save you also drowns.

Trick begins to shiver again, curling close to Dapper. “I - I’m just scared now,” he whispers. “I’m scared of what he’ll do to us. But when he comes home and talks to me, I stop being scared. He makes me… forget that he’s hurt me. That he will hurt me again.”

He closes his eyes. “I can’t fight him. He gets inside my head. I… I’m not enough to make him stop acting like that. I thought I was special to him but he just - ”

Trick’s voice breaks off. He shakes his head and bites hard on his lip.

“Stupid,” he chokes out.

nikkilbook asked: I don’t know why you had to build the cairn, Chase. I don’t know if he was just missing or something else. I haven’t heard that part of the story yet. All I know is that you love him, because love is who you are.

Trick sighs, quiet and resigned.

“I’m never going to see my baby again,” he says quietly. “My babies. I don’t want to talk about it. Anti says he didn’t hurt them, just that they’re far away… now that I’m here, I wonder if maybe he did hurt them after all.”

Anonymous asked: Trick, honey, even if you were special to him it wouldn't stop him from acting like this. He is mean, and cruel, an abuser who takes our his anger, trauma and shame on you and your brothers. No amount of special will make him stop. He is beyond stopping this. He chose to be this way, and he won't change.

Trick nods slowly, staring down at the floor.

“I’m sure you’re right,” he mumbles, rubbing at his aching head. “Just… wish I could believe you.”

Trick sighs, turning his attention to his little brother, who’s tracing patterns in the empty air above him.

“I’ll look for your Haldol, okay?”

He pauses before he gets up, though, looking down at him.

“Guess if anybody could have saved that asshole from himself, it would have been you, huh?”

Dapper’s eyes refocus a little, gazing at Trick.

“Is that why you stick around even though he keeps you here?” asks Trick. “Trying to fix him?”

Dapper shakes his head slowly.

“No?”

“No,” he answers faintly, his injured hand stiff. “I love him, Chase. But there’s no saving somebody like that.”

Trick turns his mouth, looking away again. “Just a survival game, then, I guess.”

“Yes,” agrees Dapper, closing his eyes. “That’s all anything is.”

“I’ll find your Haldol.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, Blue, we're talking to Trick. We haven't seen Dapper or Schneep. Anti made it sound like he only wants Trick and Dap though. He wants to take them to England to kill Jack. Trick is getting hypnotized to the point of confusion, he doesn't know what's happening but he did make the connection he's not being treated well but based on how things are going, I don't know if he'll be able to cling to that knowledge for long.

Jackie and Blue both try and grab the camera at the same time.

“Did you?” they gasp, scrambling to sit up.

“He only wants Trick and Dap… Blue, he’ll kill Dok.”

“At least Trick is waking up a little. Can’t he and Dapper get Dok and get out?”

“Oh, right, Trick’s going to become decisive and bold in the next ten minutes.”

“Hey, he’s my lionheart! He’s perfect, you asshole. And Dapper’s my clever guy, my survivor.”

“Dapper’s sick, Blue. What are they going to do?”

“What are we going to do?”

They stare at each other, eyebrows drawn back.

“I don’t know.”

Anonymous asked: Jackie, how soon can you get back to the house and be with the others do you think? We saw them and things are... not pretty. Anti is hurting them badly and messing with Trick's memories to try and make him complacent and obedient. Don't blame yourself or panic about it, but they need their hero soon.

“Okay, I need a second,” breathes Blue, turning the camera away from him, his voice wavering. “He really is going after all three of them now.”

Jackie takes the camera into his hands.

“Maybe we just go down there and attack. Or try to sneak in.”

“We can’t sneak up on Anti. The cameras see everything and you don’t have access to that system anymore. He’s always watching.”

“Then I’ll just find him and kick his fucking ass!”

“Volume, Ro, fuck’s sake! So loud.”

“Sorry, just - let’s just go fight him, Blue, c’mon!”

“Didn’t that Jack guy tell you it would take all five of us?”

“I think that was more a prophecy than a fact, you know?”

“We need to be able to get to the others and make sure we’re on the same page, Ro.”

“Well, I’m going to the house today.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I decided.”

“Ro - ”

“I’m making my own choices now.”

“Hey! You still have to listen to me, tough guy.”

Jackie sighs, leaning back against the bed. “Still going today,” he mumbles.

Anonymous asked: Something bad may have happened to JJ, Trick mentioned something but he's too incoherent to remember right now. No sign of Henrik at all though Trick said he's still at home maybe? Anti also made a vague threat that they may all be signing soon and stroking Tricks throat when Trick was stuttering out his fear to him. I'm sorry we don't have any info on Anti's whereabouts, he just left. I don't know if it'll be safe for you guys to storm the house or if Anti's coming your way or not.

“Fuck,” whispers Jackie, his anger sliding away. “Where is my little brother? What’s he doing to you, Dok?”

Blue lays his head down on his brother’s shoulder.

Anonymous asked: Rushing and having no concrete plan is what got you trapped originally Jackie. Planning ahead is completely essential.

“Hey, shots fired!” he yelps. “You don’t know that, come on… don’t laugh, Blue! Fine, okay, I’ll slow down. But I’m not just letting them stay in there!”

“Why don’t we just go scope things out tonight?” asks Blue, setting a hand on his arm. ��If Henrik’s not in the house, he’s probably lost in the forest and looking for us, or he made his way back to those nuns who fed us while I was in hospital. We can look around the house a little. Maybe see Trickster in the window if we can get in touch with him before Anti comes home. Okay?”

Ro meets his eyes. “Okay… yeah. We’ll start there.”

“Okay.”

Anonymous asked: Before you guys plan anything, we need to pinpoint where both Anti and Dok are. Trick mentioned he'd been hearing shouting from downstairs. There's a possibility Anti is hurting Dok elsewhere in the house, or he's away from the house entirely and Dok is trying to get the others attention and help.

“I can try and ask Anti where Dok is,” says Trick. “Or I’ll go try and find him when Anti lets us go get some food from the kitchen. Which I think he will do, won’t he? We’re out of food up here. I’m guessing little man is just as hungry as I am, specially since he’s been puking. Okay, up we go, bud.”

Trick helps Dapper out of bed, leading him towards the bathroom and setting him into the tub. He turns you slightly away and helps him get ready for a bath. Having someone to look after has calmed Trick down a little. He needs to look after Dapper - clean him up, get him his medicine, change his bandages and check on his broken ribs and the stitches in his wrist. He is, after all, Dok’s assistant.

The memory of it seems to buzz a little in his head. That’s right, isn’t it? He was always Dok’s helper, his nurse. He had forgotten. You hear the water turn on as Trick goes to get a pillow for Dapper to lie his head back. Trick sets you on the ground so you can at least see Dap’s head.

“Thank you,” you see him sign gently.

“Don’t worry about it,” Trick answers just as soft, letting the bathtub fill up. “That’s what twins are for.”

You see Dapper’s confusion, but he doesn’t really have the energy to deal with that right now.

nikkilbook asked: And Chase? Crying doesn’t make you bad. Being upset or overwhelmed doesn’t mean you are worth less as a person. Jackie’s been overwhelmed since he saw you last, and we’ve been helping him work through a pretty bad meltdown. Does the fact that he’s been crying a lot make him a bad brother? Or a bad person? I don’t think it does. And I don’t think it does for you, either.

Trick smiles uncertainly, rubbing at his head. “Yeah… I guess it’s okay to cry a little bit. I just wish I was… I don’t know.”

Feels weird to cry in front of Anti. He knows there was someone else he always came crying to, but he doesn’t remember. But the news of Red melting down makes him feel, oddly, a little bit better. He’s not the only one who’s upset. He remembers curling up in bed beside Ro, the two of them whispering to each other in the darkness that they would be better brothers to each other from here on out, but he isn’t sure when or where that was. Maybe a long time ago. He misses him.

Anonymous asked: trick. i can't make your mind up for you. but here's something blue had us tell him, back at the very beginning, when he thought he was going to lose himself, and i think it might help you. anti hurt your brothers, and made them thank him for it.

Trick washes soap and warm water over the bruises on Dapper’s chest, running his fingers across the blue and black markings shoved into his brother’s body. Dapper, usually self-conscious to be naked, is unmoving against the side of the tub, face white except for a circle of faint red swelling still surrounding the bottom of his eye. Trick pours water carefully over his head and shampoos his hair while covering his eyes with his hand. He washes Dapper’s feet and finds red sores, nearly holes, scattered across the bottoms of his feet. He washes his hands and his nails are dotted in white from vitamin deficiencies. He can feel the bumps of his spine and his ribs, scarred and fragile. Trick cleans the bite in his wrist for the first time in days.

As he goes, he remembers every fight and argument that lead to the bruises and the scars and the injuries that mark him from head to foot. He remembers long weeks without seeing him, no one able to check if he was eating enough or taking his medicine or doing alright. He remembers Dapper hanging off the side of a cliff, eyes hopeless, ready to fall. The hot water makes the room warm. Trick pulls his brother to his chest and hugs him in silence, closing his eyes.

Anti did this to him.

Anonymous asked: Hey trick, quick question: who's your twin? >_>

Trick opens his mouth to speak like the answer should come on instinct.

But a second later, his eyes cloud and his mouth closes again. He draws away from Dapper, blinking.

“Uh - well.”

He searches his mind.

“I… I’ve been upstairs a long time… Blue and Red are twins…”

He bites down on his nail, looking away. One hand reaches up to massage at his neck uncertainly.

Anonymous asked: Anti is doing the same thing to you he did to Dapper, always does to Dapper. He's changing you, blocking things from your head. He brags about you being easy to control, that he could kill someone, tell you everything is fine, and you would believe him. Trick he was going to kill Dok. He was going to take him away from you forever just because he's jealous and cruel and wants to be in control.

Trick searches the drawers of the bathroom for medicine, hands beginning to shake.

He can’t find Haldol or ointment for his feet or antiseptic or even lotion. Anti’s cleaned everything out. He doesn’t know where it went. He can’t do anything but bathe him.

He grips at his hair and grits his teeth. He knows who his twin is. He does. Anti can’t have blocked that much. Changed him that much.

But he has and Trick knows it, if he knows nothing else. He knows there should be more memory in his head, more awareness of what’s happening. Fuck, he knows you’re right. He’s getting lost the way he’s always known Dapper to be lost - remembering different things from one day to the next, personality shifting, unable to protect even his own mind.

He was going to kill Dok.

“Holy shit, he was going to kill Dok,” whispers Trick, struggling to breathe. “Holy shit. He wanted me to kill him. Is he - is he hurting Dok now? Holy shit.”

Anonymous asked: He has hurt you on purpose Trick. Many, many times. He made you burn your hand for no other reason than that he was hateful, angry, violent, and wanted to see you suffer. He's always been like that, and he always will be. He's had many opportunities to change in the long time you've been with him. He never has, not even when you all took bullets for him, killed your own friends for him. He won't be better to you. The only reason he's enamored with you right now is because you look/act like Jack.

Trick looks up at himself in the bathroom mirror.

Soft green-yellow hair swoops in a wave above his eyes, surrounded by dark brown hair. He has eyes that almost seem to gleam with blue here in the light above the mirror. Round cheeks and long eyelashes make him look trustworthy and friendly. The scar on his temple is hidden beneath his hair, but there is a faint cut just above his left eyebrow. He’s bearded and his ears stick out.

“Do I really look like Anti’s Jack?” he asks, but even as he says it he recognizes someone else in the face he’s looking at. The recognition is not invasive. It’s almost comforting.

He hears water moving and turns to look at Dapper, blinking.

“You were good friends,” he signs slowly, eyes circled with fatigue.

“Really? Anti says he made me to be miserable.”

“No.” Dapper shakes his head. “He made mistakes, maybe a lot of them. But he only ever wanted you to be happy.”

Well, he believes Dapper better than Anti these days. “Oh.”

“He used to call you his protagonist,” adds Dapper.

“What? He did? Me? Why?”

Dapper shrugs. “Never really got that far in the story. But he trusted you to be at the center of all this.”

Trick shakes his head slightly, bemused. He turns away from the mirror with a sigh and goes to help Dapper get out of the bath, toweling him carefully off and changing him into fresh clothes. Dapper clings sleepily to him and tries to stay standing.

“My medicine?”

“I can’t find it, man. I’m sorry.”

“Oh… I think I’ll be more ill tonight if I can’t have it.”

“I’ll ask Anti to get it, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

He carries him back to bed and lies him down.

“No, please, Trick - let me sleep in the closet.”

“What? Why? Are you scared? I’ll look after you.”

“I want to be by the cross in the closet, please,” begs Dapper, blessing himself once, twice, three times. “If I die I want Jesus to forgive me.”

“You’re not going to die, Dap, don’t say that. You’re paranoid cause you haven’t got your medicine. I’ll find you a cross or something. You can sleep in bed.”

He ends up just drawing a cross onto a piece of Dapper’s sketch paper and handing it to him. Dapper clings to it til his fingers rip the paper and closes his eyes.

Trick goes back to the mirror.

Jack looks back at him.

“Protagonist,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I can’t be the one who acts. I can’t do anything. I’ve never been able to do anything. I’m stuck in this room and Anti chooses what I think. You should have picked one of the others. Fuck…”

Anonymous asked: I know it's hard to realise all the abuse and neglect you and your brothers went through, it's a lot, especially with the haze slowly fading away from your mind. But don't fall to despair. Red and Blue are trying to come up with a plan to get you, Dap and Dok out of Anti's grasp. Just hang in there for a little bit longer, please

“Okay,” murmurs Trick, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Okay. Yeah. I can hang in there. I’ll look after Dap and we’ll be okay. Help is coming.”

Breath in. Breath out.

“A little bit longer.”

They go to sleep early that night, Trick and Dap, wrapped up under the covers together. It’s summer-warm outside, but somehow the house seems frigidly cold. They’re a shared lump of blankets on the bed when you see movement in their room.

The silhouette of their captor approaches the bed. Slowly, gently, he wraps his hand around Dapper’s throat.

Blue eyes flash open in the darkness. Dapper stares up at Anti, raising his head slightly at he feels those fingers scratch at his throat. Not tight enough to strangle him. Not yet.

“You stabbed me in the back a long time ago,” whispers Anti. “Didn’t you?”

Dapper’s eyes water. He swallows and feels his throat flex against Anti’s hand.

“One benefit of losing Blue’s power,” Anti continues, “is that I’m fully intangible again when I want to be. Anywhere there are computers or phones, I can go. So I went to go visit an old friend of ours today.”

Dapper wraps his hand around Anti’s, feeling faint.

“You should see him, Dap… he’s older, but he still looks like himself. Talks like himself. He doesn’t record much these days, but he was playing with friends. It was easy. I just glitched one little bit out. Just to scare him. He would know it was me. I think he should have just felt me in the room, but I don’t think he did. Things cut out, buzzed, the colors seized across his screen. And do you know what he said?”

Dapper closes his eyes, digging his nails into the back of Anti’s palm. Anti’s grip tightens around his throat.

“He said ‘my fucking capture card is acting up again.’”

And it’s now, in the low light, in the shadow, that you see tears dripping down Anti’s face.

“He doesn’t remember me,” says Anti. “You were right. You made him forget. So he would stop looking for us. All this time, I was waiting for him to do something. To acknowledge me. To finish our story. And he doesn’t even remember who I am. My own creator. Jack. And I come to realize exactly whose fault it is - the only one of you who is actually my brother. I always thought you were created for me. I expected the others to screw me over, sure. Jackie and Marv were his fighters, Dok his healer, all meant to protect and save him. But you were his little sleeper agent all along. You, you, you - you were the real threat to me.”

