#i think just one more round of bleaching should be enough | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanoincidence · 1 month

Text

Not the Right Banshee(s) Pt. 1 || Van, Jade, Max & Tina

TIMING: current. LOCATION: regan's apartment. PARTIES: @highoctanegem @vanoincidence & the terrible twins (max and tina). SUMMARY: jade is dropping van off after work, but what's waiting for both of them comes as a bit of a surprise. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

The apartment probably smelled like her, from the time they all packed mice together. The place probably had one minuscule teeny tiny bit of glass scattered somewhere from the time she exploded a glass of Sprite. There was probably a strand of bleached blonde waiting to be found. Jade doubted Van and Thea were too meticulous with their cleaning. So Jade couldn’t, she just couldn’t get herself to go up to that second floor. Even though Van had asked every night she’d brought her home from work. It would be fine, okay? Everybody who ever went through a gay girl breakup knew how intense everything felt at first. (Not that… they weren’t dating dating) (But…) And sure, her cats and blasting CRJ were the only things injecting dopamine into her system these days. But she’d be bouncing in no time! She was Jade. She did not mope.

She waved Van goodbye, watching her walk up to her apartment, refusing to go until she saw the lights turn on. And then, satisfied with her friend’s safety Jade lowered her face shield. She considered doing a round or two of deliveries and calling it a night. But something flashier caught her attention before she could find her phone: A lonely woman in the corner of the street. She looked a little lost, so of course, Jade had to be kind and helpful, cause maybe she could kickstart her rebound tour if she played her cards right. She lifted her shield again, hoping her eyes still sparkled, and flashed a confident grin. “A little late to be out at night, babe. Can I help you with anything?”

Regan Kavanagh was sloppy. It was the first thing Max learned about her, back when they were training together. She’d been so embarrassed for Regan. It was sad, really — to be activated at such an old age. Regan had been practically geriatric in human terms. Didn’t they only live a few decades? Max had tried to keep this in mind at first, had tried to cut Regan some slack, but… she was so sloppy. She’d proven as much in her childish escape from Saol Eile, and proven it all the more in the mess she’d left behind in this pathetic, human town. An apartment with her name on it, two children living inside. What did she expect to happen? How did she think this would end?

So, Max had been watching the apartment. There was so little room for error here. She was to prove herself, to bring pride to her mother, to prove that she was worthy of the gift Regan Kavanagh had tried to toss aside. The children in the apartment needed to die, but so did anyone else who knew about them. Killing them first could spark panic, lead to problems. It would be sloppy. And Max wasn’t sloppy.

There was a woman. She dropped off one of the apartment’s occupants sometimes. Max had done some digging the first night she saw her. People in this town were fond of social media, and this woman — Jade — was no different. And, like many Wicked’s Rest occupants, Regan Kavanagh was all over the woman’s blog. Fate, she couldn’t believe it. How was Regan this bad at something that should have been her birthright? Wasn’t she humiliated by it? She should thank Max for what she was about to do. She should be so grateful.

Max forced a smile onto her face as Jade approached. She wasn’t particularly good at it, but she’d learned to use her youth as an advantage. No one seemed to suspect young girls of anything. Foolish. “Aye, I’m a bit lost, actually,” Max replied, Irish lilt raising the words. “Maybe you can help me out. Mind if I borrow your phone?” She just needed Jade to get close enough to touch. Then, things could be over quickly. It was kind of her, really, to plan on doing this fast. Usually, Max preferred to play with her food. Maybe she’d ask Tina to incapacitate the two upstairs so they could take it slow with them.

Even if Regan hadn’t visited the apartment often (aside from when bringing mice inside), it still felt weird to live there without her in town. She should’ve gotten used to it by now– the way it felt more like the doctor’s home than her own, despite being void of any trace of her. Van was grateful, at least, that Jade hadn’t stopped taking her home at the very least. After waving her goodbye, she pushed through the door, kicking it to a close behind her.

“Um…” Her heartbeat picked up a tick and she flexed her fingers against the tote bag she still had pulled over her shoulder. “Are you…” Why had she been sitting in the dark? That was weird, too. “Who are you?” Van frowned, noticing that the woman was wearing shoes indoors. “Hey, that’s not very polite.”

She’d hated Regan forever. Regan was a bad banshee, and Regan was old, and that was stupid. Max thought so, and so Tina did too. She’d spent so much of their classes rolling her eyes, whispering to her sister and laughing. Both when Regan wasn’t looking and when she was sure that she was. To make matters worse, she’d ended up in some stupid human town in stupid Maine of all places. Didn’t she know that American humans were some of the worst there were?

There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation when she and Max were offered the chance to come to the town. It was another chance to prove just how good she was, to help everyone back home, and to make her mother proud. Tina also wanted Max to be proud of her. Her sister was absolutely perfect, and once she’d forgotten the name of the bone in your little toe and her sister never would (what did it matter that she’d thought there was a special name). So when they’d found the apartment, where mice used to be, she’d been delighted. They could get rid of stupid tiny humans that Regan was apparently fond of, and be on their way. The very fact that Regan had moved the dead mice was unforgivable, and a reason to kill someone in return, and it wasn’t like human lives mattered. Besides, Tina wanted to look at the metatarsal bones in a human’s foot. It seemed like it’d be fun to do.

She’d broken into the apartment while her sister went off to find some lady named after a stone, and she’d ripped one of the pillows on one of the chairs apart when she’d first noticed that the mice weren’t there. Gods, she was going to murder Regan when she got her hands on the traitor. Still, Max was outside somewhere, and Tina sat herself down on one of their chairs, arms crossed, legs crossed, a grin covering her lips when the door opened. It was only one of the stupid tiny humans who borrowed the apartment from Regan, who’d somehow gotten Regan to care about them, like the failure she was.

And this human had the audacity to call her ‘not very polite’. Tina fought away the urge to break her neck right away. It was important to take your time, to have fun. “Van, oh my god!” She put on as falsely cheerful of a tone as she could, Irish lilt incredibly present. “I’ve been wanting to meet you! This is where I say bestie, isn’t it?”

Jade unbuckled her helmet, hanging it on one of the handles. It would be super rude to approach and not show her face. How else would the stranger know Jade was super friendly and super down to have fun? And look, she had to keep saying it, okay? It was the only way it’d start to feel true. And that was the only way she’d eventually move on. She had to move on. (The ring on her left hand signaled otherwise) (But…baby steps). Unfortunately for Jade, upon closer inspection this lost woman looked pretty young, actually, dashing all hopes she had of taking the first step towards getting over Regan. Oh well, too bad. She tried!

The Irish accent did something, okay? Her knees went a little weak. Regan didn’t even have a strong accent, but… but. She was in that ‘everything reminds me of her’ stage. (Which now included a broom with a white brush, a chicken wing, and Wednesdays). But that was totally different from moping, cause she did not mope. Back to what mattered, Jade wanted to be super helpful and nice to the young girl. She watched Barbie, she knew all about girl solidarity. There was less sway on her hips, now that gay thoughts were out of the way. “Yup, totes, hang on,” she reached inside her leather jacket, pulled out her phone, and handed it to the girl without wasting a moment. (And…Oh. Right. She should probably change her lockscreen too, if she was serious about moving on). “I’m Jade, by the way” she grinned, extending her hand, “and I can totally give you a ride if you have somewhere else to go. I was dropping off my friend”.

Max was all poised to grab the woman by the wrist and end the whole thing right then and there. A solid scream would do it, just one yell. But… she happened to glance down at the phone, to catch sight of the lockscreen and find Regan’s face staring back up at her. The very sight of it filled her with a rage she didn’t quite understand, made treacherous emotions swirl in her stupid chest. Because it wasn’t fair, was it? None of it was bloody fair.

Regan had no idea how lucky she’d been. In Saol Eile, she’d been treasured. She’d been a tool so often utilized, so much so that Max had often found herself envious in a way she’d never admit to. She was a better banshee than Regan was — a better banshee than Tina, too, though she felt less like bragging over that — and yet Regan had been desirable. A doctor, as if that wasn’t a shameful thing to be. So how was it fair that Regan could come here, to this stupid little town with these stupid little people, and find herself treasured all over again? How was it fair that some woman had Regan as her lockscreen on her phone in a way that was just as telling as it would have been to wear a locket with her photo around her throat? Max had known that Regan was a failure. But to this extent?

A swift death with a single scream didn’t seem right anymore. Max was angry, though she shouldn’t have been. Max was annoyed, though she was above such things. Max wanted to make this stranger hurt because Max wanted to make Regan hurt, because nothing about any of this was fair. Regan should have to pay for everything she’d done, for betraying a people who had only ever been looking out for her.

The banshee’s smile was sharp, and she turned the phone to face the woman, lockscreen like an accusation. “She’s pretty,” she commented. “Shame she’s such a disappointment, isn’t it?”

“How do you know my name?” Van stared at her, keys dangling between pinched fingers. She’d seen on tik tok how to use them as a weapon, but was it fucked up to use them on another woman? Then again, she had killed two women. She was not the good person she wanted to pretend to be. She was a woman killer, all things considered– though, she hoped this wouldn’t be another. She willed the anxiety to subside, to not create a black hole beneath the girl in the chair that would ultimately swallow her whole. “I only have like, two best friends. Maybe three, or four. I don’t know.” The number was growing, but something told her that this stranger didn’t actually care about that.

