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forever--darling · 4 years

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not too far away - s.m. (part thirteen)

a/n: where he tests the race of time and she finally goes under

also listen to heaven’s not too far away by we three. this song gave me the idea for this series in the first place!! One more part left guys!

warnings: 10.4k words of heartbreak, the waiting game, and everything coming to light

XIII. heaven’s not too far away pt.2

her

“Y/N/N, you doing okay in there?”

The voice came from Demi, on the other side of the bathroom door. She had gotten you at four like you planned and carried your overnight bag into the car. She drove you to the hospital with all your favorite songs playing through the speakers and you hadn’t been able to talk through the whole ride. Instead, you stared out the passenger window, forehead against the glass, in case it was your last time seeing the city.

You couldn’t get yourself to look away from all of the streets and buildings you passed because this and Pickering was the only place you knew. You hadn’t been anywhere and you hadn’t done anything. It was heartbreaking because there were so many places you wanted to go and so many things you wanted to do but there was a chance you wouldn't be able to. So, you just took in the home you knew, hoping it would stick with you forever. Even when your phone vibrated in your lap, knowing it was from Shawn, you still couldn’t depart from the cool window that was calming down the stirring that was happening inside your stomach.

“Yeah,” you yelled back, eyes locked onto your form in the mirror before you turned around to unlock the door to see Demi stood on the other side. “Could you tie this for me?”

She smiled, that small Demi smile, and nodded. Standing behind you, you watched in the mirror as her fingers took the two strings at the base of your neck and tied them together, tightening the hospital gown around your frame. You felt frozen as your orbs scanned over your reflection. It was like a year and a half ago all over again except this time you weren’t underweight and on the brink of death. Hand gripping tightly to your arm, nails digging into the skin, you felt as Demi’s hand clasped gently around your shoulder. Turning your head, you smiled sadly at her before moving out of the bathroom and back into your hospital room they had assigned to you.

Pulling back the white crisp sheets, you crawled into the bed and tugged them over your bare legs that were covered in a pair of blue sleeping shorts that were hidden under the gown. Your fingers fiddled with the hospital band around your wrist as outside the door, your family stood talking to Patty with soft smiles. Even if someone was having the worst day in their life, she still could make them smile because she was that kind of person.

“Hey, Dem, could you reach into my bag over there and take out that large grey book?” you asked, sinking further into the pillows on the bed.

Lucky for you, since you had been around the hospital so long, you knew where to get all the best pillows and the softest blankets. Courtesy of Patty, of course. Being one of her favorite patients after all this time was a plus because she always hooked you up to the best stuff in the hospital; the best food, the secret to getting the best TV channels, and the best rooms. The rooms that always had a view on the side of the building where if you looked out the window, you could see the city lights. I’m sure all of these things would mean so much if you didn’t feel like you were about to die.

Your thoughts were brought back to reality as you felt the thick book in your lap. It was a scrapbook. The final gift you had to give out for the day. It was for your family. For the three most important people in your life, with a few pages dedicated to a few other people. You knew this was a way you would always live on. To have a book, covered back to front with of all the greatest memories, shared as a family. You loved them more than anything and if you weren’t going to be able to pull through this, you needed them to be able to get through that fact.

The scrapbook was a 12 x 12 and the cover was a light grey. A square was cut out of the front like a window, left to place a photo in the front. You had chosen one from the summer, where you all were snuggled around the campfire under the sky, faces illuminated only by the flames and the flash that came from the camera. It was months after you had been released from the hospital after being cured from treatment and at the time, your hair had only grown out to the bottom of your jaw compared to where it was now towards the top of your shoulders. Within the book, every single page was filled from pictures that you either ordered and picked up at the local pharmacy or had to dig through old boxes in that attic to find but you managed to do it.

It had been a work in progress for months, at first just being a regular gift, but now a going away gift it felt like. It was like a journey, the first pages showing pictures from when you and James were young and then taking a skip to high school and then to when you had been diagnosed with cancer.

Every family picture you had managed to find a place for. All to be decorated in their own unique ways with stickers, scrapbook paper, quotes you had printed or written. You had even used glitter which was not apartment friendly. From there, you had made individual pages for each of them. A few for your mom and dad and then some for James. You even threw in a couple for Demi, Shawn and Aaliyah and a few other friends you had in high school before you all graduated and went your separate ways.

Thinking about it now, you hadn’t heard from most of them for years and it wouldn’t be a huge shock that probably none of them knew about you being sick, but to be fair that was fine with you. The fewer people to know about it the better.

A sad smile had pulled at the corner of your lips as you opened the book and began to flip through the pages you had spent hours filling up at one point. Your fingers traced over the way each page felt and your eyes scanned everything making sure it was all perfect. At the sound of the door though, you closed the book and looked up to meet the eyes of your father. They looked tired but still sparkled as they laid on you. Right behind him was your mother and James.

“Hey, bug how are you feeling?” your dad asked, walking over towards the side of the bed.

“I’m doing alright,” you responded, head falling back into the feathery pillows.

He smiled, eyes crinkling as he did so, “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Honey, what’s this?” your mom’s voice filled your ears and you followed her gaze down to the book in your lap.

Your chest instantly became warm as you tilted the book so it faced the three of them, “It’s a scrapbook. I made it for you guys.”

Your mom’s hands gripped the front of the book, eyes starting to glaze over as she looked at the cover photo and as soon as she flipped it open to the first few pages, all of the tears started to fall. You kind of felt bad, making so many people cry in one day but technically it wasn’t your fault. It’s the fucking cancer’s.

Your dad’s eyes were getting hazy now too. The inner Bradley was coming out. “Y/N-”

“I just want you to know that whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere. I’m always going to be here,” you cut your dad off, voice soft and low already feeling all energy lost and prep for surgery hadn’t even started.

You could only hope that what you said felt uplifting to your family but there was a small chance that it only made them more sad. Either way, your dad moved the railing from the side of the bed down and climbed in next to you. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his dad embrace. One that was tight and secure but not too much that you weren’t able to breathe properly. It was comfortable and felt safe. It made your fears disappear by the comfort of your dad and his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered into your hair.

“I love you too.”

Feeling the palm of your mom’s hand on your leg, over the blankets, you no longer felt scared of what would be happening in the next few hours. You knew that whatever happens, happens and there isn’t anything you can do about it.

Eyes looking up and past your mother, your gaze locked with your older brother who hadn’t said a word to you yet. He was silent, arms crossed over his chest, hands gripping his biceps tightly. His hair was messy and bags were present under his eyes that appeared drowsy and all around sad. He was chewing on his bottom lip, those eyes that matched yours glancing down your frame towards the scrapbook. His Adam's apple was bobbing and he was trying so hard to not cry.

You had never seen him look this broken, so out of hope, and at a dead end. History was repeating itself and though you wished he could, your big brother couldn’t protect you from this. He may have for everything else in your life whether it was keeping you from falling off of your bike to making sure all of the asshat boys would stay away from you and to fixing those endless rainy days by shining some sunlight on them. He had always been seen as your older brother, the one who would keep you safe from whatever was thrown your way in life, but there are just some things he can’t save you from, and that was the painful truth he would have to face.

him

“How’s that sound?” Shawn asked, taking the headphones off, as his foot tapped against the floor of the sound booth.

Teddy was nodding, a genuine smile on her face, “It sounds really good, Shawn.”

“Yeah?” he asked, voice lifting at the excitement that was forming within his chest.

“Yeah,” Teddy confirmed, finger pressing on the microphone button on the outside of the booth, “I think we are really onto something.”

He sent her an innocent smile, “Can I take a break then.”

She chuckled, “Yes you can take a break.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Shawn trampled out of the sound booth, instantly going for the water bottle he had been sipping on to relieve the tension and soreness that was forming in his throat. He unscrewed the top and began to drink of what was left, swallowing it in one large gulp. The coolness washing down the dryness that had formed from trying to sing the same verse over and over again. He was about to move across the room towards the mini fridge to take another bottle out, when he heard his phone vibrating against the coffee table where it was sat abandoned since his last break.

Tossing the empty plastic bottle into a nearby trash, he scooped the phone up in his hand to find James’s name across the top of his phone screen. Instantly, Shawn became a little confused about why the older Y/L/N was calling but answered and moved out into the vast hallway to gain some privacy.

“James, hey, what’s up?” he asked, a surprised chuckle falling from his parted lips.

“She’s lying to you.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrowed as he leaned his back against the wall in the hallway, slightly worried about the tone that was evident in James’s voice. “What? What are you talking about?”

There was a pause, James taking a deep breath could be heard through the phone, and Shawn knew whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to be good, “Y/N. She’s lying to you, Shawn. She’s sick again.”

Shawn’s throat became dry, though he had just had some water. He was stunned into silence for a few seconds, “How bad is it?”

“She doesn’t have to go through chemo again, thank god, but she’s having surgery. She’s getting the cancer cells removed,” James explained, sounding completely broken up about it.

“When’s the surgery?” he asked the reality that this was actually happening not able to set in. He had left her the day prior and she hadn’t said anything. She had let him walk out of the door, knowing that she was sick and she didn't tell him. He thought they had gotten over this but deep down it was like they were sixteen all over again.

Another pause. “Today, at six. It’s about four o’clock in Toronto right now.”

“Shit,” Shawn mumbled frustratingly, hand coming up to scrub across his face, “How long has she fucking known and not wanted to tell me.”

“I don’t know when she found out but she didn’t tell us until after her birthday,” James replied, “She told everyone else about it today. Shawn your parents and Aaliyah are here. She didn’t want you to know, my guess the same reasons why she didn’t the first time we were in this situation but I walked into that hospital room and I realized I’m done doing what she wants. I should be doing what she needs and what she needs right now is you. She could die, it’s a risk with this surgery and you just need to be here.”

“Fuck,” he cried out loud, hand slapping against the wall next to him, “Okay, I’m on my way. I’m going to get on the nearest flight and I’ll be there in five hours tops.”

“You’re not going to make it,” James said sadly.

“I know,” he yelled back, “But I have to try. Just please keep me updated on how she’s doing.”

With that, Shawn hung up the phone and within that short phone call, his world had shifted. He had woken up the happiest he had been in a long time, and now felt like his heart had just been broken in half. Slipping the phone into his back pocket, he stormed back into the studio and began to tear apart the room in search of his car keys. His face was a shade of white, and his eyes were misty and everyone had not been ready for such a mood change in him. In fact, this was a way they had never seen him before.

“Shawn, what’s going on?” Teddy asked being the first to pick up on his panicked state.

“I need to find my keys,” he explained, breathlessly ripping the pillows off of the small couch that was sat in the corner of the room.

“Why do you need your keys?” she questioned but he didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to find them so he could get to the airport. Finally, she stood from where she was sat and approached the distraught twenty-year-old, hand reaching out to grab his arm, “Hey, take a deep breath and tell us what’s going on.”

Shawn shook his head, a frown permanently etched onto his lips, “I can’t take a breath. I need to get to the airport and get back to Toronto.”

“Has something happened?” she tried to get him to look at her but he couldn’t because he knew if he looked at Teddy he would start to cry and he couldn’t waste any time with his stupid tears.

“Yes,” he turned yelling towards her, startling her and the rest of the people in the room, “You see the girl who could potentially be the love of my life is a pain in the ass. She’s about to go into surgery to cut out the cancer she didn’t even tell me was back. So, yes, something has happened Teddy because her surgery is in two hours and she could die and I need to get home.”

Teddy went silent, the new information obviously stunning her. Shawn had talked about Y/N to his crew plenty of times over the years and as soon as he came back from his trip home, he completely burst with news of seeing her again. He had gone on and on about her the night he flew into LA and everyone could see that he had gotten a little crush but now proved to be a lot more. They never knew of her having cancer because he didn’t tell them.

She said that she was healthy and that the cancer was gone so it didn’t seem relevant to mention but now it wasn’t gone. It was there, inside her beautiful body, spreading, trying to take up every part of her precious being, hoping that it would kill her altogether.

Sighing, Shawn’s hand ran through his curls, tugging slightly at the ends, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled but I just need to go and get to her. Can someone please text Andrew and tell him what’s going on and that I’ll call him later?”

Teddy nodded, hand reaching out to pluck the car keys that were hidden under some sheet music, “Don’t worry about anything, okay. We’ll take care of it. Just focus on getting to her.”

He smiled, grateful for his great friend and producer, taking the keys and bolting for the door with only a small backpack on his back. It had his money and a few pairs of extra clothes in case he accidentally ended up falling asleep at the studio like had done many times before. He was lucky to have it because even if it wasn’t, there was no way he would’ve gone home to pack a bag of clothes. Shawn had only one thing on his mind now, career, music, life put aside. His only priority was getting home, to her.

her

You were becoming restless, sat in that damn bed. Sending Karen and Manny down to the cafeteria with your parents. James was supposed to be with Aaliyah outside, who still seemed hesitant coming in the room. For some reason though, Aaliyah was stood alone outside of the room, biting on her nails, eyes frantically moving around the busy floor. James wasn’t anywhere to be seen and you knew that this was your chance to talk to her finally. Patty was stood at your side doing the initial checkup every twenty minutes just to make sure you were doing alright. She was dressed in her usual blue scrubs, but today her hair was braided back into a bun. She was checking your vitals though you were stable and felt fine.

“Okay, everything is looking good,” she concluded, putting her pen back into the ring of your chart that was in her hands.

“Just like I was twenty minutes ago,” you chuckled.

Patty raised her eyebrows at your sass but smiled nonetheless, “Hey, it’s just protocol from Dr. Myers. You are a very special patient and he wants everything in order before the surgery.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you rolled your eyes, now actually getting slightly irritated with all of the talk about your surgery, “Anyways, do you think you could get Aaliyah for me. She’s just sat out there alone and I have a few things to say to her.”

Patty nodded and smiled, “Alright, and remember I’ll be back-”

“For another checkup in twenty minutes, I know,” you laughed, watching as she backed out of the room and turned towards the young teenager that was trying to hide her nerves.

Patty had said something to her before she disappeared in the opposite direction of your room and hesitantly, Aaliyah stood up from the chair, she was sat in outside the room, and turned the corner. She took small steps entering into the white room that was shining from the sunlight that was emitting from the window. The door closed behind her and with some sort of courage, she managed to cross the room and take a seat in the chair next to your bed.

“Hi,” you smiled.

Her eyes met yours, “Hi.”

“How are you holding up?” you asked, watching her twirl a piece of hair around her finger. She shrugged and that was all the answer you needed. “Where’s James?”

“Said he had to make a work call,” she mumbled back.

“And you didn’t think you could come in?”

She shrugged again, “That nurse was in here so I just thought that I shouldn’t.”

“She was just doing a checkup,” you explained, fingers pulling at a loose thread from the blanket thrown over you. “I’m doing okay.”

“Clearly not,” Aaliyah argued, expression becoming angry as tears welled into her sweet brown eyes, “You said that you were fine and that the cancer was gone but it’s not. You’re sat in a hospital bed about to have surgery. You’re not okay and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

You felt your heart drop, clearly, you weren’t the only one who had doubts about you pulling through this surgery. Hand reaching out, it grabbed hers. “You don’t have to say goodbye. Not now, not ever, okay. I promise that I am going to be fine.”

Wiping at her tears, her head fell onto your arm on the bed, soft sobs raking her body. A single tear had escaped your eye and you quickly pushed it away as Aaliyah lifted her head, a question flooding from her mouth, hitting you where it hurts. “Why didn’t you tell Shawn? Why don’t you want him here?”

“Because I’m a stupid girl who is afraid to tell him that I’m in love with him,” you admitted, hand pushing her hair behind her ear.

Her eyes widened slightly, “You love him?”

You nodded, “I do.”

“I thought that was something you were just saying at lunch to console my parents,” she said, hand interlacing with yours, fingers fiddling with the band around your wrist.

“No, it wasn’t. It’s the truth. He might end up being the love of my life,” you smiled, hand reaching up to unclip the necklace around your neck that had been given out of love by the person you were going to miss the most, “Do you think you could do something for me?”

Aaliyah nodded, eyes trained on the necklace dangling in your hand. You dropped it in her palm and she stared at it, tears starting to dry on her cheeks. Her fingers traced over the continents before she turned it over to the date on the back. “Could you hold onto that for me during surgery? It means a lot to me and I want in the hands of someone who can keep it safe."

“It’s safe with me,” Aaliyah whispered, her hand clamping around the necklace.

“Thank you,” you said, hand stroking her cheek as you felt your eyes start to close, the exhaustion obviously taking a toll on you.

The last thing you could hear was the sound of Aaliyah’s voice whispering with her hand holding yours. “I love you, Y/N and there’s no one who would be a better big sister to me than you.”

You had fallen asleep and when you woke up, Aaliyah was gone from your side. Everyone was stood outside the room with Dr. Myers and a group of medical staff. Upon noticing your eyes, Dr. Myers made his way into the room while everyone else crowded around the doorway. He stood at the side of the bed, hand reaching over to push your hair back from your forehead. “Hey, kid, how you feeling?”

“Tired,” you admitted voice croaky, “How long was I out?”

“A while,” he replied, thumb running along the side of your head, a comforting smile on his face and as you glanced from him to your family and Demi. IN an instant you knew.

“It’s time isn’t it?” you asked.

He nodded, “Yes, it is. We need to start prepping you now.”

Biting onto your lip, you looked back towards your family, “Can I just have a few more minutes?”

“Of course.”

With that, he left and the small staff followed him. You took a deep breath, as your gaze moved to your family and Demi who seemed cautious and hesitant. Wanting a moment with your parents, James, and Demi alone was important in these last few waking moments. It was time to say goodbye in case you didn’t wake up again to say hello. With that, you asked to see your parents first and James and Demi waited patiently outside of the door in each other’s embrace. Demi’s head resting on James’s chest as his arms were wrapped around her torso. Your parents stood at your side, hands gripping your arm gently while your father’s arm was wrapped around your mother.

“Bug, you’re going to do great, okay? Don’t you worry,” your dad cooed.

“We both know, I’m not the one who’s worried, dad,” you replied, watching that mask he had put on to get through this fade.

“I know, you’re not, but we are,” he admitted.

A smile lifted at your lips and even at a time like this it was so genuine and your parents had never been so happy to have raised a heartwarming kind woman, “I just wanted to say that I love you guys so much. You really are the best parents anyone could ever have and I am blessed to have you in my life.”

“No, honey, we are blessed,” your mother said voice breaking, “We were given the best daughter.”

“We are so proud of you, bug,” you dad mumbled, snot falling from his nose as he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, “And we will see you after the surgery.”

“Yeah,” you agreed though there was no way of being sure, “I’ll see you.”

With that, your father leaned down and placed a longing kiss to your forehead taking in the smell of his daughter’s sweet scent he had been around since the day she was born. Your mother followed and with one more smile sent their way, they walked out of the room.

James approached you slowly, eyes bloodshot and shirt wrinkled, short hair a mess on his head. He was a mess. You smiled towards him, reaching your hand out for him to take and he did. Towering over you, he gave you a tight squeeze that reminded you of all the times as a kid while in church, during one specific part when you had to hold hands with the people next to you. James would always squeeze your hand as hard as he could and you’d do it back, usually ending with you hissing in pain and hitting him in the shoulder.

“I’m so scared,” he whispered honestly, barely able to talk.

“I know,” you replied, squeezing his hand just as hard back.

“Are you?” he paused, swallowing the saliva in the back of his throat, “Are you scared?”

“I was, but I’m not anymore.”

He was sobbing, something that wasn’t common with your brother and something he had gotten from your dad. “What can I do? Is there anything that I can do?”

You squeezed his hand three times. 1. 2. 3. “You know there isn’t.”

“There has to be because I’m your older brother. I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

You nodded, smiling up at the one person you had grown up next to, not having a doubt in the world that there was anyone else who was more fitted to be your brother than James. “I know that you are, but we both know you can’t from this. There is only one thing you can do.”

His eyes were locked onto yours, though you appeared slightly blurry from his tears. His palm squeezing your cold one, he knew that he had made the right decision in calling Shawn. Everyone needed to be together at this time and if you loved him as much as you claimed too, this man should be there above anyone else.