Dapper cries in silence. “I tried to tell you,” he manages, beginning to wheeze as Anti’s grip tightens. “I - ”

“Months later,” says Anti. “When you knew I would find out from Dark. It wouldn’t matter even if you had told me, though. The fact is that he’s forgotten me, and it’s your fault.”

“I was psychotic, I was - ”

Anti squeezes his throat and Dapper scrambles at his brother’s hands, coughing. Trick stirs in the bed beside them until Anti touches his forehead and sends him back down into sleep.

“So, darling,” sighs Anti, brushing saltwater from his face. “What do I do with you now?”

ari-trash asked: Why are you so surprised? He told you more than once but you always brushed it off as "poor little Dapper being confused" You ignored it, even now you refuse to see that you were the cause of that snap, but you're still going to push the blame onto someone else. Just keep denying and hurting others, uh?

“I don’t care whether or not he told me, I care that it happened,” says Anti, eyes narrowing. “Did it happen, Dapper?”

“I was trying to protect him - ”

“It happened. You did it. The fact is we’re enemies now. So what do I do with you? Kill you like the others? I’m tired, Dap. I don’t want just Trick. He’s not as fierce as you are.”

“They’re right, though. You - you did make me snap.”

Anti snorts, taking his hand away. Dapper sucks in a deep breath.

“Yeah, well, maybe I did,” mutters Anti. “Doesn’t fix anything now.”

“Anti, you don’t have to do these things,” signs Dapper, reaching out to touch his chin and draw his gaze back. “You don’t have to hurt the others just because you got hurt.”

“I’m not fucking hurt,” snaps Anti.

“Anti.” Dapper shakes his head. “You’re unhappy and this isn’t going to fix it.”

Anti wipes angrily at his face, lying down beside Dapper. They look at each other for a moment. Anti’s hair turns teal at the fringe.

“Do you remember Japan?” he mumbles.

Dapper turns towards him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Of course.”

“You’re not supposed to…”

“I’m a time traveler, Anti. You can reset me as many times as you want and it won’t stick. I’m not like the others.”

“No,” Anti agrees quietly. “That’s what I mean.”

Dapper cups his cheek for a second. “In Japan, we lived in an apartment on the fourteenth floor of a complex, next door to a woman with three pomeranians.”

Anti laughs.

“You threatened to kill them just about every day for yapping all the time, but you never did. You were always buzzing with energy out there. That city was a hub of electricity. We would spend all day just exploring. You were just hiding me from the others back then, so we didn’t have any mission, any fights to fight. Sometimes you would go catch a kill for the hell of it. Then when you came home I would clean the blood off you and we’d play games and eat together. It was just you and me.”

Anti fidgets with the blankets, watching his brother’s hands.

“You still didn’t treat me very well,” continues Dapper.

“You were always disobeying me.”

“And you were still obsessed with Jack and the others. But it was tolerable. Sometimes, I think we were even happy.”

“I wasn’t,” Anti mumbles. “Not really.”

“But sometimes. Better than it was now. You told me you thought maybe we could be happy just the two of us.”

Anti nods, closing his eyes. Dapper touches his chin and Anti opens them again.

Anonymous asked: Anti, what good will it do? What's done is done. You have what you want, you always said you didn't need anyone else. At this rate, you'll be alone.

“They’re right,” says Dapper. “They’re right and I think you know it. Just too stubborn to admit it.”

Anti won’t look at him.

Dapper closes his eyes.

“We’re never going to get out of this cycle we’re stuck in, are we, Anti?”

“If I kill you, I think that would work.”

“You’d miss me.”

Anti grabs his throat again, yanking him to sit up. Dapper just keeps his eyes closed and tries to breathe slowly.

“And you’d go the fuck to hell, you little slaughterer,” hisses Anti. “That’s why you’re clutching that cross so hard.”

Dapper cries in silence. He waits without struggling in Anti’s hands.

“Admit it,” says Anti, letting go of his neck. “You’re with the others. Fighting against me. Trying to go. Admit it.”

“I wish it were true,” signs Dapper. “St. Jude, pray for me. I wish I had the faith to believe there was any point to fighting you anymore.”

“Yeah, well, there isn’t!” shouts Anti, drawing back his hand to hit him, though the blow never falls. “I guess you’re the only one smart enough to realize that!”

“Not smart,” says Dapper. “Hopeless.”

“You’re always going to be bound to me!” shrieks Anti, getting off the bed. “Even if you could get away, don’t you understand? You’ll always be my little killer! I conditioned you to attack anyone who touches you other than me, I watched you kill fucking dozens of people on my orders, I’m what you worship! It was your hands that killed Eshe, Jameson! She was screaming for you to stop!”

“No!” protests Dapper, tears rising in his eyes. “No! You were possessing me, it’s not - the others are my fault, God, but not her. I loved her.”

“And it still wasn’t enough to save her!” screams Anti. “So there’s your happy ending, JJ - we killed it together and left it bleeding out in your hospital room! You are never, ever getting away from me unless I choose to let you go! And even if I did kill you, you know exactly where your soul will end up, sweetheart - burning right next to mine.”

Dapper tears himself out of their bed and staggers towards the door, yanking on the handle. Anti gets up and follows him, making Dapper cower against the frame. Anti grabs him by the hair and -

A stone thunks against the window.

Anti stops, staring. His eyes are bright in the darkness.

“Anti,” someone calls.

He stills. Looks back towards the window. Turns to Jameson.

“You get out of my sight before I kill you,” he says, voice trembling. He opens the door and shoves Dapper into the hallway. “Try to step out of this house and I’ll do it, no matter who you’re praying to.”

Dapper can barely stand, let alone run away. But as he looks back at Anti, he knows that he wouldn’t try to run, even if he could.

Some days, he’s stayed because he was locked into a room. Some days, he’s stayed because he was ill and couldn’t think straight.

But some days, the only reason he stayed was because he could take the rope off from around his neck - and he doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

The others don’t remember all the things Anti has done to them and made them do, but even realizing what’s been going on over the last few months was enough to make them leave. But him - he knows. He knows everything. And he still doesn’t go. That’s the difference. That’s what Anti means when he says that he’s not like the others.

The others are still fighting. The others still hope.

Dapper slumps down outside the door of the master bedroom.

You watch that paper cross flutter out of his fingers.

He doesn’t pick it up again.

Anonymous asked: How does it feel for your finely crafted machinations of self delusion to all come crashing down on you like a poorly balanced house of cards? I hope that it crushed you, knowing that most of what you did was practically for nothing

Anti screams, stalking towards you. He picks up the camcorder and smashes it against the dresser, once, twice, three times, until your vision cuts out.

You hear him panting.

“I’m going to let you keep an eye on them because they’re apart right now and neither of them is safe without supervision,” he pants. “That’s the only reason you’re still around.”

He lets all the cameras in the house turn back on, so you can see Dapper outside the room and Trick unconscious inside, as well as the rest of the house.

And outside, in the yard -

Dark throws another rock.

As the camera comes on, they regard you, faintly irritated, faintly tired.

“Tell your master to get the fuck out here,” they snap. “I can tell that he’s about to do something stupid.”

Anonymous asked: So what now? Do you still keep trick and Dapper? Get rid of one of them? Or simply kill everyone and let yourself be alone and wither away into obscurity?

“I don’t… I don’t know,” mumbles Anti, chewing on his nail. “I, um - I gotta go see who’s outside. Probably Jackie and Marvin. Just - leave me alone!”

He glitches down into the living room, looking out the backdoor. Past the pool and the -

What is that?

There’s something lying by the door.

Past the pool and the figure by the door, there is Dark.

Anti stills, mouth parted. He draws back for a second. Manifests a knife and grips it in his hands. Tucks it away again. Hesitates.

“Come here, you little disaster,” calls Dark, cocking their head at him. “What a mess you’ve made of things.”

Anti brushes furiously at his cheeks, shaking his head out to calm down. He throws the door open and steps over that shape on the porch, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Drop the act,” says Dark. “I can feel your distress from halfway across the forest. Pull yourself together.”

“Why are you here?” shouts Anti, stalking towards them. “You want to die?”

“Is that the only state of being you’re capable of? Murderous?”

“Dammit, Dark,” spits Anti, voice shaking. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

“Is that really what you want?”

Anti grips at his knife, licking his mouth. Dark looks back at him, eyes quiet.

“What?” asks Dark softly. “What, little monster?”

Anti drops his blade. His eyes turn blue, his sneakers push against the grass, and he races towards them. A moment later, he is scooped up in their arms, pressed to their chest, hidden against their heart.

“Dark,” he whispers.

“It took me a little while,” says Dark. “But here I am.”

Anonymous asked: The only reason we've been able to contact Trick at all is because Anti placed us on suicide prevention duty. So I think the only cameras that may be on are the one trick has and one anti has, baby-monitor-style. That's a BIG, risky assumption on my end though, but if it's right, we may be able to distract Anti to go upstairs long enough for you guys to at least get inside and find Dok if need be. I'm just speculating and spitting out ideas. Y'all know the house better anyway.

“He’s distracted now,” mumbles Ro, staring out at Dark and Anti. “We could try to sneak in.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Blue answers. “Dark can sense when people are close and Anti has the cameras on. We need them to get out of the house.”

“Or distract Anti even better. I could be bait?”

“No way. Not with Dark around. It’s two against two and those two have a bit of an upper hand when it comes to raw power.”

“I don’t know,” says Jackie mildly. “I think you could handle them.”

Blue can’t help but smile, looking up at him.

They’re in the forest outside the house, spying.

“There’s something on the porch. What is that?”

“I wish we had binoculars.”

Anonymous asked: jameson, lovely boy. you're just as capable of freedom as any of the others."bound to him", tch, yeah right. he only says that to manipulate you into thinking you're trapped. you have been free before and you will be free again. the lord will forgive your sins, you surely pray enough, i doubt He would hold a demon's manipulation against you. you're a fighter more than he says. you fight for yourself harder than you've ever fought for him. don't forget the jj that slapped the monster in the face.

“Thank you,” signs JJ quietly. “I don’t know. I think I just slapped him because I was angry. I didn’t think I was going anywhere.”

Through the window above the front door, the moon casts him in pale light and makes his eyes glow, blue and silver in the lowlight.

“I just… I miss when I could tell myself that we were really a family… in Japan, in Italy, in Sweden, in Norway… I could believe it back then. It was a delusion, I know. Partly my disorder and partly being confused by him changing my thoughts without my permission and taking my memories away. And you’d think that, the moment I realized we weren’t family, I would want to run. But I didn’t. I mean, Max even offered to bring me with him and Jackie back home to England and I - I told him no? What’s wrong with me?”

He stares down at his hands. At his broken arm and injured wrist.

“Anti talks about me being different from the others,” he signs. “He says I’m more ferocious. But the truth is, they’re the ones who have a fight in them. I’m the coward. I can fight like a fucking fox in a scrap, I can take whatever pain he throws at me, but daring to hope for anything… I’m just not brave enough. And that’s why I tried to kill myself last month. I know the others said they would make things better so I didn’t have to feel like that anymore, but I can’t take much more of this.”

He buries his face in his arms, knees drawn up to his chest.

“I’m just not enough. I’m sorry. Please take care of the others when Anti takes me away.”

Anonymous asked: Have hope, sweet Monochroma. Don't falter, you're so close. 3 out of 5 are free, free and fighting for you all. You have escaped before and you will escape again, this time with Anti dead forever. Jack made you for happy endings. You are made for joy and light. Grasp to the straws you have until your brothers pull you out of the darkness.

JJ looks up at you again, mouth shaking a little. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

“I - I can try to hold on. I just - I hope… I don’t know. I just want the others to be safe, so they can be happy now. They deserve that. Maybe Jack did plan happy endings, but he never got a chance to finish our stories, and that’s my fault. It’s okay if it doesn’t turn out perfect. I hope he’s happier, not remembering. And I hope the others can be happy too.”

And for a second, he can almost imagine it, because for every moment of pain that he remembers, he remembers joy too, distant and numb as it is now. Chase swinging his children around, a shrieking toddler under each arm, and Marvin cuddled up with a cat on the couch, watching re-runs of medical dramas. Henrik coming home burning with caffeine and shouting about his latest idea, only to crash on the couch ten minutes later. Jackie going red in the cheeks when his phone would buzz, racing out the door for another adventure with his partner.

And JJ in the middle of all of them. Safe and loved and beginning to be happy. Trying out different jobs, building hedgehog boxes in the backyard, baking sourdough bread and eating it with butter and dripping. Kissing a girl who loved him and going dancing with his friends. Falling asleep during family movie night. Smiling when Chase would turn a camera to him. Long drives and hikes in the forest. Fireworks and home-made pasta. Freedom.

He closes his eyes. Fuck, but that would be worth hoping for. Maybe he can. Just a little.

Just one little spark of hope.

aether-mae asked: Dark better know what he’s doing rn

“What the fuck are they doing, really?” demands Blue in a hiss, hidden in the trees with his brother.

“Making up, by the looks of it,” answers Jackie dryly, not particularly pleased with this turn of events. “Possibly plotting.”

“Most likely plotting.”

“We have to assume that they’re plotting.”

“Right.”

“But for now they’re just hugging.”

“Oh. Willingly?”

“Anti looks pretty drained, honestly. Just slumped against their chest.”

“Oh, well I feel so, so bad for him. Nothing but sympathy. I’ll get him a fucking tissue. Can you hear what they’re saying?”

“No.”

“Goddammit.”

“What changed?” asks Anti quietly.

“I just needed time to remember.”

“You really did forget,” whispers Anti, wrapping his arms tighter around Dark's neck. “Just like Jack.”

“Your little boy is more powerful than you realized,” they tell him. “You were foolish to think you had him under your control.”

“I didn’t know,” protests Anti, clinging to their suit. “How could Jack make him so powerful? I didn’t know.”

“We can’t underestimate storytellers,” says Dark, as though the word is poison on their tongue. “In the old world, stories could only go so far, and so the magic was limited by the number of ears who might hear of it. Gods and legends became true in magician’s mouths, but their power would come and go with their meager popularity, dying with their creators. But these days the only limitation is their imagination. Millions of people can hear the same story. So much power. Are you surprised they become cruel? It’s a game to Mark… I’m sure his friend is the same.”

Anti nods attentively, eyes wide. “He has been cruel.”

“And you’ve been stupid,” replies Dark, clucking his chin. “But never mind, child. We can make it right.”

“I’m thirty-three, I’m an adult,” protests Anti. “Or maybe seven, depending on who you ask, but - ”

“You’ve certainly been acting like a child,” says Dark. Anti’s mouth falls and he looks away, hiding in Dark’s jacket again. “But I’m here now. I’ll help.”

“You will?”

“Course, Anti. We were friends, right?”

Anti cheers up instantly, leaning up to peck Dark eagerly on the cheek. “You can help me make sure Trick and Dapper are good!”

“If you want,” they answer mildly.

“I’ll kill Dok right now, then,” says Anti. “And we can go get Red and Blue too! Then I’ll bring Trick and Dap to you and we can make everything okay. Change the heart and the head at the same time and it can last for months and months. That was my favorite, when Dapper loved me so much because of you. Oh, you can help me make Jack remember me! And then kill him.”

“You’re still thinking with your anger,” chides Dark. “Are you stupid, Anti?”