Van flattened her back against the door, sweat dotting the back of her neck as uncertainty made her stomach roll. She quickly grabbed her phone out of her pocket and texted Jade. Somebody is inside of Regan’s apartment. If this were anything like a horror movie, she’d look up from her phone and the girl would be standing in front of her with a knife or something. Van half expected it as she looked up from her home screen. “I um– do you– are you here for Thea? She doesn’t live here anymore.” Maybe this was all being blown out of proportion. Maybe the girl in the chair knew her because Thea actually had brought her over! Or, based on her accent, maybe this was a long lost cousin to Regan who was bringing her the postcards she had asked for!

“Why wouldn’t I know your name, Van. Van, but not like the car!” Tina’s voice rose to a pitch that she thought her mother would’ve been proud of. Except what mummy dearest would be most proud of would be if she could murder this girl and clean up Regan’s giant mess. Regan had always made messes, and yet back home, people had like, worshiped her. Which made no sense. Not when she’d become a banshee when she was so old and, on top of everything, and been a traitor. Which was why Tina knew she had to murder the little girl in Regan’s mouse-less apartment.

“Well, you could make that ‘or four’ into an ‘or five’ if you wanted to?” Tina bat her eyelashes before pushing herself up from the chair. “I’m here for you and Thea actually. Special double fun.” She began wandering around the apartment, turning on her heels every so often. “I wanted you both to show me fun together. Pretty please?” Her lips formed a perfect pout (she’d practiced, because apparently humans were easily swayed by this sort of thing). “I just wanted to have fun, and you’re so,” abhorrent, “like, totally gorgeous.” Her stomach turned at that, but she wouldn’t let that get to her. “So I think pretty people can have more fun than ugly people, right? Is that crass of me?”

Jade’s smile turned bittersweet, looking at the lock screen. “She’s my… we were…” Thanks to this stranger, at least she realized now, how weird it was to still have her picture there. And actually, her smile disappeared completely with the follow-up comment. Her gaze flickered to the girl. Rude? But also… familiar. “Um, she’s not a… why would you say that?” Jade didn’t particularly care, at this point. She’d decided to stall, cause the vibes were definitely not great anymore. Was it cause this girly had the nerve to insult her… Regan in a very specific way? Partly, but also, the accent, and the… slow heartbeat. And the fact that she’d been standing there the whole time while she and Van said goodbye. Fine, maybe she did have some of that slayer paranoia (Emilio might be proud).

Possibly the worst (or best, depending where you looked it from) timing of all time, her phone lit up with a notification, Regan’s face coming to life again. Van. What could Van be texting about so soon after going inside? Did she forget something in Jade’s delivery box? She could see the preview easily, even if the stranger still had her phone. Somebody is inside of Regan… she read. Well, not anymore, technically. She looked up to the second floor. Finishing the equation: The stranger, the accent, the insult, someone inside Regan’s… apartment. And sure, it could all be a giant misunderstanding they could laugh about later, but for now, for Van, she’ll think of worst-case scenarios. “Change of plans!” she said cheerfully, beaming at the stranger. “My friend wants me to stay. We’re getting pizza, watching a movie. So, maybe I’ll call you an Uber or something, yeah? Here let me…” She reached for her phone, attempting to get it back.

We were… Were what? Max could make some assumptions, of course, the kind that made disgust curl up like a living thing in her stomach. There was something else to it, too, something far uglier.

For a moment, she remembered being a child. Young enough to remain unactivated, scampering around with Tina and aware of the massive weight of duty on her back even if she’d had no way to comprehend the magnitude of it just yet. She remembered the boy she and her sister used to play with, the way she’d loved him. She and Tina argued once about which of them would marry him someday. It was a childish notion, a foolish one. She should have known better. She still remembered the way it felt when their mother plunged the blade into that boy’s chest, still remembered her first scream bubbling up from her throat and ripping out of her mouth.

Regan should have known better, too.

The only real shame to all this, Max thought, was that Regan couldn’t be here to witness it. She could have learned something from this, the same way Max and Tina had learned something from that worthless boy’s blood staining the grass. Maybe there was some way to pass along the lesson. Would Regan recognize Jade’s finger if Max brought it back to her? Or would an ear be a better option?

The phone in Max’s hand lit up, and she glanced down to the notification. Ah. So the child upstairs had met Tina. Max made a mental note to chastise her sister later for not taking the child’s phone first. Tina was lucky that Max already had Jade occupied; otherwise, things could have gotten far messier.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Max held the phone behind her back and out of reach with one hand. With the other, she pulled a long, thin knife from her pocket. “We’re only just starting to have fun, aren’t we? I’d hate for you to miss it. If you’re good, I’ll even take you to see Regan again.” Her eyes flickered down to Jade’s fingers, the sharp smile on her lips widening a little. “Parts of you, at least.”

Van winced at the increased pitch of the girl’s voice. Maybe she didn’t have a great memory, but Van felt like she remembered some things. Specifically girls, especially brunettes. She stared at the stranger, eager to match the face to a name she might have forgotten. Was this Diana’s friend? But then she’d mentioned Thea, and Thea had no idea Diana existed. If this were any less creepy then maybe Van would’ve fallen victim to the way the girl bat her lashes, but if there was one thing about Van, it was that she was perpetually anxious– always thinking that the person in front of her had ulterior motives. “I don’t…”

She looked down at her phone to see if there was any response from Jade, but there was nothing. Disappointed, she texted again, come back and give me an excuse to leave!!!! Van hoped that she’d get a reply. “That is kind of rude…” Van blinked at the girl, astonished by the way she didn’t seem to care about the implications of what she was saying. How could somebody be so rude? “I think I’m actually– you know, I’ll let um, I’ll let Thea know you came by? But I have to actually go back to work. My boss told me to come back.” She waved her now locked phone in front of her, reaching for the door knob. “Feel free to like, hang out!” She opened the door, making an attempt to slip through.

This human was so lame. Not even finishing sentences. Tina wondered which part of her would be best to bring back to Regan. A clavicle was always nice. It would involve a decent bit of work too, which was fun. Not that Tina was here to have fun, but if she just so happened to have fun amidst everything else, that was a more than alright coincidence.

“Why’s it rude if it’s true?” She batted her eyelashes at this useless waste of a child. She’d been close to a waste of a child, once. Though Tina firmly believed that she’d never been a waste. Her and Max’s mother had to have truly pleased Fate in order to be blessed with daughters, and so the little boy who they both fell in love with, whose freckles practically glowed in the sun, well, he had to die. Tina had nearly given herself a scar on her hand from her brief, stupid attempt to keep from screaming. She wanted to scream, though at first it had been more out of horror before it transformed into something beautiful.

“I don’t like liars.” She pouted. “Liars are awful, and what would Regan think if she knew that someone she loved,” Tina gagged, “was such a big baby of a liar?” Now Van was trying to slip through the door and Tina slammed it shut. “No. Nuh-uh. You’re not leaving. Well, you might, but by the time you leave you won’t be a-waare of it.” Her voice turned sing-song.

Ugh. Was there anything worse than someone absolutely killing the vibe? Well, her being killed, probably. (But it was a tight competition. Neck to neck). Jade sighed, letting the woman hold the phone away from her. Using her height to her advantage was a little rude too. The way she pulled a knife, though? Hot! Objectively speaking. Jade could still appreciate a slay. And right, the math. So this chick totally knew Regan then, but she didn’t exactly sound fond of her. Which was a total red flag. Who wouldn’t be fond of Regan?

Wait. Was that… a threat to her fingers? As if this couldn’t get any worse. That was definitely a line being crossed. “Nuh-huh. These make people very happy, how about we negotiate different parts… I love banshees, you see. There’s no need for this to be an unpleasant affair…” Jade trailed off, hiding whatever nerves she might be feeling in an easy smile. She wasn’t worried about herself. Pft. If things got worse, she had that iron dagger Regan gave her concealed somewhere. (And actually… had Regan known something like this would happen?). But if she was being threatened with a knife, she didn’t wanna picture the same being done to Van. Van, who easily freaked out. Van, who melted chairs, and opened portals that swallowed people. Well, actually. Maybe that was exactly what they needed. But it wasn’t worth the risk. The longer she stayed chatting with the stranger (she didn’t even give a name, so rude) the chances of Van getting hurt increased.

“Look, I’m not the type of girl who pulls a knife on a pretty girl without their consent…” Instead of backing away, Jade approached, her eyes fixed on the woman, paying no attention to the knife in front of her. She let it poke against her abdomen, relying a little too heavily on the power of being a captivating speaker while she got a hold of the pommel on her back. “Unless they lack a heartbeat, I guess, then…fair game. Hey! What I’m trying to say here…I really don’t wanna hurt you. Certified banshee lover. Two out of two banshees prefer me. But—” she drew her iron dagger swiftly, and with a precise movement, she pushed it against the woman’s collarbone. Just the right pressure not to stab (she was a woman of her word). It would surely sting like a bitch, though. Jade clawed the back of her neck, keeping her in place. “I really want my phone back, and to check on my friend, pretty please? I don’t want this to go any deeper,” she taunted, with another jab of the blade.