“I need you to take care of mom and dad,” you continued, watching as James shook his head because this was the exact thing he didn’t want to hear. “Just in case. I need you to promise that you’ll be there for them for everything. They have taken care of us all our lives and they might need you now to take care of them. Oh, and don’t let them dress me in a black dress at my funeral or play any of that sad shit, okay? I want to be dressed in pure white and have Bob Marley’s Don’t Worry playing over my casket.”

This caused him to chuckle, a sad chuckle but it was still a laugh. He nodded clearly not able to say anything as you swung his hand back and forth on the bed not done with your small goodbye speech. “I also want you to look out for Aaliyah, she seems the most scared about all of this and I need her in your safe arms when she needs it. And above all else, take care of my best friends. Shawn will probably deal with this the hardest and he will need you as a friend to help him get back on top. He’s just a guy who holds so much love in his heart and this might break him a little and you’re the one person I know will get through to him. And Demi, god Demi, you better treat her right, mister, or I’m going to come back and haunt you.”

James nodded again as you mustered the largest smile you could, “I love you, big brother.”

He squeezed your hand as he whispered one last thing to you, “I love you too.”

He sent you one last look over his shoulder as he left the room. The door only fell shut for a mere second, before Demi threw it open and ran in. She had seen your parents and James and the tears that were down all of their faces. Somehow she was convinced to not let you do the same to her. She ran over to you, hands cupping around your face causing your eyes to widen in shock. Her nostrils were flaring and her bottom lip was quivering but she was managing to keep it together.

She took a deep breath before she opened her mouth to speak, “Please, whatever you do, don’t die!”

You smiled and a small laugh fell from your lips, “I won’t because then who is going to be the one to sit around and listen to you rant about my brother.”

“Y/N, please, if there is some sort of white light run into the opposite fucking direction,” she begged, stroking your cheeks with the pads of her thumbs.

You rolled your eyes playfully at her words but you were drawn back to the sigh that sounded from her as she continued, “You and I are not finished, do you hear me? We haven’t made it to college graduation or even traveled the world yet. I need you as my maid of honor when I get married and more than anything I need you at my side with my first baby. I need to be able to call you when my husband is being ridiculous so we can go out and drink all of our happy life problems away because our lives will be so great that we won’t have any real problems to worry about. It’s supposed to be me and you. Don’t you see, I need you. You and I are not finished.”

Your eyes are glazed over and as you are about to respond the door opens and Dr. Myers flashes an apologetic smile, “Y/N, I’m afraid that it’s time to go.”

You nodded, looking back up towards Demi, your heart filled with love and happiness. Removing her hands from around your face, you held them as nurses and doctors began to unlock the wheels on the bed, and unhook the wires that were connected to your body. “You and I will never be finished. Whatever happens, I’m always going to be there for you.”

Tears flooded her vision, as you dropped her hands and the medical staff began to move you. They wheeled you out and into the hallway where your family was and behind them; Loretta, Demetrius, Karen, Manny, and Aaliyah stood. Demi walked behind the bed and as you gave each person one last wave or a shake of your hand, you were wheeled away with their words of encouragement following.

You became silent, gaze locked onto the ceiling as you were rolled down the hall, hands bunched into the blanket at your sides. That panic, that distraught, burning feeling from drowning wasn’t there. Those feelings from that dream had swallowed you and your fears so many times in the past, but now all you felt was complete and utter peace as you were moving towards what could be the final destination.

Dr. Myers and Patty were on each side of you. They were dressed for surgery, in their scrubs and scrub caps. Patty’s was just a pink color while Dr. Myers had large planes and white fluffy clouds. It was the only one you had ever seen him wear. You chuckled out loud, causing the man to look down at you. “I see you still have the same old scrub cap.”

“It’s my lucky scrub cap,” he said with a smile, glad to see you were calmer about the whole thing than how everyone else appeared to be.

Closing your eyes, you sighed, your smile becoming softer as your body felt like it was sinking deeper and deeper into the bed’s thin mattress. “Dr. M, I don’t believe in lucky scrub caps so the only thing I can say right now, is please don’t let me die.”

him

It had been two hours. He wasn’t even halfway there yet. The whole time he could only stare out the window at the sky, his mind too jumbled to focus on anything else. He wasn’t going to make it before the surgery, in fact, he knew she was probably going in right now. His chest ached, and his leg couldn’t stop bouncing up and down, obviously annoying the person sat next to him. The fear of never seeing her again made him feel sick and he had been lucky enough to get to the airport right as a flight was loading, though the only remaining seats were in coach, he didn’t care. Shawn didn’t care that he was stuck next to an older man who snored, or that he almost got mauled by fans who recognized him at the airport. He didn’t care that he was supposed to still be in the studio or had a meeting call later. None of it mattered, not right now.

Phone vibrating in his lap, Shawn had ignored the other messages he had gotten from his family, friends, or work members because he was just too worried about the girl he had given his whole and entire heart to think that finally, everything had worked out. Turned out the world was fucked up and unfair. There was a pulling at his guts, telling him to look at the message though, so he did. He picked up the phone and felt his heart stop and mouth open in shock. There at the top of all the notifications and messages was her name. Y/N had sent him a video, it looked like.

He struggled to plug in his headphones because his hands were shaking so much. Once they were in, he stared down at the screen for a minute, not knowing what to think, before he opened the message and clicked on the play button of the video. It opened and there on the screen was footage of Y/N tucked into a hospital bed with her long shiny hair wrapped up in blankets.It was from years ago. Her face was rounder and her skin much paler. A pair of headphones were on her chest and her father’s voice could be heard as he started to talk. “Hey, bug, you okay?”

The teenage girl shook her head, not bothering to look at the camera. “Shawn’s first album was released today and he’s becoming everything I knew he could be.”

“And you miss him?” Bradley asked to which Y/N nodded.

“I miss him more than anything, dad. We’ve never been away from each other for this long before.”

“Do you think maybe you want to tell him? About the cancer?” her dad questioned.

She became very still, thinking for a long time before answering, “No. I can’t do that to him. Things are finally taking off for him and I can’t give him any reason to give it all up and come back home.”

The video went black for a second as those had been the exact same words she had screamed at him the night of her party. The night, he found out about the real reasons of why the last four years had been how they were. She cared so much about him and was selfish at the same time. She had would his career and his dreams above of own wants and needs and though she may have handled the situation wrong, he still appreciated it all.

Suddenly, music started to play, traveling into Shawn’s ears, the lyrics making his heart speed up in his head.

Honey, I thought you should know. That I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to move up north. But it’s just temporary.

From there the video flashed quickly back and forth of pictures and videos of Y/N and Shawn as kids leading up to the years before he left Pickering. The lyrics piercing his heart with each word. Was she trying to say goodbye? Because this was not the way to do it, he thought eyes glistening with fresh tears.

When I look at you I see your beauty. Now my baby boy he’s going to lose me. But heaven’s not too far away.

And like a bunch of bricks to his chest, as the music started to get louder like it was about to hit the chorus, a picture of Y/N moved onto the screen. She was bald and smiling, looking just like he imagined her to look with no hair, absolutely beautiful. The pictures and videos continued of her. In the hospital, getting chemo, making jokes with her doctor, singing along to one of his songs.

It went on until one last video appeared. Y/N was sat in a wheelchair, a bunch of members of the hospital surrounding her as she was dressed in a black long sleeve shirt and a pair of jeans. Confetti burst around her and a banner appeared with bright pink letters congratulating her on being cancer free. She was smiling so big, that dimples appeared on the sides of her lips, and her cheeks were dusted this soft rosy shade. Then she stood up like the strong woman she was and with hugs going around, walked out of the hospital. She probably expected it to be the last time but had gotten thrown one more curve ball.

No honey, I don’t want you to go. Please know that I have to. Look how the cancer has grown. I think it’s time to go home.

He was crying. Shawn could feel the tears staining his cheeks as the pictures and videos changed again. This time being all from the last few weeks. The weeks he had spent with her; fixing their friendship, healing their hearts, and falling in love. The first one being from the hockey game when he had convinced her to take a selfie. Both smiling and dressed in Maple Leaf clothes, Shawn’s arm was slung across her shoulders and she had leaned into his side for the picture. They both were smiling brightly despite the awkward tension between them at the time.

Then came a few videos from game nights they had with the family or crazy dinners. There’s was videos of them just acting like complete idiots together, resembling exactly how they used to act as kids. Nothing had changed between them that much besides the feelings that had been recognized as wanting to be more than just friends.

Yes, I can still hear your voice. Sounds just like it did. And I can still feel your hand when it touches my skin.

Then they moved into Y/N’s birthday. There were so many. A picture of them leaning into each other at the table during the game of Bullshit to them laughing over dinner. There were videos that Aaliyah had sneakily recorded of Shawn fiddling with Y/N’s fingers in his lap, eyes locked onto her smiling face. To finally pictures of them dancing in her yard. They were pressed so closely and it looked so intimate like they really were a couple, though at the time there had been no label put on them. There were videos of him twirling her, talking to her with a smile on his lips showing just how happy she had made him. As the small video ended with her head falling onto his chest as they danced, the video went black again for a single frame.

But Heaven’s not too far away. I know someday you’ll visit.

Shawn could hear his own laughter through the headphones and a sad smile formed on his lips as the video appeared on the screen. This was in Y/N’s apartment one night after he had stayed over in the last few days they were together. She was tangled on top of him, her phone out, as they were on the floor after Shawn had caused them to fall off. Laughter was flooding through the both of them as she recorded it and it ended with him leaning up and placing a sweet kiss to her lips.

Honey, I thought you should know. That I’m in a hurry.

The music’s volume lowers, fading along the background, as sounds like someone was trying to adjust a camera was being made and then after a few seconds, a light appeared and on the screen there she was. Y/N was dressed in that navy blue shirt that belonged to Shawn and the morning sun was illuminating her face, those freckles noticeable on her nose. She was sat on the small step in the living room, the back of Shawn’s kitchen in view, probably being filmed on her phone. Hugging her knees to her chest, his shirt covered her frame as a small smile graced her precious lips. By it all, he could tell that this was from yesterday. This was the same day he had his flight and not a doubt was in his mind that this was after he left.

She was biting hard onto her bottom lip as her eyes looked into the camera. “Oh. my god, I can’t believe I am doing this.”

She mumbled for a few seconds, trying to get the courage to speak, before finally she took in a deep breath, “Shawn, let’s face I am a stupid stupid girl. No, actually, I’m a coward. I just let you walk out of that door without telling you how completely in love with you I am.”

Shawn’s heart stopped and then skipped a beat all together as his hands held onto his phone so tightly, his knuckles were turning white. She loved him. She finally said it out loud and all he wanted was for her to keep saying it over and over again until he felt like it was true.

“I love you. I love you,” she continued on his screen, her voice going soft as her fingers ran through her short hair, “It’s not fair, I know and I am so sorry but it doesn’t matter because at the end of the day, I love you and you love me and that’s what matters. Shawn, you are one of the best people in my life. Ever since I knew what it was like to get romantic feelings for a boy, I think that’s when my heart started to beat faster around you and that fluttering started to come alive in my stomach. So, I was that girl who had a little crush on her best friend and the family friend. I was also too stubborn to say anything, so I didn’t for years. But by the time we got to high school, I couldn’t take it anymore. You were this cute, kind-hearted, talented boy who had made his way into my mind and never left. There were so many times when I wanted to say something but then you started dating Lauren and then you weren’t and then you had to leave Pickering and the timing just never seemed right for us.”

“Since then, I’ve never really tried to love anyone else because even though I was sick and you were traveling across the world, that sixteen-year-old boy who shot covers in his room had never left my mind. And I promised myself, I would wait for him to come home but then you did and I got scared. So I guess I was as much of a coward then as I am now. But in the end, I got you. I got you, Shawn. I have you, and I have never been as happy as when I’m with you. I love you and I know that we have no idea what’s going to happen. It’s scary and terrifying. It’s the oblivion. I know this will feel impossible at times, but I know that you’ll be okay and if all else fails just know that I’m not too far away. That heaven will never be too far away.”

I’ve gotta move up north. But it’s just temporary.

Just like that, it was over. The time ticked out and the screen went black and Shawn had never felt so empty in his whole entire life. It was a declaration of her feelings and somewhat of an explanation but it felt like a shitty one at that. He knew he deserved more than that. A video sent to him. He needed to hear those words out loud face to face and above all he needed that chance. Things couldn’t end this way, the universe couldn’t be that cruel. He couldn’t let go, not now, not ever. It felt unreal to him. Like his once fluffy cloud had gone grey and a storm had started to stir. It felt so wrong, that he put himself through the pain of clicking play on the video again.

her

There you were, lying on that cold table. Drapes were over your body and a tube was down your throat and your abdomen was bare and exposed. Unconscious, with a bunch of doctors surrounding you and Patty, sat at your head petting your hair down, eyes not able to look away from your sleeping form. Beeping sounded throughout the whole room, from the machines you were hooked up to that was keeping track of your heart rate and other stats.

Along with that, there were IV’s coming out of your arms and bags of blood near if needed. A surgical cap was pulled over your head and there were lights shining over your body for all of the doctors to see. Trays of surgical instruments lined back and forth and behind that on the wall were your latest scans of where the Mets were. The doctors were dressed in OR gowns over their scrubs, white thick gloves on their hands, and face masks over the bottom half of their faces.

Dr. Myers stood to the right side of you, in his lucky scrub cap, headlamp on his head, and clean scrubbed hands raised as he glanced from the different surgeons that filled the room. Some new, and just starting out, as young adults not knowing who you were or your case, and then there were others who had been there through the whole thing. An important case is what Dr. Myers labeled you and had only requested the best for this procedure. Taking a deep breath, his eyes found your face for a split second before looking back at his staff.

“This girl on this table just turned twenty last week and the only thing she asked of me was to not let her die. She has been on my table a handful of times and had gone through chemo and radiation for three years, so the only thing I ask of you tonight is to help me save her life. It’s a nice night for it, let’s do this.”

With that, he stuck his right hand out, palm up, authority present on his face as he looked towards the scrub nurse, “Scalpel.”

him

It was nine o’clock when Shawn landed and nine thirty when he got to the hospital. It was raining. Pouring, actually, and as he parked his car into the closest parking spot he could find, he bolted from the car not caring that he didn’t have an umbrella. He was soaked immediately. Curls wet against his forehead, he sprinted to the front doors and as he approached they opened automatically for him.

Water was dripping from his body as the front lobby came into his view. It was large and filled with blue navy cushioned metal chairs. For those who were waiting, waiting for the answers about their loved ones, waiting for hope to fall onto their shoulders to make it seem like everything hadn’t gone to shit. Shawn in the back of his mind prayed that by the end of the night he wouldn’t be one of those people.

He was jogging, slipping across the white tiled floor, head turning frantically back and forth looking for someone or anyone that could help him or show him where to go and then his eyes found it. The place he was supposed to go, he stopped in his tracks, eyes locked onto the only people who sat in those hard chairs. It was his family, your family, Demi, and then Loretta and Demetrius. They were sat by one another, bent over, like they were praying.

Manny sat on the end and two chairs over was Karen. Sandwiched in between them was Aaliyah, who had her fingers interlaced gripping them so tightly. Manny’s arm was around his daughter while Karen seemed busy rubbing Katherine’s back who was next to her. Kleenexes were pressed into the lady’s palms and though she always looked lovely and put together, now she just seemed completely out of it.

Bradley sat next to his wife, hand clasped around her knee as he stared at the ceiling, eyes not able to sit still. In the next two chairs were James and Demi. Demi had her face pressed into James' neck as her hands gripped his shirt tightly like he was the only thing keeping her upright. James’ head leaned against her’s, eyes fluttering open and close like he was about to fall asleep.

Then there at the very end was Loretta and Demetrius. Loretta was tapping her fingers against her thigh as she counted the dots on her shit while Demetrius looked at the book that was held in his hand. He wasn’t reading it but just holding it. Shawn knew which book it was from where he stood because besides it being Y/N’s favorite book it was also his.

Walking over there, to not startle them, every single pair of eyes lifted to his wet frame. His eyes were cloudy as his lips were drawn to a frown and the sound of the water slipping down on his body echoed in the air as it slapped against the floor. He knew she was in surgery, he knew hours ago, but that didn’t stop his mouth from opening and asking the question, voice breaking all together, “Where is she?”

Manny’s arm unwrapped from around Aaliyah and he stood at the view of his son in front of him. He approached Shawn, sadness on his face, as he tried to comfort the broken boy but he couldn’t find the words to say anything besides, “Shawn.”

“Where is she?” he raised his voice, though he knew there was no reason for it but he had a bad feeling about being there and he needed to see her. He needed to say that he loved her. “I need to see her.”

Manny tried to take Shawn’s arm in his hand, but the singer just shrugged him off. Those broken amber eyes looked around at everyone else who couldn’t find the words either. How were you supposed to tell someone that the love of their life was in surgery and could die at any minute? You couldn’t, you needed to think of better things because if you thought of the worst, the easier it would convince you that it was true.

“I have to see her,” Shawn cried, body exhausted from the flight, from running, from crying. He was about as out of it as anyone else, if not more. “Please, I need to see her. She can’t die.”

her

Dr. Myers movements had gone still. His light was shining into your body cavity and silence had washed over the room as they waited for him to say something, anything, or have his movements start again. Finally, Patty was the one who had been the one to call him out on the scared shitless look that appeared on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, hand pressed to your forehead, worryingly.

Dr. Myers looked up, gaze towards her and his face dropped even more, “The Mets have spread since her last visit. It’s starting to move up past her pelvis and towards the abdomen.”

It was like a pin dropped at the news, the kind that no one wanted to hear. Patty closed her eyes as a shaky breath passed her lips. “Are you going to close her up?”

He shook his head as he picked up the ten blade again and started to make small little cuts, “No.”

“That means you’re going to have to cut out more tissue to get it all. Is that really what we should do?!” Patty questioned no longer calm.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Close her up and send her back to the chemo chair? She barely survived chemo last time, I’m not putting her back there,” he stated, pausing to give a hard stare towards Patty. Tension was thick in the air, but he ignored the stares from the other staff and turned back to the task at hand.

“Clamp!” he demanded.

him

“You know that you can’t,” Manny tried this time, able to talk as his hand gripped onto his son’s shoulder, “She’s in the middle of an invasive procedure.”

Shawn’s hand came up to grip his dad’s forearm like he was about to fall over. “Dad, she can’t die without me telling her.”

“Bud, she knows that you love her,” Manny mumbled as everyone else watched in tears.

“No!” he yelled, “I need to tell her.”

At this point, tears were falling from Shawn’s eyes, mixing with the rain that was still stuck to his skin. He was sobbing, pleading in front of more people then he would ever allow but that’s how horrible this felt. It was like his heart was being torn from his chest and he didn’t care to show his weakness to the world because he felt too exhausted and too upset. Karen stood from her spot next to Katherine and tried to gather her son in her arms but he pushed her away too.

“Shawn, we know this seems impossible but she is going to be okay,” Karen said, tears of her own appearing, “Please just sit down. They should be done soon.”

He shook his head, hands coming up to tug on his curls. How could she do this to him? Make him fall in love with her and not warn him about the heartbreak ahead of time. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was finally his and he was her’s. It was supposed to be like that for a long time and it seemed, he was losing her not even a week after he confessed his feelings.

her

“Damn it!” Dr. Myers voice cursed through the room.

Patty’s eyes widened as she looked up at him. “What now?”

“She’s losing too much blood. I need you to start hanging more bags right away and I need to cauterize this bleeder and get it under control before it gets worse,” the scrub nurse and surgeons that had been assisting began to hang the bags of blood.

Dr. Myers began to pack as much gauze as he could into your body trying to stop the bleeding that formed as someone was preparing the cautery instrument to cauterize. That’s when the beeping cut through the air sharply. It was rapid and loud sending everyone in a frenzy.

“Her pressure’s dropping!”

him

“Shawn, please,” Karen begged.

He was shaking, sobs raking through his body. At this point, Manny had his arms wrapped around his son trying to keep him back from trying to run. Shawn, on the other hand, was using everything he had left him to get free from his father’s grip. He had to get to her.