“No, I’m not, Dark, I’m not, I promise. You used to call me clever. You said I was shrewd. There’s just a lot going on.”

“I’m a lot older than you,” says Dark. “And clever as you are, you’re letting your anger control you. Anti. Don’t kill the three that don’t want you.”

Anti rears back. “What?”

“It won’t make anything better,” says Dark, stroking his hair soothingly, pulling him carefully back to their chest. “Won’t make you feel better. Won’t make Mark’s friend remember you. What it will do is turn your last two against you completely.”

“But I’ll make them forget the other three!” Anti insists. “It’ll be like they never existed.”

“Wrong again,” says Dark, setting a hand on Anti’s waist and taking his hand in the other, like they’re about to start dancing. He sways them gently back and forth there on the grass and it makes Anti smile. “But what more could I expect from a little mind-sneak such as yourself? You can change thoughts and memories, Anti. But in their hearts…”

They brush their fingers across Anti’s chest.

“Their brothers will still remain. It is the same reason your gunman still cries for his children, without even remembering their names. It is the same reason my gunman still comes home to me, no matter how many times he forgets who I am. There are those who remain imprinted on the soul. Love does not die, Anti. Not by anyone else’s hands.”

Anti stares up at Dark, his fingers curling absent-mindedly through the hair at the nape of their neck. “But then… they’ll always want the others. And I can’t keep Red and Blue and Dok anymore. I told Red this would be the last time we played the game.”

“Killing them will hurt your youngest,” Dark agrees, pulling Anti slightly closer. “So you must leave them alive.”

“But - ”

“Don’t interrupt me,” says Dark, flicking Anti’s chin again. “Listen if you want to make things right. Take the other two away. Take away their memories if you want, but then explain to them that the others are still safe somewhere else in the world. Teach them that their siblings ran away or were put in prison. It doesn’t matter.”

“Why can’t I just kill them and then tell Trick and Dap they’re alive?” scowls Anti.

“You’re the mind manipulator. Think with your brain and tell me the answer to that.”

Anti glares a little, but he knows. “There has to be a central truth to build on. Otherwise the deception has too many holes.”

“Just like this cute little ‘family’ of yours,” laughs Dark, tone low and mocking. “You built it on the five truths of their brotherhood and hid the one lie inside of it - that you belong among them.”

Anti turns away, body glitching slightly. “It was working well until Jackie’s stupid boyfriend showed up. Deshmukh fucked this all up. I’ll kill him too.”

Dark pulls away, irritation in their eyes.

“Well, I - if I get around to it,” Anti corrects himself quickly. “I’ll worry about Trick and Dap right now.”

“That sounds good,” agrees Dark, putting their hands back on his waist.

“Cause we’re going to make it alright again, huh, Dark? You’re going to help me?”

“Yes, Anti. It’s clear you need it, don’t you?”

Anti bites on his lip. “I’d have figured it out.”

“You wouldn’t have,” replies Dark. “So you better listen to me. There’s no point to killing your oldest three. Let them go. Then, once they move on, you can come back here with your favorites and I will set them right again. And you can keep them here as long as you want.”

“You’d let me stay with you!”

“There’s plenty of room in the houses, little monster.”

Anti wraps himself around Dark again, head on their shoulder, and they rock together there on the lawn, arms around each other.

“You’ll do what I tell you to, won’t you, Anti? You’re not stupid, are you?”

“I just… need to think on it a little. I don’t want Jackie and Marv to hunt me my whole life.”

“You’re a coward as well as stupid, then?”

“No! I’m just - I’m just trying to decide, okay?”

“You’ll let me know by tomorrow,” says Dark, tugging a little harshly on a strand of his hair. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you, Anti? We can have fun together again.”

“I’d like that,” whispers Anti. “It’s why I came back.”

“Then let the others go and bring your favorites back to me in a few weeks,” says Dark, rubbing his back. “When you and Dapper are here with me, we’ll have plenty of fun - and plenty of power to do whatever we want.”

“And then Mark and Jack will be sorry,” says Anti.

This time, the cold smile on Dark’s mouth is all too genuine.

“Yes, my little monster. Then Mark will be sorry.”

Anonymous asked: It’s gotta be Dok by the door, right? Who else could it be?

Jackie stands up straight, mouth parting.

No. It can’t be. Is that figure by the porch really a body, curled up that small?

“Why would he just be lying there?” whispers Jackie. “Why just leave him outside? No… no, come on, Dok. Move for me or something, my brother.”

“What?” asks Blue, squinting at the porch. This far away, he can barely even make out the shape of the house, let alone the little body outside the door. “What are you talking about?”

Jackie steps forward, making towards the house.

“Hey, Ro, Ro, wait! Dark and Anti are right there!”

“I don’t care,” says Jackie, voice tight. “So is Dok.”

“You can’t just walk past the two of them! We need a plan.”

Jackie pulls his fighting staff out of his bag and unclips it.

“You and I are the plan,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Anonymous asked: Trick is unconscious, JJ isn't doing well and Anti threatened to kill him, and there's a figure on the porch that I am very worried might be Henrik. Jackie, Blue, you need to find a way to the house fast, or at least find a way to get a message to them that you're coming to save them.

“Oh, I’m here!” shouts Ro.

In the yard, Dark vanishes suddenly from Anti’s arms, leaving him with nothing but a cloud of smoke against his palms. Anti’s expression flares with grief and anger as he whirls on his older brother, hands clenched together.

“Jackieboy,” he spits, eyes bleeding to black. “What a pleasant surprise. I guess killing you once wasn’t enough for you.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” answers Jackie. “Don’t kid yourself, you never killed me. And fuck, but it feels good to be your enemy again.”

“It’ll feel good to tear you apart again without caring if you die or not,” shoots back Anti, fangs poking out of his mouth. “Before, I was just doing it to hear you scream.”

Jackie bends to sprint forward, but Anti is faster than he is.

“Ah - ah - ah!”

He’s glitched up to the porch, pulling a knife from his hoodie. Before Jackie can even shout his name, Anti reaches down and picks Henrik up by the barbed wire wrapped around his throat.

“Dok!” You hear Blue scream.

He does not need eyes unclouded to see how beat his little brother is. The blood is oozing from Henrik’s body. The doctor does not move.

“You keep your fucking distance until I’m ready to deal with you!” shouts Anti, shoving his blade up to Dok’s throat. “Otherwise you can lose this little shit right now. I don’t give a fuck about him anymore. Traitorous coward. You can’t get into this house without my cameras seeing you, and I will transport right here to put this blade to his throat every time you try! Nothing gets rid of me. Soon, we’ll be gone. Whether or not he survives me taking Trick and Dapper is up to you.”

“Get your hands off him!” screams Jackie. Blue clutches his hands, aching to make the plants leap up and tear Anti apart, but the risk to Dok is too great while he’s at Anti’s mercy like this. “You goddamn monster, leave all of them alone!”

Anti pulls Dok’s gun from his side, aiming it out at the two twins, forcing them to step back.

“No games, now, Jackieboy! Jack’s special little favorite. I wonder if he’d remember you if I shipped your body back to him in pieces - or would he just be horrified as his own dismembered body parts started coming in the mail? Either way, I think it’d be great fun for me. I start taking shots in three… two…”

Anonymous asked: Dark advised Anti to leave you two and Schneep alive so as to not shatter trick and daps blind love of Anti. Anti's reluctant to follow that advice so I wouldn't push your luck, but either way, he's planning on relocating in order to lose you and then moving in with Dark.

“…three.”

Blue and Red duck towards the trees as shots start ringing out, ducking down beside trunks and rocks. The noise disorients Jackie - he can’t tell if he’s triggered or overwhelmed. There’s a short yelp from his sibling and his eyes flash up just in time to see Blue trying to come towards him, a line of blood along the back of his short speaking to Anti’s deadly aim.

“Blue!” Red grabs him and drags him behind the thickest tree in the copse, hiding them from view. Anti stops shooting.

“Ow, ow, ow,” whimpers Blue, brushing his fingers over the cut across his back.

“It’s not deep, don’t be scared. That was stupid.”

“I wanted to be next to you. You’re the one who charged Anti and Dark!”

“Fuck, we really can’t trust Dark now, can we?”

“We’re going to have to bring the others somewhere else when we get them,” agrees Blue. “It’s pretty clear Anti and Dark have unresolved issues. It’s not safe for them there.”

“Is it safe for us there? What if Dark turns us over to Anti?”

“I don’t trust Dark,” says Blue. “But I do trust Shep and Gigi.”

“Alright. If you do, I do. And I don’t know if I should be hopeful or scared that Anti might let us live and just take our little brothers,” mumbles Ro. “Them being alive and alone with Anti might be a fate worse than death.”

Anonymous asked: Is there a chance at possibly getting Dok's necklaces, if not Dok himself? Or are those something only he can remove? I believe the shield one is to remain with him for the duration of one or two months, and Jackie used the warrior one already but there is still the animal one...

“They can’t be taken off him intact,” says Blue. “The necklaces are made to stay with him until he gives them away or they’re broken for him to use. Snapping the cord will unleash the magic, which is why Anti hasn’t done it - scared of getting hit by it. If anyone tries to take them off Dok, they’ll be burned.”

Anonymous asked: Uh-oh, Anti's packing. Retreat, regroup! We at least know where everyone is and the states that they're in. I know it won't feel like enough until they're with you and completely safe, but there's too much at risk right now to guarantee anyone's safety, yours included. We'll take what we know and come up with something as quick as we can, okay?

“I can’t leave him lying there on the porch!”

“Ro, we have to. Ro, look at me. Jackie, look at me.”

At this, Jackie’s eyes flash over to him, surprised. Blue reaches up to hold onto his shoulder, grounding him. “We know where they all are. We’re pretty sure they’re alive. And the cameras have eyes on them. We’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”

Jackie still turns his gaze to the house, digging his hands into Blue’s shirt.

“Jackie. Hey. Tomorrow, okay? We’ll come back tomorrow. You need to help me with this wound.”

A bullet cuts through the tree beside them, sending wood splintering through the air.

“I see you,” sings Anti, stepping towards them.

“Okay, let’s go,” agrees Jackie, leaping to his feet. “Only cause we’re about to get shot.”

“Going so soon?” calls Anti, cocking the gun and pointing it back at Dok. “Guess Jack’s little hero is just as helpless as he used to be. You could never save them from me, Jackie. And you never will.”

Flame in Jackie’s vision. His nostrils burn and his mouth tastes blood.

He steps out into Anti’s view.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m coming back soon. When I do, you better be ready. You know how we talked about playing this game one last time? About winners and losers, victory and defeat?”

His eyes burn with moonlight and rage. Anti stares back at him, shadowed by the house.

“This is the victory and the defeat, Anti. This is the last fight.”

He turns his back on him. Anti does not shoot.

“Oh, and by the way,” Ro adds, turning to look at him. “I loved you with everything I was. Goodbye, little brother.”

He takes Blue’s hand.

Anti looks back at them, motionless.

They disappear into that sylvan night.

Anonymous asked: Anti, what did Dark literally just say. Like literally two minutes ago he was like "don't kill the three that don't want you" and you were like "yeah okay that's a good idea actually." It really went in one ear and out the other huh, you dumb baby man. You screaming infant. You silly little child. Do you want control back or do you want to ruin your chances of ever having control again? Because you're headed down the latter path at the moment.

Anti drops the gun in the grass.

The crickets and cicadas are so loud it hurts his head, the forest seeming to vibrate with the force and movement of them. Squirrels scatter through the trees and birds flicker in the sky above him. The moon gazes down with her single eye, enormous and condescending, cold and faraway from him. The whole world is in motion, the whole world is speaking, and the whole world is regarding him as he stands there in the center of the lawn, listening to the water of the pool lapping slightly at its edges, trying to get out.

“Dark doesn’t care about me,” says Anti, turning to move back towards the house. “They just want Dapper.”

He had known what it felt like to be the center of Dark’s attention, to have their glittering eyes fixed only on him. He had loved it. Even back then, he always knew that Dark was using him. It was who they were, as far as he was concerned. But he didn’t mind that either. It meant that he was always sure Dark truly wanted him around. Always sure that Dark thought he was truly clever and dangerous and useful and attractive. Because if Dark didn’t think that, they would leave Anti in a heartbeat. It was a terrible kind of security, but Anti liked it.

“Dark thinks they’re more clever than everyone else,” says Anti. “But you’ve seen them in videos. They never get more subtle than that, ha. Did you hear them just now? Trying to get me to bring Dapper and Trick back to stay with them. Trying to make me indebted to them. Yeah… they think I’m stupid. Maybe I am. But I know… I know… well.”

He had known what it felt like. To be wanted by Dark.

It didn’t feel like that.

“Don’t know what they want him for,” he continues faintly, entering the house and glancing around. “It’s my fault for offering him like a talisman in the first place. Dark must have sensed how powerful he was when they had him prisoner. Now they’re interested in keeping him. To do that, they need me to control him. So they promise me help and guidance and a happy ending. Insult me so I feel like I need them. But they don’t really care. Not anymore. They forgot for too long, and now they’ve moved on.”

He sits down at the bottom of the stairs, chin in his hands.

“But I still think maybe I wouldn’t mind,” he whispers, eyes going distant. “Staying with them. They could use Dapper if they wanted. Then maybe, with time, they’d look at me again like they used to. And then maybe we’d be…”

Happy?

He closes his eyes.

Anonymous asked: JJ, do you remember that conversation you had with Max back at that hotel in Colombia? About fighting for the things you want for your family and taking the chance to be happier than you are now? You said you would try. That's all we have ever asked of you is that you try, not just for the others, but for yourself as well. No matter how much you slip back to being Carver or Dapper or any of the names Anti has given you, we're always able to find traces of Jameson, because we know you're trying.

“I did promise that,” his hands admit. “I did promise… I asked Dok to fight for me, too. He promised he would.”

It’s hard to have faith in faraway things, but he does have faith in Dok.

“I’ll try,” he signs. “I’ll keep trying. Just a little. I can. I can.”

But right now he’s just slumped outside the door at the top of the stairs, his hold on his own shoulders getting weaker as his eyelids droop. When did the house get so cold? He misses hearing his brothers running around or talking in the kitchen, seeing them playing in the pool outside his window. Now everything’s so dead quiet. So dead cold. His heart feels slow in a way that hurts, like the blood is draining out of him. He sits back against the wall, too tired to shiver.

“Dap.”

He startles back to consciousness some fifteen minutes later, nearly falling onto his side as he tries to sit up, his body resisting even the slight movement. Anti watches him with mismatched eyes, his hair no longer teal. He looks back to himself a little - a clean, green-haired version of Jack, only revealing an inhumanity in faint glitches and flashes of green.

Dapper looks up at him, running his eyes over his form. He wonders if Anti came back to finish him off or if he’s here to take care of him. He never knows.

He reaches up his arms.

Anti’s gaze softens with fatigue and familiarity. He walks up onto that top step and reaches down, scooping Dapper into his arms. Heaving him close to his chest, he carries him back into the bedroom and locks the door behind them.

Dapper wishes he could tell you he wasn’t relieved to be back in that bed again, but he just needs some sleep. Anti crawls into bed at his right side and Trick stirs at last, though he does not wake. Anti pulls his arm over him and then turns to Dapper, burrowing under the covers and pulling him into his arms.

“I should kill you,” mumbles Anti. “But I won’t. Is that love?”

Definitely not.

And Dapper knows it.