The fact that this woman even uttered the word banshee was proof enough of the depth of Regan’s failure. For a human to be able to recognize one of them on so few context clues was disgraceful, and Max felt a burning forest fire of anger simmering in her chest. How much had Regan told her? How many secrets had she whispered between bedsheets, betraying her people over and over again with soft touches and quiet declarations? Max hated her more in this moment than she’d ever hated anyone else before. She wanted to take Jade apart piece by piece in retribution, wanted to make sure Regan knew that she’d died in pain and suffering. She was not allowed to have say in whatever punishment Regan was handed by those in charge back in Ireland, but she could punish her with this. She could make sure Regan suffered through the people she’d clearly been foolish enough to allow herself to love.

(Would Regan feel as Max had all those years ago when her mother’s blade found its home in the throat of a boy she’d been sure she loved? She barely remembered the feeling now, had forced away all the negative emotions associated with it in order to focus instead on the joy of activation, but Regan clearly didn’t possess such skills. For Regan, this would hurt the way Max wanted it to. There was some joy to be found in that.)

Her anger only increased when a blade was pressed against her throat; a blade of iron, if the burn was anything to go by. Had Regan shared this secret, too? Max’s lip curled up in an expression of disgust at the thought. “The dramhaíl you met in this town lost their right to call themselves banshees the moment they began spreading secrets to things like you,” she said lowly, tilting her head back slightly. There was no fear reflected in her eyes. If Max died here, it would only be because Fate willed it to be so. But… something told her she’d be just fine.

Quickly, she plunged the knife in her hand forwards, jerking her head back and away from Jade’s blade in the same fluid motion. She aimed to incapacitate rather than kill; Jade’s insolence and Regan’s affection for her had come together to forfeit any right the woman might have had for a swift death.

The mention of Regan made all of this fall apart. All of her previous thoughts about who this girl was practically blew up in her face. Van stared at the brunette, wide-eyed. What did she know about Regan? Was it really the postcards? Had Regan told her grandma about Van wanting to kick her in the knee? Were these Regan’s sisters? Nieces? Were they mad that she had suggested such a thing? No! Regan wouldn’t be a narc, not like that. She would definitely keep all of that a secret, right? “I’m not a liar. I just don’t think you’re very nice, and I don’t like not-so-nice people.” Van practically hissed out the words as she tried to put space between herself and the brunette.

She slipped away from the door, stepping towards the table that now had mismatched chairs surrounding it. So much for the new chairs, they’d be destroyed anyway. “Something super bad is going to happen if you don’t leave.” Maybe something would swallow them both up. Would Regan be upset with her for killing a family member? Then again, Van didn’t even know if they actually were family. They didn’t look anything alike.

Regan must have cared about this child. Tina found herself bristling at the thought. Not that she’d wanted Regan to care about her (that would be bad, to have someone like that care for her). Still, the fact that Regan had found people to care about just made Tina all the angrier, all the more ready to end this child’s life and send evidence of that to Regan. Maybe she’d splurge and get a sparkly ribbon. That would probably surprise Regan, and not in a fun way. “I am nice. Or, well, I can be.” Tina shrugged, “if I’m given enough reason to be.” Which as of right now, she was pretty sure she hadn’t been.

“Something bad will happen if I do leave, though.” Tina pouted. Well, bad for her. Maybe good for this child, though she was fairly sure it was considered bad like, in general. At least that’s what Max and their mother and everyone else back in Saol Eile. “Besides, I want to have fun with you.” She hadn’t said the word banshee, but if she had, then Tina would’ve had half a mind to snap her neck right then and there, even if it would ruin some beautiful bones. “So, you’re totally not getting me out of here, leathcheann. I really wouldn’t push your luck if I were you. Fate has a way of taking things into its own hands.”

The blade pricked against her abs as it went in, and Jade had to swallow the grunt scratching her throat, unwilling to give the stranger the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. (First the threat to her fingers, now going for her abs. It just felt a little homophobic, didn’t it? What did she have against her?). And like, it was hardly the worst way she’d ever been stabbed, but maybe she should save those thoughts and comparisons for when she wasn’t in fight mode, and she could really look at the wound. Which now felt sticky and warm against her shirt. UGH. Another shirt ruined.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” she whined, feeling the strain as she tried taking a full breath. Not too bad, still super annoying. She brandished her own dagger, forced to move past the sting. Alright, Jade had manners, she didn’t want to hurt this lady, like… at all. It felt super unnecessary and wrong to harm banshees after collaborating so vigorously with two of them, but she started it, okay? Surely they would understand if they were here. (But they weren’t here, were they? They choose to leave. She chose to leave) The reminder of their absence was enough to spark fire behind Jade’s eyes, she lunged forward, tackling the stranger to the ground. She was never too good at physical combat but she always did love a good tackle. The few seconds where the opponent tried to grapple with the fact that someone half their size pushed them on their back was a super nice ego boost. This girly wasn’t even like, vampire strong so… all the more fun. Not as fun? The freaking knife, still jabbing inside, cause Jade had to hand it to her, girly had a stubborn grip (babies would be jealous). Jade did not waste those precious seconds taunting her like she would’ve any other time, though. She sank her dagger with brutal strength into the girl's shoulder, pinning her there for a moment. She was not the main problem.

Jade took full advantage of the adrenaline dump to get back on her feet and dash toward the apartment. Not a care in the world for her abdomen. (She was so gonna regret that. But, later) (What mattered now was Van). What if the intruder was more ruthless than the girl who tried to kill Jade? What if they didn’t enjoy a sassy little convo before getting down to it? There was no scream, that was good no? From either Van or the stranger, who Jade figured was another one of Regan’s extended family coming for a visit. (Also why were they here at all? Did they miss the memo that Regan and Siobhan were going back to Ireland? They were totally missing the welcome-back party). Jade didn’t make past the entrance before the sounds she dreaded to hear reached her ears: Commotion upstairs. Her heart raced against her chest, and her shallow breathing made it harder to calm it down. “VAN!?”

“I don’t think that’s true! Because somebody who is nice wouldn’t be making like, weird threats and stuff!” Van wasn’t exactly sure what this woman’s intentions were now that Regan had been brought into it. Didn’t the brunette know that Regan had left them for Ireland? Why was she here? What sense did that make? The whole postcards thing didn’t make sense either, because Regan was pretty adamant about Van not getting any, and it didn’t make sense to send somebody rude like the girl in front of her with them. Didn’t Regan know her better than that? Van didn’t like mean people! She’d been surrounded by mean people.

“You are like, super confusing!” Van put some distance between herself and the brunette, eager to find another exit. There wasn’t one, but maybe she could lock herself in a room and then the girl would grow bored, and–

She heard Jade’s voice from outside, desperate and terrified. It was unlike Jade to sound like either of those things, and Van bristled. Anxiety pulled like threads from her, rationalization collapsing upon itself as she finally understood that this was her in danger. “JADE!” Van echoed the older woman’s worry, throwing herself back towards the door. She grabbed the knob, yanking it open. Behind her, the floor of Regan’s apartment began to melt beneath the girl’s feet, and her own, too. She slipped, desperate to get out. Finally, the door was opened, and she pushed herself through, grabbing onto Jade’s arm as she shot out into the dusk.

She wished she had a dagger on her. Well, she did have one, but the child was jumping about too much for Tina to potentially waste a good throw. Not right now. She’d find the girl later and take care of it then. She just hoped that Max wouldn’t be too pissed off at her. “Maybe it’s not a threat! Also, maybe threats can be sexy and cool!” Tina shrieked, ensuring that this child would go away with at least the slightest bit of ringing in her ears.

“I’m not confusing.” Okay, another shriek. Just for fun. This trip was mission-based, but if she had some fun hurting humans who mattered to Regan in the meantime, then she got some extra benefit out of it all.

Except then there was another voice and Tina didn’t like that. She didn’t like that one eensy-weensy bit. Jade. That was the name of whoever was on the other side of the door, and that was also the name of the human who covered everything to do with Regan all over the internet. It was revolting. She jumped out quickly after the girl – after both of the humans – before they disappeared and Tina double-timed it down the steps until she was outside. Her face in a deep scowl, she stomped over to Max. “Where the heck did they go? Is fuath liom na idiots sin! We need to go find them and take care of this.”

There was a moment of bliss as her blade slid into the woman’s stomach, and Max’s eyes danced with the joy of it. There were few sensations she enjoyed more than this, save for that which came with the life leaving a person’s body. But there’d be time for that, too, wouldn’t there? She’d cut Jade up into such small bits, make her an unrecognizable collection of fingers and toes and teeth and hair. She’d bring it all back to Ireland in a Ziplock bag, present it to Regan with a smile on her face. Would Regan feel it before the plane landed? Did she love Jade enough to scream for her from across oceans, continents away? Max wanted Regan to feel it. She really did.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that distracted her enough for Jade to get something of an upper hand. The wretched little rat surged forward, slamming into her and knocking her back. Max kept hold of the knife all the while, giving it a vicious twist that was only half involuntary as her back hit the concrete. Then, there was the burning pain of an iron knife in her shoulder, and the weight on top of her vanished as Jade ran into the building. Max let out a scream, shaking the streetlamps and shattering the windows of the nearby buildings.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. By the time Max got back to her feet, Jade and the child had vanished, and Tina was circling around to meet her outside. “You should have killed it,” Max snapped, gripping her bleeding shoulder. “Did you even draw blood? Ugh. It doesn’t matter. Come on. We can’t leave this job unfinished. But, Palatine? I’m killing Jade. You can take the infant. If you think you can handle it.”