At this point Bradley and James were stood too, saying things towards Shawn but it was no use, it was going in one ear and out the other. Katherine soon was on her feet, hands holding Shawn’s face trying to talk him down but it was like though his eyes were looking at her he couldn’t see her. He was having an anxiety attack, they all knew it. It was the worst they had ever seen. Starting to hyperventilate, his legs were like jello and his throat was raw from screaming.

Nurses had started to appear, being able to hear his yells from down the halls. They had jogged over and tried to remove Manny’s arms from around Shawn, but he was too scared to let go. It all became too much and the younger Mendes found herself jumping from her seat to get to her brother. She pushed Katherine aside and looked into her brother’s broken eyes. Ripping the necklace from her pocket, she shoved it into his hand. Shawn’s head fell, eyes locking onto the golden chain. He turned it over with his fingers before he looked back up towards his little sister.

“She asked me to hold onto it for her but I think she wanted me to give it to you,” Aaliyah whispered, stroking her brother’s damp skin, “Shawn, she loves you. She loves you. She loves you.”

her

That rapid beeping stopped and instead it became continuous meaning only one thing. Dr. Myers’s head snapped into the direction of the heart monitor. There wasn’t a line that was spiking with each beat that resounded around your chest. In fact, there was nothing. Both HR, for heart rate, and BP, for blood pressure, were flat. A question mark showed in the right corner under where it said the patient’s name and had Y/N Y/L/N flashing across the screen. A red alert was signaling.

“I’m starting chest compressions,” Dr. Myers called out, ripping the headlamp from his head and dropping it to the floor.

He slid across the floor up towards your chest and as his eyes glanced at the girl behind the drapes, he felt his blood run cold. Folding his hands together into a fist, he began pushing up and down in the middle of your chest, counting in his head with each movement. Your whole body jerked as your chest was pushed down and then proceeded back to its original place. Chin tucking down to hit your neck, Patty was crying at the girl laying in front of her. “Get a crash cart!”

Patty leaped from her chair above your head and sprinted to the corner of the room, pushing the cart from where it sat. She wheeled it over towards the side of the OR table. Dr. Myers ripped the paddles from the cart as the other lead surgeon on the case continued with the chest compressions. “Charge to 300.”

Quickly preparing the paddles in his hands, Dr. Myers stared wide eyed and terrified at the patient on the table. A buzzing noise came from the machine as he rubbed the two paddles together then hovered them both over your chest. “Clear.”

Patty pushed the button and the volts of electricity shot into your body. Everyone’s eyes locked onto the monitor as the line changed. The rhythm shot up and fell down in a zigzag motion as the question marks turned to numbers. The numbers increased, heart rate coming to 30 and BP to 40/24 but within seconds both had fallen back to zero. The question marks appearing on the screen again.

“Charge again,” Dr. Myers yelled refusing to move the paddles from your chest, “Clear.”

him

The sound of Aaliyah’s voice began to fade and Shawn felt all strength in his legs give out. He collapsed into his father’s arms and gently Manny lowered his twenty-year-old son onto the ground.

A puddle of water had formed around him and he squeezed his eyes shut, sobs still falling from his mouth. The necklace wrapped tightly in his palm as he tried to control his breathing. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and everything just seemed wrong. Bringing his knees to his chest, Shawn wrapped his arms around his legs. His head fell against his legs, able to smell the spring rain that stuck to his clothes.

Sobs becoming whimpers, nailings digging into his legs. He was losing it. There was nothing left in him, yet the tears continued. His damp curls were in his eyes and his head felt like it was going to burst. Was this what it felt like to die? Or was he just going to pass out? Maybe that’s how bad the pain was.

His eyes were closed and he shut out everything else behind him. The voices faded like white noise, and the feeling of others touching him went numb. All he could hear was her laughter, all he could smell was her coconut shampoo, and all he could see was her. Splayed across his bed, in his shirt, morning light in her face as she smiled and laughed, hands intertwined with his. All he could feel was her; her lips, her hands, her body. Only her. This was it. This was how it all fell apart, straight into his lap.

her

Did you say it?

“Come on, Y/N,” Dr. Myers whispered, paddles still pressed against your skin, as his eyes scanned for that rhythm. That one rhythm. “Charge again. Clear.”

I love you.

The numbers rose and fell again. Nothing. “Come on, don’t die on me! Charge to 400. Clear.”

Did you say it before it was too late? Before it was gone?

“We’re losing her!” Patty declared.

I love you

“Charge to 400 again. Clear!”

Did you? Or did you let it hold you back? The fear of admitting that you’ve fallen. Scared to commit to another person. Scared that love would hurt you. Fail you. Break you.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you are not going to slip away, you hear me! You told me to not let you go and there is no way that I’m going to but I can’t do this on my own.”

You should’ve said it. I love you because what it comes down to is at the end of the day…

“Damn it! Again!”

… wouldn’t you rather risk all of that…

“V-fib! Clear!”

… than to never love at all?

next part

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imag #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #my writing #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes angst

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spookyspaghettisundae · 3 years

Text

Let's Not Go There

The reason it is hard to believe in the fantastical and unnatural is because you either always only hear of bizarre phenomena that other people experienced, or whatever you experienced was so strange that it is easier to bend over backwards in the effort of coming up with a rational explanation.

My experience defies every possible explanation, and it is why I have developed such a fascination with the concept of other-worlds, astral travel, and parallel dimensions. And I am not alone in this. I cannot chalk it up to mere hallucination. I cannot consider it a case of my mind breaking, for I have no history of mental illness diagnoses, nor have I ever experienced anything like it in the decades that followed.

It all happened in the 1990s. In a place that already feels surreal and otherworldly to begin with.

Of all possible places, it happened in a shopping mall.

Abundant optimism was something you could taste in the air back then. It smelled like bubblegum and stale air-conditioned air and tasted like buttery popcorn. Maybe this is just nostalgia blending with the idiocies of being a teenager, but these are the scents and sights as I remember them back then.

Gentle music underlined by mellow saxophones and sleepy guitars playing in the distance, escalators rolling along at a plodding pace, aesthetically pleasing fountains with their hypnotic water streams, and strategically placed plants that laminated an otherwise cool and heartless architecture, consisting of shiny floors and cubic intersecting spaces occupied by temples of commerce.

The internet was still around the corner, waiting to be discovered on a wide scale, and computers dwelling in blissful isolation of networks stood on display in electronics stores like some sort of technological marvel, even though they chugged and struggled just to spit out pixelated screensavers. While we are at it, try to imagine how almost nobody had a cell phone back then.

Storefronts displayed flashy fashion, an announcement in a melodious voice that I completely ignored echoed from loudspeakers every now and again, and the palette of garish colors and exotic shapes overwhelmed my senses but also always drew me back, luring me to return every week when I had time outside of school and homework.

A texture of voices and motions constantly thrummed in the air, somehow soothing and always vibrant; of many people speaking just loud enough that you could catch a word but never the meaning, and shuffling through these seemingly infinite hallways, in and out of shops, loitering around on benches, or where the smells of ice cream or pizza drew them in like flies to honey.

As much as it was a ritual to visit this wondrous world once a week, my allowance was limited, so I had to save towards certain things and just spent time here with friends, strolling about and admiring things and dreaming of owning items I would never need, but desired, nevertheless.

One of the bookstores at that mall belonged to my personal highlights. Something about the soft carpeted floors that swallowed loud sounds, the muted warm light, the red velvety chairs to sit upon, the rustling of pages, and the smell of freshly printed paperbacks and hardcovers alike, sliding in and out from shelves as people inspected their covers or flipped through their contents.

On that day, my friends and I—because I never went here alone—had already spent hours wandering through the mall, window-shopping, and staring dreamy-eyed at its many meaningless wonders, and our legs were all wobbly from all the walking about.

They had decided to spend the rest of our time at the arcade to get some pizza and play some video games, and I fully intended to rejoin them once I had doubled back to said bookstore to pick up a novel I had been thinking of plunking down my meager cash for.

A rare time and circumstance to be alone here, like this, but there it was. That was when it happened. Creeping and unfathomable, I felt my stomach knot for no apparent reason.

Bought the book I had been eyeing for weeks now, for a collection from the same author I had started reading almost a year ago, eager to uncover the secrets that would unravel once reading it, page by page.

Handing over the cash, hearing that register churn and clink as I received a few coins as change, the smile of the cashier’s friendly beautiful face smiling at me in a rehearsed but pleasant manner. Nothing out of the ordinary. All as it should be.

Yet some inexplicable tension remained even as I exited the bookstore. As always, I felt a little pang of buyer’s remorse, thinking that I might have saved every penny for something better, something more practical. As such, I stopped right outside the entrance to the shop, without apparent reason. Dead in my tracks, pondering if I had done the right thing.

With the water fountains nearby sparkling, people walking past me wrapped up in idle conversation, and the dreamy elevator music reaching my ears, I dug around in the thin plastic bag from the bookstore. Crammed around in it until I found the receipt and looked at it.

And that—that right there was what was wrong.

Only now did I realize how I had bought the book almost blindly. I stared at the flimsy piece of paper and ink in disbelief. The printed symbols on the receipt did not look like numbers or words I could comprehend. Or, hell, like any human being could understand. Just like alien writing that did not belong. The more I stared at it and tried to decipher any meaning, the more my vision blurred and a sharp pain, like a knife sliding right into the back of my head, started to split my skull.

A shopping mall being what it is, you can see motion all around you but just organically tune it out without thinking about it. Something needs to be special or highly unusual to grab your attention, but exactly that happened to me just then.

I saw motion behind me—right behind me—in the reflection of the bookstore’s front window. Eyes. Before I could identify any face to go along with it, the figure melted into the blind spot exactly behind me and only then did I feel a gust of warm breath against the back of my neck.

Terrified, I swiveled and found nobody to be standing immediately behind me. People passing me by gave me funny looks as I kept swiveling, and I am quite sure that I must have looked like I had lost my mind.

When I beheld my reflection in the storefront window again, as if I could possibly see that non-existent mystery person there, something else caught my eye.

The store brand logo on my plastic bag looked different. Similar enough in all key ways to not immediately pay attention: similar shapes, similar color, a typography that resembled the way it should look. But the words were all different. Instead of the name of the bookstore chain, it read, “Look closer.”

Shooting a glance at my bag—not in the window’s reflection but at the actual bag—it looked normal. Just like the logo should, reading the chain’s name as it should. I could feel the blood draining from my face once my gaze wandered back to the window and I could only see that phase again.

Look closer.

The saxophones leading the elevator music in the background seemed to swell while I stared. My own heartbeat in my ears drowned out the idle chatter of any people nearby, and I knew what I had to do.

I stepped up to the storefront window, oblivious to anything on display beyond its glassy surface. Focused only on the reflections, I held up that receipt to it. Sure enough, I could read something on it now, as if the window and its reflections served somehow as a decoding lens.

Look to your right. Step through the exit.

I had to read it multiple times to know I was not dreaming or hallucinating. But I remembered how I could never read in my dreams, and everything else around me just felt and sounded so normal. So real.

The sweet perfume of someone passing me by, the squeak of someone’s sneakers streaking against waxed floors, and a fuzzy something that resisted being compartmentalized into any of the five senses.

Real.

Look to your right, the message read.

As I followed that instruction, I saw the glowing “EXIT” sign, nestled in the wall in between two stores. It looked so unfamiliar in that moment, but also like it perfectly belonged. Had it always been there, and I never paid attention to it? Probably.

Step through the exit, the message had continued. Its words echoed in my mind, riding on the idealized reflection of my own voice.

I looked around but anybody nearby just went about their lives, ignoring me. So, I pushed, and the door emitted a chunky metallic sound as it yielded, letting me enter the fire escape hallway. Another chunky sound accompanied it closing behind me as I entered.

That dreamy texture of mall music and a multitude of people wandering around was muffled by the door, insignificant in comparison to the echoes of my shoes tapping against a rough concrete floor. This hallway in and of itself already felt like another world entirely, one that bled into the world of the shopping mall and vice versa.

Everything was much brighter in here, illuminated by fluorescent tubes running along the entirety of this narrow hallway. A cool air breezed past me as I wandered deeper down its length.

Just like in the fantasy and science-fiction adventure stories I loved so much, I felt like I was fulfilling some sort of prophecy and, hell, my dumb teenaged brain told me that I was born to do this. Meant to do this. Not once did I stop to question the madness of any of this.

Somehow, against all reason, it all made sense.

Yet even as I believed to be feeling the draw of destiny, suffused with purpose, my heart raced. Some other part of me instinctively knew that something was deeply—utterly—wrong.

As I turned a corner, I gazed upon my horrid destination.

A door, covered in black vines with leaves so thin and sharp in definition that they could have been razors. Worms wriggled on the floor around it, near where a crack should be. No handle or knob adorned the portal’s face. But it throbbed with a pulse of its own, out of sync with its own heartbeat. Vein-like tendrils, black, and pulsating, ran from the epicenter of this otherworldly door, entrenched in the wall around it, as if it had infested the plaster like a disease, spreading slowly.

I turned to run, but the lights on the ceiling at the end of the hallway where I had come from now flickered out, dead. One by one, they plunged the hallway into a growing pool of darkness, speeding up as they approached.

Any courage to explore the thin veil between worlds or whatever lay beyond, it now all melted away instantaneously.

Darkness, from which I could hear the mall no longer, and only imagine what things now lurked inside of it.

Or that dark door.

I fled forward. Nearly cried as I scrunched my eyes shut and heard the squelching sounds of things getting squished underneath my shoes, as I felt the delayed burn and sting of many little cuts—like papercuts—flaring up as I pushed against that black door with all my might.

It gave way more easily than I had expected and I stumbled forward into the unknown.

Still blind by own volition, I sensed far softer grounds underfoot, where grass rustled with each of my steps and wind whistled through alien leaves all around me.

When I dared open my eyes again, I found myself in a gloomy clearing, underneath a low, dense canopy of trees, with no door or any mall in sight. Another world. Pink birds chirped with foreign sounds, and insects I never would have dreamed of crawled in the dark dirt between plants.

Panic fully gripped me and dulled my senses to the point where my gaze swept all around me, full circle, multiple times, until I spotted a pair of eyes staring at me from beyond the gloom, swallowed by shadows cast by the foliage. Glowing yellow, and curious. Unblinking and oh-so-hungry.

“Do not look at me,” a hissing whisper came from those eyes.

Though I could see no mouth, I could hear the rows of sharp teeth through which those words traveled to reach my ears.

“Do not look at me,” it repeated. “Or I will eat you alive.”

More than anything, I tried to hold back tears, but they flowed despite my effort.

“I just wanna go home,” I pleaded with Yellow-Eyes.

Although I averted my gaze, I could feel a sinister smile creeping across its face as it replied, now adopting a melodious and mocking tone that seesawed between idle amusement and deadly threat.

“You look like a plump little beanstalk, yet you talk like one of us.”

I looked for places to run, but knew in my heart of hearts that Yellow-Eyes could run faster than I. And that no matter where I ran, I could never hide from such an abomination.

“You are not so pretty yourself, you know,” it said, as if it could read my mind. “But no matter. You fit right in with us. You could carve your own little kingdom from the mountains and the trees here.”

The tree trunks here all looked thick and ancient, yet they presented gaps in between them, wide enough for me to flee through. Not that I harbored any hope of making it. Every time Yellow-Eyes spoke to me again, it crushed every shred of anything even so remotely resembling hope inside its hoary maw.

“But you are afraid, which I understand. I have passed through that same door, before. Of strange steel, and cold, sleek surfaces; where odd squeals travel through the glass to meet my ears and mock me. ‘Open me,’ they screech! ‘Explore the other side,’ they demand.”

To blot out its damnable rambling, I covered my ears, but it was too late. The voice of Yellow-Eyes had entered my mind. I have a hunch as to why, but at the time there was no understanding why I suddenly felt like we were kindred souls, Yellow-Eyes, and me.

Averting my gaze for so long, and with the circle of trees spinning around me as I grew dizzy, I lost track of where this entity prowled. Another gust of warm breath hit the back of my neck, provoking every hair upon it to stand.

“I have glimpsed your world, and you have now glimpsed mine,” said Yellow-Eyes. “I can show you the way back if you invite me across the threshold.”

I wanted to deny it. Turn it down. Its words rang hollow, dripping with venom. In between the lines it spoke, I felt something dark and old and wicked.

“Thus, you need not deal with the things that dwell hither, like the Way King, or the Red Carpenter, or the Unbirthed Paddock-Watcher. The River of Lions, the Green Cairn, or the Castle of Thorns. I could show you such wondrous place, but would you resist their call? Would you survive their grinding teeth, their toxic breath, their maddening words?”

Maddening words Yellow-Eyes provided plenty of already. My heart raced, but those names and those places, they somehow beckoned me. I yearned to explore this world, to uncover its mysteries. It fascinated me as much as it instilled pure dread in my heart.

How alien it all felt, how wrong. Underneath it all, I did just want to go home.

“Please,” I whispered.

That whisper sliced through the air like a blade. The strange forest went silent. All I could hear was Yellow-Eyes breathing, faster. More excited.

I said, “Come with me, across the threshold. Just help me find home.”

That warm breath brushed across the back of my neck again.

“Oh, my pleasure. My leisure. Let us depart with haste, lest the Blighted Sparrow of Shadowy Waters return here to roost and interfere.”

Rubbing the tears from my eyes until my vision had cleared enough to see, the door stood there again—in the middle of the eerie clearing. Worms wriggling beneath it, the solitary door connected to no building, no walls, just wreathed in black vines, as before. Throbbing and pulsating as if alive.

Or had it been there all along? Had Yellow-Eyes hidden it from me somehow?

“Waste no time! Go! Open that door,” Yellow-Eyes hissed, making no effort to sound enticing anymore. Just exuding malice with each syllable.

And I did.

Once more, I cringed at the disgustingly soft grounds where worms squished under my shoes wherever I stepped to near the door, but I kept my eyes wide open this time. I gritted my teeth as I could watch the edges of those bladed leaves, almost translucent, cutting the surface of my exposed skin as I pushed against the door.

A dark void yawned at me from beyond the portal, not a gloomy clearing. I sensed something even worse than Yellow-Eyes, lurking in that deeper shadow. Then it retreated. Fluorescent tubes sprung to life, one by one, and bathed in light a long hallway of white plaster walls and concrete floor before me. I fled inside before the final lights flickered on and despite not hearing any sound to indicate it, passing that threshold of worms and razorblade vines, I knew the door closed behind me on its own.

And with me, this time, traveled Yellow-Eyes.

Greeted again by the chunky sound of the handlebar opening the fire escape door from the narrow hallway, I emerged into the shopping mall again.

Muddy brown discoloration clung to the edges of my sneakers, and I saw tiny streaks of crimson upon the sides of my hands where the leaves had cut me. The bag with my new book drooped lazily from my wrist, but the logo on the plastic looked normal now.

Had it ever appeared otherwise?

Of course, as I wandered through this temple of commerce in a daze, slowly shuffling my way towards the arcade to meet back up with my friends, I questioned my sanity. I wanted to tell them what had just happened, but I also did not want to.

I am surprised I am even telling you, now.

But someone needs to know. Because what you described—it reminded me of this. I can see the signs.

It reminded me that every time I look into the mirror, I see those yellow eyes flash. I see my own lips curl into a sinister smile that it is not my own but inhabits my face against my will. Well, that is not entirely correct, because I did invite Yellow-Eyes along.

And my fascination with the concept of other worlds is not some idle hobby.

It is an obsession.

So, if you know something I do not—if you have an even inkling about how you might cross over, then you need to tell me. Try to remember what exactly you were doing, what time of day, even what you were smelling or thinking. You need to tell me.

Right now.

Because both old Yellow-Eyes and me, we want to return there. See how much has changed in the past decades.

And if you don’t want to talk, well…

Let’s not go there.

—Submitted by Wratts

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deuynndoodles · 4 years

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read on ao3 or click read more!

suspicion increase by deuynndrabbles and @whimsicalweast chapter summary:

Three kids have a sleepover. One word- Mabel.