But he doesn’t want to be sarcastic or straight-forward right now. He doesn’t want the truth. He’s too tired.

He puts his head on Anti’s chest and wraps his arms around him.

“Yeah,” he nods against his chest. “Yeah, maybe it is.”

Maybe just for right now, just for a second, it is.

He presses an “I love you,” over Anti’s heart.

“Good night, Dapper.”

“Good night, Anti.”

They have shared a bed for more than a year. With his body against him and his hand on his chest, Anti rests.

#chapter four

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flying-nightwing · 4 years

Text

Dark Fox (7/7)

Thank you to everyone who took the time to read Dark Fox! It was my first longer serie ever since my writing hiatus, and the first one I actually finished ever lmao. It was quite an adventure and I really enjoyed writing this persona. This is the last chapter to close the story. I hope you like it gang!

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 6821

Warnings: usual

You hadn’t had a lazy morning in years, and you had all but forgotten how good it felt.

A single sun ray warmed the bed, making the temperature under the thin sheet just ideal. The slow, steady rise and fall of Jason’s chest under your head was soothing, as well as the random pattern his hand was drawing on your back. Usually, you’d have already trained and eaten by that time. Today, you had no intention of leaving the bed anytime soon. The last night had been spent fucking so many times in so many different ways, you were both exhausted and happier than before. Jason was even wilder than you remembered (or he got even better?), so much you were still riding the absolute high you had reached.

You traced his scars with your fingers; some old ones he had told you about, some you had put there yourself, and some others your had yet to know how he got them. You had a lot to catch up about.

“The last time we found ourselves like this,” You began, trailing your soft touch up and down the browned mark on his shoulder. It was as large as your sword, and a witness of the rocky beginning of your relationship. “I begged you to come back to the League with me”

He angled his head toward you. You could feel his eyes on you, half closed and relaxed as he’s even been. “But I begged you to follow me back here first”

It had been a heartbreaking moment. The build up of the unanswered question for a whole year had lead to there. None of you had wanted to talk about the time his training would be done, you had rather wanted to keep doing your stuff and ignore the impending separation. That morning hadn’t been unlike this one, with the sun coming through the hut and with you both on the hammock, naked and intertwined under the fur cover. He had broken the silence, asking you to forget the League and stay with him. Back then, you were so sure you could only reach Luthor through it. So you asked Jason to instead join the League at your side.

He had dressed up and left the hut, and you hadn’t heard from him from then until you crossed paths in Ukraine.

“I guess this is the fight you won” You smiled, flicking up your gaze to his. “Seeing as I’m here”

“The fight I won?” He raised his eyebrows. “Implying I didn’t win any other fight?”

“You did, but…” You teased, gently tapping your fingers up his collarbone. “Let’s face it, I still won most of them”

He gasped. “Excuse me?”

You smirked.

Before you could see him move, he rolled on top of you and caged you underneath him between his arms. His eyes were narrowed in indignation as he channeled his mean face on. It once might have worried you, but it had lost most of its purpose now. Especially since you were both naked.

“I’ve won plenty of fights against you” He sneered.

“Mhmm” You hummed, knowing all too well how he didn’t like to be challenged. You hadn’t poked at his pride in too long, so you couldn’t pass the occasion. “Sure you did”

“Have you forgotten what happens when the fighting range gets too small?”

You simply blinked.

“Or when I truly got angry? Or…”

You cocked your head to the side as he halted his words. Then, understanding flashed through his expression.

“You’re still riling me on purpose” He sighed.

“What did I like to say again?” You asked rhetorically, pausing for emphasis. “Ah, yes. When you’ll stop falling for it”

“I hate you”

“Don’t blame me for being such an easy target” You rolled your eyes. “Now come here”

“Bossy” He finally grinned. “I love it”

He lowered himself so his lips touched yours and kissed you softly. However, the moment didn’t last long, as his cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. You could feel the shift toward annoyance in his mood, and it only grew when the phone vibrated one more time, and another one after that. With a long sigh, he rolled off of you and to the side of his bed. He frowned, then all trace of displeasure at the interruption wiped off of his face.

“What is it?” You asked, peeking over his shoulder. He shut off the screen immediately.

“You’ll see” He chuckled. “Get dressed”

“Ooookay” You nodded slowly, watching him throw his legs on the side of the bed and reach for his shirt on the floor. You put on your clothes from the day before and went for the guest bedroom you had, changing into something clean. When you got out, Jason was waiting for you leaning on the doorframe.

“First though, breakfast”

You followed Jason, as you were still unfamiliar with the place. Sure, you had mapped the way from your room to the cave, and from the cave to every close escape around. But for the rest, you had barely the time or desire to explore. All this space was pointless to you, as you couldn’t figure out who would need all of this. However, it did provide a good way to avoid any Wayne during your stay, you’d give the manor this point.

But it didn’t allow you to avoid Bruce this time.

He caught you around a corner, and you three remained in a stare off for a few seconds. You knew it probably wouldn’t result in a fight, but your hand still hovered above the blade hidden at the back of your waistband.

“I think you have overstayed your welcome here”

Jason gritted his teeth, but you remained calm. You had expected this.

“I will be gone by tonight” You replied on a neutral tone, then pulled Jason with you to side step him.

“One more thing”

You halted your steps in the doorframe to the next room, turning your head to look at him. He hadn’t moved.

“I don’t want to see you in my city again”

“You must be fucking kidding me” Jason yelled, but you held up your arm to stop him from marching back to Bruce.

“Absolutely not” He turned to face you. “Ever since she’s came, she has conveniently disclosed very precise information on the weapon’s whereabouts, except when it mattered. And hid her family ties to Luthor”

“You think she’s working with him?” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, is she?”

Jason glanced at you, about to reply something, but you just shook your head at him. It was pointless to try and convince Bruce Wayne, especially since you knew your word could never overturn your suspicious behaviour. He rolled his eyes and walked away, and you were about to follow him before you paused.

“I’m not” You spoke up, and you could feel Bruce’s eyes on your back. “If you must know, I’ve come here to kill him, and I don’t need your permission for that”

With that, you walked away, not waiting for an answer from Bruce. You joined Jason in the kitchen, who was already working on cooking oatmeal. His jaw was still clenched, and his posture tense.

“I can’t believe the fucking audacity” He grumbled.

“He is entitled to his opinion of me” You shrugged and leaned on the counter next to him. “I don’t really care what he thinks about my intentions”

“Still” He sighed. “Are you still planning on finishing your mission?”

You crossed your arms against your torso and furrowed your eyebrows. You could just leave Batman and the others take care of it, and leave them to deal with Luthor. But again, you hadn’t came all this way to just give up.

“Bruce was very clear on his stance about me remaining involved in this shitshow” You hummed, before glancing up at Jason. “But we do have a bio weapon to stop, and I’m far from done with Luthor”

His disappointment morphed into a grin at your words. “Attagirl, that’s what I like to hear”

“I most certainly don’t like to leave things unfinished” The corner of your lips lifted. “You okay with going against Batman’s orders?”

“Oh my dear” He chuckled as he poured the oatmeal in two bowls. He glanced at you with an excited glint in his eyes. “Nobody has a better record of disobeying him than I do”

“Good”

He put a spoon in each bowl and handed you one. “Now we need to have a game plan for what’s next”

“Any idea?”

“I sure have” His grin widened. “I want to show you something”

He motioned you to follow him as he ate his oatmeal mid walk. He got down to the cave and led you to a small side room, where he grabbed the tablet on the table. You slowly ate your breakfast as you watched him press buttons and mumble to himself. Then, he turned to you.

“You ready?”

You nodded, unsure of what he was talking about. He dramatically pressed one more button, making the wall in front of you turn on itself with a woosh. Your eyes widened as you took in the content of the compartment.

“So?”

You blinked at glanced at Jason. Your grin slowly stretched to match his.

“Oh yeah” You nodded again, this time, with way more assurance. “This will definitely do”

----

Jason heard Bruce coming from miles away.

Even if he technically didn’t, his course of action was so predictable that the Bat’s dramatic landing on the rooftop behind him was no surprise at all.

“I thought I had made myself clear”

Jason stood up from his crouched position and turned to face him, arms crossed against his chest. “You did”

“Then what are you doing here?” He sighed in annoyance.

“Well obviously you’re blaming your wrong intel and failures on someone who has nothing to do with it, which is a classic you” He taunted. “So we’re here to finish the job. Her and I really do work well together, thanks for noticing”

“Red Hood” He warned.

“Batman” He mimicked.

Someone landing next to them grabbed their attention.

“Red Robin” Tim announced himself under Bruce’s hard glance and Jason’s amused one.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I knew something was up when I didn’t see Foxy in the cage all day” He explained. “So I followed you here. By the way, where is she?”

As if on cue, a shadow dropped behind them. The movement did no go unnoticed, and as if on instinct, Tim spun around and threw a shuriken. His expression quickly changed as he realized who was in front of him.

There you were, still crouched from your landing and holding his shuriken mid air inches away from your face. You were smirking under your mask as Tim stared at you in disbelief.

“Twice” You spoke as you stood up fully. His eyes quickly scanned you from head to toes, almost overseeing you handing him back his shuriken. “Twice you have thrown one of these at me”

“Where’s the League suit?” He asked, slowly taking back his small weapon. “And you’re stupid bow?”

You shrugged, sharing a knowing glance with Jason. “I thought it was time for a change”

Then, understanding washed across his face. “Oh, oh my. You’ve dropped the League”

He did another once over. You had ditched the heavy coat for a lightweight suit made of silk and leather, with armored plastic on the stomach, the upper arms and the back. The arm bracers had smaller spikes than the previous ones, and you no longer wore a heavy mask. Instead, you had only kept your half mask and wore a hooded robe crossing on your torso. Your grappling hook was now in your utility belt, and your arrows were replaced with sharper, more volatile darts kept in a sheath on your thigh. You now had 25 regular darts, five explosive and your two classic sedatives. Only your sword remained on your back, so it would “unclog your aesthetic”, as Jason had put it.

You did like it better like that, the bow wasn’t your style anyway.

The new gear was still all black, for the exception of a silver kitsune draw into the back of the armor that would show if you took off the robe. It was comfortable and flexible, and resistant to bullets and stabbing. Jason had hit the target right on with the design.

“Do you keep your wrist shooter?” He asked, squinting his eyes.

You raised your arm and shot over his shoulder to prove your point. He caught the small arrow mid air, nodding impressively.

“Still the best part of the suit” He muttered to himself.

“I thought you said you’d be gone” Bruce cut in. Your eyes went to him.

“I still have a couple of hours” You replied without missing a beat.

“Talking about” Jason said. “Your time window just opened”

“You can either help us or stay out of the way” You told Bruce as you adjusted you comm. “But this is happening regardless”

He didn’t speak right away, taking a moment to ponder your words. Then, he voiced his thoughts. “Are you going to kill him?”

You held eye contact for a few seconds more before taking off. You ran along the ledge and jumped on the next building, then letting yourself slide down the fire escape. You chose not no reply to him, as you didn’t need to give him another reason to come after you. Granted, not replying was practically the equivalent of giving a positive answer, but at least it could give you the benefit of the doubt for what it was worth.

Using the shadows of the city, you quickly made your way through the blocks by the back alleys until you reached the imposing tower in the middle of the Diamond district, the same building you and Tim had sacked for show barely a week before. Whatever damage you had done, it didn’t show anymore. It was like nothing had happened.

This time, you came in by the front door. The second you walked through the glass doors, all activity stopped. You took a few step forward, and four guards met you halfway in the lobby. Without a word, they escorted you past the front desk and through the metal detector going off like crazy. Anytime you could have easily gotten rid of them, but you held back for now. You waited a short time for the elevator, then got in and up to Luthor’s floor. He was waiting for you by the window, and turned around with a smirk once you got in his office. You pulled back your hood and unclasped your mask.

“I see you’ve got a new look” He pointed out. “Changed your mind about the league?”

“Something like that”

“Well, I’m most certainly pleased to see you’ve decide to do the right thing” He took a step forward. “This is where you belong”

Slowly, you reached for your sword and took it out. A shadow passed across his face, and nodded to something behind you. Or rather, someone. You dropped to a crouch to avoid the tazer being stuck in your back--once was enough--and thrusted your sword in the legs of the guys around you. You rolled forward and shot the four guards coming your way, before jumping on the desk and holding them in your aim. Luthor now had four new guards around, letting you know more would come if he needed. You reloaded your crossbow.

“I’m disappointed” He revealed with a sigh. “Those were good men”

“Let it be a reminder I can and will take them all out if they're in my way” You twirled your sword. “Step forward and none of them die with you tonight”

“How noble” He chuckled, not concerned at all. His hand rested in his pocket and his stance was relaxed. “Did your boyfriend with the red helmet tell you to do that?”

You shot an arrow to his knee, but he easily side stepped it like he had predicted that move. He raised an eyebrow.

“I see” He hummed. “But I had expected you would deny your destiny. So I decided to help you make a choice”

Four more men came in the room and ran at you. You vaulted over them and landed behind them, taking them by surprise. Before the could fully turn around, they were on the ground. You wiped your sword in the crook of your elbow and faced Luthor again. He was watching, unwavering, almost out of the door. He was stalling, that was clear, but you didn’t know for what yet. He smirked again, and you knew he’d finally reveal his thoughts.

“Now I know you won’t back down like last time” He taunted, and your jaw clenched. “So I guess you can come at me now, tear through my guards and get to me…”

You narrowed your eyes, knowing there was something more coming. He wouldn’t make it that easy for you to get to him.

“But like I said, I had expected trouble from you, like your mother before you” He sighed sarcastically. “So I prepared a backup plan. I decided to launch my weapon sooner and instead use it elsewhere, since you forced my hand. In twenty minutes, it will discharge quite literally the plague in the city aqueduct”

You tensed, your hand going to your ear to your comm and turning it on.

“Ah, I don’t think telling your friends will work” He tsked. “The only way to stop it is through my genetic code”

“Therefore mine” You concluded.

“Smart” He mocked. “Yes. So you can either kill me here and get it over with, or you can run around and save a bunch of people, and miss your shot. Again. But you don’t have the time to do both, I’m afraid”

You calculated his ultimatum, and he was right. If he kept the men coming, it would be enough to stall you too long for you to go from the diamond district to the aqueduct. He had planned this move carefully, knowing he’d get a win in either case.

“Don’t worry, the cure is ready to go, there won’t be much casualties” He brushed off. “You came here to kill me, didn’t you?”

You flexed your fingers on the hilt of your sword.

“Do it” He challenged. “That’s what you are. You were made to finish what you started, to stop at nothing to get what you want. This is how I made you, even if I disapprove what you’ve done with my gifts. So go ahead, kill me and prove me right”

He was almost in your face now, staring right at you. You straightened your back and levelled up with him, feeling something strange, yet not unwelcomed, swelling in your chest. You thought about Jason and what he said, about those civilians you saved from a certain death, and about the man in front of you. Seeing him from so close, you realized every ounce of anger you held toward Luthor was… Gone. You thought with him so close you would be tempted to fight him, but all you could feel was indifference. He didn’t matter to you anymore, he never should have. He represented your insecurities, and tried to drag you down with him to excuse his own failure in making you a copy of himself. You became aware he was a pointless chase, and you had better things to do than indulge in it.

“I’m the Dark Fox” You jutted your chin up, squaring up your shoulders. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do”

You turned around and jumped over the desk, grabbing an explosive arrow and throwing it in the window. You jumped through as it exploded, plunging down the building. You pulled out your grappling line and hooked it on your shooter, then aimed for the roof. It slowed your fall midway, and you used your glove to slow yourself down.