Without leaving room to argue, Max grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her forward. They had unfinished business to settle.

#para: not the right banshee(s)#para: jade #para: tina #para: max #wickedswriting

9 notes · View notes

toomuchracket · 8 months

Note

dad matty would get so upset if baba wanted to start straightening her hair in her pre-teens

omg noooooo this made me so emo for some reason. thinking she's like 12 and matty's giving some impassioned rant at dinner about how self-expression is important and it's normal - good, even - for young people to experiment with style and try new things and all that. neither you nor baba are quite sure how he ended up there, considering she was talking to you about her maths homework beforehand, but you roll with it. and it's all pleasant, until baba totally innocently says "well, there is something i wanted to try, looks-wise. can i try straightening my hair?"; matty's face drops, and his lip genuinely starts trembling like he's about to cry as he says "oh. do you... not like your curly hair, munchkin?", and you could honestly kick him because your daughter's face drops to match his as she's like "that's not it, dad, honest! i just want to experiment a bit, like you said. i've never had straight hair at all. but i love my curls! you know that". matty's slightly appeased, but he still looks glumly at his empty plate, and then grumpily at you when you say "if you want to try straightening, sweetheart, then you should. god knows your dad and i have both done it. and don't look at me like that, matty, you were the one literally just ranting about experimenting with style. we're only talking straighteners, not something more permanent like bleach or dye". and matty raises his eyebrows like "that's true. yeah. ok", and you think he's over the initial sadness, but then he continues "nobody's trying to force you into changing your hair, right, munchkin? none of your friends, or people at school? you're not doing it to get someone's attention, are you? because you KNOW you should never change for other people like that. and also you're too young for a relationship" - you and baba eye-roll in complete sync, and she's like "dad. i'm half you and half mum. there's no WAY anyone's telling or influencing me what to do". you all have a laugh at that, and matty's like "fair enough, sweetheart, fair enough. alright. if you want to straighten your hair, go for it. it's on YOUR head, after all, you can do what you like lol".

the straightening process itself happens a couple of days later, and because your daughter's hair is so curly it takes a MINUTE. she comes to you with it soaking wet and asks you to help, so you painstakingly blow-dry it with a big paddle brush - you both agree that it's weird not using a diffuser on her hair - before you get the straighteners out. both of you thought matty would be too busy being emo about his baby girl's hair to actually get involved in the styling process, but he comes into her room anyway and chats to you while you straighten - he's like "it's actually quite scary how alike the two of you look once my hair genetics are out of the way. good for you though, munchkin, that you take after your beautiful mother", which is cute, and then exactly 0.2 seconds later he's like "wait babe side-part her hair and give her an emo fringe lol". the duality of man fr. once it's done, you all crowd round the mirror to look at baba's hair, which looks great; the first thing she says, though, is "that took so long. i don't know if i can be bothered doing it again for a long time", to which matty's internally like "YES". you're like "look how long your hair actually is! wow!", and she's like "i know, i'm so surprised at that. it's so weird to think that that's MY hair" - matty's like "but it is, and it really does look amazing. YOU look amazing, my darling", and baba smirks like "well, yeah, of course" lmao. she might not have his hair in that moment, but she's definitely her father's daughter <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #dad!matty #literal d word #birthday baby

51 notes · View notes

synthetickitsune · 2 years

Text

17's Vocal Unit & Onewe songs

Hip Hop Unit ver. | Performance Unit ver. (wip) (Yes, this is very self-indulgent.)

Woozi

♫ Parting - If after this parting, an unimportant asteroid could swim against time so that I could meet you again, on that day, even if today, even if tomorrow, without a single lie, I would speak to you my truth

He feels like ripping his hair out. It wouldn’t be hard, given how damaged the recent rounds of bleaching it and dyeing it has left it, and he thinks it might be worth it. He’d be able to hide from the world for a while at least. He goes through a few more pages of lyrics but the hate and disgust sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach only grows heavier with each line and he throws the sheets of paper on the table. Jihoon thinks of burning them.

Anger. Betrayal. Confusion. Hatred.

Heartbreak. Longing. Regrets.

He’s gone through quite a few stages of dealing with a breakup and honestly, he’s had enough. Perhaps this is his punishment for what he’s done. He wishes he could’ve just stayed angry. Honestly. Even if he’d be the biggest asshole in the world for that, it’d be much better than this. He misses the fire of fury that raged inside of him, he misses the way others avoided him just so he wouldn’t take it out on them. Hell, he’d miss hating you too, if only you deserved it.

Right now he just misses everything before this. There’s a few things he hates more than pity, yet that seems to be the only emotion others feel for him lately and it’s honestly embarrassing. He should get his shit together.

But it’s been months and all his songs are still about you.

The worst thing? Anyone who knows him can tell.

They might be a little too specific to be used, which should be even worse but it’s not.

Actually no - the worst thing is that all the songs are so much about you and the lyrics are so specific that anyone who knows him and has read them also knows exactly what he wants to tell you.

Some of the guys told him to text you. Call you. Threatened to take pictures of the scribbled pages and send them to you.

He’s fought with basically everyone at this point. He’s still not on talking terms with most of them.

But he was never good with words, was he? Not when it counts anyway.

He sighs, closing his eyes. Behind his eyelids, as if the scene was tattooed on them, he can see your eyes filled with tears, the shift in your expression as he screamed at you on that day. As he yelled words he never meant, words that were the opposite of what he should have - what he wanted to say.

It was bad timing. Everything was just a little too much for him at that point and he realizes now he should have communicated that to you. He knows you’d have waited for him, but he was - as ironic as it is - secretly terrified of losing you. Way to go, Jihoon.

You must’ve been in so much pain. Just the thought alone makes him clench his teeth and his fists itch to hit something. You must’ve suffered so much, yet you were always so patient with him.

And still he had the nerve to act like the victim.

It was bad timing. He snapped like a rubber band stretched too thin.

The last string of his sanity must’ve snapped too, because he can’t imagine another reason for acting like he did. What else could’ve made him think that you were the one betraying him. Leaving him when he needed you the most? As if you weren’t dealing with your own problems too.

He misses you.

If that’s not clear from the pages upon pages of whining and crying out for you that he’s written.

He’d like to believe you’d hear his words if they end up being a published song.

But he feels like he’s broken you too bad. Like he’s corrupted you in some way. So much so you’ll never be able to enjoy the music associated with him anymore, even if you used to love it before.

He still has your number.

Sometimes he thinks about giving you a call, asking whether you’d listen to him speak.

He never does.

Maybe if he knew the world was ending tomorrow, he’d stop being a coward and he’d call you. He’d play the guitar and he’d sing every single one of the songs he’s written.

Maybe if he could turn back time, he’d tell you exactly what he should’ve and what he wanted to say. He’d drag the words out of his throat, he’d stop choking on his feelings.

He picks up the pen again. He takes a new sheet of blank paper. He writes your name at the top of the page. Neatly, with care you deserve. He hopes it’ll erase your name from his life but it seems it’s been burned into his brain and heart.

Maybe one day you’ll hear the words he wishes to tell you. The thought keeps him alive.

Jeonghan

♫ Eraser - I was going to force myself to erase you but your scent, so familiar, lingers Like the sluggishly melting ice, I slowly intend to forget you

He only just opened his eyes, consciousness coming back to him after a long night of sleep, yet he already hates it as he takes a breath and the lingering scent registers in his brain. He considers just closing his eyes and going back to sleep, yet as tempting as that option is, for once he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep if he tried. He’s been sleeping a lot these days, and maybe Jeonghan deserves to be called a coward, but it’s not like it’s anyone’s business but his own.

So he gets up, blindly kicking his feet until they find his slippers on their own. He refuses to look at them. It would be easier to just throw them away. He’s been trying to bring himself to do it for a week now.

He walks into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the selection of tea and coffee pushed to one corner of the cupboard. What he wasn’t counting on was seeing the one mug that has survived the fateful night and that was forgotten here. He should throw it away too. But he can’t even look at it without feeling the overwhelming shame washing over him, making his eyes prick with what are not tears. It’s just too early and his eyes are dry. That’s all.

He closes the cupboard and instead washes the same mug he’s been using for a week straight now.

A coward, a stubborn one at that.

He makes some coffee and he sits on the couch. Despite turning on the tv, he can’t focus. Instead his mind races with fragments of memories, uninvited and painful. He doesn’t want to think about you. He promised himself he wouldn’t, so he imagines every thought of you being torn apart. It doesn’t work. He sips the hot drink, burning his tongue but it doesn’t provide the distraction he hoped it would. Now his tongue hurts just like the depths of his soul.

He’s being childish and he’s painfully aware of it. Everything seems to hurt, or maybe he’s just too sensitive.

Funny how that’s what he told you. He winces at the memory, another sharp stab to his breaking heart that has yet to stop bleeding.

Maybe it’d be easier if all the memories were bad. If the scent that seems to linger in every inch of his apartment didn’t bring him so much comfort. There’s nothing he wants to do more than bury himself into the blanket that smells so much like you and pretend that it's a week ago and things are fine. On second thought, maybe he should throw the blanket away and forget you.