“Seriously, Mabel?” The boy groans, and looks at his sister with The Look.

“Yes, seriously,” she says, in a tone that is anything but serious.

3k | ch. two

Danny is currently curled up in a rainbow blanket (given to him by the boy, but he mentioned it was knitted by Mabel- he doesn’t necessarily need it because of his ice powers, and therefore likes the cold, but he figures it’d be weird to refuse) in the attic, aka the twins’ bedroom.

He glances over to Mabel, who is currently laying on her bed coloring in a coloring book on her belly with her feet in the air, her tongue sticking out playfully, he starts to reflect on what landed him in this spot in the first place.

(Danny accidentally mentioned he didn’t have anywhere to go that night, and Mabel had none of that and scooped him up, dragging him to another room in the Mystery Shack and asking her great uncle if Danny could stay over for the night.

The older man didn’t seem to care all that much, only giving them a few warnings such as “Don’t stay up too late”, and “Never let Mabel have any Smiley Dip”, and “Don’t raise the dead again”.

Danny found everything he mentioned fairly standard sleepover rules.

The two children thanked the man, one certainly more enthusiastic than the other, and Mabel rushed up the stairs, hopping each stair two at a time, gripping Danny with her right arm.

Mabel’s brother didn’t seem quite as eager to have Danny over as Mabel was, but remained quiet throughout the process for the most part. Well, he did reprimand his sister for inviting over a stranger, which was a reasonable response. But. He was right here, jeez.

All Mabel did was blow a raspberry at him and told him not to worry, but her brother didn’t calm.)

Still feeling the kid’s gaze focused on the back of his head, Danny pulls out his phone and dials two very familiar numbers, one to a specific techno-geek and the other to a goth activist, but is only met with “The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable, please call back later or leave a message at the beep.”

He sighs, dropping his phone back into his jeans pocket and gives the twins a smile, saying, “I’ll try again in the morning. It is kinda late, anyways. And who knows how late it is for them in Illinois.”

Mabel gives him a wide grin and nods her head, but her brother just gives him an uncertain glance before returning to the journal in his hands. It looks fairly odd to Danny, a red cover with a six fingered hand slapped on the front and a bold number 2 in the center. But he’s not one to judge.

(So now here he is, kidnapped by a thirteen-year-old girl, staying in the attic of a tourist trap wrapped in a multitude of blankets in between two twin beds.)

He still feels as if he’s gotten whiplash from this whole scenario. But he just pulls up the blanket draped around his shoulders to cover his cheeks, content with the situation as well as he can be.

Mabel is now laying on her back, placing her bare feet on the slanted ceiling. Her brother is still scouring his journal, with two other identical covers sitting on his bedside table. He’s chewing on the end of the pencil he holds, occasionally pausing to write a thing or two in the margins. Their pig, deemed ‘Waddles’, is snuggled up to Mabel on her bed.

Danny himself is in a make-shift nest (no matter what you call it, Mabel will say it’s a bed, but Danny will call it a nest) surrounded by a various amount of blankets and pillows.

“By the way, what do ya like to do, Danny?” Mabel says, her tongue stuck out quite dorkishly and she grins a wide brace-filled grin at the boy.

Danny blinks, and then the audio forms itself into words in his brain. “Video games, I guess?” He says, tilting his head slightly and the blanket falls back onto his shoulders. “I don’t have a whole lot of free time.”

(Danny doesn’t share the reasons for this.)

“Cool!” Mabel draws out the syllable, and flips over onto her belly again and props her arms up on her pillow. She turns to glance at her brother. “Hey, bro-bro? Do we have any video games in the shack?”

The small teen furrows his brow. “I don’t think so,” he mutters, setting the book in his lap aside on his bedside table to join the two other identical volumes. “Soos probably has some, but for now I think we just have board games downstairs in the gift shop.”

Mabel gasps, and smirks. “How about Candyland?” Mabel grins, and her brother groans.

“Fine,” he says. “You okay with that, Danny?”

Danny shrugs, and says, “I don’t really care, to be honest.”

Mabel takes the neutral answer and grins even wider, sliding off her bed with an “oomph” and trotting downstairs to retrieve said board game.

The brunet on the bed sighs and looks over to Danny, who simply blinks at him in confusion. “What?” Danny says, and the boy tentatively offers a slip of paper attached to a clipboard along with the pencil he was chewing on to him.

“Can you write some things down on Phantom?”

(Danny is suddenly reminded of the fact that he had agreed to hunt essentially himself- his brain hasn’t quite caught up and he’s sure he’ll bolt up in the middle of the night and go “I’m hunting myself with two thirteen-year-olds”.

But he hasn’t quite comprehended this fact yet.)

Instead, Danny grimaces at the chewed and slightly wet pencil, but takes the clipboard and starts to write in slanted print anway.

After a few minutes, he offers the paper back to the boy, and he starts to read the text out loud. Danny rolls his eyes at this. (He knows what the paper says, thank you very much.)

“Phantom’s a pretty friendly ghost. He’d save people from oncoming ghost attacks back in my hometown. Nobody really knows where he’s from or how old he is-”

(It’s not like Danny’s going to go and share his life story to this kid he doesn’t even know the name of. Besides, it’s technically the truth. Excluding a certain trio, a sister, and a whole world of ghosts.)

“-or how he died, but they never can find out because Phantom is fairly elusive. He typically stays in his own haunt, so it’s unlikely you’ll see him anywhere else.” The boy pauses his reading, glancing up from the paper to meet sky blue eyes with hazelnut brown. “This is all you know?” He says, shaking the scrap of notebook paper.

The door is slammed open to reveal an excited Mabel with a decorated cardboard box in her hands. (To be honest, both boys had pretty much forgotten she was downstairs.)

“Who’s ready to play Candyland?” She exclaims, and doesn’t wait for an answer before she plops down on the wooden floor and sets up the game.

“I get red!” Mabel says, and picks up the piece that is now ‘hers’ and sets it by the start. She grabs a blue and sticks it by the start as well. “Danny, which color do you want?” She shakes the green and the yellow gingerbread man figures, a wide grin still adorning her face.

“Green.”

Mabel shoves the yellow one back in the box. “Poor yellow guy, he’ll be all lonely in there. Well, we’ll make it quick!” She grins, and offers the deck of cards over to her brother who shuffles and sets it down next to the board.

The first card is a purple, and Mabel decides that she goes first and moves the red figure. Danny goes next, and takes an arm out of his blanket nest and moves his character five blocks forward.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, the yellow man is reunited with his best friends after Mabel yells “I win!” and flips the board over in victory.

(For a quick second, Danny is reminded of when Sam would brag whenever she’d win the round of Doom they all played together, slamming the controller down on the couch and announcing her victory to two sour boys.

Though of course, this girl is the complete opposite of Sam so he isn’t really sure why he thinks of her.)

“Seriously, Mabel?” The boy groans, and looks at his sister with The Look.

“Yes, seriously,” she says, in a tone that is anything but serious.

Danny snickers, and stops as he sees Mabel’s wide grin as she believes Danny is on her side.

(He’s neutral.)

“Anyway, let’s focus on Phantom,” Dipper says, and pulls out the slip of paper that Danny filled out. He reads it out loud again to his twin, and she smiles as she listens.

She seems to almost deflate like a balloon when he mentions that they might not see Phantom, but when Dipper thinks of that night last week of seeing a bright light above the trees at just before sunrise-

He’s pretty sure they’ll see Phantom.

And besides, Danny’s parents are ghost hunters so he knows a couple things. They’re bound to find something.

“Though you guys could probably find a bunch of animal ghosts and stuff in the woods. Seemed pretty supernatural to me,” Danny throws out, and glances up at the twins.

Suddenly, Mabel’s balloon is filled with helium again and she sits up straight with an excited expression. “That sounds sweet,” she says, drawing out the last syllable annoyingly long and Dipper groans on the inside.

But he can’t say he isn’t excited, because he definitely is. He just doesn’t show it as much as the girl does. His heart is still beating fast, and a grin adorns his face. He just doesn’t flail his limbs around like Mabel is currently doing, hammering questions about ghosts at Danny, while the boy looks at the floor and responds with short, concise answers.

‘Yeah,’ Dipper thinks. ‘Let’s do this.’

And then Mabel hits him over the head with a pillow from Danny’s nest, knocking his snapback off his head and he turns to glare at her.

“C’mon, lil’ bro! It’s sleepover time! We can focus on those ghostie thingies tomorrow!”

Dipper abstains from responding, but he thinks ‘You were just asking Danny a bunch of questions about them’ as Dipper tugs his hat back on.

“Now, let’s paint your nails, boys!”

She lifts a few bottles of nail polish in her hands and a smirk adorns her face.

Danny groans, and says, “Ugh, fine. But I want black.”

(He’s still thinking of Sam and Tucker.)

Dipper soon has rainbow nail polish smothered over his fingers, carefully painted and Danny has all black nails and toes. (Danny found it hard to object to that puppy-dog-eyes face when she begged to paint his toes.)

“Who’s ready for makeup?” Mabel smiles, opening a drawer.

“Uh, no,” Danny deadpans, “I didn’t agree to this.” Dipper falls over onto his bed with a groan.

If Mabel didn’t notice her brother’s clear discomfort from this entire situation, she’d call herself blind.

She believes that she knows Dipper better than he knows himself, and now is just proof of that. Danny’s examining his makeup in the mirror, and Mabel watches Dipper fiddle with the pen in his hand unconsciously, spinning it around. He stares down at the hardwood floor as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world with brown hair falling into his eyes.

Dipper has a tendency to avoid things that makes him uneasy, so it makes sense he’s quiet throughout the sleepover. Not that he was ever really that loud in the first place; Dipper usually waits until attention is diverted away from him so he blends into the background when he’s wary of anything.

Or anyone.

Dipper has never been a social butterfly like Mabel, and she doesn’t blame him for that. He still tries. . . Well, at least he used to. Ever since their last summer at Gravity Falls, he seems so different, so closed off.

With everything that occurred last summer, he’s grown even more distrustful of people in general, and she can’t blame him for this either. (She still feels guilty about what she said to him when they were trapped in that ideal world, paradise, but was really just a trap. She was too blind to see, and she has Dipper to thank for ever getting out of there.)

It makes sense, after all.

(A small part of her blames this mysterious town for what it’s done, who’s really responsible for this shift in Dipper’s personality, and Gravity Falls no longer has him haunting the streets but that voice still echoes in her brother’s head.)

Mabel knows that Dipper doesn’t particularly trust Danny yet. She’s still trying though, okay? Games, makeovers, icebreakers; nothing seems to work for them. The two could get along so well if they just talk to each other! (Danny seems down to get to know her brother, but it doesn’t go the other way and she hates it.)

It really irritates her, how she can’t do anything to get Dipper to trust Danny.

She huffs to herself, pulling out another packet of blush and sticking it in the other makeup she holds in her arms.

Mabel knows that she can’t force him to get closer to the teen, or Dipper’ll just shut them both out, which wouldn’t do either of them any good. He may not be sure of Danny, but Mabel just knows he’s nice.

Mabel likes to think she’s a good judge of character, and she’s gotten better at it in the past year. Danny has yet to make her suspicious, so that’s positive!

Besides, there’s no way he’s one of those annoying gnomes, or a vampire, or anything else. He wouldn’t have been able to get through the weirdness barrier if that was the case.

(Though she knows this, she finds herself checking his eyes as she smothers makeup over his face. Just to make sure.)

She definitely cares about her brother, there’s not doubt about that. But Danny had nowhere else to stay! She couldn’t just leave him to the wolves, or even worse, the crazy town members. After Danny mentioned he had to go, he just seemed so lonely and that wouldn’t do!

Even if Dipper doesn’t like Danny, he has to understand why she’s doing this.

She does want them to get along, but she can’t just throw them into a closet together. (last time she did that with Dipper- well, there were some unforeseen occurrences.) She can’t force them to be friends. So for now, she’ll just try to lighten the mood. Try to have fun, it is a sleepover after all!

There has to be some way to get them to talk to each other and she’s gonna find out how.

“Hey, Dipper, you good?”

Dipper has a full face of makeup, the makeup surprisingly working pretty well on both Danny and himself. “I’m fine,” he says, and it’s true. Mabel can be annoying at some times but he still loves her.

“Dipper?” Danny questions, and Mabel immediately responds.

“Yup! It’s his nickname because of a birthmark he got on his forehead!” She gets a little closer to Danny, and stage whispers, “It's the Big Dipper.”

“Mabel!” Dipper exclaims, feeling his ears reddening.

“What?” Mabel shrugs. “He was wondering.”

“No, I was double-checking to see if that was his name.”

Dipper turns to glare at Mabel, and then calms. “Yeah, uh, my name’s Dipper.”

“Do you really have the Big Dipper on your forehead, though?” Danny asks, and it’s a fair question, but it still slightly irritates Dipper.

Dipper nods, and wipes the makeup off his face and grabs his cap from the ground (Mabel had thrown it off to make it easier to apply makeup), steadying it on his head once again.

“Cool,” Danny says, sounding genuine, and Dipper pauses. He was almost expecting him to laugh at Dipper for it. “Space is awesome, I think it’d be cool to have a space birthmark or something.”

“Um, thanks.” Dipper says, and glances at the floor.

(He thinks of how familiar Danny feels, not for the first time that night. He still can't place why, though.)

Stan pops in, slamming the door open. “Kids, get ready for bed. Your Grunkle wants to be able to watch babies fight without the ruckus above his head.”

Dipper finds himself yawning, and nods in agreement.

“C’mon, Grunkle Stan! It’s a sleepover,” Mabel argues, and Stan shakes his head, arms crossed.

“Lights off in five,” Stan says, and it sounds odd coming from such a gruff voice.

“Okay, Grunkle Stan,” the twins say in unison, Mabel’s in disappointment and Dipper’s with agreement.

Despite her craziness a few minutes ago, as soon as Mabel’s head hits the pillow she’s out like a light. Dipper watches Danny curl up in a ball on the floor, his head facing away, and his eyes start to droop.

He falls asleep.

Danny is left the last awake, with Mabel snoring and Dipper exhaling softly on his bed. He’s curled into a ball, The blanket essentially a cocoon around him, and he gazes out the open window. The window lets in soft chilly air from the summer night, but Mabel and Dipper are both curled up tight in their blankets so they don’t notice.

Danny slides his blankets off, instead settling them into a mattress shape and curls into a ball again on the fluffy floor.

He still gazes out the open window, watching the waxing moon gently shine through the panes of glass and make pretty shapes on the floor. It’s serene, and there’s no sound except for breathing in the room.

The halfa sighs, tracing a circle in the floor as a stim as he watches the moon. He isn’t sure how he’ll get home if he can’t contact his friends, but he hopes they’ll be awake in the morning.

He finds himself yawning, and eventually drifts to sleep.

#dp #drabbles

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just-honey-dewd · 4 years

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What medium best expresses Sonic’s character?

Right, so this is a bit of a detour from the typical Hazbin Hotel posts I’ve been making, but I really did a heck-ton of work to come up with this. Then again, I type overly long paragraphs as a hobby, so jokes on anyone who thinks I don’t do this for fun... but then again... jokes on me for making the time to type Hamilton-esque essays on fictional characters ._.

Okay enough with tangents, this is an essay dedicated to answering what medium -- songs, scenes, cartoons, maybe even a comic issue -- best encompasses Sonic’s character. Take in mind, throughout the 29-almost-30 years of Sonic, there have been many iterations and takes on the character that either differentiate on a minor level, or to the point that some Sonics when compared seem to be starkly different characters altogether, so this is purely what I feel is the best take on Sonic’s character. For my sake, I’ve sworn off including material that require a long-winding read through some mediocre storylines -- nothing personal, Archie Comics. I won’t be covering Archie Comics because I’ve yet to finish reading all 200+ comic issues because that’s not humanly possible for me. If I ever manage to though, I might make a post about Archie Comics in some way. For now, here’s my personal essay on “What medium best expresses Sonic’s character”

Starting off with shows...

Sonic SatAM (1993) and Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog (1993) are products of their time, and I never got to watch them when I was young, so I hold no sentimental nostalgia. Sonic SatAM seems in-line with Archie Comics, with the Freedom Fighters plotline and the infamous Sonic mohawk with lasted for a significant amount of issues. Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog was pretty comical and lighthearted in comparison. Both were voiced by Jaleel White, had the same artstyle, and established Sonic’s character in vastly different tones. It’s rather outdated as Sonic has lived past the 90s for 20 years, where he got revised and reinvented to suit the decades. So both characterizations are simply inapplicable to Sonic’s character.

2003′s Sonic X worked off of the newly reinvented Sonic and paved way for Sonic’s personality for the following years, but I do have critique over the show, and their execution of Sonic’s character. Though they did provide Sonic's "constant desire to run", he lacked soul and the over-the- top nature of his character. Sonic throughout this show displayed a rather hollow connection with his relationships, was as distant and aloof as Knuckles for seemingly no reason, lacked much depth and barely developed, and was overall, very poor with communicating his thoughts and actions -- which ultimately led to a number of plot lines where his friends and/or authorities saw his intentions as malicious or even evil. Sonic is hyperactive and free-spirited -- something this show doesn't fail to display -- but Sonic lacked his heart. Where was that desire to hang out with his friends? Where was the underlying love and compassion he'd constantly display in and out of battle? Where were his cheesy yet well-meaning impromptu speeches? These aspects of Sonic were sorely lacking and missed when I watched through this series which is why I believe this anime didn’t really express Sonic's character.

Sonic Boom...

...is a lighthearted, slapstick sitcom-based comedy. Very episodic, which is aight, but the the show’s execution as a whole was mediocre-borderline-bad. It doesn't have much elements inherently Sonic-esque -- it's a product of the Modern era, which at this point, doesn’t seem to have good connotations. No worthwhile soundtrack, stunted animation and movement, embarrassingly heavy reliance on overused archetypes/stereotypes at the expense of the characters, repetitive plots that get the THICC layer of frosted sarcasm and self-awareness. Sonic had attitude sure, there was a clear level of disinterest and cynicism to this portrayal -- it was as though protecting people felt like a burden and chore to him. It doesn’t help that this feeling is justified as Eggman’s been reduced to a pathetic Saturday Morning villain with lesser competency in being a world threat, and much rather a constant nuisance to Sonic’s town than anything else. Subjectively speaking, this show's clearly not for me -- even when I was in the supposed age range at the time. Objectively, this Saturday morning cartoon should've been branded as it is, rather than a Sonic cartoon because the identity of Sonic the Hedgehog definitely got skewed and misconstrued by the eyes of newcomers whose first exposure to Sonic the Hedgehog character was this. Ironically, due to this show, I subsequently furthered my distance from the franchise at that age, and got into it much, much later in life.

Now moving onto the songs...

Initially, I considered “Escape from the City”, “Live and Learn", "His World" and "Fist Bump" as good contenders in defining who Sonic is. But through some vigorous looping of those songs, I've pinpointed what they've to offer in showing Sonic's character, and due to my consistent nature of typing overly long arguments about anything I find interesting, I'll be putting each song into its own paragraph -- picking out any significant verses, and explaining why I think each song subconsciously contributed to my thought process that they would be the best take on his character. Afterwards, I’ll finish with my conclusion. (I personally suggest you go listen to each song as you read each paragraph)

"Escape from the City" is a timeless bop, and I will play it in the car whenever I'm actively escaping from authorities in my city. What this song does is use rhythmic beats and repetitive bass line to emulate the constant adrenaline and excitement Sonic feels when he's moving around, it embodies his carefree nature and spontaneity to a T. It succeeds in portraying the energetic, upbeat aspect of his personality as the song itself contrasts the very dangerous implication of being chased down by the government for a crime you didn't commit. Sonic doesn't get enough credit for the amount of cheerful optimism he has -- always moving with a spring in his step, or steps considering the speed part. He brushes off the most life-threatening dangers he has to face and takes it all in with that well known Sonic™ grin. It also shares a constant message of "Live and Learn" (which the song of the same title) -- this is a rather succinct version of Sonic's mantra. The song is very Sonic, but only manages to show his surface level personality. Kinda like Sonic X's theme song "Gotta Go Fast" but it's much less in your face about Sonic's whole shtick. Another thing to note is the element of "escape" is a constant in both "Escape from the City" and "Endless Possibility", which I'll get further into later. Given that this song was more focused on the primary objective of ‘City Escape’ the game level rather than exploring Sonic’s fundamental character, it's very cool how it just so happened to tie in well with him...