As your feet touched the ground, you saw Jason’s motorcycle pull in in front of the building. You put back your sword in its sheath and your mask on your face, then your hood up.

“Aqueduct, we’ve got fifteen minutes” You spoke as you climbed on the bike.

“Yep, I heard everything” He had a grin in his voice. Yet, he didn’t go yet.

“What?”

“I am so fucking proud of you”

You felt your neck heat up as you looked down, even if he couldn’t see you, in fact, you were glad he couldn’t. You never knew his praise would make you react that way, or that you would be so important for you to hear it.

“And for the record” He added. “It was very hot, too”

“Fucking hell, Jay, go!”

“Fine” He sighed and sped away from there.

“Okay so what is your thing with jumping out of windows?” Tim said through your comm. You had no idea he had stayed.

“It makes me feel less dead” You replied, and Jason audibly laughed.

“You madwoman”

“Since you’re here, I have a task for you” You said. “Could you pull out the files on the weapon and figure out how the failsafe works?”

“I’m already on it”

Then, a bullet barely grazed your shoulder. The sound followed closely after, but it was like in slow motion. You raised your arm to protect Jason's shoulder, letting the bullet hit your arm brace instead. Reacting quickly, you turned around facing backwards and shot an arrow through the gun aimed at you. You then noticed five motorcycles following you, probably tasked with taking you down.

“What’s going on? How many?”

“Keep driving” You ordered. “I’ll take care of this”

You shot another arrow, but it bounced on the body of the motorcycles, and from your position you couldn’t aim elsewhere. You emptied your arrows to get one good shot, and it was enough to take one down. But looking at your recharges, you only had ten darts left, and potentially more people to take down around the bomb. You looked down, then up again to the guns aimed at you.

“Fuck it”

You reached for one of Jason’s gun on his thigh and clicked the safety off. Then, you shot.

“Holy shit” Jason yelled, and you could only imagine his expression. “HOLY SHIT”

“Did… Did Foxy just use a gun?”

“I wish I could have seen that” He whined. “I am so turned on right now”

“Too much information Jaybird”

You clicked the safety back on and turned around again, then slipped the gun back in his holster.

“I thought you thought guns were disgraceful”

“I kind of still do” You smirked under your mask. “So don’t get used to it”

“You’ll at least do it once when I look, right?”

“Hmm, maybe” You hummed.

“Aww, aren’t you two the cutest”

“Shut up Tim” Jason warned.

“Alright then, I won’t tell you what I found on turning off the weapon”

“Speak, Tim” You contradicted Jason’s order.

“First you have to apologize for throwing me out of a window”

You thought for a moment before answering. “No”

“Then no intel”

You sighed.

“Let’s compromise then” You suggested. “I will not apologize because I am not sorry, but for the intel and not telling on me after you found out who I was, I will consider not pushing you out of a window again”

There was silence radio, then he spoke again. “Good enough for me. There should be a code pad, I decrypted it and the code is 0000. Yes I know, but then you’ll see a slit, and you gotta put your left hand in it. It’ll read pulse, heat, fingerprints, and more. Since you should share all of this with Luthor, it’ll stop. Or it’ll explode, that was unclear”

“Well that’s reassuring” Jason grumbled.

“Alright, we’re almost there” You rolled your eyes. “Thanks”

“See ya later”

You turned off your comm and reloaded your shooter minutes before Jason pulled in the aqueduct yard. He parked his bike and you both easily climbed the barbed wire fence, and even though the place looked deserted, you remained careful. Luthor wouldn’t have left his device without surveillance. You grabbed your sword and fell in step behind Jason, who had his guns up. Then, he halted his steps and held a hand for you to do the same. You had this feeling you were being watched, and you could only imagine he had it too.

“Get ready” Just as he said that, bullets began raining over you. “Go find the weapon, I’ll cover you!”

You held an arm up to protect your face and disappeared into the darkness. You kept running along the walls of the building, allowing you to get in undetected. You reached the main water room, where you could see from the upper platform about eight guards surrounding the very device you had been hunting. The countdown indicated 2:37, so you had no time to lose.

You jumped over the ramp and landed quietly on your feet behind the men. You approached the first one and swung your sword around to let it rest on his neck. You used him as a shield as the other guards noticed you, blocking their bullets. You raised your arm and shot your five darts at them. You pushed the dead man off of you and faced the two remaining guards, taking a fighting stance and swirling your sword at them. Before they could start shooting again, you lunged and knocked their guns out of their hands. They kept fighting around you, trying to get to you with punches and kicks. But they were sloppy and predictable, and even after one fetched a small blade from his belt, they were no match for you. You glanced at the countdown, and it almost reached the one minute mark. Your eyes then trailed on the two guards around you, still trying to get the upper hand. They both extended their arms at the same time for a hit, so you dropped to a crouch.

Like you did during training with Bruce and Damian, you sweeped your sword in a quick motion. Unlike them, however, your current opponent weren’t quick nor skilled. The blade of your katana sliced their knees, making them collapse on the ground. You quickly reloaded your last round of arrows and sheathed your sword, then made your way to the device. You easily found the locked pad and entered the code, then pulled off your glove and stuck your hand in the slit. You pressed the button and watched as the biometrical scan began.

You heard noise behind you as backup reached the room, and without taking your hand out, you turned your body and aimed. The first five men fell, but there were still five coming your way, so you reached for your shurikens in your belt. But you didn’t get to take them out as other, all too familiar shaped shurikens reached the goons first. You sent a deadpan look at where you noticed none other than Red Robin standing there smugly.

“Oof, I hope you didn’t have dibs on them”

“I had it handled” You replied.

“I’m sure you did” He smirked as he walked past you and took a look at the countdown, then at the weapon. His expression turned grim. “Twenty seconds”

The scanner was still working.

“If it doesn’t work, you’ll have to slice the pipe off” You said, analysing the situation. Cutting the water and flooding the building would bring less casualties than letting the virus flow in the water system.

“What!?”

The system unlocked. You quickly entered the command to stop, and the countdown halted. You pulled your hand back and put on your glove again, then grabbed an explosive arrow. You planted the dart in the slit and backed up, pushing Tim with you. Soon enough, it went off and the weapon went up in smoke.

“Phew, that was close” He blinked. “Well played”

“Motherfucking Dark Fox!” Jason dropped from the platform at his turn. His helmet was off and he had a wide grin on his face. “That’s what I call making a difference! The League could never”

“That was really cool” He nodded in approval. “By the way, what happened to, you know..?”

“Did you do it?” Jason’s eyes were now on you, his grin not so intense now.

“He’s gone” You said, but it didn’t help ease the questions in their eyes. “As in, I don’t know where he is. I let him flee to come here instead”

Jason’s eyes widened. “And you’re fine with this?”

You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me anymore. His time will come, like everyone else. I just won’t be involved when it does”

“That was unexpected” He whistled. “But hey, what goes for you goes for me. Love the new mentality”

“Killing him was what the League would have wanted”

“That’s nice. Good choice” Tim nodded. “So you’ll stay here then?”

“Well, not here, since bats and foxes apparently don’t get along” You snorted as you unclasped your mask and pulled back your hood. “But I’ll be around”

“About that, how does Blüdhaven sounds?” Jason chimed in again, sliding a hand around your shoulder. You raised your eyebrows at him “I’ve got a pretty nice place there, and it’s technically not Gotham”

“That won’t be necessary” A deep voice came from behind you. You glanced over your shoulder where the massive shadow of Batman stood. “I’ve seen you work tonight. You acted good, I can allow you to stay in Gotham as the Dark Fox”

Jason coughed in surprise as you blinked, then turned around.

“Thank you” You began, nodding respectfully. Jason’s wide glance was now directed to you. “But no thanks. Besides, I still don’t need your blessing to stay, or to be me”

Bruce stared at you blankly, not moving or commenting. Your guess was that he wasn’t expecting this answer, or at least not delivered this way.

“Oh, B” Jason mocked as he put back his helmet. “Nice try. Anyway, we should get out of here before the cops show up”

You put back up your mask and hood and followed Jason out, waving at Tim on your way out. You left the aqueduct and waited until you were further into the city before ditching the bike and finding a rooftop to station yourself on, just in case you were being followed. The masks and helmets came off once again, and you took a moment to breathe the air from up there. It was a clear night, with a good wind chasing the clouds away. Jason observed the city lights with you, crouched on the ledge. Then, you heard quiet shuffling behind you. You spun around, then held Jason back when he was about to lunge. You kept your eyes on the outline of the figure in the shadows, knowing all too well who it belonged to. You took a few steps forward.

“You look different” Talia smiled. “A good different. I’m glad you finally found yourself”

“Thank you” You lowered your head. “For allowing me”

“I only want the best for you” She stepped closer to you, her smile never wavering. “Has he taken good care of you?”

You both glanced at Jason for a moment, and you chuckled. “He has. He was gentler than I’ve been to him”

“I figured he would” She winked. “You two were meant to be”

Your smile dropped as you looked down. Surely, she would know what it meant. Her sympathetic eyes fell on you and her hand rested on your shoulder. You had chosen to part with the League, therefore, with her. It would be the hardest part for you.

“You don’t have to explain” She reassured. “I knew this would come to this, and I am here to free you”

Your eyes shot up.

“I talked with my father” She explained. “Seeing your unwavering service for all these years, he has agreed to relieve you from your duties to the League. All he asks in exchange is for you to remain out of the League’s affairs, and he gave his word he will not come against you or your family”

“Really?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Her smile was encouraging as she nodded at you. Slowly, you took off the black robe, exposing the silver fox on your back. Then you took out your sword from the sheath in your hands, kneeled and offered it to her. She took it and held it upright in front of you, just like the day you had been initiated in the League.

“In the name of Ra’s al Ghul, I release Thaelib fi alzalam from her servitude to the League of Assassins” She spoke. “Your debt has been paid and your bounds are no more. Rise”

You got back on your feet, your breathing hitching in your throat. You reached for your sword in her extended arm, looked down at it and putting it away again.

“Thank you”

“You’re very welcome” Her hand went to your cheek. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I will be there for you”

“And I for you” You gave her a genuine smile. She offered her arm, and you took it at the elbow like she did. Your foreheads touched for a few seconds before you pulled away with a step back.

“It was nice to see you again, Jason”

“You too, Talia” He nodded with a small curve on the corner of his lips.��

“Take care, children” She said before disappearing in the darkness again.

Jason approached you and took your hand, gently pulling your around to face him. He had this glint in his eyes, it was full of relief and happiness like you had never seen on him. To be honest, you were feeling the same way. It was like a burden had been lifted off of your shoulders, and you had never felt lighter. Sure, it brought you uncertainty to navigate without the League’s guiding hand, one you had relied on for most of your life, but it felt right. You knew Jason would help you like you had helped him, and things would start to look up from now.

“So, what now?”

“I don’t know” You chuckled. “It’s the first time I don’t need to follow any agenda. I’m kind of lost”

“Ah, this calls for the return of Teacher Todd” He grinned. “Lesson number two, you get to learn what fun and freedom taste like”

----

The grass was high as your mid thigh and small bugs swarmed up with every step forward you took. You didn’t mind though, you prefered it ten folds to the smog of Gotham.

For Jason, however, it was a different story.

He was sweating and grunting, and even if he was behind you, you knew he was getting annoyed by the flies and mosquitoes around. He was swatting his hand wildly and you could tell he was slightly regretting sharing his suggestion to you. The sun was high, and even for the end of the summer it was surprisingly hot.

“Ugghhh”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t stop.

“Are we there soon?” He asked. “Jeez I had forgotten how far was that thing”

“Come on, stop lying to yourself” You teased as you spotted a familiar path up a small hill. “You like this”

He scoffed. “It reminds me of my ass being kicked”

“As I said” You smirked over your shoulder, and he raised his eyebrows at you.

You climbed up the small hill and came face to face with a small, half decaying structure with the roof caved in by the elements. Moss and grass was growing on the outside of the round walls, but the feeling of home you had subconsciously associated with it was very much intact. Jason stopped behind you, his annoyance completely gone and replaced by fondness over the sight in front of him. There were so many memories tied to the small hut, some bad but mostly good, and it was like you could feel them all at once. You dropped your bag on the ground and took a deep breath.

“So, was the trek up here worth it?”

“Fuck yes” He sighed in amazement, his eyes never leaving the hut. “I missed this place so much”

“Even if we had to work hard for survival?”

“Being here alone with you far outweighed any inconvenience this place brings” He stepped closer to you, his arm wrapping around your waist. Who would have ever thought? His nose nuzzled on your neck and your relaxed in his arms. “We’ll still have to do a bit of renovation around though”

“I hope you’ll help me this time” You looked up at him innocently. Last time you had built the hut alone before Talia had brought Jason, and even if he had been there, you would have absolutely not trusted him to help you with anything

“But you’re so hot when you work” He pouted. “I wanna watch and enjoy the view”

“And how would you make up all that work to me?” You asked, then you felt him smile on your skin. A smile full of mischief and promises.

“Oh, I have plenty of ideas”

“Oh me too” You grinned, stepping out of his arms, then you winked at him and disappeared in the hut. Only one hammock was still up, the other had fallen on the ground due to broken ropes. Stones of the small fireplaces were kicked in and weeds were growing around. The kitchen supplies were scattered around the makeshift shelf, but otherwise the place seemed to have been left untouched by human activity. Jason followed suit and took in the damages.

“Do you think we can still both get onto this hammock without the ropes breaking?” He asked, side glancing at you. You rubbed your chin in wonder, then hummed.

“There is only one way to know for sure” You tilted your head to the side. You nodded at each other and he walked around you, with you in tow. He carefully lowered himself first, then opened his arms for you. You joined him, and waited for a few second to test the resistance of the ropes. You heard them creaking and straining, but you were still hanging. You relaxed, and barely a second after, the ropes snapped.

In a blink, you were on the ground, and both of your weights made the wood give in. You ended up in the dirt, directly on the forest floor. yOu remained in silence for a moment blinking at each other.

“Well” You sighed. “The hammock could not support us both”

“Alright, there is a lot to do” He conceded. “How about you fix this baby, and I’ll gather the wood for the fire, hunt dinner and get the herbs for tea?”

“That’s more like it” You said as you stood up and dusted off your pants. You offered a hand to Jason and you pulled him up with you. “Do you remember where are the bows and arrows?”

“In the bark of the oak facing the boulder, yeah”

“Good” You chuckled. “I wasn’t sure you’d get it right”

“Come on” He groaned playfully. “I was quite a good student”

“Oh not at all” You laughed, taking a step in his personal space and looking up at him. “The worst, actually. You’re lucky you learned fast, or we’d still be there”

“Then I should have dragged my training on purpose” His lips hovered above yours. “You’d still be my incredibly unforgiving yet very hot teacher, and I your wild, stubborn and irresistible student”

“Hmm, does another sword in your shoulder sound good?”

“Only if I get to face you hand to hand”

“You’ve got yourself a deal” You whispered, before backing away abruptly. He blinked in confusion. “But it’ll have to wait. It’s almost sundown and we need to be installed by then. So get your sweet ass out there and stop distracting me here”

He sighed. “Why do I like it so much when you order me around?”