It’s not like he’s not doing well without you. He gets along fine with the others, unless they get on his nerves. He can work just fine too. It’s exhausting enough that he’s physically incapable of thinking about you so that’s a nice bonus.

Things are better this way. You were fighting so much lately anyway. Both of you were frustrated and angry all the time. You kept hurting each other because of how hurt you both were.

Things are better this way.

He will forget with time. Jeonghan’s sure of it, yet the thought makes despair spill in his veins and tears well up in his eyes. It’s gonna be fine, if only he can hold on. He’s surrounded by good people. He will get through this.

So why, then, are his feet moving? Why are they carrying him to his closet, why is he getting down on his knees and opening the drawer that used to be yours? Why is he pulling out the sweater you’ve forgotten, much like the blanket.

He pulls it over his head, curling into himself as he breaths you in, even as you are who knows where. Are you happier like this? Or are you miserably like he is?

He doesn’t know why he keeps all your things where you’ve left them. Maybe he hopes you’ll come back for them soon, after the anger dissipates. His own has yet to leave fully, everything seems to linger.

He wants to be so angry that he’ll pick every single little thing you’ve touched, throw them all into trash, beat them with a bat or something, stomp all over them, burn them or whatever.

But that would mean taking off the sweater that you’ve always worn on cold winter nights because it smelt like him after hours of cuddling. Now it only smells like you and there’s no one but him to wear it.

It’d mean breaking the colorful mug with cute animals. With the bunnies you always said look like him. The one he teased you about carrying your first indirect kiss. And destroying the slippers he’s wearing, a new pair of which always miraculously appeared when the old one was getting torn with use.

Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. Tell him something he doesn’t already know.

He’s just a stubborn coward. But he can’t admit that or he’ll break.

Someone knocks on the door.

Who knows whether it’s him who rushes more to open them or the heart beating in his chest at the possibility it could be you.

Joshua

♫ Rain To Be - The rain falls, I look out the window You're standing there already waiting for me I prayed to the heavens Not to lose you

The rain keeps beating against the ground, the drops heavy and exploding in splashes all over the deserted playground. Your clothes and shoes are soaked, each of your steps making a squeaking sound. Your white shirt sticks to your skin, turned transparent by the water. You'd feel shy, if only your body wasn't pressed against his. You know he won’t let anyone see what’s his. Joshua’s soaked through as well, his own shirt see-through and clinging to his sculpted body. Even though the rain is cold, he’s so warm and his heat is addicting.

Then he pushes you away, gently, his hand holding yours, and he twirls you around. He keeps humming the same melody as he guides you through the moves of the dance. The wind blows past you, cold, and it makes you shiver in the warm summer night. He pulls you closer again, chuckling when you wrap your hands around him, clinging to his warm body.

“Should we go home?” he whispers, only breaking his humming for a second. You shake your head no, and soon it’s too hot again and you’re grateful for the rain. You let him set the correct stance again, continuing to slow dance with you under the stormy skies. Somehow it feels both sensual and silly. His body is so close to yours, your clothes wet and thin and hiding nothing from your wandering gazes. Whenever your eyes meet you’re ready to ignite. And yet you’re just two people in love, dancing to the melody no one but you can hear while a summer storm rages through the city. You’ve never felt happier.

“Thank you,” he speaks again, lips brushing against your ear. The comforting scent of petrichor fills your lungs. You’re at peace.

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning closer until your lips are against the skin under his ear. Of course it’s only because he wouldn’t hear over the thunder.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he says, twirling your around again before pulling you back. You’re even closer and he holds you against his body firmly. “You’re the most beautiful when you’re getting rained on.”

“You’re just saying that because you love getting rained on,” you emphasize again, chuckling. The truth is he looks breathtakingly beautiful when he’s wet from the rain, something about the water falling from the sky giving him an ethereal glow.

“Just like I love you,” he kisses your temple, still leading you in circles, dancing as you whisper to each other.

“And I love you,” you tell him honestly. Thinking for a second, you can’t hold your tongue. Not when you’re so close to him. Not when it feels like you’re sharing your secrets with the rain, letting it wash them all away.

“I think I first realized when we ran through the rain after the dinner with your parents,” you share, feeling him hum in acknowledgement. His hand squeezes yours. I’m listening. “I was a mess. My makeup got ruined, I looked like a wet rat. My hair was dripping with water. And you just pulled me closer and kissed me like you were drowning. And you grabbed my hand and led me home. I remember looking at you when you turned around and just thinking - holy shit, i love him, he’s the one.” You hear him chuckle, and then he comes to a stop.

He pulls away just to gently take your jaw between his fingers. He guides your face towards his until your lips meet. The kiss is wet, soft, and it’s not the burning passion of the past, it’s the crystalized love and admiration, unconditional devotion that your feelings have grown into.

“That’s why I love watching you in the rain,” Joshua whispers, like he’s confessing his secrets too, “Because I think I knew back then too. I think I saw it in your eyes and I thought - finally, this one I will spend the rest of my life with. It must be fate, don’t you think? I love you so much that every day I’m terrified of losing you.”

“Why would you lose me?” you ask quietly, “I’ll always be right here, next to you, waiting for you, dancing with you… I’m yours.”

“I think our wedding should be on a rainy day,” he says suddenly and his words send tremors through your body, despite the rain nearly drowning them out.

“Let’s do that,” is all you can say, a whisper before a thunder rips the skies apart.

The rain washes all the words away, yet they linger in your minds. You lean your forehead against his. Water runs over your bodies and you feel like this is where you’re meant to be - dancing through the storm with him, inevitably falling for him over and over again just like the raindrops.

♫ Universe_ - Will we feel the same way? Would everything that you are Even your whole world Become my universe?

Your hand fits so nice into his. Like it’s meant to be there - and he wants to believe it is fate, that somehow you were meant to meet each other. If Seokmin’s completely honest, he wants to take it a step further and believe that you’ll always end up by each other’s side, anywhere and everywhere, over and over again. He’s a little too shy to admit it to you, wondering if perhaps it’s still too early to say the words aloud, or whether it’s just the right time.

Would he scare you away with the confession? Or would it reassure you that you’ve made the right choice? As romantic of a thought this thing called fate is, it’s also fickle and he’s not taking any chances. Not if it’s you.

“Where did you go?” you smile at him gently when he finally blinks and turns his head towards you. Apparently you’ve been calling his name. He shakes his head, bringing your intertwined hands to his lips and kissing your knuckles. You didn’t need to know, not yet.

“I’m grateful for you,” he whispers instead. He’s not lying, and maybe that’s what it all comes down to - his appreciation of you. The feeling deep inside his chest that tells him he mustn’t lose you or he’ll lose a huge part of himself. “And everything that you do for me.”

You turn to your side, shifting closer to him and lying your head on his shoulder. His free arm wraps around you, rubbing your bare arm. It’s starting to get cold, you should be heading home soon. But lying under the stars with you, he can’t bring himself to put an end to this perfect moment.

“I told you I got your back,” you remind him, hand splayed over his heart and thumb stroking across his chest. He nods, smiling softly.

“I know,” he sighs, “I guess I wasn’t expecting much of it.” He’s glad to be wrong for once. So so glad. It’s not that life was necessarily too cruel to him, but enough to make him cautious where matters of the heart are concerned. And yet here you are, his home, his safety blanket, the one to hold him when the world crashes down around him and his own mind fails him.

His hand lets go of yours, reluctantly, to cup your cheek. He caresses your skin slowly, gently, and his eyes hold galaxies in them when he looks at you. They say everything is made of stardust, and he truly believes that you both had to be the same star once upon a time. You look into his eyes just as deeply, and Seokmin could drown in the love dripping from your gaze.

He knows you needed this, to clear your head and remember that the obstacles you face are just tiny bumps in the road as compared to the infinite universe and all the complexities of human life. Because he wants to be there for you just as much as you are there for him, he tries his best to help.

And maybe what he really wants to say through his actions is that he’ll gladly run away with you. Somewhere far where no one knows you. Somewhere deep into the forest, maybe, you’d have a little house there, a couple animals to take care of and you’d live a quiet, modest life, filled with love and comfort. You’d have your own little piece of heaven right there.

He’d wake up everyday with you in his arms, kiss you, laze around with you until you’d both be ready to start the day. No rush, no stress, no deadlines and no work that would take him away from you. Just love, so much love and happiness.

“Do you now?” you ask, and he almost forgets what it was that he said. He shakes his head.

“No,” he smiles, “You’re my everything. I know I can trust you.”

“That makes two of us,” you whisper, leaning your head up to connect your lips in an innocent kiss. “We’ll always be together, right?”

“Just the two of us,” he agrees softly, planting a sweet peck on your forehead, “We’ll live together and I’ll always be by your side.”

“And I’ll be by yours,” you hum, “We’ll always care for each other and protect each other.”

“Always, right?” he asks, bringing your face closer to his. You’re breathing the same air, and yet it feels like you’re too far.

“Always,” you promise, “Even if we get more than this life. Always.” You hand finds his again, your pinky wrapping around his. His lips melt into yours, both of you smiling into the kiss. You shuffle closer to him, and he knows you mean everything you said just as much as he does. It fills him with warmth and a feeling of security, even more so because he knows it’s mutual. You’re never leaving each other behind, your joined hands a testament of that.

The moonlight reflects on the ring on your finger, as if blessing the promises that are soon to be witnessed, and that are to be kept until your final days.