"Live and Learn" was more of a Sonic and Shadow song, so I already kinda figured it wouldn't manage to explore Sonic's character much. The first verse and chorus offers as much for Sonic's character as Shadow's oh-so few lines of verse 2 does. Again, the song only manages to provide Sonic's surface level personality. Reason it came up in my mind was because of the words 'Live and Learn'. It's a very motivational and inspiring line -- what got me thinking about Sonic’s character in the first place. It's an unspoken rule for him to take life headfirst and live in the moment, and legit the second issue of the IDW's comics reiterates this by Amy expressing that this free-spirited approach to life is what essentially makes her love him.

"Fist Bump" was like my first exposure to Sonic main theme songs -- and I'm still into listening to the song. I realize the lyrics are pretty generic, but it does reflect the general focus of Sonic character very well -- which may further explain why Modern Sonic is much less... developed, to say the least. What the lyrics essentially hone in on are Sonic's loyalty to his friends and his.... unyielding determination? Honestly, a very generic take for a main theme, and it reflects on the quality of the game if even the music lacked much personality compared to any heroic video game character theme song. Sonic had more personality to offer in his silent protagonist games, compared to this. This issue with Sonic's character barrels down to Modern Sonic retaining his previous counterpart's cheesy insistence to spout improvised speeches and embrace the power of friendship -- though it's definitely gotten out of hand in this case. We need balance.

Making Sonic more family-friendly ≠ Dumbing down what nuance or individuality there was to his character and making him every other generic hero protagonist who quips for 90% of his dialogues.

Finally, "His World", but I'll do Crush 40 and Zebrahead's separately, sort of. Crush 40 explicitly tells Sonic's character how it is -- his strict moral code, good intuition, confidence in himself, "seize the day" mentality, straightforward disposition, stubborn determination, love for his friends, and fearless risk-taking -- it's pretty lengthy but it does a good job as Sonic's theme and manages to state what it's like in his world. However, the song faces eerily similar issues to "Fist Bump" with it's lack of creative interpretation with its lyrics, and compared to "Escape from the City", it seems more formal and serious in tone which is reflective of their portrayal of Sonic.

I interpret Sonic as a multifaceted character, but when listing out all those traits in the verses and chorus in the song’s tone and format melody-and-lyric-wise, the song makes it appear as though Sonic is strictly a pillar of justice and represents the strong, untouchable hero persona -- which I find to be a detrimental writing aspect for his character. It writes off his personality as second priority to the reputation that would have receded him through the years of defeating Eggman and saving the world -- and subsequently, paints his character in a rather dulled and overly no-nonsense light. Not saying I don't want Sonic to be serious at certain points, but I think with this song, and this game as a whole, there was some truth to the issue of Sonic '06 being a little too serious. While these characters were well-written in this game e̶x̶c̶e̶p̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶r̶d̶ ̶p̶o̶i̶n̶t, I've had personal issues tied to em:

Shadow coming back was quite risky and foolhardy for his character journey and I believe if it weren't for the great execution for his storyline in '06, his appearance would've been viewed as fanservice -- which is what he's sadly been reduced to now

Silver's character concept as a whole was pretty dark and serious, which again isn’t a bad thing, but with the plot resulting in him seeing Sonic as the Iblis Trigger, it limited Sonic's ability to play up his easy-going, carefree nature since he couldn’t just brush off that accusation with offhanded remarks as that would’ve risked Sonic coming off as insensitive and unsympathetic at that moment. Which is not what the writers want their characters to go.

Elise. There, I said it.

On top of it all, "His World" is pretty slow-going for Sonic’s theme, which I could try justifying by saying it might’ve been a representation of significant growth to Sonic's character -- perhaps the journey managed to shape him into a man (hedgehog) who could spare a bit of time to contemplate his next course of action -- as this game definitely explored a major deviation from typical Sonic game story lines. But, even with that, I still really prefer Zebrahead's version.

Zebrahead's is vastly the same when telling Sonic's character how it is, but the instrumentals, pacing and speed is increased significantly that it definitely sounds more reminiscent of Sonic's musical style -- fast-paced rock and roll. But, I’ve yet to figure out the significance of the lyrics:

Especially when it follows right after "Never fear the fall" -- so you take the leap of faith, but also don't let yourself fall in the process? Pretty weird flow of words there, but maybe I’m just not getting it at all. Point is, what both songs hone in on is Sonic's intuitive sense of justice and a bit of his carefree nature -- since the lyrics from Zebrahead's specifically highlight on Sonic's "leap before looking" nature. What Zebrahead further hones in on is his adventurous and hyperactive qualities as verse 1 and the bridge show. It's a timeless song of anticipation and build-up with good execution, but it doesn't cover the main essentials in what makes Sonic Sonic.

Finally, reaching the song I've found best covers the basics and essentials to Sonic's character is...

Believe it or not, “Gotta go fast” encompasses the defining characteristics of a well-written Sonic -- the title itself is a testament to the his motto and is all things Sonic stands for.

While this refers directly to the plot of the show itself, it manages to familiarize us with the speed and urgency crucial to Sonic’s character and--

Okay, clown time’s over, here’s the real winner.

Unleashed's main theme: "Endless Possibility"

From the get-go, intro already separates itself from the other songs by being freeing and exciting, without being too carefree like "Escape from the City", too orchestral or urgent like "His World", and definitely more compelling lyric-wise compared to "Fist Bump". This tone is a constant throughout the song, and makes it seem like Sonic's the one directly singing -- the singer nailed it with the level of obnoxious and genuine tone to his voice.

This song, like the rest of the other main themes, reflect the game itself. Unleashed is a race against time for Sonic to fight Dark Gaia before the Earth gets torn apart. But similar to the gameplay and form of story, the music is very fast-paced yet unburdening, with hints of inner contemplation, and darkness (or how I like to put it, edge). The first verse already succeeds in getting into the bare bones of Sonic's character -- he runs, he can never stay still out because he knows that's not who he is, he's free-spirited and will run around the world out of his own volition, it's a form of escape and liberty to him -- and this is what ties into "Escape from the City”. This verse sums up the essential traits to Sonic better than any of the previous songs without letting one attribute overpower it. It refers to his three fundamental traits: that he's fast, adventurous and carefree.

The pre-chorus further expands from verse 1's establishments, by showing the deeper, inner turmoil that pass through Sonic's mind -- “How will I know when I get there? And how will I know when to leave?” -- these are the rare instances where Sonic is found in inner conflict with himself which came out of his simplistic philosophy rather than an external conflict or influence, and it's more of unspoken and nuanced as Sonic never usually calls himself into question for the way he lives. This showcases that he's capable of processing the long-term effects of living and moving around aimlessly -- constant adventure and freedom might eventually feel mundane, so he might eventually find the destination his heart feels is right for him, so what will he do when that period of his life unfolds, and will this period end the days of adventure and freedom? The possibilities are never-ending, so as always, he'll take everything in stride, and prepare for whatever hits him.

This is what the song's main theme is. Endless possibility. Potential and growth -- which reflects back to Sonic: mentally, physically and emotionally. Mentally, he's acknowledged that he's always growing and developing throughout his adventures -- as there's one thing that no one, not even Sonic can outrun, and that's change. "Endless Possibility" opens us up to the concept of ever-changing development for Sonic, and the possibility that he might eventually reach his unknown destination and end this long-running journey, while also implying that every journey that he goes through and ends -- whether it directly ties into the games or off-screen adventures -- will always lead with a new one. Unleashed encompasses this youthful feeling of change and vigor. Sonic is in his element and is going through a personal journey to save the world once again, but as always, he'll do it with enthusiasm and unbridled drive.

Interestingly, Unleashed feels reminiscent of Sonic X's Sonic but done right. Both have the character mostly isolated from his friends for the majority of their respective stories, but where Sonic X forces Sonic to clean up on Isle Eggbot each episode, Unleashed puts him through a singular adventure that requires he takes care of the major issue at stake while the others are doing their respective jobs or living their own lives. Unleashed's Sonic even has a temporary companion which he clearly warms up to and befriends throughout the whole journey, whereas Sonic X shows Sonic actively dismissing his previous friends to sleep, travel, and adventure for the heck of it -- while they spent a majority of the first season trying to find the chaos emeralds without him.

Sonic being isolated is usually due to situational happenstance rather than conscious preference. Sonic isn't inherently solitary or aloof, it's just due to his ability to move from place to place with ease that he subsequently has to leave his friends behind to confront the source of the problem. It's not a part of his character that he plays lone wolf like those archetypal "cool characters", the nature of what he does and excels at leads him to fight front and center, even if it means doing it alone. Despite this, he still is the sentimental, over-the-top dork that believes in the power of friendship and will go to the ends of the Earth to protect his friends. Which is exactly what he does in Unleashed.

The bridge provides the hints of edge where Eggman and Sonic exchange dialogue in the song, very much referring to the events of Unleashed's intro battle between the two. Eggman essentially tells Sonic to give up as he's actually beaten him -- which Sonic replies that it's not over, that this is just another start to another journey. The lyrics aren't very subtle about what they're saying, but it does a good job in encompassing two key traits when Sonic responds to any threats -- his cheerful optimism and unyielding determination. He doesn't respond to danger with simply quips, he responds to it with a campy but genuine declaration of strength and courage. The cheesiness in his words are very prominent, but he says them with a straight face like he's announcing his battle cry and promise to do what it takes to save the world and protect the ones he love.

In short, "Endless Possibilty" manages to fully encompass the best iteration of Sonic, and humanizes him to the point that I can only really see this as the current best sum up of his character without any needed dialogue, animation, or prior context. This song could just be tied directly to Sonic's overall character outside of the game's plot, and I'd be fine.

#my posts #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic character essay #my character essays #small spoilers for idw #another session of overly long essays from yours truly

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readyplayerhobi · 5 years

Text

Mulled Wine

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 2k

; Synopsis: Christmas is a time for happiness, joy and love. Your first Christmas with Hoseok isn’t spent with him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to enjoy it without him.

; A/N: Just a little drabble I knocked up. I didn’t proof read it but...I just wanted some soft Hobi so...enjoy I guess? Please reblog and like if you enjoyed and let me know what you thought! I’m in a bit of a writing slump so...<3

The lingering scent of Christmas dinner enriches the air around you, letting your mind wander back to the delicious meal you’d eaten only an hour before. Your stomach is slightly tender and swollen from the extortionate amount of food you’ve eaten, but you refuse to feel guilty over it.

It’s Christmas...it’s the time to overindulge and eat enough food to make yourself thoroughly sick the next day.

And god dammit, your mom’s cooking was delicious. So you had savoured every bite from your plate, enjoying the burst of flavours that evoked memories of previous years with fondness. Plus, it was always lovely to have a meal that you hadn’t made yourself. Food always tastes better that way.

The lighting in the living room is low, the twinkling lights that adorn the tree glowed softly while those on the window reflect back against the darkness of the night outside. Christmas cards adorn the walls and mantlepiece while tasteful decorations are dotted around the room.

From the kitchen, you can hear your parents talking quietly as they clean up the table and you feel a momentary pang of guilt at not helping them. But they’d ushered you out of the room quickly, ignoring your protests and you knew that you’d lost against them when they presented a united front like that.

They didn’t want you to miss your call with Hoseok though, and you knew that it was partially because they wanted you to talk to him on Christmas but also because they were a little sad he hadn’t come over. Despite the fact you’d pointed out that he had his own family to visit and spend Christmas with.

Your parents were just a little bit in love with your boyfriend, which made you really happy. This was your first Christmas as a couple and your anniversary was fast approaching too, but they’d wanted to see him today as well. They’d even bought him a present, which you’d found absolutely heart melting.

But you knew Hoseok, and he would rather die than miss Christmas with his own parents. Especially his own mom. You’d sent him home with presents for his own parents this year; a beautiful handbag for his mom and a set of classic English literature for his dad.

Neither Hoseok nor you had given each other your presents yet. Both of you wanted to actually be with each other when you exchanged gifts, which made you a little antsy because you loved opening presents and were eager to see what your lovely boyfriend had got you.

He’d promised to call at 5pm, and your eyes flicker over to the clock on the wall without you meaning them to. How to Train Your Dragon plays on the large flat screen quietly to itself as you unlock your phone, finger automatically going to Twitter to see what the world was up to on this fine day.

You’ve only been scrolling for a few seconds when suddenly the screen disappears and you’re met with Hoseok’s blindingly beautiful grin as his called ID comes up. Immediately you accept the call and note that it’s a video call.

A whine leaves your mouth automatically as you pout, rolling onto your stomach as you lay the phone out in front of you. “Hobi...I look terrible! You just got a great shot of my double chins and...you look nice!”

Your attention is distracted halfway through, taking in your boyfriend’s wide smile that fills the screen. He looks beautiful, a collared black shirt button up with the top few left open while his dark hair has been styled artfully. Hoseok obviously put some effort into his family’s Christmas day and it makes your heart feel funny as you watch him.

As your words get through to him, you watch with a smile of your own as pink tinges his cheeks and he looks down with a bashful expression. “I...thanks. And you look beautiful. I love your chin...both of them.”

Almost immediately your gasping dramatically, a hand to your chest while your jaw drops open before you laugh at the mischievous look on his face. But his teasing words make you feel warm and soft as you focus on the fact that he’s getting ever more comfortable with you. There had been a time that he would’ve stuttered and tripped over his those words before apologising in case he’d offended you.

“Have you had a good day? Eaten some good food? Opened your presents?” He chuckles at your bombardment of words, tongue licking his lips as he nods happily.

“Yeah, it’s been good. My sister and her husband are here so that’s been nice to see her and get to hang out a bit. My dinner was nice and I liked my presents. They got me that yellow Pikachu N64 I wanted!” He said excitedly, face brightening as he gushed about the retro gaming console enthusiastically. “I don’t know how they knew I wanted it but it’s so cool. Oh...they say thank you for their presents too. Dad already started reading one.”

You bite your lip as you watch the screen lovingly. You’d told them that he’d set his heart on that N64 to add into his console collection and had even found one for them to buy. Totally worth the time and effort given how boyishly happy he was about it. He seemed so much younger like this.

“I’m glad, and my parents liked your gifts too. And that’s so cool! We can play Mario Kart 64 against each other now, it’s the best one,” The words are sincere as he smirks, brow raised. “You know it’s true.”

“Oh yeah? Does that mean you’re still gonna lose?” He teases, giggling and causing the video to shake wildly. You make a sound of indignant protest.

“Excuse you. But I don’t lose. I just choose not to win. It’s boring winning all the time.” You pout, making sure to tilt your head to the side for extra effect as his loud laugh erupts from your phones speaker.

“I’d accept that if you’d actually won against me once. But you haven’t.” He points out through laughs, white teeth chewing on his lip in amusement. You sigh gently and point at the screen.

“I just like to see your face when you win. You get so happy.” Almost immediately, Hoseok’s face darkens as he flushes at the compliment. His eyes dart around, looking for his family to see if they were in earshot and you have to bite your lip hard to stop yourself from laughing.

He was truly adorable.

“Have you had a good Christmas?” Hoseok asks quietly, shifting position until he could lay his head against a sofa cushion and watch you through bright eyes, the screen of his phone reflecting through his glasses.

“Yeah, it’s been good. We only just finished eating really and my parents are cleaning up. I think we’re just going to watch films for the rest of the night, maybe play a board game. My dad’s got some new game he wants to try out so...we’re his willing guinea pigs.” You say quietly, resting your chin on your crossed arms.

Hoseok whines softly, lip pushing out. “I want to play board games.”

It hadn’t taken long to discover that Hoseok and your father had a connection through the nerdiness of board games. Your dad held a monthly board game night and Hoseok had been invited to the last two, making acquaintances with other people who shared his passion.

You’d let him go alone at first, wanting him to get accustomed to these people without you and build up a rapport without having you to hide behind. He’d loved it, and become pretty close to your dad already. Your dad had very much taken Hoseok under his wing and you knew that he’d be pretty sad if you both broke up.

“Oh baby, we can play them when you come over tomorrow. I promise,” You hold up your pinky and bend it repeatedly, watching as he holds up his and repeats the gesture to you. “My parents got me some really nice presents this year. Mom got me this beautiful black peacoat and some leather boots, I can’t wait to wear them!”

Hoseok nods along at all the right points in the conversation as you continue talking, telling him all about what you’d received and how you’d spent your day while he reciprocates quietly. Your parents come through at one point, bending down to wave to him and being thoroughly amused by his shy response.

Despite being friendly with them both, he was still that sweet guy you’d met on your first day at Poppin’ Culture. You hoped that he never really changed, because you loved that Hoseok just as much as you loved the one you got to witness in private.

The conversation lulls and you blink tiredly, the post-food tiredness causing you to want to take a nap desperately. Lethargy runs through your veins and you suddenly wish that Hoseok was there with you, curled up next to you with his body heating your own and the comfortable weight of his arm around you.

“I miss you.” You tell him quietly, the words so soft and gentle that he almost has to strain to hear them. But when they register, you take in the beautiful sight of his tiny smile. Dimples appear in his cheeks and you reach out to gently poke at them on the screen.

“I miss you too. We’ll see each other tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you.” His face lights up slightly as he smiles, his head shifting slightly from its position as he lifts up his own hand to trace his screen. It makes your heart skip slightly and you feel very sappy suddenly.

Maybe it was the wine.

“I love you. You know that? I really love you. And I can’t wait to see you again.” He grins brightly at that, his cheeks tinging pink once more as he nods slowly, his eyes warm as he stares at you.

“I know. I love you too. Happy Christmas baby.” You murmur in response to him, your eyelids feeling heavier than ever and you try to fight it momentarily, not wanting to let your time with him go to waste. But the smells and sounds of Christmas combined with the sound of his quiet breathing through the phone and your food lethargy, lulling you into a sleep.

Hoseok watches you for a few more minutes, his eyes going glassy for a few seconds as he feels an overwhelming amount of love and affection for you as he looks over your sleeping face. It’s not an elegant picture; your mouth is open slightly and your cheek is squished against your arm, yet he can’t think of anyone more beautiful.

His heart squeezes tightly as he thinks over the past year, all the moments he’d experienced with you and the way he’d grown subtly in his relationship with you. He may sound like he was being particularly sappy, but he definitely felt like his life had changed when he’d met you.

You made him want to be a better version of himself; not only for you but for himself too. And he couldn’t ever thank you enough for that. Nor for all the love you give to him, overwhelming him sometimes when his depression hits and tells him he’s not worth it.

“I love you,” He breathes out, so quiet that no one could hear but the conviction behind the words is loud to him. Love was something he had always been wary off. Hoseok wasn’t an open person, and love opened him up to a potential for unbelievable pain.

But it also brought happiness, and he’d never been happier than with you. He hoped desperately that this would be the first Christmas that you would both share of many, because he was pretty sure that he could see the rest of his life with you.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #btssunshineclub #btscreatorsnet #hoseok fluff #j hope fluff #hobi fluff #bts fluff #hoseok drabble #bts drabble #hobi drabble #j hope drabble #hoseok christmas #peppermint hoseok

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imaginepirates · 5 years

Text

Drunken Confessions

A Jack x Reader where the reader gets drunk and says some things they really shouldn't. Jack avoids them for a while before they confront him about it. This one's a bit on the short side, sorry. I've been feeling awful lately.