“I have no idea” You tapped his chest. “But the quicker we prepare everything, the sooner we can go to the lake for a swim under the stars”

He perked up at that, and with wide, excited eyes, he shot out of the hut faster than you could register. You chuckled and leaned on the threshold, lazily crossing your arms against your chest and taking a deep breath. You stared outside for a moment, enjoying the breeze and the sound of nature surrounding you. It was peaceful and beautiful, taking it in fully.

Then, you got to work.

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joon-ipersgirl · 3 years

Text

"dance with me" - jhs twoshot

genre: strangers to lovers!au, fluff, tiny bit of angst

pairing: hobi x reader (f)

summary: this is the first part of hobi’s birthday twoshot where he meets a girl on a night out on the town but loses her (a better summary will come later)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: some cursing, mentions of alcohol, not a happy ending rn

a/n: whew it's been a minute. as per, school and work are kicking my ass but i wanted to write something for hobi's birthday. i actually finished this first half on time but was stuck on the second half before i decided i should make this into a twoshot. i'm going to finish it though, hopefully soon. i’ll edit everything later. either way, enjoy :)

full masterlist // part two

“Guys, I really shouldn’t,” Hoseok laments.

“Why not?” Jimin whines from his sprawled out position on Hoseok’s aging leather sofa. “It’s been weeks since you’ve come out with us.”

Hoseok shrugs. “I’ve just been… busy,” he finishes lamely.

“Doing what?” Jungkook challenges from the kitchen, his voice barely carrying over the low hum of the open refrigerator.

“Okay, I guess I haven’t been doing too much. I just haven’t been in the mood? Life is just a lot right now,” Hoseok says as he picks at the fraying carpet on the floor. He really should get a new one.

“So, let us help you feel better!” Jimin rolls off the sofa, narrowly missing Hoseok’s head with his legs and keeping his leather pants intact. “A night out dancing with your best friends. Maybe a few drinks. You don’t even have to bring anyone home if you don’t want to.”

Hoseok is still iffy on Jimin’s proposal. Usually, he’d be the one encouraging his friends to enjoy a night out on the town but starting his new job at the architectural firm downtown a few weeks ago had really taken its toll. He knew that he’d have a lot to learn when he started but he didn’t think it’d be this much, the new programming and drawing systems much more sophisticated than what he’d remembered during his undergraduate matriculation. Hoseok spent much of his free time practicing his skills, exhausting himself late into the night. All he wanted to do was rest but it was proving to be challenging after his friends showed up on his doorstep tonight, demanding he join them.

“I don’t know, Jimin.”

“You don’t have to know anything. Look, if you aren’t having a good time by midnight, I’ll call you a cab home myself,” Jimin offers. “And Jungkook will buy you your first three drinks,” he tacks on after seeing Hoseok’s unwavering expression.

“Hey!” Jungkook exclaims from the entryway.

“It’s the least you could do, Jungkook. You’re literally eating him out of house and home right now,” Jimin says, pointing to the roll of kimbap Jungkook has in his hands.

“You can’t drink on an empty stomach,” the younger one counters.

“You ate an hour ago.”

“Fair enough,” Jungkook concedes. “Get dressed, Hobi. Drinks are on me,” he finishes around a mouthful of food. Jimin beams, turning to Hoseok.

Sighing, Hoseok reluctantly drags himself to his feet. “Fine. But you’re buying me drinks and dinner. Nope. I don’t want to hear it,” he says, holding up a finger. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Yes!” Jimin cheers as Hoseok heads to his room.

Twenty five minutes later, the three young men arrive at Antarri’s. Known for its strong drinks and booming bass, Antarri’s had become their regular stomping ground. It was safe to say a few other patrons recognized them in the dark; the trio’s dance reputation preceded them. On any given weekend the establishment would be flooded with young people ready to let loose their frustrations. The proximity of the city’s two major universities being just over a stone’s throw away may also help.

“Okay! Shots first!” Jimin yells over the incessant chatter. Hoseok shakes his head but follows his friend deeper into the club.

“What should we get?”

“Nothing too crazy -” Hoseok starts.

“Tequila!” Jungkook interrupts, waving his arm frantically for the bartender’s attention. Both Jimin and Hoseok blanch at the suggestion. “What? I’m buying. I should get to choose.”

Jimin shrugs. “He is buying.”

Hoseok rubs his forehead, already feeling the splitting migraine he’d have tomorrow morning. Alcohol never seemed to agree with him and he’d learned many times what pushing his limit did to him. Still, he doesn’t protest when Jungkook orders, “Your finest shots of tequila, my good sir.”

Maybe the night would pass by faster this way.

“Okay guys. What’s the game plan?” Jungkook asks around a mouthful of lime.

“Just have fun. If you’re leaving, send a text will you? I don’t want another repeat of last time,” Jimin huffs and sets his shot glass down on the counter.

“I wasn’t even gone for that long!”

“You came back the following evening missing your shirt and a shoe, Jungkook,” Jimin frowns.

“Okay but -“

“Guys,” Hoseok interjects. “Not the time.”

“Right. This is about you, Hobi. We’re going to have a great time. And you -“ Jimin points his finger at Jungkook.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll text the chat that I’m alive. Let’s go!” Jungkook says, pushing off the stool and heading into the crowd.

Hoseok shakes his head at his younger friend. He worried about his safety sometimes.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Jimin checks in.

“Yeah, yeah. Go have fun. I’ll see you in there,” Hoseok responds. Nodding, Jimin pats him on the arm before setting off.

“Remember, I’ll call you a cab if you aren’t having fun,” he calls over his shoulder and then disappears.

Moving over to a less crowded part of the bar, Hoseok leans against the wall. Already his shirt is starting to stick to his skin. The music blares at an obscene level he feels in his bones and he welcomes the feeling.

Though an architect by trade, Hoseok knew his way around a dance floor. He wasn’t captain of the university’s dance team for no reason. Music was a language Hoseok translated with his body, each syllable corresponding to a particular movement as he listened to each rhythm and rhyme. Closing his eyes, he lets it speak it to him.

It doesn’t take long for him to get lost in the feeling. Limbs moving freely, Hoseok glides across the floor easily. He’s not concerned with the curious onlookers as he grooves to one of Billboard’s latest bangers. A small crowd has started to form around him but Hoseok ignores them as he spins through a move. Then, he sees you.

His body sputters through the movement until he slows to a gentle rock, eyes trying to focus on you through the pockets between people’s heads. You aren’t looking at him. Too engrossed in your own movement as you vibe with the music. Hoseok almost feels as though he’s watching himself dance. Intrigued, he moves closer.

He’s pretty sure he’s never seen you here before. Granted he doesn’t remember every face he sees but Hoseok is positive he would remember you because of the way you move. Blinking, he feels like he’s in a trance as he watches you turn, your hips swaying in time with the beat. Hoseok realizes he’s not the only one watching you. A few other guys have gathered but you ignore their presence, favoring to dance alone. Hoseok chews his lip. Did he even have a chance?

The music changes and Hoseok watches you change your movement to match the tempo seamlessly. He smiles. He would do exactly the same. Smooth RnB filters out over the sound system and Hoseok calms his beating heart, finding his own rhythm again as he slips back into his translation. When he turns, he makes eye contact with you, a small smile on your lips as you regard him. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol that makes him bold enough to take a step towards you.

Though you don’t move closer, your eyes don’t leave Hoseok’s. A silent exchange happens between you as you continue dancing and Hoseok matches your movements while maintaining his distance. Hoseok nearly holds his breath as you tentatively step closer. If he were to reach out, he’d surely be able to touch you. He doesn’t though. The two of you continue to dance in front of one another, though not with each other as the song changes.

When you turn - back towards him and continue dancing - Hoseok isn’t too sure of what to do. He doesn’t want to impose and ruin your night but he sure as hell would love to dance with you. He takes another tentative step forward, the space between you what chaperones at prom would call encroaching on dangerous territory. Still, he doesn’t touch you though he’s sure you can feel his breath dance across your skin.

It’s you who makes the final move.

He feels your fingertips brush against the outside of his thigh until your fingers wrap around his and place them on your hip. Jeans slung low on your waist, Hoseok’s thumb rests against your bare skin. He lets his other hand settle on the outside of your thigh, his touch light so not to scare you.

Chest against your back, Hoseok matches his hips with yours, the swell of your ass pressed tightly to his crotch. When you curl your arm around the back of his neck, fingers splayed in the hairs at his nape, Hoseok squeezes you in reflex. The heat of Antarri’s only grows worse as you continue to dance and another small crowd gathers to watch you.

Hoseok has never felt so at ease dancing with another human being. He feels like you’ve been partners since you were three and took classical ballroom together for eighteen years. You read his movements and he reads yours as you trade the role of leader and follower back and forth. In all honesty, Hoseok doesn’t want the night to end, especially when you hit a particularly dangerous move - bending at the waist with your hands on your knees, the push back firm as his hand ghosts your back. He has to stifle a groan at the sight, more than a few ungentlemanly thoughts surfacing in response.

Spinning you around, Hoseok gazes down at you as he slots one of his legs between yours. A gentle smile crosses your face and you rest your hands loosely around his neck. Hoseok gently brushes your damp hair from your forehead. You don’t look away as his hand comes to rest under your jaw. He watches your tongue swipe against your bottom lip as he wraps his arm around -

“Y/N!”

The moment is broken at the scream of what Hoseok assumes is your name.

“Y/N, come on! We have to go! Code Blue!” Hoseok loosens his hold on you as you step away. Before either of you can utter a word, your friend is pulling you through the crowd and away from him. Over the din of the music, he faintly hears you call a “Sorry!” as you disappear.

Stunned, Hoseok stands in the middle of the crowd as your figure slowly becomes lost in the sea of swaying bodies. He feels like he’s just stepped out of a sauna, the trance you placed him in lifting as people start to fill in the space around him now that the show is over. Hoseok rubs his face in frustration. How could he have let you leave like that? How was he supposed to find you?

“Hobi! Hey Hobi!” Hoseok turns at the sound of his name to see Jimin elbowing his way through the crowd. “Hey, are you okay?”

Sighing, Hoseok nods.

“Okay,” Jimin says wearily. “Do you want to leave?”

“No, it’s okay. Jungkook still owes me two more shots. I gotta collect.”

Jimin grins. “That’s the spirit! Come on, let’s go.”

Tossing one last longing look to what was supposed to be a promising night, Hoseok follows his friend to the bar to forget what could have happened.

full masterlist // part two

joon-ipersgirl, 2021

#hobi fanfic #hoseok x reader #happy birthday hobi #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #fic: dance with me

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ashketchup119 · 3 years

Text

Musicality

Ok I LOVE this story!! I made a whole story based off a lil convo @jemtoka and I had, and I made oc’s based off each of us and went to town. It was very fun to write, and I got to combine my music knowledge with my writing skills.

Enjoy!

When Benji had first set out to find the ghost of Beethoven, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to do it. His brother had once called him “all bite and no bark”, a reference to the fact that out of the four brothers, Benji had been the only one to not outgrow his infant habit of biting things- or people- when stressed. But in this situation, he definitely felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

He absentmindedly chewed on his chewing necklace as he drafted a grant proposal with his friend, Mujika. Muji was drawing in a notebook, something for his art classes, though he looked up when prompted to review the words that had appeared on Benji’s screen. Muji had done his fair share of research, and though he did want to help with the writing of the research paper, it had been agreed that Benji was the more… academic writer. The two of them had met through social media a couple of years ago, and once they’d started direct messaging, had become close friends quickly through a mesh of shared interests, similar humor, and a half-baked scheme to take over the world.

Which led them here, to a table in the back of a 24-hour McDonalds, Benji chewing the head off a stiff chewable bat pendant and Muji using his nocturnal tendencies to do things like “make sure his friend drank water and didn’t forget that he was a person.”

“Fo you fink ish bit avou duh Immoruhl Bewuved ith done? Ish kinda duh hoh vashis of arr puhposal so…” Benji trailed off, jaw absentmindedly moving over the poor bat, whose head was holding on by sheer force of will to the rest of its body.

“What?” Muji asked. He did not speak bat-in-mouth.

Benji pulled the pendant out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Y’think this bit about the Immortal Beloved is finished? It’s like, the whole basis of our proposal n shit.”

He turned the laptop towards Muji, who closed his notebook, set it to the side, and pulled the laptop in front of him. He read it quietly, and Benji began to tap out the beat to the song playing on low volume in his earbuds. He began to hum, too, murmuring lyrics under his breath as he stared off into the distance.

“I think it looks good.” Muji finally replied, turning the laptop back toward Benji and grabbing his notebook again. “I can’t think of anything else we could add to that section.”

Benji gave a little half shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of them once again worked in solitude, only broken by Benji ordering fries at about 1 AM. At 3, they decided to call it quits, though Benji seemed more wired than ever and voiced some apprehension about “going to sleep when there’s so much work to be done, Muji!” Muji chastised him slightly and promised that they could come back the next day- or rather, later that day- to finish up. There were only slight revisions to be done, then it could be sent off to the Music Master Scholars, an organization dedicated to the care and keeping of the ghosts widely considered Music Masters, which included household names like Mozart and Beethoven, but also lesser-known composers like Joseph Bologne and Francesca Caccini.

Ghosts were, of course, a commonplace occurrence, though one could theoretically live their life without interacting with one. That was rare, though; ghosts had a tendency to wander, though they could only appear in places that held significance to them in life and graveyards, but even living in a house increased the average person’s chances of encountering a ghost exponentially.

But these ghosts were special, because of the knowledge they possessed and the lives they’d lead. The Music Master Scholars were the only people in the world who both knew and had access to the location of every ghost, and to join their ranks, one had to find the location of one of the ‘hidden’ Music Masters- of which Beethoven was the most hidden. Their non-administrative members were unknown, but said to be most, if not all, of the foremost music scholars in the world. How could they not be, with the Masters themselves guiding their research?

Benji and Muji really, really wanted to be Music Master Scholars.

When he was 10, Benji had been given some sort of “young musician” scholarship to visit Europe for a month. He was a double bassist, a dying breed in the modern age, and the fact that he had progressed from monotonic exercises to Baroque sinfonias in the span of four months had impressed his teachers.

His parents had gone along, too, mostly because they knew their child, and Benji did have a propensity to get into trouble. Devil’s luck, his mother had tsked, and that had been that.

He’d managed to escape the group in the middle of a museum, though he didn’t wander far. He just wanted to look at everything without feeling like people were constantly breathing down his neck.

Well. HE didn’t consider “the park near the museum” to be far. His parents did, though, he found out later.

At the park, he found a man. Well, not a man. A ghost. The ghost was staring wistfully at the museum in the distance, and started when he noticed a small child staring at him.

“Hi! Who are you?” Benji asked, clutching the stuffed animal his parents had gotten him at another museum the day before.

The ghost cleared his throat. “I’m uh…” He started in a raspy voice before pausing and clearing his throat again. “I’m,” He sighed. “I’m Johannes Brahms.”

“Yo-hahn Brahmzzzz.” Benji repeated, drawing out the last “s” sound. “Oh! You did music, right?”

Brahms smiled slightly, and nodded.

The two of them talked for a while before Benji’s parents arrived, harried and frustrated. They apologized profusely to the ghost, who insisted it hadn’t been a problem.

The whole experience left Benji starry-eyed, and with the help of a friend he’d made in Germany, he would call and converse with Brahms for hours, asking about counterpoint and meaning and technique and just in general picking his mind. The composer took this with grace, and seemed more than happy to answer the young musician’s questions. When he’d told Benji about the Scholars, Benji had immediately decided that he was going to be a Music Master Scholar.