Seungkwan

♫ End Of Spring - Because of you I smiled, because of you I cried My spring days were good because of you One by one everything slowly fades away My beautiful season, spring is over

The streets are familiar and full of memories. A breeze blows by that carries the scent of the sea, salty and comforting and something else he can’t quite place, but that triggers something inside of him. Seungkwan was hoping to visit home for a while now, so that’s what he’s doing with his few days off. It got him in a sentimental, wistful mood, walking down the streets almost as if in daze. Something inside of him, something reacting to the scent lingering in the wind, is guiding him towards the shore.

He remembers this path. He used to take it often when he was younger and carefree with enough time to go about. How long has it been since then? He can’t remember, but something about the blurry memories makes him smile. There was someone by his side then. Friends, he’s sure, but the closer he gets to the beach, the closer the ocean waves sound, the more he’s sure there was someone else.

He takes off his shoes, walking on the cooling sand barefooted. It really takes him back to that simpler time. When he reaches the line of wet sand caressed by the sea, he sighs. It’s been a while since he could relax and forget about everything. And as he walks in the water, he allows himself to get possessed by his youth and starts running. The water splashes around his ankles, licking at his calves, and he remembers the times in the past he’s done it. He’s laughing freely, runs until he’s starting to get out of breath and embarrassed even if there’s no one to see. He covers his mouth, eyes closing as he cringes at himself. And then the breeze blows by.

He remembers the scent.

There’s an image in his mind. Someone with their back turned towards him, someone who’s leading him by the hand. There’s a name at the tip of his tongue that he can’t remember, but that he remembers calling so many times and in so many different ways - softly, gently, at the top of his lungs, in excitement, and in agitation.

How could he forget?

Your hand was so soft in his, your smile bright and eyes sparkled with mischief. You were adventure personified and the comfort of coming home after a long journey all at once.

You must’ve been more than a friend.

He tries recalling your name, a ghost from a time long lost. Somehow he feels if he could just remember and whisper your name to the wind that you’d appear. You’d take his hand again like you used to do and lead him away for another adventure that wasn’t necessarily stupid and dangerous but sure felt like it.

Seungkwan remembers climbing trees with thick branches hanging low, and he remembers, faintly, as if spoken lowly over the raging ocean waves, your voice. If he fell from the tree, he’d maybe scrape his hands and knees, but you made it feel like his life was at stake.

And he remembers, once he stood up with feigned confidence and gripping on to the higher branch for dear life, soft lips against his cheek.

There’s more, so much more that’s coming rushing into his mind now that he smells the sea breeze again. The smile. He doesn’t want to forget it ever again - and not just yours, but his as well. You must’ve made him very happy. The more he tries to sort through the memories back to that time, the more he realizes those were really good times. One of the best.

He recognizes that it’s all tinted with nostalgia and yearning to go back to the simpler times, that there definitely were bad times, hard times, just the same as now, but perhaps Seungkwan will allow himself to cherish those memories as pure as they appear.

He wonders where you are now, who you are now. He can’t shake off the feeling you’re forever young out there somewhere. He hopes you are. Always coming up with ideas that make others laugh first at how crazy and childish they seem, as he used to do, but that plant the seed of excitement in their chest. There was something about you that set his souls alight. That felt like that first deep breath of fresh air you take after pulling yourself out of a slump.

He sighs. Remembering the old times is a sure sign of growing old. But there’s a chuckle bubbling in his chest. Even after all these years, you make him laugh. Are you haunting this island? He can’t explain why he remembered you so suddenly, or why can’t recall your name nor face clearly. But maybe that’s what makes the memory sweeter, the times he cried because of you, those he laughed because of you, all wrap themself into the scent carried by the wind and settle deep in his heart, forever to stay.

#seventeen #seventeen reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #svt reactions #svt fluff #svt angst #seventeen vocal unit #fluff #angst #fanfiction

75 notes · View notes

placegrenette · 1 year

Text

Every Ninety One Song Reviewed: “Желсіз түнде жарық ай,” 2023

youtube

“Желсіз түнде жарық ай,” from Махаббат сөзі (EP, 2023) Music credits: once again, not entirely Ninety One. Lyrics credits: once again, salute the late, great Abay. Music video director: no, you’re not getting that information either.

If you’ve been following the guys’ YouTube channel, you know the cryptic teaser videos are coming thick and fast now. I’m hoping to find the time to devote an entire post to all the references (although I resent the reliance on Easter egg hunts, a bit). But let’s clear out our queue first: this is the last of the Abay-penned songs, and then we’ll just have “Synbaim” standing between us and whatever is actually on this long-awaited album.

As with the the other two Abay songs, this one has lots of precedents: plug “Желсіз түнде жарық ай“ into YouTube and you’ll find plenty of more florid versions. Here’s one; here’s another. Heck, even Ayree gave this one a shot a few years ago. You want to try for yourself? Here’s a karaoke version. Oh, and here’s a translation. It’s a love poem, but oblique, and steeped in nature imagery, which admittedly makes it not exactly the best fit for wandering around an abstract closed set while lip-syncing.

Ninety One’s contribution is to speed things up significantly. By comparison to the historical standard, Ace is barreling through his refrain (”Ауылдың, жаны терең сай / тасыған өзен күрілдеп”) like he’s got a train to catch. (If, like me, you don’t actually understand Kazakh, you might not realize that he’s repeating Alem’s last two lines.) They don’t wear out their welcome: Alem and Bala do a verse each, we get the refrain twice, and then ZaQ handles the outro, all in less than two and a half minutes. You could argue it’s an Abay interpretation for a faster, more impatient world. But it’s not exactly unhurried: we do have time in the background for plucking strings. It sneaks up on you, I think. I don’t have the right (Kazakh) context; as a foreigner I feel like I’m being met halfway, introduced to Abay’s poetry without having to ingest musical traditions that don’t come easily to me. I appreciate it.

How’s the Hair/Styling? 75% fine: ZaQ’s “messing with the mainstream” jacket is a nice touch. Slashing Bala’s eyebrow doesn’t add much. Ace’s hair is even frizzier and less flattering than usual and I’m half hoping that after this latest round of bleaching he shaves it all off again. Should You Start Here? Nah; the whole Abay-covers project, while interesting, requires too much background research for brand-new Eaglez, and doesn’t give ZaQ enough to do.

#ninety one #every ninety one song reviewed #music from kazakhstan #come find me eaglez

2 notes · View notes

my-soliloquy-chamber · 2 years

Text

I know I’m not the only one who makes up elaborate self-insert fanfiction-esque fantasies in my head. I know that, don’t lie. 🤨 But do you guys also do accompanying research so your imagination can be more… comfortable?

Like, I know I would need to have soap if I found myself in game faux-Ancient Greece, so I had to look up how to make soap. So I know how to make that now. (In theory)

But that naturally led me to needing to know how to make lye. So I looked up how to make that too. (For soap making, but I guess I can dispose of bodies now too. 🤷‍♀️)

Past obsessions have lead to my knowing how to scrape and treat an animal hide which comes in useful here because I’ll need thick gloves and a big protective apron if I’m going to be messing with lye. (For soap!!)

I arbitrarily decided that a barrel would be better than pottery for the lye so I looked up how to make one of those too. (Instead of investigating if pottery would work just fine…)

I stopped there because I figured if I’m in faux-Ancient Greece I could just rope in some local help to make the planks and bands.

Instead, I contemplated clothes. The faux and real Ancient Greek clothing styles look great, but I need pants. I’m a my-thighs-get-sweaty-and-chafe kind of person, so I would require pants. Guess what’s not easy to make? But I know how to make simple wrap pants now.

But no one would just give me a bunch of fabric, right? So I had to look up weaving. Which quickly led me onward to making yearn thread from scratch. Which, honestly, so time consuming! So I looked up how a semi-modern spinning wheel works. (like in Rumplestiltskin, so not über modern) I figured I could contract the same carpenter who helped with the barrels to build that.

Now I’ve done a lot of thinking, so I might be getting hungry, and if there’s one thing they would have in Ancient Greece it’s recognizable ingredients. They might not always be putting it together the way I’d find palatable, but no matter, I can put it together myself. So I would be all set on food. But you know what they couldn’t do? Decent bread. The flour was just too coarse and the bread too hard and dense.

So I need to investigate yeast and milling. Turns out yeast is super simple in wine country. 🤷‍♀️ So, how to make a better mill? Not so complicated actually, just very heavy. There are lots of people around then who know how to turn very large stones into shapes, so two round ones with groves on one side and holes in the middle wouldn’t be complicated. And they know how to move very large heavy stone things around, so the mill will be done in a breeze. But how would it turn? Slaves or animals would probably be the answer if I asked the locals, but that’s just… ewww. So I had to look up how to make a waterwheel to turn it instead.

Which reminds me, the water isn’t potable. How would I fix that? Well, there’s boiling it a lot. But is that enough? Is there any other way? Well, yes, the wine of course. That’s what the locals do. But… um… I don’t like wine now. I doubt I’d like it more with the addition of oil, sea water, resin, or literal perfume. So, alternative? Well, turns out layers of cloth can filter out cholera at least. Neat. I already know how to make cloth!