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @claireshepard67

~2600 words

~~~~~~~

The sand had just cooled off. Earlier in the day, it might have burned your skin, but it was cold under the night sky. It was churned up by dancing feet, and your toes sunk into it. You'd taken off your boots as to air out your feet and remember the feeling of land beneath them.

Jack had 'important business' to attend to on land. As part of his crew, you followed him from place to place, going on wild adventures anyone would dream of telling their grandchildren. However, typical business was obtaining rum.

You loved sailing on the Black Pearl. She was a beauty, and the crew was the oddest assortment of people you'd ever met. Unfortunately, your adventures rarely yielded treasure. But, as Jack said, treasure wasn't always silver and gold. For you, it was the relationships created along the way.

Presently, you were dancing in the sand with a good portion of the crew. You were still, for the most part, sober, but you planned on remedying that. Sea shanties were sung at the tops of people's lungs. It sounded awful, really, but you were having fun.

Jack stood to one side of the revelry, staring down into what you speculated was an empty bottle. He was pouting; it was an attractive habit of his.

You skipped over to him. "Rum's gone already?" You asked. Your feet were getting a little crossed under you, but you managed to keep your balance.

He hummed. You took it as a yes.

"You should come out here," you said. "Sing. Dance. It'll be good for you."

He eyed you, one eyebrow traveling up his face. "Can't get too distracted." He burped. Obviously, he was rather tipsy himself. Or full-blown drunk, but you could never tell with him. "Someone's got to watch me ship."

You doubted he was watching the Pearl any more than the rest of you were, but you let it go. Another song started up, and you joined back in with everyone else.

Your bottle was empty, and you were handed another. Every ounce of wit in you had disappeared. You hardly knew if your limbs were moving anymore. You supposed they were; you would notice people passing you if you weren't. Most of your surroundings were a blur, though. You could hardly tell where the treeline was.

Your mouth was moving, and though you were singing, you really couldn't say what.

An arm threw itself around your waist. You weren't sure you liked it, but you weren't enough in your senses to push it away. Your legs were starting to give way beneath you, and if weren't for the arm, you might have pitched into the sand.

If only you'd seen the stares. Hungry gazes turned toward you. Hot breath tickled the back of your neck. Looking up at the face beside you, you noticed it wasn't someone you recognized. Others must've joined the festivities. You might not have minded if the man wasn't so close.

~~~

It was exactly the kind of thing Jack didn't tolerate. Someone slinging their arm around his woman. Well, not really his. Not yet. But he wasn't about to let anyone else have a chance.

His brain was foggy, but not so much as everyone else's. He'd built up such a tolerance to drink that a glass; or two, or seven; didn't do all that much. Really, it made him feel tired. And it made him slur his speech, but his thinking was as clear as mud.

He sidled over to you, unwrapping the arm around you. He pushed the man away, leaving him to stagger in the sand.

You promptly collapsed. He hadn't expected that. When you didn't move to stand, he picked you up by your arms. Your eyes were still mostly open, and he set you on your feet. One arm around you for support, he started heading back towards the Pearl. A night of sleep would do you good, he felt.

It might have been the rum, or it might have been the way the entire side of your body was pressed against his, but Jack felt heat climb to his face. He hadn't experienced that before.

You were mumbling incoherently to yourself. Jack wasn't listening much, intent on getting you away from stating eyes as quickly as possible.

You staggered alongside him. Jack contemplated picking you up, then realized that he'd dropped his empty bottle in the sand somewhere. Carrying you would be of no use if he dropped you. Besides, he didn't need anyone seeing such a thing. Rumors spread around a ship quickly.

Which was why, even when escorting you to your rooms, he was worried. A nagging feeling at the back of his head told him that someone was bound to say he was taking you to bed. It shouldn't have bothered him; captains were accused of such things all the time. In most cases, they were respected more for it.

For some reason, he didn't like the thought of being accused of sleeping with you. He didn't like the idea of being with someone without their consent. Especially not you.

There were many days when the crew found themselves unhappily lost at sea. Lost, perhaps, wasn't the word, but they were definitely without a heading. This had to do with Jack's compass, his alcohol consumption, and the feelings he denied having.

He turned back to you, hearing your voice.

"Then, we went back to him," you burped, "and said- and said 'here's your bloody statue, now where's the grail?'"

It took Jack a moment to understand you were talking about him. More specifically, your adventures with him. That one had been particularly fine. You returned a statue of the Virgin Mary to a priest in exchange for the Holy Grail. In return, you were given a silver chalice that wasn't even made of real silver.

For the record, you had returned the statue covered in bread batter, feathers, and flecks of coal.

"Or the time those Aztecs- hic- tried to sacrifice me to the gods." You babbled on, oblivious to the world around you, including the one under your feet. You nearly fell flat on your face, dragging Jack with you, but he managed to steady you both.

Jack hated that story. They had been Mayans, not Aztecs, but the difference was trivial. Although, Jack reflected, the Mayans didn't have cursed gold. What they did have was an affinity for unnecessary sacrifice. He hadn't taken kindly to their tendencies, especially when they put you in harm's way.

"You really saved me on that one." Your voice was growing fainter, as if you were slipping out of your body. Jack suspected you were, or at least you felt that way. Enough drinking and you could convince yourself that you didn't exist.

He tensed. Of all the things for you to say, he hadn't expected that. Oh sure, maybe recounting more adventures, but being sentimental was never on your agenda. Or it hadn't been, until now. Jack hated how drawn he was, how much he wanted to hear more.

"You took me back to the- hic- ship. And you told me you weren't going to let me set foot off it again until I…" your eyes glazed over, looking for the rest of the sentence in thin air. "Until I could keep myself out of trouble. You made me stay in bed. Your bed. Because it's the only real bed onboard." Yawning, you slumped harder against Jack's side. You were almost on deck. "You're my favorite pirate. If only we'd done something as more than captain and crew."

It was a whisper, not exactly meant for Jack's ears. He heard it all the same.

A feeling spread throughout his body. It wasn't a good feeling, if he was being honest, but it wasn't a bad feeling, either. It was a confusing feeling, and he didn't like it.

Jack hated feeling confused. It was why he had the compass. When in doubt, which he never was, his opinion was the right answer. But whatever he was feeling, he couldn't identify.

In truth, it made him a bit panicky. Hastily, he walked you to your hammock. He picked you up haphazardly and set you in it, relieved he hadn't dropped you.

He tried not to contemplate all meanings of 'as more than captain and crew'.

You were drunk. He was drunk- well, drunkish. There was a good chance you didn't know what you were saying.