Muji had played violin until he’d dropped out of high school to take care of his mom, and hadn’t resumed it until after him and Benji had been talking for a while. He didn’t know much about composition, but he loved music history, and after getting his GED and enrolling in college, had even majored in it. Plus, he just kinda just thought the whole thing was cool.

They’d been researching for a year and a half, with pointers from Brahms, and tips from a professor Benji’d had two years ago, a Classical scholar named Dr. Chang. Benji had once emailed her and asked, point-blank, if she was a Music Master Scholar, but she’d only sent back a cryptic winky face emoji in response.

The next day, after three more hours of sitting in McDonalds, revising the proposal (most of which was Muji saying “Benji it looks fine!” and Benji responding with “No, no, this comma in paragraph seven just makes it sound better! Ties it all together, don’t you think?”), it was sent off in an email, and Benji resolved not to think about it while Muji resolved to mention it at the most inopportune moments, just to mess with his friend a little.

They were approved a month later, and three months after that day at McDonalds, they were sitting on a plane heading to Austria, Benji mouthing practice phrases in German as Muji slept. They had about a month to traipse all over Europe in search of a ghost very few people had been able to find, and they were excited to start.

The first week was spent in Austria, visiting Beethoven’s own grave (a nonstarter; the ghosts there hadn’t seen Beethoven since he was buried, and none knew where he’d gone), his childhood home and the area surrounding.

Nothing.

The second week was spent in Vienna. There, they visited the ghost of Mozart, who was a fidgety, flighty sort. He was known for being somewhat immaterial, and often took to jumping on top of objects in a manner that caused the people around them to panic for a few seconds before realizing he was too immaterial to do anything more than whisper vaguely about his childhood. He’d tried to pet Muji’s hair and got annoyed when nothing happened, so it wasn’t a particularly long visit.

They tried to visit Haydn, but while the location of Haydn’s ghost was well-known, only Music Master Scholars were allowed to see him, as he claimed the crowds exhausted him, and he wanted to be able to give his full attention to those visiting him. It made sense, since ghosts used massive amounts of energy to communicate and interact with the world around them, and the more energy they expended, the less time they were able to spend on earth. Despite this, the two of them did make an effort, but were summarily barred from entering.

“Next time!” Benji declared confidently as they walked to their next potential Beethoven hot spot.

They visited Brahms, who had resolved to meet them in Vienna upon learning they were coming, and spent a whole day with him, visiting locations which had been important to him and letting his impromptu history lessons wash over them with a look of awed reverence.

Beethoven wasn’t in Vienna, and by the third week the two friends were feeling the threat of rejection hot on their heels. They began keeping odd hours, trying their hardest to figure out their next move.

“Maybe we should reread our proposal? Clearly the Scholars saw something in it, right?” Muji theorized from the bed he’d claimed as his their first night in the hotel.

“Mmmm.” Benji responded from his position on the floor at the foot of his bed, still feeling the after-effects of a well-deserved mental breakdown.

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried to motivate him. “We can do it! You’re a super cool music spy, remember?”

Benji huffed at the reminder of an old, inane conversation between the two. “I don’t know, Muji. I think it’s kinda pointless.”

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried again. “This is like, your dream! It’s now or never! Put our mutual brain cell to use so we can find Beethoven!”

Benji sighed and got up. “Fine, fine.” He murmured as he got off the floor, grabbed his copy of the proposal from his bag, laid down on the bed, and stuffed another chewable pendant into his mouth. “Wet’s fee.”

Silence reigned for a few, brief seconds, before Muji suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved, right?”

Benji sat up straight on his bed and spit out the pendant. “Holy shit, we never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved.”

After a quick Google search, two train tickets, a couple of sandwiches, and a dash through the rain, they arrived at the Frankfurt Main Cemetery. There, they asked after the name they’d listed in their proposal as the possible Immortal Beloved, and the ghosts pointed them towards the back of the cemetery.

In a ghost grotto, they found a woman, calmly humming the tune from one of the Diabelli variations, though in their excitement neither Benji nor Muji could name the tune.

“Are you-“ Benji paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you the Immortal Beloved?

The woman stopped humming and smiled at them.

“Ah, that is a moniker I have not heard in some time.” She arose and walked away from them, lifting her skirts elegantly in a manner which conveyed a sense of class. “Come; I think you are the ones I’ve been expecting.”

The two followed after her eagerly and looked confused when they stopped at a mail office in town. There, she reached into a P.O. box, pulled out a silver envelope, and gave it to Benji.

“This is yours.” She murmured. “Please do come to visit; it’s rare that I receive visitors.”

With this, she disappeared.

The two stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds before Benji eagerly opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope in half. He then read it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s it say?” Asked Muji, eagerly, from over his shoulder.

“It says… it’s just numbers? I don’t get it.” Benji gave him the paper, trying to puzzle out what it meant.

Muji frowned, then plugged the numbers into Google.

“It’s a location!” He burst out, excitedly shoving the phone in Benji’s face.

The two of them hurriedly called a taxi, listing the location Muji’s phone had given them. They were dropped off in front of the building, and saw someone standing at the entrance. They showed the person (a Scholar!) their letter, and with a large smile, they were taken inside, their guide walking confidently as Benji and Muji trailed behind them. The interior of the building was long and winding, which left the two feeling as though they’d been deceived by the outward appearance of the building. The building had looked small and unassuming, and this place was built like a maze. They were sure they’d be lost if they tried to head back without a guide.

Near the end of the path they heard the sound of a piano playing, and warm light spilled into the hallway. They eagerly rushed ahead, much to the amusement of the Scholar.

There, facing the wall, conducting half a beat behind the sound coming from the recorder behind him, stood Beethoven.

Benji gasped, and clutched Muji’s shoulder. He pointed ecstatically at the figure in the room. “It’s Beethoven!!!” He stage-whispered.

Muji smiled widely as he nodded back. “Yeah!!”

The two of them turned around when a voice behind them cleared. The Scholar gave them each a thick letter with the recognized seal of the Music Master Scholars on the back, and the two of them stared at it, unsure of what to do.

“Well?” The Scholar prompted, rocking back and forth on their heels. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Benji ripped into his envelope first, completely abandoning the flap as he tore the side off. His hands shook as he pulled out a letter on creamy white stationary. He skimmed the words and began crying, clutching the letter and envelope to his chest.

Muji was slightly more careful, removing the letter from the envelope via the flap and pulling out the other contents of the envelope. A laminated membership card, a list of locations of other ghosts, and an alphabetized list of other Scholars with contact info and a small bio were also in the envelope. He pulled out each one, looked at it, and put it back in the envelope. He then stopped and held the envelope in his hands, staring at it.

After about ten minutes, the guide worriedly asked Muji, “Is Benji alright? He’s been crying for a while.”

Muji nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, he cried for like two hours after I finished streaming Crisis Core for him.” At the guide’s look of confusion, he added, “Video game.”

The guide made a small noise of understanding and nodded.

When Benji’s sobs finally faded into sniffles, the three of them began the trek out of the building.

“Sorry this route is so long.” The Scholar apologized. “Oh! Also! I forgot to introduce myself.” They paused and turned, offering their hand. “I’m Soraya Cham! I was the last person to find Beethoven’s ghost. When I heard about you guys, I got excited, really. I was rooting for you!”

The two of them shook her hand and nodded, unsure what else to say.

Soraya continued, then hailed a taxi when they reached the road. They waved goodbye to Benji and Muji as the two of them got in the backseat.

“We did it!” Benji shouted once they were back at their hotel.

#original story #yall get one guess as to which of us is benji n which of us is muji #i hope yall r enjoying these #when the mania ends its all over for these original story posts sry to tell u #ash does shit

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eirikrjs · 4 years

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The Satanael Solution

An anon recently sent me their own take on Satanael in P5, beginning with this simple question:

This has been on my mind for some time, but who does Satanael’s compendium entry refer to?

An archangel who is said to be the form of Satan before he fell from Heaven. The second son of God, he rebelled against Him for freedom and bestowed free will and chaos upon humanity.

It got me thinking about it as well. About drawing from the same old wells, that is. If you recall, the book Angels: An Endangered Species by Malcolm Godwin, a tome of dubious character and specious content, seems to be why SMT claims Metatron is violent and why Gabriel became female in SMT2. Keep in mind that this is a book cited in official Atlus bibliographies!

To answer the anon’s question, the “who” is still Satanael. Unsurprisingly, the book also contains the sum total of all Atlus descriptions and depictions of Satanael. The quality of that information is a whole different story, though. If you want to take a shortcut, check out the book excerpts above and keep the Satanael profile and his role in P5 in mind while you do.

Read on to find out lots more!

First, here is the anon’s original submission:

_______________________________________________________

This has been on my mind for some time, but who does Satanael’s compendium entry refer to?

An archangel who is said to be the form of Satan before he fell from Heaven. The second son of God, he rebelled against Him for freedom and bestowed free will and chaos upon humanity.

Most of it is vague enough to be applicable to any devil figure. But the ‘second son of God’ bit kind of makes concrete identification problematic. The Bogomil Satanail, from what I can find, is the first son of God, with Michael-Jesus being the second. The 2 Enoch Satanail, if I remember correctly, never has his order of birth/creation discussed.

Then there’s this bit from Megaten wiki:

In some Gnostic traditions, Satanael is said to be an angel that once served the Demiurge. He rebelled when he realized that the Demiurge was not the true God and granted humanity the knowledge to liberate themselves from the Demiurge.

Is there any basis for this? This story is parroted on TV-tropes and in YouTube comments, but I can’t for the life of me find anything that would corroborate this tale.

Honestly, the best candidate I found is a Satan figure named Beliar from “Questions of Bartholomew”. Let's see how he stacks to the compendium entry:

An archangel who is said to be the form of Satan before he fell from Heaven. Check. Straight up, pre-fall - Satanael, post-fall - Beliar.

The second son of God, Kind of. He repeatedly says how he was the first angel. However (if I correctly understood notes on this page), the Vienna Manuscript version of “Questions of Bartholomew” has him mention that before angels were created, God had his Son. That would make Satanael the second son (if angels = sons of God).

he rebelled against Him for freedom Again, kind of. He rebelled because he refused to worship Adam, which can be interpreted as refusing to follow what he saw an arbitrary order from the authority figure, which in turn can be seen as bid for freedom.

and bestowed free will and chaos upon humanity. Yet again, kind of. He poisoned the water in Eden with his sweat (and hair in some versions), Eve drank it and it corrupted her. I guess the episode with serpent and fruit of tree of knowledge of good and evil follows after that, with Satanael implicitly being the serpent there, but don’t quote me on that. So he introduced disobedience to God, which can be synonymized with chaos and free will.

Beliar’s story contains some narrative parallels with the scenes following the first gameplay segment of Persona 5.

Beliar:

Is brought in for Bartholomew’s interrogation by a very large number of angels (the number varies between versions).

Is chained.

Gets his neck stepped on.

Gives his original angelic name. Until then we only heard his demonic one.

Is forced to recount his tale of how he fell.

Said fall started with refusal to worship Adam, even though God commanded it.

The P5 protagonist:

Is captured and brought in by a very large number of cops.

Is handcuffed.

Gets his head stepped on by the bug-eyed cop.

Gives his civilian name (or rather we give it). Until then we only hear his thief codename.

Recounts his own “crimes”.

Said “crimes” started with confronting Shido, who by the will of society or societal order, which is metaphorically the decision-making God here, has a position that implies automatic respect for him (who also believed himself to be God’s chosen, unless that’s just a Japanese turn of phrase translated too literally).

Finally, Satanael-Beliar seems to have some Gnostic leanings himself, if this quote of his is anything to go by:

And when I came from the ends of the earth Michael said: Worship thou the image of God, which he hath made according to his likeness. But I said: I am fire of fire, I was the first angel formed, and shall worship clay and matter?

Disdain for the materialistic is one of the more common tenets of Gnostic traditions. So I could see this Satanael not getting along with a very materialism-oriented Yaldabaoth, if you put them in the same room (I believe there is a bit more going on in this confrontation, but I’ll save that for another time, when I have the quotes to back up my assumptions).

So, what do you think? Is this a plausible take?

________________________________________________________

First, a fantastic exercise in research! Is it plausible? Probably not. That said, mentioning Beliar/Belial brings up an interesting aside. Here is his profile in the SMT1 remakes:

"Origin: Israel. The fallen angel Satanel. He is known as the prince of lies and swindling. He rides a chariot of fire and has the appearance of two soft-spoken angels. However, contrary to his appearance, he is one of the most evil and lowly beings that exists. It is said that he is the one who brought immorality to Sodom and Gammorah."

Like you said, the Questions of Bartholomew says that Beliar’s/Satan’s pre-fall name is Satanael. That’s the only reason for this blurb in Belial’s profile which is otherwise just the Goetia description. Unfortunately, the Questions of Bartholomew Satanael is still just another devil figure in a Christian worldview, i.e., he’s bad news. And definitely not a demiurge or associated with a demiurge.

As for how Atlus themselves sees Satanael, here’s his profile from Kaneko Pandemonium volume 1:

And machine-transcribed:

サタナエル【キリスト教】サタナエルは、サタナイルとも呼ばれる悪魔で、元は神の息子でキリストと兄弟であるとされる。一説ではうサタンの正式名称ともされている。神の座を奪おうと、サタナエルは天使の3分の1を巻き込んで谋反を起こそうとしたが、未然に発覚してしまい、神により仲間の天使たちとともに天界から追放された。このことから様な異教の神と重ね合わされ、七つの大罪 (高慢・怠惰・羨望・好色・怨念・大食・貪欲) のすべてを司る存在となった。追放されたサタナエルは仲間とともに「第二の天」であるこの世界を作ったという。【登場作品】デビルサマナーソウルハッカーズ [Lv.70/Dark-Chaos]

And machine-translated with some corrections:

Satanael [Christianity] Satanael is a devil also called Satanail and is said to be the son of God and a brother to Christ. According to one theory, it is the formal name of Satan. In order to take the throne of God, Satanael tried to provoke a rebellion involving one-third of the angels, but it was discovered and he was banished from heaven with fellow angels. For this, he was conflated with pagan gods and presided over all Seven Deadly Sins (pride, laziness, envy, lust, hatred, gluttony, and greed). The exiled Satanael is said to have created this world, the "second heaven", with his associates. [Appearances] Devil Summoner Soul Hackers [Lv.70/Dark-Chaos]

So, the non-traditional claims about Satanael are thus:

son of God, brother to Christ

equated with “fallen” deities

he who rules over the Seven Deadly Sins

the creator this world

And here’s the P5 profile for convenience, which is just a condensed version of what you just read:

An archangel who is said to be the form of Satan before he fell from Heaven. The second son of God, he rebelled against Him for freedom and bestowed free will and chaos upon humanity.

That brings us to the source, the Angels book. Note that most of the time when the book says “Satan-el,” it’s just usually as a formality, indeed as the “formal name” of vanilla “accuser” Satan, particularly Satan as angel. I think. Confusingly, note that this “Satan-el” is claimed to also contain with him “Satan”; also he is equated with all the identities and deeds of every other demon named. This use of Satan-el by Godwin seems to have caused a key mistranslation into Japanese conflating his universal figure with the Satanael of Jewish apocrypha, hence the bizarre claims about Satanael in Pandemonium.