But disease from food and water isn’t the only danger here. There’s no antibiotics. I paid enough attention in school to know that me managing to discover penicillin is waaaaay too unlikely, so disinfectant is the way to go. Bleach and chlorine seems to require too much chemistry and material science to be feasible, but distillation could be done. If Covid has taught us anything, it’s the power of soap and 70 proof alcohol. And social distancing. Hm… maybe I should learn how to use a spear next. 🤔

Anyway… How does all of this help in the elaborate self-insert fanfiction-esque fantasies? How does any of this get me into the not-actually-wearing-any-pants of, say, for example, how about, Brasidas?

It doesn’t, not at all.

Because that wouldn’t be accurate or realistic. 😔

But at least I learned some stuff.

In theory.

#seriously #I would never try to dispose of an imaginary body with imaginary lye #I would use imaginary pigs at an imaginary pig farm #I’m not sTuPid #ac odyssey

9 notes · View notes

antique-forvalaka · 2 years

Text

Well @specialability this is probably not what you'd expect exactly. (Btw this is also for the WIP tag game!)

It's just a lil oneshot i wanted to write of the old guard meeting immortal wenzhou from shl, because i honestly think the both of them would be very weird to meet, in the middle of an active mission/warzone.

Mostly it's just a short ficlet with the old guard veing very confused by and distrustful of wkx and zzs, while wkx and zzs are also very distrustful of them. I imagine, as someone who tries to mostly lay low zzs would be absolutely off anyone's radar, and naturally so would wkx.

But if one were to keep half an ear on the ground, and were to have a cursory interest in keeping up with modern spycraft out of 'proffessional curiosity' (and also because these two fuckers are curious af even if they'd never admit it)... well, it's certainly easier to find out about a group of seemingly immortal vigilantes traveling around. Enough so that you might react with something along the lines of "ah fuck, it's these dumbasses" if you ever were to inadvertantly meet them...

Of course, being a professional Zishu would never say this out loud where they could hear, and just turns up the "i'm totally a harmless nobody" charm up to 11.

Joe exchanges a glance with Andy.

They move on, carefully cross the meadow. At the edge of the building's shadow Andy crouches down at the end of a low stone palisade and waves him on.

When he rounds the corner he finds two men, one keeping watch, while the other one kneels over a body, for all appearances completely engrossed in filching it of any valuables.

Joe keeps his gun level with the torso of the lookout, who spots him immediately and kicks at his companion until he turns around - still crouched over the corpse - to sheepishly raise his hands in surrender.

"Andy." Joe says, tense, and waits until she comes around as well.

The men look completely incongrous with their surroundings - the lookout appears to be carefully relaxed, standing next to a dead body of his own, in a dark green hawaiian shirt and construction boots. His tac vest (?) seems to be a repurposed fisher's vest, though there is some very heavy weaponry strapped to him. It should probably look ridiculous, if he didn't seem so damn nonchalant. He blinks owlishly as Joe stares.

The other one is even worse - he looks like he just fell out of one of these fashion magazines for rich people - white slacks and a burgundy dress shirt that gapes open at the front, bleached braid hanging over one shoulder - absolutely impractical in close combat. The only thing that suggests he may be more than he appears is the half-automatic slung over his back, and the tactical knife held loose and ready in his left hand.

#ask game #this was also born out of pure spite #i dont think wenzhou would ever just accept these publicity nightmare immortals on a whim #and ive read a few woh oldguard crossovers where wenzhou are just so soft??#nah they may be older but the suspicion is deeply ingrained #zzs used to be a goddamn spymaster and wkx is just plain unsettling #it would be soooo tense #tag game #woh #woh fic #my stuff #specialability

3 notes · View notes

pattercakebakersman · 2 years

Text

Birds of a Feather - Chapter 6 (800)

Cws: graphic depictions of abuse against family and children including physical, emotional abuse and manipulation, degredation, guilt tripping, love bombing, child neglect and children being shamed, food insecurity, lack of bodily autonomy due to being abused, violent men/father figures, invasions of privacy and stalkerish behaviour. I advise that people under age 15 don’t read this one as it does get quite disturbing.

Lemongrab slowly opened his sibling’s door so as not to wake them. They had kept the curtains open, so the room was bathed in silvery moonlight, everything the greyish colour of a moth’s wing.

He could see their outline under the blanket and he studied it for a while. This was what he looked like from the side. He imagined that he was someone else looking down at his own sleeping body, and that was his head poking out from the covers.

They had left their diary open on the vanity table. Lemongrab stroked his fingers over the page, delighted to be seeing something they didn’t want him to. He avoided looking at his reflection in the huge mirror.

Mmmmmm diary how dare you,

Housekeeping:

Children must be bathed tomorrow. The hosepipe is in the shed somewhere.

Ask brother for more bleach

A window in the east wing has been broken.

FEED THEM

Stables have not been mucked out in aaaa while. Hm. Oh dear. I’m sorry babies.

Lemonhope seems happier. I believe my plan is working. Lemonsnail has been eating the grass and getting sick again, I do not know why he does it.

Lemongrab frowned, always Lemonhope! They never should have made subjects. He hadn’t realised he would have to share his twin with them, and he hated sharing. He flipped through the book for any mentions of him.

Things are not going so well between brother and I. I know he does not mean to hurt my feelings so it is pointless to be angry at him, but glob. I do wish that. No. It is blasphemy to think such a thought. I love my brother. Everything is fine.

But if he does something like that again… let us hope it does not come to that. I love him so dearly. Why am I never good enough for him? I want to be respected too…

Lemongrab closed the book and resisted the urge to hurl it at a wall. Now what was the meaning of that? He hadn’t hurt their feelings, they were his brother. He hadn’t given them permission to be upset at him. Where did he go wrong with them? He hadn’t raised Lemongrab to be like that.

Lemongrab sat on his sibling's bed and watched them sleep. When they were sleeping they slipped back into the childlike innocence they'd been made with. The way they curled their fingers round the blanket, the way their nose pressed adorably against the pillow, it was overwhelming. He listened to the sound of their breathing and watched how their eyelids twitched occasionally, he hoped they were having a good dream. In moments like this he wanted them to have good things.

Lately Lemongrab had been sullen, withdrawn, quiet. Like a smaller version of themselves. Once they'd taken up the whole castle as they ran up and down the corridors, drew all over the walls and played in every room. Now he barely noticed them in the corner. Let us hope it does not come to that. Come to what? Why did they think he disliked them… it wasn’t that he disliked them, or glob forbid that he didn’t love them (they were Lemongrab after all, how could he hate a part of himself?) it was that they did things he hated. He had to punish wrong doing, didn’t he? Why couldn’t they understand that. Weren’t they the same as him?

Lemongrab realised he had no idea what his twin was thinking anymore. He knew how he thought and how they were supposed to think, but he could no longer be certain of what was going on inside their head. That was the one part of them he couldn’t get to. He could control what they dressed like, and what they ate, and when they were allowed to leave the house. But the idea that his twin had been keeping secret thoughts just for themselves, when everything that was theirs should also be his… it was humiliating. He was an earl!

But he was also their brother. What was it they said? Brothers should not fight or mistreat one another. He'd called his brother ugly, he'd taken their food at mealtimes, he'd taken their toys, and their clothes, and so much more that couldn't be seen physically. And in return what had he given? He'd given them two brown mud stains on their uniform. They were afraid of him, he realised. Terrified. And he enjoyed it.

But it still weighed on his conscience, as small as it might be, that his brother had been happy once and now they weren't.

Lemongrab rested his forehead against his sibling's head. Closed his eyes so there was just the warm patch on his face where they touched.

“Your flesh is my flesh…” he thought, “your skin is my skin… your body is my body. Better than me, you are mine.”

He stood up and left, slowly closing the door behind him. Lemongrab 2 opened their eyes and waited, not breathing, for his footsteps to fade into the night. Then they slipped out of bed and went to lock their door. Their hands were shaking as they fumbled with the old fashioned lock. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that they felt they could breathe again.

#birds of a feather #look out for the next chapter tomorrow.. one of the creepiest things I've ever written for this fandom

3 notes · View notes

benjaminalphabet · 13 days

Text

i wonder who i am to you

because i don’t think you’re what i thought you were.

i am the succubus apologist.

i love the most fatal things.

i realize i love your things more than i love you.

your old bedroom with the big window and the books in the corner,

the silk bedsheets,

the sweet, long drive to your house;

dance in room song, your wooden incense holder.

i love the taste of sugar on my tongue.

i love your cold moonlight,

your bleached hair; you grew it out,

your tattoos,

who you used to be;

i don’t love you. trust me, i wanted to.

it was late at night watching you breathe,

thinking would this be the last time?

it seems like every time is.

but i want you less and less

the more i actually have you.

the sun feels a little dimmer every morning i wake up in your bedroom.

i don’t think this tastes the way it should

you’re not as sweet as you used to be.

i’m never satisfied, never full.

cherry stem garnish tied with your tongue,

our vinyl booth liquor store love story ended with a spilled tall can,

a game of pool you sorely didn’t win;

and something we used to be, or could’ve been, or never were was left at the bar with a cash tip.

i think i have you all figured out,

all those things i just couldn’t get right last summer, those pieces that wouldn’t fit,

they all make sense now.

i know who you are,

all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men,

i see right through the you i used to think you were.