Part of him was afraid you did.

~~~

You awoke, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Your hammock nearly dumped you on the floor at the first sign of movement. You were so tangled up in it, you hadn't the slightest idea how to get out.

After many minutes of awkward maneuvering, you put yourself on your feet. It was then that you noticed the slight throbbing behind your eyes. You wondered how drunk you'd been.

You didn't remember coming back to bed. In fact, you didn't remember anything beyond the slightly uncomfortable weight of a stranger's arm around your shoulders. A certain fear gripped you, but you reasoned that if you were back in your hammock, nothing bad could've happened to you.

Your plan of action was to eat and fall back asleep. The Pearl didn't leave for another day, and you thought it best to spend it nursing your hangover.

The deck was scattered with both the sleeping and the conscious. You were in better control of your body than most of them, but your tiredness made your feet feel like lead.

The mess hall was empty. The door to the kitchens hung ajar, but nobody was inside. You helped yourself to bread. Fresh bread, not hardtack; one could buy more than rum at port. The only other edible thing about was a can of sardines. You groaned. It looked like you'd have to go hunting for food after all.

It hadn't taken long to find a vendor selling fresh fruit. When you got back to the ship, more people were up and about. Most of them were out talking in the sun, playing friendly rounds of cards. Someone had started a game of liar's dice, though there was no betting involved.

You still held two peaches. Upon spotting Jack, you moved to offer him one. He stood to one side of the stairs. As you moved towards him, he moved away. You weren't sure if he'd seen you, but he disappeared below decks before you could call out to him.

Things continued much the same way for the next few days. That was to say, Jack avoided you. You knew this because there were numerous times when he made eye contact with you before quickly leaving the scene. It was starting to get on your nerves. You hadn't done anything that should prompt such behavior.

That was, said a little voice in your head, unless you'd done something when you were drunk.

You didn't like to think about it. You'd been drunk before without having done anything stupid. On multiple occasions, in fact. Besides, Jack hadn't been anywhere near you the entire night. He'd been off to the side, 'minding the ship'.

You were about ready to storm up to him and demand to know what was going on in that jumbled brain of his. If only you could get close enough to do so.

The truth was, you valued your time with Jack. You liked him as a friend, though you wouldn't mind being more. He was fun; 'fun' here meaning a tad on the crazy side. But it made him worth knowing. The last thing you wanted to do was to lose that.

Faking confidence, you knocked on his cabin's door. There were a million sentences running through your mind. Where to begin, you didn't know.

The door was flung open. You hadn't expected him to open it, if you were to be honest. You took your chance, slipping in through the doors before he could close them again, shutting them behind you.

A rather affronted look sat on his face. It wasn't that he truly felt it, you knew.

"What's this all about? You've been avoiding me like the plague! What did I ever do? I don't see why I deserve such treatment, especially from you." It felt good to get things out. You hadn't even given him a chance to ask why you were there.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack croaked. He'd already been drinking, you saw. He turned swiftly away from you, pretending to busy himself with something on his desk.

"You're an awful liar." You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Explain. You owe me that much, at least."

He turned to you, advancing until he was nearly on top of you. "Am I your favorite pirate?" He retreated. "You seemed to think so last time we talked."

"As I recall, the last time we spoke, you were refusing to have fun."

He wiggled his fingers around. "That's what you think." He continued speaking to his fingers. "In fact, there are many, many things you don't remember saying to me." Here, he turned to you, smiling wickedly.

You felt your face turn a deep shade of red. "What-what do you mean?"

Jack shrugged.

"What did I say?" You were scared of the answer.

He leaned in, right next to your ear. "Do you really want to know, love?"

You nearly squeaked. He was very close, and his smirk did nothing for your nerves. Then, you thought of what he might say next, which was quite sobering. Instead of answering, you asked, "Did you mind? What I said?"

"I did not."

"Oh, good." You were relieved, but Jack was still very close. He pouted. Clearly, he'd been expecting you to say something else. "What did I say?" You asked, throat dry.

Jack pulled away. "Something about doing things together."

You could only imagine what that entailed. Hit by a wave of mortification, you spluttered.

"I don't know what all that included." He flopped his hands about. "Unless you'd like to show me," he said, suddenly more serious.

For perhaps the first time in your life, you found yourself at a loss for words. "What do you want me to do?" It came out as a whisper.

Jack softened. "Only what you're comfortable with, love."

You stepped forward and placed your hands on his chest. Slowly, you tilted your head up, leaning in. You stopped yourself just before his lips, staring. "Are you sure?" You asked.

Jack hummed. Then, softly, he kissed you. It wasn't what you had imagined kissing him to be like at all. A hand tilted your chin higher, fingers tickling your neck.

"You've no idea how long I've been waiting to do that," Jack breathed.

If it had been anything close to how long you had, you knew his feeling all too well.

When he pulled back, you missed his closeness. "Can we agree," he began, "that this arrangement will continue?"

You nodded. It was exhilarating, when you thought about it. He wanted you! "I think I could make it work," you teased.

"Good." He grabbed two glasses and a bottle. "Maybe my damn compass will work now," he mumbled. You hadn't the slightest idea what he meant.

He turned back to you, advancing with two now-full glasses of brandy. "Can I persuade you? If I get you drunk enough, it might trigger… other memories of things you want to do to me."

You didn't need the brandy, but like hell if you'd tell him that.

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #pirates #pirate #jack sparrow #captain jack sparrow #x reader #drabble #request #writing #fanfic #jack sparrow x reader

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cardandpixel · 4 years

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Die of the Dead - A KickStarter preview

2-5 Players, apx 40min, dice manipulation/area control, Radical8 Games Designers: James Allen and Mark Stockton-Pitt Artwork: Rusembell AS EVER THIS IS NOT A PAID/REIMBURSED PREVIEW, C&P just like the game a lot! Halloween in the UK means cheap masks at Asda, not answering the door for 5 days after 6pm, and eating all the bagged sweets you bought with no intention of ever giving out. For me as a sound designer and composer, it also means hours upon hours of sitting in front of a sequencer from August onwards creating sounds and characters with the sole intent of scaring the behecksus out of the general public. This year is going to be a weird one, with that little viral beastie still kicking around, so a few game nights playing monster and ghost games might be on the cards instead. We like to think of Halloween as a big deal in Europe and N America, but for residents of Central and South America, the end of October is a much more cultural affair. Nov 1st & 2nd sees the celebration of Dia de Muertes – The Day of the Dead. What strikes you first about anything to do with the celebration is the sheer splendour of colour and design. Just about everything involved with the celebration is a panoply of vibrancy, echoing the central philosophy of the holiday of celebrating, not mourning, the souls of those who have passed. What also struck me, was the playfulness of the festivities which often include sharing not just good stories of beloved friends and relatives, but often the funny and ridiculous, even foolish stories of their lives too. Though cultural misappropriation is a very lively topic in boardgames at the moment (and rightly so – 3Minute Boardgames’ current work on respectful handling of the Māori culture in games is a good example, as well as the many discussions over slavery portrayal as part of the #BLM dialogue). The joy, colour and playfulness of Dia de Muertes lends itself more comfortably as a subject for a potential boardgame to me – and yet, there are surprisingly few. Two in a relatively short list are the new version of Skull (though in design only), and the 2017 card game Dia de los Muertos. ARTISTIC DESIGN/COMPONENTS So, loving the aesthetic of the celebration as I do, I was drawn immediately to a small table at Airecon this year where an explosion of colour greeted us to the game Die of the Dead from Radical 8 Games. Die of the Dead is a dice manipulation / area control game where players take the roles of friendly spirits, gently guiding the souls of the departed up the marigold steps and back into the land of the living for the festival. The first player to have one of their souls reach the village step of the altar, is the winner. I’m shameless in my admission that I’m going to be more interested in a game that looks great – I know, but I can’t deny it. Die of the Dead had me hooked immediately. It looks utterly beautiful and features some astonishingly original components. What I hadn’t realised until I dug a little deeper, was how far-reaching this design goes. Radical 8 have not merely lifted a beautiful design aesthetic from a cultural phenomenon (unlike many who slap on sugar skull make up for Halloween, blissfully unaware of any deeper significance), but have done this game – properly. The design, the gameplay, the mechanics, and the components are all deeply inspired by the celebration and in an impressively respectful way.

Just taking the components as a starting point: The tokens – incense, candles, bread and marigolds are all significant gifts laid on the beautiful altars during the festival – the marigolds or cempasủchil especially are highly significant, their scent said to guide souls back to their family homes, an idea echoed in the mechanical use of the token. The 3D stepped altar (or ofrendas) – is highly suggestive of both the domestic and public stepped altars that are laid out with colourful gifts for the dead, again, echoed beautifully in the game. The player boards – these are holding sites for souls before their ascendency. The dice – are representations of the souls themselves and their movement around the board is highly thematic of the journeys that friends and relatives’ souls make over the festivities. The caskets – are both beautifully rendered solid boxes, but also functional as dice shakers / hidden resource boxes – each highly thematically and individually decorated.

It’s truly difficult to know where to start with this game as it has all been done so very well. The press pack for the forthcoming Kickstarter even cites the involvement of a cultural advisor and a Mexican artist, Rusembell on the project, and it shines through on everything to do with this game. It’s a lot of time, trouble and thoughtful effort that should be envied by many other designers. No opportunity to reflect the splendour of the festival has been wasted at all in the design of this game, and Radical 8 should be very proud.

GAMEPLAY But no game is really safe from scrutiny of its mechanics, no matter how beautiful it is, and happily, Die of the Dead does not disappoint here either. In Die of the Dead, the players are each trying to guide their supply of souls (dice) from their home player board, via the caskets, to their final destination on the 3D altar at the end of the play area, back to the land of the living. Players will prepare their souls, add them to caskets, undergo a number of ‘area control’ style comparisons and finally, ascend their souls onto the steps of the altar where they may be rewarded with gifts or abilities.

The 4 caskets are the real heart of the game. It is here that most of the player interaction takes place, and it uses a clever and unique little mechanism to transport souls from the first casket to their eventual goal on the altar steps. Players will be adding their dice (souls) to the open first casket and from there on, the caskets are in constant motion. A player will take one action on their turn, by selecting a casket and carrying out the action associated with it. Each casket location has a different action, and these are noted on cards numbered 1-4 underneath the caskets themselves. Each casket also has a secondary ‘consequence’ action at the bottom of the card. Casket position 1 – players can add 3 prepared souls or 1 ‘free’ (unprepared) soul. If there are 2 players’ souls in the casket, the casket is shaken, if there’s a 1 rolled – move the casket along.

Casket position 2 – players may prepare 2 souls. The casket is then shaken and the souls compared (a variant on area majority) and the winner prepares another soul. If a 1 is rolled, the casket moves along.

Casket position 3 – the casket is shaken straight away, any duplicate souls are removed leaving 1 soul per player min in the casket. The player then takes a token, allowing additional abilities.

Casket position 4 – the casket is shaken and the souls compared again. 2 of the winner’s souls are ‘ascended’ to the altar steps. The casket is then either: moved along, a power soul gained (more later) or 1 of your own souls ascended to the steps.

Once again – this shifting and constant play for majority also feels very thematic to me and reminiscent of the playfulness of the festival itself “Oh our Uncle was so argumentative, he could have a fight in his own coffin!” I only noticed going through the rulebook that this was actually reflected in the artwork on the action cards, but when I was playing the demo I recall thinking that each of the locations was a little like a different aspect of the soul’s journey. Arrival, sorting, a little tussle with your neighbours and finally ascendancy. Always nice when a game rewards you like that by confirming you got the idea right! The use of the dice is interesting and once you get your head round the travel of the caskets, can provoke some immensely strategic decision making. Only 3 dice can be held in preparation, so the timing of free slots for preparation or potential return of dice from losing roll comparisons in the caskets makes for some very complex chain decisions (which then, of course, can be overturned in a second by another player’s actions). Dice in your pool are considered ‘free souls’ and usually have to be prepared before the caskets, but Casket 1 allows a free soul a ‘bye’ which is useful if you have no prepared souls or have no empty slots. There are also ‘Power Souls’ which can be won on the altar or selected by the Casket 4 action. These have a skull in place of the 3 & 4 and are considered wild in comparison rolls. Ascending souls means bringing them into the family altar – the very cool 3D steps at the end of the table. The first ascended soul goes on an empty space on stair 1. A player may select which bonus space would be best for them. The more players land on stair 1, the less choice of bonus, until the final player in a 5 pl game, who has to use an empty space with no bonus. As soon as a soul is placed on the 9th step, the game ends and the player who owns that soul is the winner (ie not the person who placed it – who may well be different due to Casket 4’s secondary action) This feels like a game that warrants replay to improve your strategy each time, though you are still delightfully at the whim of player interaction. This sort of ‘out of my hands’ game really appeals to me, it prevents run-away leads, often levels play a little and makes for much more fun for less experienced players. I like that skill is rewarded, but that it is not the sole way to win. The tokens are won either from Casket 4 or again as an ascendancy bonus. The tokens boards are double sided: Side A being a generally simpler action; Side B for a more strategic game. Eg The Candle on side A allows the caskets to simply be moved along, however, Side B allows 2 adjacent caskets to be swapped. Again, this allows for some much deeper strategic gameplay – especially tokens which allow ‘peeking’ into the caskets. I have a notoriously terrible memory and lost track of what souls I had in what caskets very quickly so a mitigating token I could use at just the right moment was really useful.

CONCLUSION York-based Radical 8 don’t have a huge back catalogue as yet, but Die of the Dead deserves to do really well as it’s an absolute belter and hopefully the start of great things to come. I’m not going to lie, there were a few times during the shortened demo, where the game was a lot to take in, but that’s as much about the way I learn games as the game itself. I learn best from going step-by-step thru the rules whilst shuffling pieces around and there just isn’t time for that in the scope of a convention demo (though the guys were amazingly patient and very clear with their explanation) – I did keep running to the casket ability cards during the demo though, so I have to hope they might put a small set of player aids in the box for 53 yr olds who are sat at the end of a 5pl table (hint). The game packs a satisfying amount of gameplay into its relatively small box, and the quality of the components is insanely good. I would happily play the handmade version from Airecon, but I’m guessing the final production will be even better.

It scratches a lot of gaming itches for me: variations in play each turn; lots of decision making; huge numbers of routes to winning; a nice bit of player interaction; and a decent chunk of screw-over and luck that means you can always blame someone else for your bad gameplay. I like the attempts to make for a simpler initial game, especially as there is a lot to keep track of in your first game. The player boards are actually doubled sided allowing an asymmetric start bonus for each player, and of course, the Token cards are double sided also. I appreciate efforts such as these as I think it helps newer gamers, slow learners (like me) and more casual gamers alike. I also appreciate the Open Casket variant which allows potentially for some much more devious play. However – there’s always a dark side, and it wouldn’t be fair to let this go in a balanced overview. Yes, the game has a fairly steep learning curve and a lot of concepts to take in from the get-go, but any game with a lot of strategic depth can have that same issue and so long as you don’t mind that, this game is no different from many others. But, my big issue is the one that has dogged mine and ‘Ers gaming life for years – 2 player variants. Die of the Dead does class itself as 2-5 player, and honestly, without going too much under the hood, I can’t really see a reason why it shouldn’t work normally at 2 players, but that’s for the designers to tell me as I’ve doubtless missed something. But…. The solution suggested in the box is one of my least favourite ways of solving the 2pl issue – effectively a dummy hand. My feeling on this solution has always been – if a game needs a dummy hand, then it doesn’t actually play at that player count. Especially here, as there is actually little stopping the dummy hand from winning. Nothing says you played a crap game more than the dummy hand actually winning. I’m genuinely hoping Radical 8 can come up with a much better solution for this between the KS campaign, and the final release. It’s worth it as it strikes me as an ideal 2pl game. It also feels to me like a great ‘strategic beer & pretzels’ game – of which I guarantee there are very few. It’s not far off as far as I can see, which is why the current rulebook 2pl solution feels so clamped on with my sort of standard of welding. It seems particularly odd especially when so much variation in the game has been offered for higher/lower strategy. I only have a preview copy of the rulebook at the moment, and I had to read it thoroughly to make sure I’d recalled the game correctly - and I know there’s a lot of time between now and delivery, but it’s already a pretty decent rulebook and one that I’d feel confident learning the game from scratch from. It’s very clear and describes some quite complex ideas very clearly. I sincerely wish Radical 8 well with this on Kickstarter when it launches on August 25th 2020. The price looks to be about £27 + shipping, which feels like an absolute bargain for a game that’s been this well presented. It’s a lot of game for your money both design-wise and strategically and I would heartily recommend at least paying the page a visit. Happy gaming y’all!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/radical8games/die-of-the-dead

Photo attributions: Beautiful game pics - Ross Connell (moregamesplease) @moregamespls Catrina image - By Paolaricaurte - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0 Altar image - By AmbarCCPM - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0 Artwork: Rusembell @Rusembell rusembell.deviantart.com Other images – official rulebook and our own.

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. Green deltas are for requested prompts.)

There’s a reason why Chronos was such a cruel god.

I almost forgot to post this fic... I started it a while back, got art block, and only went back to it during a boring geography lesson during Whumptober. It was also not meant to be an Inazuma fic, but sometimes I have a weird creativity and muse. Don't ask me, the wonders of the human mind I guess. It'll come to literally nobody's surprise that I ship Anna and Nosaka because I'm the token F/M shipper of the main fanfic writers of this fandom (y'know, gotta contrast my colleagues and provide the stuff nobody but me and maybe an IRL friend wants). I'm surprised I've never managed to finish a fic with them before, tho: yes, the previous prompt fill, "Bedside Vigil" was supposed to be for them until I switched to Haizaki/Akane over... my Tomodachi Life game immediately pairing them up (true story). Anyway. This fic does imply to a road accident of some sort, so if you're sensitive to this kind of topic (for which you're entirely justified, tbh, that's coming from someone who's almost been in one), proceed with caution. It's nothing graphic or anything, just floating in the background of this story, though. I also almost forgot to mention this is supposed to be set in my Inazuma Café AU, but the only reason why you need to know that is because they're college students there, and why Anna and Hikaru are as friendly to each other as they are here. I mean, if you wanna know more, I'll gladly respond to questions.

It’s also the last story I can write for this card without getting a Five in a Row, which I may or may not have done on purpose lol

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For Time Cannot Be Accelerated

Summary: Anna didn't think ambulance rides could last this long on the mind. She was seriously proven wrong.

Fandom: Inazuma Eleven (Ares/Orion continuity; implied college AU) Relationships: Platonic Anna & Hikaru friendship, implied established Anna/Nosaka

Wordcount: 1.7K words

Content Warnings: Implied road accident, talks of death, some blood and talk of injury.

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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They’re all tense in the ambulance. It doesn’t help that they share a small space amongst themselves, all cranked in one back of a truck that had clearly been made to have one stretcher and the paramedics watching over it. Nobody talks, except the latter amongst themselves in the front of the ambulance and through the vehicle. Instead, they don’t look at each other, too busy staring at the floor or their responsibility.

Anna has opted for the floor, for the time being.

It’s overwhelming to remain here, in a crowded place where she felt alone nonetheless, drowned in the noise of the beeping machinery and blaring sirens echoing on the inside, feet surrounded by wires, hands trembling and sorrow she desperately kept inside. Her thoughts are still shaken from what had happened merely moments before, isolating her even further, words having escaped from her mouth and her vocal cords remaining knotted with no throat clearing able to untie them back to usefulness. She’s speechless, voiceless, useless.

Her shoulder is pressed against Ichihoshi’s, whose hand happens to sometimes brush against her naked arms. From what little she can see of his face, drowned in the darkness of the vehicle and lit by the unstable, flickering coloured lights of the different monitors crippling her earing, he isn’t any more relaxed than she was, shoulders stiff and frowned eyebrows, biting his lip, trying not to fidget with his fingers. She feels like she should be telling him something to make him untense, but considering how tense she also is, she has no idea what she’s even supposed to utter. Her mental syllabus has given up on her for the time being.

In this moment of despair and desolation, Anna still admires the valiant efforts of the paramedics making sense of the numbers displayed on tiny screens and muttering a language she doesn’t understand most of, words whose meaning she has no idea of flying way over her head. They’ve kept their cool when she was on the verge of tears, an unknown yet powerful force preventing her from falling to her knees and weeping like she is, frankly, wanting to do above everything else. Still, she’s the Empress, and no Empress has ever cried when her capacity of judgement was needed.

The air of the ambulance was hot, too much so, smothering both Ichihoshi and her. If she could take a breather outside, even if it’d be for a mere moment or from a minuscule hole, her head would spin far less quickly, her world would stabilize, her mind would be much further from the verge of breaking down under its own weight. She craves tranquillity and serenity, two states of mind she’s meant to have and yet lacked in these desperate moments.

Anna has started finding ways to recover her calm. The floor of the ambulance which seemed highly uncomfortable and disgustingly dirty when she climbed in now looked more than comfortable enough to her, but they lacked the space to even attempt sitting down. Before long, she’s realized the hard reality of things: there’s no way for her to get even the slightest bit more comfortable, and despite the speeds this vehicle is going at, it’s still taking ages in her mind.

In a way, it reminds her of being on a sinking ship, swimming in the cold sea, except she doesn’t even have the merit of risking hypothermia because she’s boarding on a rescue boat while someone else is pushing it, giving their skin to the freezing waters and floating debris. Morbid imagery she tries to erase out of her mind as soon as possible, yet the beating of her heart making itself known in her head and neck prevent her from not thinking about death nor debris.

“I… I hope everything will be alright,” Ichihoshi eventually stutters, in an almost-whisper, voice hiding behind the ill-paced cacophony.

“So do I,” she replies as she notices something was dripping along her skin, eyeing the liquid going down her arm. Drifting her glance in its direction, she sees he’s holding his right arm with his left hand pressed against his jacket’s fabric, a faint difference in colours showing up in the mostly uniform light blue-and-red that his white sleeves had become.

As a result, her voice changes in tone, “are you okay, Ichihoshi?”

“It stings, but it’s nothing too bad. I’ll have it checked when we’ll arrive.”

The trembling, weakness in his own voice makes her more than doubtful of his statement. He’s unstable on his feet, almost swaying, crashing into her when the ambulance unfortunately shifted too quickly for him to catch himself on something, fingers slipping on the metal walls. She barely catches him with weak arms, legs feeling fainter until she’s stabilized him on his feet.

“I don’t believe that it can’t be ‘too bad’, if you’re tilting this much,” she tells him, even more concern melting into acid. “Let me see”.

A sense of responsibility gives her back some of her stability, legs straightening up, eyes sharper as she tried to see in the half-dark. Without a word, she took off her comrade’s sleeve, noticing the sharp contrast marked by what could only be a wound. It seems like a deep cut, with shards reflecting the dim lights visibly exiting from it. Her hair rises on her limbs as soon as she knows what this is about.

“How long do we have left until we arrive?” She demands, in an imploring voice, to the paramedics.

They’re not able to provide a clear time, “a couple minutes left, traffic’s really bad, our apologies”, so she has to deal with it and simply keep Ichihoshi close to her, making sure he doesn’t trip on himself, inspecting for other wounds he could have. Aside from his arm, she thinks she sees a stain on his stomach and another on his right leg, although they’re less noticeable and she kind of sighs in relief to herself about that fact. It must mean they’re less grievous than the one she saw first.

“I really hope he’s gonna be okay…” Ichihoshi whispers close to her ear, back lying against the metal.

The concern she’s tried to hold in until now by thinking of something else and failing to fully do so breaks through the gates and floods her mind again. She has too much to worry about and not enough available space, the scratches on her knees and elbows from the glass shards paling in comparison to the anguish that this ambulance ride is starting to become.

“Same here…” Her voice almost chokes on itself, but she breathes in and out, swallows her pride and her stress in one gulp, and continues speaking as not to betray her actual state of mind. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, he’s pulled through worse, I know it…”

Her hands still enlace themselves in a silent prayer she tries to hide from the world.

“He’ll… be fine. He will be fine.”

She wants to cry.

“You’re right. Surely he’ll make it…”

Anna isn’t lying to reassure herself, merely speaking her truth. Yuuma has always proven himself to being capable of the most daring stunts, even life-threatening ones. While she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to fully forgive him hiding his tumour away from her for reasons he’s never quite told her about, merely tune down the hurt he’s caused her by taking in account the reasons he did so; she has to use it as proof it should be fine. She only has hope to keep herself afloat now, her reason having fled the scene.

Yuuma is capable of great things, that much she’s sure of. She doesn’t know him entirely yet, and is certain she won’t ever be able to fully understand his character, yet she trusts him with her own life and, in these dire moments, he needs her. He needs her to remain strong and level-headed, to withstand the pressure and the desolation taking root inside her heart. They’ve promised to remain together and be there for each other: it’s time for her to fulfil her part of the trade.

Plus, from the three of them involved in this tragic accident, she’s the only one who has grazes instead of injuries. She also has to keep an eye on Ichihoshi on behalf of both Yuuma and her.

“He’ll make it. I’m certain of it,” she repeats, more to herself than to her friend.

“I’m sure of it too,” he adds, in a similar fashion, and they’re back to both silently pray in silence as time slowly flows before their eyes, like the calm waves of a serene beach coming and going. If she closes her eyes and tries ignoring reality enough, she can almost hear the sea instead of sirens and cryptic whispers.

“And you? Are you okay?” she asks, her hands leaving their praying position, about to inspect her friend.

“I’ll be fine…”

He sounds too unsure to her liking, but before she can even comment on that, the atmosphere changes as she hears in echoes the nearby sirens of other ambulances.

This is when Anna realizes that she couldn’t have been more relieved to see a hospital in her life, making sights she’d have wished never to see again some she was looking forward to: the paramedics shifting around the stretches and talking among themselves in a slightly different way, the monitors displaying new numbers, men shouting in an urgent tone. Almost unbeknownst to them, they were holding each other’s arm for support in dire times, the smell of iron sticking to his skin, her composure coming back despite the tears having taken away some of her makeup.

They’re most likely both ugly sights too, but they’re alive, they’ve arrived, and it’ll all be fine, eventually. For now, they step down from the ambulance, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. Despite the circumstances, neither of them succumb to their darker thoughts and bruises, not a complaint heard despite Ichihoshi grunting in pain from time to time and her lack of balance and remaining strength to carry the both of them without herself panting.

Still, Anna is the Empress, this much she knows; and an empress remains strong, no matter the circumstances. She’ll trust Yuuma and bring Ichihoshi to someone who can help tend to his wounds. That’s her mission and she’ll make sure to accomplish.

#inazuma eleven #mikado anna #ichihoshi hikaru #nosaka yuuma #yuuann #inazuma eleven orion no kokuin #inazuma eleven ares no tenbin #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #injury #cw blood #bleeding #ambulance ride #worry #hurt comfort #au: inacafé #plat: morning star #otp: emperor and empress