Anyway, some revealing Angels quotes from the above scans:

As son of God, brother to Christ:

Equated with other deities:

7 sins in one:

Satan-el as the demiurge (but not creator of “second heaven”; unsure where that comes from):

They totally cribbed from Angels for this profile! And on this last excerpt Godwin seems to casually assume that the all-encompassing baddie Satan-el is absolutely the same as the Gnostic demiurge. Also throughout the whole book, anything supernatural that isn’t a god he interprets as an angel, like Sophia here (but also valkyries; see the Lucifer page). Like I said in one of the other Angels posts, this book may have informed a lot of SMT’s preferential attitude towards wild comparative equivalences.

But most distressingly, Angels does NOT have a bibliography of any kind, just a few books mentioned in its acknowledgements (I investigated those but none mention Satanael in any great capacity). So, it’s impossible to verify where Godwin got his information, if he didn’t just make stuff up. I don’t make that accusation lightly, as the book contains many examples of far-out interpretations that have no basis in tradition.

For one, check out the final paragraph of the above two-page spread on Lucifer for some classic conflation of Hell with the Norse Hel(heim) and a seemingly earnest admission from the author that Helheim is a real place (at least a cave where Norse rituals took place--where is he getting this information???). So basically, this is not a book you want to read for facts, much less one you want to rely on for accurate portrayal of angels or demons.

But besides the profile this also explains other things like the Sinful Shell in P5 that is supposed to represent all 7 sins. But that move could have been called anything; most reading this probably know that P5′s Satanael was meant to be Lucifer and Arsene was originally Mephisto, along with Yaldabaoth being called Metatron in the game files. So that original progression was "minor devil figure --> major devil figure; rebels against the angel called ‘lesser YHWH.’“ It makes a lot of sense!

But considering how broadly Godwin attributes all manner of evil things to Satanael yet is still somehow the original Satan of Judaism/Christianity, switching Lucifer to Satanael was probably about as complex as this hypothetical exchange:

A: What’s another name for Lucifer?

B: Satanael?

A: Perfect!

By the information they had at hand, Satanael is essentially just another name for the general capital-D “Devil” they seemed to want for P5 all along but changed for whatever reason, probably a result of making the first tier personas thief-themed.

As for the Gnostic connections and this quote that is on the Megaten wiki and elsewhere:

I’ve never found any basis for this. It doesn’t seem like Atlus intended for this, either. And even in Angels, Satanael is the demiurge, not a rebel against it!

My guess it’s just fan speculation from misinterpreting sources and names; also fan expectations because the previous two Persona games had comprehensive mythological theming, so P5 must have it too, right? Atlus’ reply to that seems to be “not necessarily.” Even with Lucifer and Metatron removed, the point of P5′s persona arcs still seems to be angel rebelling against deity, even if the particulars of the conflict have no basis in an actual myth.

Finally, as for Soul Hackers’ Satanael, his role is so slight and appearance so brief he doesn’t seem like an aggrandized demiurgical being. A trio with Samyaza and Azazel, this appearance falls in line as a typical Watcher/fallen angel like from 2 Enoch rather than anything more.

What a confusing mess! This one is on Godwin, I have to say. At the time the research for Soul Hackers was happening, Angels would have still been a relatively new book. Atlus just doing their best with wild interpretations and misinformation.

#satanael #persona 5 #Shin Megami Tensei #atlus #megaten #soul hackers #angels #smt #p5

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borealis-strange · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1: Better off alone

Summary:

— Darling, we've already talked about this. I know you miss your old school, at least try to see the positive side of it, you will surely make a lot of friends —

Regina didn't want new friends, she didn't need them. She wanted to go back to her old neighborhood and her old school. After the divorce of her parents, her mother believed that they could use a change of environment.

It was probably for the best, but Regina didn't care. All this change was making things even more difficult than they already were.

Notes: Inspired by @bambirexwrites and a dream I had the other day, I decided to write this. I know it's not amazing, it's more like an experiment to write something without any fantasy elements in it.

Also, I don't know how schools in the UK work, so I based this a little bit in my own experience.If people like this, I'll consider continue writing it. (Even though I don't know how to continue it

P.S: I'm terrible at descriptions ;-;

— Do I really have to go? — Asked Regina.

Regina's mother sighed heavily.

They were both in the car on their way to "The Queen Academy", Regina's new school.

— Darling, we've already talked about this. I know you miss your old school, at least try to see the positive side of it, you will surely make a lot of friends —

It was probably for the best, but Regina didn't care. All this change was making things even more difficult than they already were.

Regina sighed heavily and pressed her face against the glass. Neither spoke for several minutes while the radio was in the background.

Regina watched her from the car window, it was quite imposing. The school was huge, gray in color.

— Well ... It's time for you to come in — said her mother — Good luck darling —she said as she kissed Regina on the forehead.

Regina just gave him a smile. She took her things, and got out of the car.

"It looks more like a prison than a school" Regina thought before entering.

The hallway was packed with girls, all in the same boring school uniform. The same gray skirt, the same ugly sweater, and the same uncomfortable shoes. Regina already had the first reason for her to miss her old school, there they allowed them to go with the clothes that she wanted. In addition to the fact that here it was mandatory to go with your hair up.

After wandering the drab hallways she found her classroom. With a bit of nerves she entered.

The classroom was small, with only 20 seats. There were a few girls talking, and others were already sitting in their places. They didn't even turn to see Regina, which she thanked internally.

She quickly scanned the room for a seat without an owner. The only available spot was next to a curly-haired girl at the back of the room. Regina walked over, avoiding tripping over the other benches, and sat down next to the girl.

The girl had her head stuck in a book, it had to be very interesting, because she didn't even flinch when Regina arrived.

"Should I say something?" The blonde considered "It would be rude of me not to"

— Hi — She greeted her classmates — I'm Regina Taylor, nice to meet you — she said with a smile on her face.

The girl looked up, revealing her hazel eyes.

"What beautiful eyes" Regina thought as she held her breath.

—I'm Brianna — She said returning the smile — Brianna May. You're the new girl, right?

Regina nodded awkwardly, still lost in Brianna's eyes. Why was her heart pounding so hard?

—Yes… yes it's me — Regina stammered quickly when she realized that she was still staring at Brianna — My mom thought it was a good idea to change schools at the last minute. And ... well ... Here I am — Regina said nervously.

"God, I already ruined my first impression" Regina thought as she mentally beat herself up.

— Did you change your school two weeks after you started? — Asked Brianna puzzled.

Regina forced herself to laugh a little.

— Yes and no. I didn't actually go to school at the beginning of the semester. I just moved here and well ... my mom and I were busy with all this stuff —

— So ... you don't know the city? —

Regina shook her head.

— I could show you the city one day. If you want ... of course —

— It would be nice — Brianna looked at her strangely — I mean ... it would be fine —

They talked for a while while they waited for their teacher to arrive. Not about relevant things but to get to know each other a little better. Favorite music, movies, a bit of their family, the usual. Regina discovered that they had a lot in common, a great love for music, especially Rock and the dream of becoming a rockstar. In addition, she learned that Brianna had a great passion for the universe and its origins, which she found adorable.

— Good morning ladies — A woman entered, interrupting her conversation — As soon as she entered all the girls fell silent immediately.

The class was about classic literature.

In itself, Regina did not care much about these things and the teacher did not do anything to make her interested. She had the most monotonous and boring voice she had ever heard. Regina had to fight not to fall asleep.

Not to give a bad image to Brianna, who paid attention and took notes of everything she wanted. So she did everything she could to stay awake, mainly to draw pictures in her notebook.

______________

— You must be quick if you want to eat something in the cafeteria — Brianna recommended as they walked through the corridors of the school — It fills with girls when you least expect it. The only good thing is that this teacher lets us leave her class early.—

The cafeteria was small, compared to the rest of the school, with only about ten tables.

They approached the bar to order their food.

Regina ordered a chicken sandwich while Brianna ordered a salad

When the food was delivered, they both found a table clean enough to sit on.

The food was good, rather, better than Regina had expected. In her old school the food was disgusting, many times she did not even know that they were supposed to be serving (which is why Regina preferred to bring her own food)

Out of nowhere a girl with short black hair approaches their table. Behind her came a girl with brown hair.

— Hi Brie — Said the girl with dark hair — Do you mind if we sit here? — Asked the girl as she sat down

— Great! — The girl exclaimed before Brie could say something.

The black-haired girl turned to see Regina. She looked her up and down with a look of disgust. Regina didn't even know where to look.

— You're the new one, right? — Asked the girl. Regina nodded slowly — I'm Freddie, nice to meet you — she said with the most fake smile Regina had ever seen. — And this is Joanna, my best friend — She pointed to the girl who sat next to her.

Joanna waved sheepishly.

—I'm Regina — she said, hesitating with her words. — Pleased to meet you?

Regina sought comfort from Brianna but she didn't say anything. She must already know Freddie and Joanna, although she didn't seem very happy with their presence.

For the rest of the recess, Freddie kept talking about things that didn't matter to Regina at all. Every time Regina tried to change the subject, Freddie wouldn't let her and kept talking. She didn't even understand what she was talking about, it was about fashion or something. She reminded her of their first class teacher, only with much more exaggerated movements.

After what seemed like forever, the bell rang, saving Regina from having to keep listening to Freddie.

________________

Finally, there was only one class left so Regina could go home after a long and boring day.

She was in her classroom, waiting for her chemistry teacher. Regina was copying some notes from the first few weeks that Brianna had lent her. Which she greatly appreciated.

Out of the corner of her eye Regina saw Freddie and Joanna leave the room, in the most suspicious way possible.

"What are the two of them up to?" Regina thought.

In a fit of curiosity, or stupidity, she decided to follow them. Regina had never trusted Freddie, even though he had only lived with her once, but she knew he had nothing good in mind.

— Wait for me a minute — Regina told Brianna before leaving the classroom.

She watched as the girls walked carefully, probably so no one would see them. Regina did the same

Freddie and Joanna entered an office and closed the door behind them.

Regina made sure no one was around so she could look out the small window in the door. She saw how Freddie seemed to be looking for something. She opened and closed drawers, carefully sifting through the papers.

She didn't want to be that classmate who accused the others, but Freddie's behavior was unacceptable.

— What are you doing? — Regina asked as soon as she opened the door

Freddie stopped searching and turned to see the blonde.

— What are you doing here? — Freddie asked annoyed, putting his hands on her waist.

— I'm asking you the same. What are you doing in Professor Reid's office? —

— None of your concern — Freddie said as she rolled his eyes

The door flew open, revealing Brianna's curly hair.

— What are you doing here? — Brianna asked closing her door behind her.

— What are you doing here? — Freddie questioned.

— I asked first — Brianna snapped.

— And I ... asked later —

— You can not be here. We have class and you are doing who knows what —

— Well, I do what I want —

Regina wanted to scold Freddie but Brianna did it first. In a few seconds, the office became a sea of shouting and insults. One said something, the other answered and it was a never ending story.

—Girls — Joanna said in a small voice trying to get their attention.

They completely ignored her, they kept fighting as if she didn't exist.

— Girls — she tried one more time without success.

— Girls! — Joanna finally yelled.

— WHAT!? — Said the three in unison, turning to see her.

Once she had the attention of her classmates she was willing to speak but someone suddenly opened the door.

It was Professor Reid. All the girls froze not knowing what to do.

The teacher watched them one by one until she finally broke the silence.

— Come with me ladies — ordered the teacher.

The girls only limited themselves to seeing each other.

The teacher led them through the desolate corridors of the school. Regina was becoming more and more tense, it was just her first day and she had already gotten into trouble, her mother would kill her as soon as she got home.

They finally made it to the principal's office. The teacher knocked lightly on the door and entered. The teacher approached the headmistress.

The girls stood near the door not knowing what to do.

— Madame Graves — The teacher began — These four ladies were in MY office during class hours. I don't know what their intentions were but I assure you they are not good —

Madame Graves looked at them one by one. Regina only limited herself to biting her lower lip until she felt the metallic taste of her blood.

—Leave me alone with the ladies — said Madame Graves and the teacher left, leaving the girls alone.

The air in the room felt heavy. Regina could barely breathe properly. Madame Graves still didn't say anything, she just looked at them coldly. The seconds went on for hours until the headmistress finally spoke.

— Ladies... — The principal finally spoke — Can I know what were you doing in your teacher's office —

None wanted to speak. Regina knew perfectly well her reasons but not Freddie and Joanna's. They were probably looking to change a grade. Regina quickly dismissed that idea, it was barely two weeks into the new semester. Maybe they were looking for something? It was most likely.

— Is there no reason? — Questioned Madame Graves.

None of the girls spoke. Again they avoided the cold gaze of the headmistress.

— Okay — said Madame Graves — So you don't want to talk, I suppose you will be in detention — Madame Graves got up from her seat — An hour after class, during this week and the next, you will start from today. Are you ok with it?

Regina knew it was an inordinate punishment for what they had done, but she didn't want to raise her voice. Not even Freddie complained.

— Very good. I will accompany you for your stuff to your classroom and then we will go to the library. —

The headmistress escorted them to the classroom. Madame said something to the chemistry teacher before letting them pass.

Regina felt the gaze of the other girls on the back of her neck. She quickly gathered her things up, trying not to look anyone in the eye, and left.

Once everyone had their backpacks, the director led them to the library.

— Leave your backpacks outside — indicated the headmistress — Here you will stay for the next three hours. I will notify your parents of your punishment. You can read a little if you like. Well ... I’ll leave you —

Madame Graves was about to leave when she turned around.

— By the way, don't try anything, the librarian will be watching you — And she finally left.

The library had several long tables and at the back were all the bookshelves.

Freddie and Joanna sat at one of the tables, Brianna and Regina sat across from them.

Freddie would occasionally look at Regina with some resentment and she would look back at her.

It could be her first day but Regina already hated Freddie. It was her fault that they had been punished. Maybe it was partly her fault, she had gone to see what they were doing.

Freddie continued to look at Regina in disgust. She reminded her of those high school girls who bothered her so much but this time she wouldn't be quiet.

— Do you have any problem? — Regina questioned.

Freddie watched her and just wrinkled his nose in disgust.

— Do you want to stop that attitude? — Regina snapped

— What attitude? — Freddie put a hand on her chest as if she didn't know what Regina was talking about.

— That attitude — Regina pointed out — You look at me like I'm the one to blame —

— Well, yes you are, dear. If you hadn't gone spying on us, they wouldn't have punished us—

Regina closed her eyes and breathed heavily. This little girl was trying her patience.

— And who was the one who went to the teacher's office? —

Freddie just rolled his eyes.

— Besides, why did you go? — Regina questioned.

— It's none of your business — Freddie replied dismissively.

— Well now it is my business because they punished me because of you — Regina practically spat with poison.

Freddie avoided her gaze and clicked his tongue

— I went to look for something that they took from me, okay? — Freddie confessed with annoyance.

— And that you went to find what was so important —

— A pack of cigarettes, okay? And stop bothering with that — she crossed his arms over her chest and looked away.

Regina blinked a few times puzzled by Freddie's response. Of all the reasons she came to consider that was the least expected of her. They were 17 years old, where did she get a pack of cigarettes from? And why would she risk punishment for something so foolish? Also, if she had a box of cigars taken away, wouldn't they have suspended or even expelled her r? Unless she was lying and was looking for something else, and from the look Joanna gave Freddie she suspected that was the correct answer from her.

She preferred not to inquire further, she was already fed up with that matter. All she wanted was for this to end as soon as possible.

#incomplete loves #fem queen #king au #queen #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #fanfic #my writing #my story

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