that balcony fantasy, cigarette melancholy,

i think someone else did it first,

Lennon or Warhol or Cobain;

you’re an exhibit, you’re made out of wax.

fluorescent lighting doesn’t look as good on you as the neon once did.

enchantment is such a price to pay.

i think this is wisdom, and it is hard earned.

you, little fox, are not smart enough to fool me.

even though i say it is,

it isn’t all about power for me.

it’s a lot simpler than that.

the power is only a side effect.

love that isn’t there.

the upper hand i used to never be able to hold.

it’s about the way it felt to hold you while i wanted to hold you,

to wake up first and sneak out before you,

the race to midnight, the clockwork.

it’s about the way it felt to scream at you while i wanted to scream at you.

that feeling is gone now,

and all that’s left is the power.

power bought for pennies,

thrift store once-loved items - you’ve never lived up to the catalog fantasy.

power without reason is just responsibility

and you weigh too heavy on my shoulders.

i used to think i would never conquer you.

do i lose the game if i stop playing?

let’s play one last round, this time winner keeps all.

i know you’re a cheat, i’m not sure i want any prize that comes from something like this.

those nights haunt me in unexpected, medicine cabinet ways.

this is that, like, saturday night kind of pain.

that knife in the back, wilting rose, blood pumping feeling.

i gave you the gate code, i locked the bathroom door behind us, you knocked my pictures off the wall.

at what point are you not worth the trouble anymore?

are you worth the silence,

the staring at the ceiling,

the bedroom bender, cleaning up bottles and plastic cups,

the ache in my gut,

the guilt that sits on my lungs?

i know what you did on those nights i wasn’t around.

i hope that framed picture of her falls off the wall,

i hope the bed frame i built falls apart while you’re sleeping on it,

i hope the letters i wrote you look pretty when they burn.

you used to be solid gold.

an idol to me, golden calf.

god, how hard the mighty fall.

i used to be a cannibal, insatiable, i used to beg to be eaten alive by you.

i used to dream of you melting like ice cream, sticky between my fingers.

i remember the days when nothing was enough until i had all of you,

and now i’ve had all of you and none of it has been enough.

even that fatal, iridescent monster that lives inside me

doesn’t want you anymore.

silently compare me to all those pretty, velveteen princesses you’ve loved before me

compare me to the flowers that used to bloom in your hands,

but don’t cry

when you only have the deadroses left behind, succubus apologies and an empty stomach,

and i am completely gone.

12:12 || last summer is over and gone

#my writing #we can’t go back #the fantasy is dead #god i really just don’t like you anymore #i keep thinking about how bad i used to want this and now i just keep hoping i never hear from you again #dh #i muted you everywhere #you gave me the ick #personal growth in a way #moving on

0 notes

midoropalace · 6 months

Text

Yakuza: Like a Dragon -5-

Politics, betrayal, and the suspension of disbelief.

It's Ichiban's wild ride and the party just doesn't stop! I head outside to take a photo using Photo Mode to set the scene, and found out that your party members actually pose for you.

😊

🥵

After snapping about 10 photos of Zhao for... future reference... I head to Isezaki Road to meet with Kume. Here, the party gets hassled by members of the Tokoy Omi Alliance, who are acting as bouncers for Kume's political rallies.

This situation is pretty dire, unfortunately. Kume seems to be popular with no particular political opponents, and Masato's pro-Bleach Japan messaging is boosting his support through the roof. Realizing the situation calls for drastic measures, Chairman Hoshino meets with Ichiban and makes a surprising offer.

Turns out, the writers didn't forget about the "rival politician plot point!" Hoshino declares that Ichiban should run against Kume instead. The party doesn't believe for a moment that Ichiban -- a convicted murderer -- could possibly win the election. Even Ichiban himself thinks its a long shot. But the chairman explains that the point isn't to defeat Kume, it's to get Kume to meet with Ichiban alone and rough him up a little. If Ichiban runs as a rival politician, it would be in bad taste for Kume to turn down offers to meet or debate with him, after all. Ichiban decides to officially declare his candidacy with the government.

Unfortunately, the Omi Alliance are one step ahead and have begun spreading the word of Ichiban's former criminal status. Thankfully, the Seiryu Clan gives Ichiban a van and a loudspeaker to help with his political campaign.

Ichiban meets up with Kume, and the two begin debating right away. Kume focuses on tearing down Ichiban's image, pointing out how deplorable it is the Ichiban is a convicted felon and that he should not have the right to campaign. Ichiban points out that it is legal for those who have served prison sentences to run for office, then points out the irony in Kume complaining about a perceived unjust law when grey zones are created by unjust laws. Ichiban's impassioned debate, funnily enough, garners the support of the entire crowd, and Kume absconds from the scene out of embarrassment. Ichiban's unexpected popularity and social media buzz infuriates Masato, who orders Sawashiro to carry out a hit on a certain person...

The game points me back in the direction of Kume's campaign van. As I head there, I decide to check out Chau's black market weapons for any good stuff, now that I'm swimming in cash again. There isn't anything of interest, but strangely, talking to him activates the end of his substory. But I don't notice this until after I leave and head toward Kume. Awesome.

After arriving at Kume's campaign stop, Ichiban finally gets the chance to meet with him in person. That is, until Joon-gi delivers some startling news -- something is going down at the Seiryu Clan HQ, and Chairman Hoshino's life is in danger. The party decides to put the Kume dilemma aside, and we are asked to rush to the Seiryu Clan ASAP.

Upon arriving at HQ, we find what appear sto be the bodies of several Seiryu Clan members. Captain Takabe is injured badly, and tells the party that the chairman is upstairs. Ichi and the others head up to the chairman's room, and--

Dammit.

Fuck you, Sawashiro.

Ichiban demands that Sawashiro tell him why he killed Hoshino, to which Sawashiro responds that it's Ichiban's fault that he died. Um, no, dude. You're the one holding the gun. You're the one who pulled the trigger. Miss me with that shit.

It's time to fight Sawashiro one more time, and this time he meant business. This guy was not only an HP sponge, but he also had a lot of very annoying attacks to deal with. This battle wasn't nearly as bad as the first round of the Majima battle, but it was still pretty rough.

The gimmick of this fight is that at set HP intervals, Sawashiro switches the weapon he's using. He begins with a sword, before moving onto using a cane. Nanba mentions the use of a cane comes from Western martial arts, and that's why Nanba uses an umbrella as a weapon. What the hell, Nanba? If you knew martial arts then why do you suck so bad at anything other than magic?

Anyway, the annoying thing about the cane is that Sawashiro effectively double teams you with it. First he knocks you to the ground, then he proceedes to twist the cane into your chest. Ouch! Given that this special attack also has a cutscene, I'm assuming this is another insta-kill attack. It seemed to work on Joon-gi, but thankfully not Ichi. Seriously, what is with this game and suddenly throwing bullshit insta kill moves on enemies? As if the HP sponge shenanigans wasn't bad enough...

His final phase consist of using the cane and sword together but I didn't get any good screenshots of it lol. So enjoy this screenshot of Nanba holding a rose instead.

After Sawashiro goes down, he tells Ichi that he is not the one who killed Masumi. There's a simple reason for it. Well, okay, it's actually convoluted.

Back in the day, Jo was with his honey and theyre making out wen the phone rigns. He ansers it n the vioce is "wut r u doing wit my daughter?" He tells his girl n she say "my dad is ded". THEN WHO WAS PHONE?

OK but seriously. Turns out as a teenage delinquent, Sawashiro got his girlfriend pregnant. It was too late to have an abortion, so she had the baby and they... stuffed it into a locker?? Whaaaat? And then it turns out that the baby that Masumi saved from the locker was actually Sawashiro's son?! In other words, Masato is Sawashiro's son???? What to heck?

Ok, honestly, A+ plot twist. I actually think this is really fucking genius. I love the idea that Masumi took Masato home thinking he was his child, when in reality it was someone else's baby. This also means that Sawashiro is more-or-less responsible for Masato being crippled and turning into a huge asshole. Great stuff. But as Sawashiro points out, this leads to one issue: what happened to Masumi's actual child? And it is at this point the story violates my suspension of disbelief the most.

As it turns out, Akane's baby was actually in a separate locker -- the one adjacent to the locker Masato was in. Masumi simply opened the wrong locker. Akane went to Shangri La and asked the manager there to find her baby, and he did. Assuming that the manager is the same man who raised Ichiban, this would make Ichiban Masumi's real son.

I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I do kinda like the idea of Ichiban being Masumi's real child and all that. But on the other hand, it seems so unbelievable that Sawashiro and Masumi would happen to have a child born on the same day, and that they each get shoved into adjacent lockers at different times. Also, if the combination of the locker and the weather is what lead to Masato being a cripple, why didn't a similar thing happen to Ichiban? It all just seems to contrived for me to buy into it.

Anyway, Sawashiro decides to turn himself into the police after revealing to the party that Ishioda is likely the one who killed Masumi. As the cops take him away, Joon-gi learns of a new piece of information to the Geomijul: it was Swashiro himself who tipped off the Geomijul about the raid on the Seiryu Clan HQ. Joon-gi speculates that Sawashiro actually wanted Ichiban to stop him from killing Hoshino. Of course, since Hoshino is dead... that means they failed. Thanks a lot, Joon-gi.

#yakuza: like a dragon #yakuza #yakuza 7 #like a dragon

0 notes