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stusbunker · 5 years

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Known: Case of the Weak, Part B

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!Reader, Sam, Female Vessel OC, a nameless trucker and some guy named Alan.

Summary: A discovery and an exit strategy.

Warnings: Talk of vomit, possession, angst, blood, consequences.

Series Masterlist

March 25, 2014

The Bunker

Dean felt nauseous.

He had stepped into the spare bedroom CC stayed in to change the sheets and the stink of sulfur hit him like a right hook. It was everywhere, the bed, the desk chair, little dusting of yellow flakes that stopped him in his tracks. He closed his eyes as the rage poured through the Mark and into his veins. A tiny voice inside his mind replied, ‘And you call yourself a hunter.’ He clenched his fist and released his jaw, taking in one more deep breath of betrayal.

“Sam!”

“Yeah?”

“Just come here a sec!” Dean barked, the energy drained from him as the terrifying possibilities came crashing into focus.

“What is it—shit, it reeks in here,” Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t test her?”

“I was a little preoccupied!” Dean admonished, “what? You didn’t either!”

“Is she?”

“No, she’s alive or at least she was last I saw her. How did I miss this?!” Dean’s eyes finally locked onto Sam’s. Sam swallowed as he realized how deep this cut into Dean’s carefully crafted armor. Dean dropped onto the perfectly made bed, elbows resting on his knees as he tried to gather himself.

“You’re telling me,” Sam huffed, then their old friend suspicion surfaced. “Crowley.”

Dean pulled his bottom lip against his teeth, shaking his head as it didn’t add up.

“He was pretty keen on meeting CC, Dean.” Sam mentally walked through the day at Magnus’s and the last time they saw the King of Hell.

“Oh god, Sam. What if it was one of the ones that defiled my Baby?” Dean stood and stormed down the hall toward the bathroom. “I am going to be sick, I mean, I--- and she--- and--”

“Breathe!” Sam rolled his eyes as his brother started to dry heave. Dean inhaled the cool, fresh air of the shower room, face leaning over the sink as Sam waited beside him. Dean tried to block the images of CC’s face in his hands, blood on his thighs, mouth on him. He sloshed the cold water on his face and neck, fingers dragging a little rougher than necessary, subconsciously hurting himself to bury the repulsion, the guilt, the fear.

“How did it even get in here, Sam? This place is warded to the gills.” Dean kept his eyes closed, unwilling to meet his reflection in the mirror. “She had a branding, on her thigh. But it wasn’t ancient, it just said, ‘Hi.’ I mean ‘hi’, really?!” Dean pushed off the sink, hand tugging the hair off his forehead.

“Might be some kind of blood spell? I’ll look in to what could have gotten past the Men of Letters’ fail-safes.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dean sighed. “You do that, I’m gonna burn my sheets and take a shower. In lye.”

Three hours later and Sam hadn’t narrowed down what a demon would have to do in order to gain access to the Bunker. Dean had stopped himself from calling Crowley five or six times, unwilling to give the demon the satisfaction of pulling one over on him. The whole thing felt like a sick twisted game of humiliation and not even the good kind. As most days when he was lost in thought, Dean’s left hand rubbed over the Mark, like bellows doting over embers.

“Look, just call her, maybe we can meet up, exorcise it?”

“Something tells me she is going to see through whatever we cook up, Sam,” Dean muttered.

“This isn’t Chloe, Dean. This is a demon who has our friend!” Sam was losing his patience. “I mean, no matter who she’s working for, we have to go after her.”

Dean waited, letting Sam’s exasperation contort his face into five different things before he looked his big brother in the unamused eye. “You done?”

“No, but if you have something to add, why don’t you share with the class?”

“You don’t think that I know what this means, for CC? The girl that I--, the hunter that has been pulling my head out of my ass for the better part of a year to be taken like this? To have that thing inside her? Sam? Really?!” Dean had his lecture face on staring admonished at Sam’s bitch face and his lips pursed.

“Well, don’t you think it’s time we do something about it?” Sam shifted in his chair.

“Oh, we’re going to do something about it, but I’m not leaving it to chance or a bad tip from Crowley. We do what we do, we hunt the thing.” The brothers shared a look, an entire conversation that resulted in a sucking of teeth and a ruthless smirk.

*^*

Her bike had run out of gas, how something that was extremely fuel efficient and, also the stuff of dreams ran out of gas, made little sense to Chloe. But there she was, on the side of the road in the afternoon heat, stranded. Her conversation with her granddad’s spirit had replayed itself in her thoughts for days. It was like elevator music to her now, familiar yet warbled, and easily dismissed.

The eighteen-wheeler was the first sign of civilization she had seen since leaving the memories in the woods. If this was her impending choice, she was ready to answer and take the next step back towards control. It was not. Though the trucker was friendly and had the air conditioning on full blast.

“Where to, princess?”

“Don’t know, we’ll see when we get there.”

The driver gave a thoughtful frown and eased off the brakes.

*^*

April 9, 2014

Sayre, OK

Fog clung to the road, sloping into ditches as the passing cars drove by, their proximity rattling the windows around you. You had pulled over to the shoulder hoping for a distraction, but that was hours ago. The body heat had steamed the windshield against the sunrise, scarlet and coral blotches appeared slowly before your unfocused eyes. You listened to the voicemail again, letting the once solacing voice eat away at any semblance of purpose you had left.

He had heard about your last case, wanted to meet half way. There were rumors about Crowley and Dean felt like his show down with Abaddon was an any-day-now situation. Damn, was he a brilliant bullshit artist. You almost believed he wanted to see you. It almost sounded that he had convinced himself he need to see CC again before that next battle. Maybe that’s what it was, maybe it was just Dean’s sentimental side breaking through before he got the First Blade back in his hand.

But it was just a hint too earnest and two puffs too smooth for someone who had done the things to you that he had. Dean knew and he was setting his trap.

You thought of going underground, knowing Crowley still had a few tails on you, despite your regular check ins. There was always defection, switch teams and play against the world’s deadliest hunters, with the last Knight of Hell as your team captain. Or you could tell him the disgusting, grisly truth and let him, or Sam, exorcise you where you stand.

None of those were without merit, but all were without much hope in your survival. The radio crackled over the opening cords of the next song, Kurt Cobain’s voice came next, shattering your pretensions, and finally the tears began to fall.

*^*

Rock Springs, WY

April 12, 2014

The Impala pulled into the parking lot just after rush hour, which wasn’t much to avoid in most respects. Sam had been on the phone on and off the entire drive, keeping tabs on the soul banks that Abaddon had erected all over. Dean was listening, but they both knew he had checked out unless it was about CC or the Queen Bitch herself. He needed the easy routine of tuning the radio and the weight of his foot on the gas. Because when he stopped or thought too much, everything seemed to unfreeze and fall apart at his slightest touch.

The motel had plenty of vacancies, especially for Agents Hawkins and Grohl. There wasn’t a verified case for forty miles, but something about putting on the Fed suit and using an alias made Dean feel in control. It was hard to believe there was a time when he hated the get ups. He replayed his times with CC on and off through the years, usually as one forgotten memory would surface, eventually they all snowballed over the bigger picture. But he could only see now where the holes in time split and the emptiness of his unspoken promises fissured.

“You call her?” Sam’s voice broke through his weapons check.

“Yeah, just rang through to voicemail. We’ll settle in and grab something to eat and I will try again.”

He didn’t turn around to see that look on Sam’s face, he already felt its sting without having to face it.

*^*

It as if she was asleep, her body seemed so much smaller from the outside. Though her boots fell inside the edge of the mattress, you felt the need to bed her knees, curling her on her side as she liked to rest. She was warm and her body heavy. You waited at the small breakfast table, new vessel’s fingers flexing as you acclimated to him. “Come on, CC, wake up.”

She shouldn’t have been tired, you had a solid six hours the night before. But when you left her mouth, you only passively realized that she was nowhere to be found. In fact, you couldn’t recall the last time you felt her fighting you.

Dean.

You hadn’t felt her since Dean. It was a good thing they were coming for you, then. Maybe his voice could break through to her, wherever she had gone. Like some macabre fairy tale, the cursed hunter wakes the mind-lost vessel. You should be gone by then, they didn’t need an audience. You didn’t need to bare witness to that. They would probably blast you full of rock salt and finish you off with their Kurdish knife. Instead you stayed, staring at the man’s generic phone screen until you heard CC’s ringtone from her coat on the rack behind the door.

Dean.

*^*

“I don’t know Sam, this all feel off to you?” Dean swallowed down some coffee as he waited for CC’s voicemail message to pick up again.

“We’re hunting a demon, not really expecting it to make it easy,” Sam shrugged.

“But, wouldn’t it pick up and taunt us?”

“Maybe it ditched her phone, want me to try the GPS?” Sam offered, pulling open his laptop on the cramped diner table.

Dean smiled at the waitress as she brought his slice of pie, though his stomach was full, he wasn’t going to deny himself a slice of Dutch Apple, especially not tonight. Sam huh-ed.

“What?”

“It’s pinging at our motel.” Sam stuck his tongue in his cheek as he spun the screen for Dean to see.

“Fucking demons,” Dean spoke through his bite of pie, inhaling all he could as Sam packed up his computer and left more than enough extra for a tip.

*^*

You could smoke out, there was still enough time. The Impala’s engine cut on the other side of the parking lot. You could almost feel him from where you sat, but this body was a poor substitute, and you were a selfish, masochistic bitch. So, you waited. Chloe’s breath was shallow, but steady. She hadn’t stirred or made even one noise. In a way, this was probably the last time you would ever see her again. Moving day and this was your last walk through of your first place. It was understandable to linger, justifying your inability to walk away from her and Dean.

They had geared up in their room, you could hear muffled voices through the walls, there were just three rooms between you and two were empty. Even whispering, you’d know those voices anywhere. They walked around the building, knowing if they took the shortest distance they would pass in front of the large window at your back. Sometimes you hated hunters’ caution and sometimes you wanted to pat their little heads. You pulled air through his nose and waited.

He called again. Honestly.

“Door’s open,” you said to whichever one was at the door, trying to discreetly pick the lock in nearly full view of the parking lot and surrounding alley. The voice was coarse out of your throat, foreign and distasteful to use for such occasions.

*^*

As the door swung open, Sam’s eyes fell on their host, before locking on to the sight of CC prone on the bed. He dragged his brother to his feet, and they walked straight into the fray. Tucking away his lock pick, Dean rocked forward in a fury, only taking two steps before he was knocked back. In half a breath, Sam and Dean were pinned against the coat rack as the door swung closed. The demon hadn’t even stood up.

“What did you do to her?!” Dean demanded, working to focus and to buy Sam time as a distraction.

“Nothing much worse than you did,” he spoke calmly, but the cadence wasn’t meant for this mouth.

“I’m going to kill you, you sonofabitch!”

“I know you want to, especially now, with all that blood-lust running through you.” The demon stood, the vessel was a white guy in his forties, small compared to them, but that meant nothing now. “The Mark really smarts after you lost the Blade, doesn’t Dean? I know how it makes you feel and how you think. So, I know you want to kill me, in fact, I was banking on it. That’s why I found a new meat suit. Didn’t wanna add anymore guilt on the Winchester laundry list.”

“But, why?” Sam searched for understanding, “I mean, why stick around for us to find you. You could have run back to Abaddon or Crowley or to fucking Botswana by now.”

The demon didn’t answer, but watched Dean watch CC, it almost seemed wistful. Sam was struggling to piece together its motivations all while fighting the force holding him against his will. But Dean had stopped fidgeting beside him, his brother had gone lax. Dean’s eyes unfocused before glaring at their captor.

“You like to watch, huh? Is that it? You get off on people’s feelings, you sick fuck.” Dean inhaled slowly with a piercing stare that further challenged the demon. He tried not to let his rage plummet with the shock as he started to feel an ease of pressure against his body.

“You know I don’t. Besides, I haven’t answered Sam, yet.” The demon approached them, waiting just out of arm’s reach. “I need your help.”

*^*

You had no clue if this would work, but it was the Hail Mary at the end of the game of your own devising. You kept going back to him and now that you had been made, you were running out of options. Nothing you did made sense, but if you were going to get through to Dean, you had to tell the truth. Or at least part of it.

“I don’t know where CC is.”

“You mean other than on the bed,” Dean was not amused with the child-like turn.

You rolled your eyes and put your hands on your hips, which was far less empowering in this form than in hers. “Obviously. She hasn’t been talking back for a while and when I exited stage left, it’s been quiet.”

“Has she had any brain damage or major trauma?” Sam asked.

You shook your head and then shrugged, possession was a bit traumatic, even when you weren’t out to derail her sanity. “The last time I remember even a glimpse of her was with Dean, so I was hoping…”

“No.”

“What, why?”

“It wants me to wake Sleeping Beauty,” Dean snapped. “I am not putting the moves on a comatose girl, not after what, just no.”

“It has a name,” you snipped, dropping your hold on Dean, which oddly wasn’t as secure as it was originally. “Just try and talk to her? Maybe she can resurface.”

“And if I don’t?” Dean watched you like a true enemy. While the power you possessed was nothing compared to what he unknowingly held over you, it was nice to been seen for what you were finally. Again, you remained silent, choosing to squeeze Sam’s throat enough for him to audibly choke. “Noted.”

He approached the bed with caution, eyeing the weapons you had forced from their grasp and waist bands with their confinement. You slid them across the floor beneath the table, nudging Dean onward. Out of annoyance more than courtesy, you removed the strangle hold from Sam’s throat. He sputtered and coughed as Dean checked CC’s pulse.

“Dean?”

“She’s good.” Dean’s large hand cradled her face as he began to whisper, “I’m so sorry, but we’re going to get you out of here. We’re gonna get you back on your feet and we can kick the bastard’s ass together, okay? Cease, you hearing me in there, huh?”

Your eyes flitted back to Sam, he looked at you with something too close to pity in his eyes. You let your eyes blacken and stuck your tongue out at him. Dean started talking again, leaving a little peck on Chloe’s forehead as he waxed on about their first hunt. Things you had learned but hadn’t realized what their past meant for him. It paled in comparison to yours, but Dean wasn’t here for you. And, finally you saw that you weren’t only there for yourself either.

“What about a dream walk?” Sam suggested, “we could probably scrounge up the ingredients between us.”

“Dean? Think you could handle it?” Everything rested on the head of a pin, Chloe’s life, your afterlife, Sam’s patience and Dean’s faith.

“I’m not leaving you alone with Sam,” Dean didn’t bother looking at you, he was too worried about CC.

“It’s not like we can trust her with our bodies, Dean.” Sam cocked his head as Dean’s eyes looked skyward.

“Demons don’t sleep, ergo it’s not coming with.”

You swallowed, remembering everything you knew about the ritual. “Dean, look, if I trust Sam to keep from killing OR exorcising me while I’m in. Will you trust me to go with you?”

“Why are you even still here?” Dean muttered, offended by your very existence.

“Because I don’t want Chloe dead, if I did, I would have done it a long time ago.”

“That right?” Dean stood now, looking down his nose at your vessel.

“Look, I asked for your help, alright?” You threw in your final chip and let Sam fall back to his feet. “Either help me find Chloe or kill me and do it on your own, but this guy has kids and I haven’t done a thing to him or her since you’ve been here. You can trust me.”

Dean let out a mirthless laugh. “Trust you? Sorry, Alan,” he quipped as he flicked the embroidered name tag on your chest. “I don’t even know you.”

*^*

He was impossibly close now and though he had been hiding it, the rage was surging just beneath the surface. Dean’s every instinct told him to kill this thing, but the way it moved and spoke was giving him a headache. It was like a bad body swap, because he was very clearly talking to CC while talking about CC. Just how long had she been possessed for it to have this sort of mimicry?

“That stings a little, but I’m not going to hold a shitty memory against you, Dean. Ball’s in your court, boys.” The demon sat down, leaning back to grab both of their guns and knife.

Tags: @mogaruke @dontshootmespence @mrswhozeewhatsis@smi727@sassykayla255@supernaturalboi@dumbthotticus@eve05glee@veroinnumera@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester@fanfictionrecommendations-com@soullesscollection-world

Next Chapter: Case of the Weak Part C

#dean winchester #spn fanfic #moc!dean #demon!reader #dean x reader #dean x female vessel #dean x demon!reader #moc!dean x demon!reader #known series #dean winchester fanfiction #dark fic #possession #angst #dean x cc #dean winchester dark fic #spn dark fic #spn dark fic series

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myfriendpokey · 5 years

Text

GARBAGE DAY!

a bunch of scrappy shorter pieces to clean out my drafts folder for the new year!

***

A videogame will tend towards exhausting every possible variation of a design space whether anyone wants it to or not.

Videogames and duration - if something is good it should continue being good however long you extend it. You don't really encounter the idea that something can be good for a little while and then be evil.

***

Works of art are "in conversation" with their audience, with materials, with history, with each other. The aim of an artwork is to start, or add to, "the conversation". "Conversation" sort of edges out the older tic whereby art "examines" or "explores" something, which always made me think of a big magnifying glass being propped up for the benefit of some eerily calm 1950s scientist. But now that sounds too chilly, and perhaps sort of sketchy in the power dynamics it implies. "Conversation" is much warmer, informal and more fluid - "conversation" is the assurance that any given power dynamic can be dissolved away in the warm glow of basic, mutual humanity. Let's talk it through! My door is always open! Whenever there's a complaint over labour conditions or harassment it's nearly de rigueur to also quote the wounded-sounding HR lackey, upset that people didn't talk to them about it before going public. Why would anybody deny the friendly, outstretched hand of the respected opponent and their entirely in-good-faith quibbling about word meanings, personality and tone? Why don't we have an honest conversation about the "honest conversation", that numbing discourse cloud sprayed out like formic acid to neutralize a threat, to melt any unsettling edges or contraries back into the familiar gloop of the private and the personal.

***

One of the pleasures of videogames is that of an infinitely repeatable, always identical procedure. Pressing the button makes something happen, and by pressing it again it will happen again in the same way. So there's a kind of abundance or excess built into the system - like partaking of a fruit which will never be depleted, and in the process taking on in your own actions something of that same infinity. You can temporarily identify with the self-identical, eternally reproducing action that you are performing. I think one of the difficulties of videogames is that as you get (slightly!) older, that immortal quality becomes more visibly alien, harder to align to your sense of self. That these mechanics act like black holes, able to absorb any amount of your life without ever being satiated, becomes a terrible curse rather than an unexpected gift. That endlessness now seems eerie and artificial, a horrible parody of life rather than the highest version of it.

The dadification of vgames has gone much remarked. But as well as a demographic shift I think this reflects a certain anxiety about the centrality of these immortal entities, these endless loops, within the culture. As reward for your fealty to the Mario brand you get even more Mario games, which by now you may not have time or energy to actually play. The VG dad (or even the buff, single pseudo-dads of the superhero movies) is eternally exhausted with the genre that he’s trapped in. We hear him groan and complain as he painfully slogs through the motions. The gratuitous loop is redeemed by the finite human suffering of the dad, as he manfully does what it takes to keep these things going forwards to the next generation, so that the next set of children may be able to actually take pleasure in them again. But the attempt to symbolically re-integrate these things into human life by casting them as a family drama never quite works: their ultimate indifference to that life shines through. A blind, eerie deathlessness is both their charm and their authority.

***

That saying that when all you have is a hammer everything else looks like a nail - similarly, when all you have is willpower, everything looks like an obstacle to be pounded into submission by that same willpower.

Laziness is a good thing in that it means stepping back from this idiot insatiability of the will. If you're lazy you have to pay more attention, because you're more aware of both your own limits and the limits of your material.

I think there can be value in suspending a formal problem rather than building an exhaustive system to solve it forever. That way it's still something you have to think about, something that still throws off and reroutes the normal workings of your awful private fantasy machine. Dropping text strings into the game as elements to spatially encounter is not ideal technically but does force you to be more responsive and exploratory with how you use that text. Robust systems can be cool, but can also really homogenize everything - now "text" is just the miscellaneous stuff within the all-purpose "textbox" at the bottom of the screen, cementing its role as filler content.

The funny thing about really systemic, open-world type games is that their very robustness tends to suffocate exprience before it happens. We know nothing will happen which will significantly impact this camera POV, this dialogue system.. anything can happen except for anything which would require a fundamental change to the underlying inventory system. But maybe the whole pleasure of the open world game is just being able to hold those experiences in suspense.

***

Mostly the characters voicing my own opinions in my videogames are explicitly malign and sinister - which is a corny device for me to vent without worrying as much about browbeating people with my opinions. But it's also a way of having those opinions without allowing them to overdetermine the rest of the game, or be fully in control over the more ambivalent and drifting work of "putting together different pieces on a screen to make interesting spaces". So in that sense my own ideas really are the enemies, and any plot role they serve in the game is a dramatisation of the effort to create a space where they lack controlling power.

***

RPG Maker is a collage machine, you get a set of pictures and start placing them around until they start to form some kind of charged and interesting space.

I think the collage aspect is a lot of what I enjoy about making these things, which is why games with more polished or consistent art styles frequently leave me cold. For me the greater the discrepancy between different objects on screen means a greater effect when they're combined.

How does gameplay etc tie in? For me gameplay can divert the interest but never truly capture it. For decades games have had the problem of effectively being able to train you to do something, but having no idea what that thing should be or why it would matter. They effectively move your attention around without being able to settle it because their inner logic is basically always the same ahistorical, mechanistic void. But this can be a good thing - the permanently restless and unsettled nature of videogame attention can't illuminate itself, but can do so to other things in passing.

Distraction becomes a way to examine surfaces, rather than being sucked into depths or settled to one fixed meaning. And the drift of unsettled consciousness is ultimately what animates game collages, the spaces that shift and react as attention plays across them, revealing or withholding. And so from this perspective, the answer to why I make videogames is: because I don't trust myself to look after an aquarium.

***

Design is managerial aesthetics - a mode of expertise framed as meta-expertise specifically because it scales up so well to systems of mass organisation and production. It's a universal discipline insofar as the task of removing any obstacles to the frictionless flow of attention and of capital is now also a universal chore. In this context a designer is like the MBA who can be dropped into any business to improve it, without ever having to know just what product they make – because the ultimate goal is always the same, the same tools can always be used.

The cutesy books about the design of everyday life and so forth exist in the same vein as the ones that tell us there's nothing wrong with marketing because ultimately isn't all human discourse and activity some form of marketing? Isn't everything "design"? The strange top-heaviness with which these things outgrow their host categories parallels the unstoppable expansion of executive salaries within the businesses themselves. The task of managing other people's labour becomes ever more grandoise, ineffable, cosmic and well-paid as that labour in turn is framed as a kind of undifferentiated slop which exists for the sake of being shaped by creatives.

***

tragedy / comedy:

Generalizing hugely I feel like tragedy is about an event or experience so powerful it changes everything - for the characters involved, for the people in that world, for the audience watching - while conversely comedy is the idea that no event or experience can change anything. Oedipus dies and there's a big announcement and everyone has to sit through the awkward two-minute silence before getting back to work, while trying not to fart or itch too noticeably, and the next day somebody's selling Oedipus commemorative pens which run out of ink five minutes after opening, and the pen cap gets lost and the cat starts playing with it.

In comedy the tragic can still happen, it’s just never strong enough to escape the constraints of the inert material universe which we find ourselves in – all that which remains so stubbornly intractable towards the higher instincts. I can talk about the dignity of man but there's still a risk that my pants will fall down or that someone will hit me with a ladder, causing my head to get stuck inside a bucket of paint, etc. Or my voice might be ridiculous or I might have a stutter (old comedy standbys!), or someone might hear part of my words out of context and assign them a different and unintended meaning. Comedy is consciousness imprisoned within a cumbersome matter which it can't completely do anything with, but also can't exist without.

Taken as a worldview, this sort of risks congealing into the kneejerk reactionary things-can-never-change, whatever-moment-of-human-history-i-was-reared-in-is-eternal-and-inviolate radio DJ / South Park mindset. And of course somebody's view of what constitutes a tragic, life-changing event depends greatly on whether it's happening to them or someone else. But as exaggeration, in its neurotic overemphasis of the inescapable material, i think this approach still has interest and use. Many of my favourite writers have a kind of comic understanding of consciousness: consciousness becomes a churning material process with its own independent momentum which has to be examined and accounted for as part of any real reckoning with the world. In this light comedy becomes a way to think about opacity and limitation, both in physical matter and in our own selves.

I think many people have made the point that vgames are generally comic, intentionally or unintentionally. The rhetoric around them still tends towards the tragic: make the choice which changes everything! Deal with the consequences, accept your fate! But in practice those moments feel less visible than the clumsy material layer of GUIs, inputs, mechanics and representations that contain and constrain them. The opacity of the black box is one inhibition: was that meant to happen? Was it scripted or a glitch? Maybe I should reload my save and try again. Another is the inertia of the various game systems and loops themselves - [x] character may have died but you still need to collect those chocobo racing feathers if you want the Gold Sword. The numbers in a videogame "want" to keep going up, whatever happens: there's an affordance there which exists independently to any merely human wants and needs, and so tends to act as a gravity well for distracted consciousness as it wanders around. When people talk about tragedy in videogames it's usually with the implicit rider that it's within a game, or set of game conventions, which have become naturalised enough to become invisible. Which also tends to mean the naturalisation of a form, of inputs, of technology, of distribution mechanisms and assumptions, which however arty we can get are still inherently tied to the tech industry. Every art game is to some extent an invitation to spend more time internalising the vocab of your windows computer.

I've mentioned that the materialism of comedy can tend towards unthinking reaction. But the insistence on certain limits inherent to the human body – requirements like clean water and clean air, food and shelter, actual bathroom breaks and not piss jugs and also not having to live six feet beneath a rising sea level - can be helpful at a point when all these things are regarded as negotiable impediments to the pursuit of future profit. Maybe it’s a good thing that some materials can still be so insistent about refusing to be absorbed into the will.

***

I think what I most enjoy about art is the sense of a game with moveable stakes: where you never quite know the value of what you're playing for, which now appears absolutely trivial, and now appears to stand in judgement of the whole world, etc. I think this is also the Adorno idea of the aesthetic as really the extra-aesthetic, that which can step outside or threaten to step outside the limits of the merely aesthetic. It's why "just make a good game / pop song / comic / etc" never quite works, in rhetoric or in practice: the really good pop song is never that which just gives the enjoyable three minutes of listening we might consciously assign to be its remit, it's what overflows or undercuts that category, that which however briefly seems at risk of stepping outside it and into the realm of everyday life.

I grew up on pop culture so I don't have to feel positively towards it. Who am I meant to be defending it from? The handful of surviving WASPs reared on Brahms who get the ostentatiously-fussy-culture-review posts at print newspapers looking to pick up a slightly higher quality of margarine advertisement? The best thing pop culture ever gave me was its own critique: that of containing artists and moments which couldn't be squared with what the rest of it was saying, which seemed to call the whole enterprise into question and in doing so broadened the sense of what was possible. Pop culture was never quite identified with itself, the value it has is in containing elements which make that self-identification impossible. So it always throws me off to see people celebrating "pop culture", like it's a self-produced totality, when that totality was only ever good for kicking.

Pop culture survives through a negativity it can never properly acknowledge.

[images: Tower of Druaga, Detana!! TwinBee, True Golf Classics: Wicked 18, Microsurgeon, Dark Edge]

#gamechat #criticism #vgames #garbage day

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