#sometimes the found family you make is actually your blood family that was so estranged you didnt know who they were | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tenthgrove · 3 years

Note

LA SQUADRA SEPERATLY FINDING OUT THEY HAVE A YOUNGER SISTER HC?

La Squadra Discovering they have a Younger Sister

La Squadra x Reader, Platonic / Familial, SFW

Formaggio- Out of everyone in La Squadra, Formaggio has some of the closest contact with his birth family, so a secret sister he didn’t know about would be a huge surprise. The only way you could possibly exist is through an extramarital affair that got swept under the carpet, but Formaggio is still going to be thrilled to hear of you. He will want an in-person meet-up within days of learning you exist, or even sooner if you’re available. His goal from the get-go is to make up for lost time, in order to strive for as close a relationship as if you had been raised together. He’ll announce your existence to the squad and happily introduce you to them if you wish. He knows it’s dangerous to involve you with them, but he’s going to make damn sure himself that nobody will ever hurt you.

Illuso- Having lived through a sad, lonely childhood, Illuso’s initial outward reaction to finding out he has a sibling is apathy. Though he will seek you out, he will insist to anyone who asks that it’s out of pure curiosity. Things start to change after your first couple of interactions. His questions turn from frivolous curiosity to genuine concern. Was your childhood any better than his? Are you happy now? Once your relationship resembles a friendship, Illuso will meet with you regularly to catch up. He won’t say anything to the rest of the squad beyond the essentials and he won’t be seen with you in public, but with his stand, he doesn’t need to. Even if you are not a stand user yourself, he wants you to know about the mirror world. He wants you to be proud of what he’s capable of.

Prosciutto and Pesci- (A/N: I will be using my personal hc of these two as biological brothers. I know that the canon evidence for this is questionable, but making them related just fits better with the way I view them.) To Prosciutto and Pesci, family has always been the most important thing, so there is no question that they will accept you as kin no matter where you are in life. Prosciutto in particular is not surprised to learn of you- he already knew his father was disloyal because Pesci exists. Another child in the mix is not a major shock. Building bonds with people who aren’t gangsters is not Prosciutto’s strong-point, but he will be happy to support you financially or offer you protection if you ever need it. Though he may not meet with you frequently, you’re welcome to call him if you are ever in need of advice or an ear to listen. Pesci’s reaction is a little different. He desperately wants to be close with you, but he fears being despised for what he’s made of his life. Prosciutto has to tell him to grow up and face you. Once things are less awkward, Pesci will do his best to stay in touch with you regularly, frequently meeting up. He will be a very sweet, supportive older brother, always offering encouragement and boosting your self-esteem.

Melone- The chances are, he encountered you completely by accident. It began the day he first saw you, most likely either at a bar or online, and was struck by your similar features. He did some digging, got hold of your DNA, and the results confirmed his suspicions. You are Melone’s little sister. His first port of call is to contact you and explain himself. He makes no attempt to hide the bizarre life he lives (excluding the fact he regularly commits murder) and the way he found you, which is enough to make you call him for bullshit until you’re also forced to acknowledge the resemblence you share to him. With you convinced, Melone visits you in person to find out how you’re getting on, and to shed some light on your interests and personality so he can engage with you better in future conversations. He also wants to know about your relationships. Do you have a partner? Children? If so, he’ll definitely want to be involved in their lives, offering to take babysitting duties whenever you need. If you’re single and don’t want to be, he’ll be happy to help matchmake for you. Just don’t ask about his methods.

Ghiaccio- He’s very cautious about getting you mixed up with him because if you’re his sister and younger than he is, that makes you a kid. Some of the others say he’s a kid, but he wouldn’t go that far, thank you. However, he still wants to have contact with you out of an abundance of paranoia for his own shitty, shitty childhood. Who is taking care of you? Do they treat you well? If you’re being subjected to anything close to what your parents put him through, he’s going to be angry and there’s going to be blood. The last thing he wants is for you to be lonely, so he’ll suck up his reluctances and hang out with you from time to time, to see how you’re doing. But please, for the love of god, don’t try and follow him into Passione. He could never forgive himself if that happened.

Risotto- Another one in the ‘not surprised’ category. Risotto’s parents ditched him at birth, so he’s always known there was a fair chance they would have had other children after him. The wounds of his parents’ abandonment are deeper than he’s willing to admit, but he won’t hold it against you. You are a reminder of the peaceful life he could have lived, and for that he wants to cherish you. In-person meetings are going to be rare. He can’t stand the thought of Passione learning of your existence and using you against him. However, he will still make time for you in texts and phone-calls, listening to you describe your day-to-day life and offering advice where you ask for it. Perhaps, if everything is calm within the gang, he will sneak away for a few days around your birthday or the holidays, to spend time with you in person.

Sorbet- Reluctant, but don’t take it personally. Sorbet’s entire childhood consisted of caring for his younger siblings while his mother was in no condition to do so herself. He’s not angry to find there was another sister he didn’t know about (most likely born after he ran away), but it is going to have some bad associations for him. Gelato will be the one to push him into meeting you, but despite his reservations Sorbet will treat you with absolute respect. His ongoing relations with you will be quite similar to Prosciutto’s, offering you support when you need it but otherwise keeping a distance. Perhaps once things are easier for him and Gelato, Sorbet will be able to become closer to you. He hopes you know that he wants things to be like that.

Gelato- His first reaction is caution. The rest of the family were absolute trash to him, and if you’re just going to look down on him and criticise his choices he doesn’t want to go near you. This goes double if you were actually raised by his estranged parents, as he’ll see you as some sort of replacement. That’s a thought that absolutely disgusts him. Rest assured he will come around eventually, once he sees you’re not the same as the rest of his family. He’ll invite you to hang out with him whenever you’re in town, and stay in touch via text whenever you aren’t. Sometimes you wake up at 3am to the most incomprehensible messages you’ve ever seen, frequently followed by an apology from Sorbet. Your brother is a real highlight of your life, always sure to make you laugh.

#la squadra #formaggio #illuso #pesci #prosciutto #melone #ghiaccio #risotto nero #sorbet and gelato

204 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone, the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call, a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing. You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back. The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room. When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you. Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it, you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #yandere bnha #shinso yandere #yandere shinso x reader #bnha x reader #bnha harem collab #bnha halloween #bnha spooky

515 notes · View notes

evehere · 3 years

Text

2ha QWS-AU

I decided to try my hand at this AU! Hope you'll like it!

You can find the masterpost here. There's no need to have read QWS (Wife is First) or watched Minglan before, though I really recommend them (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Spoilers of 2ha, but not of QWS or Minglan.

Warnings: character death, knife, blood.

Mo Ran 1.0

Mo Ran’s execution

Mo Ran made no move to dodge the stones thrown at him. One hit his eyebrow, and blood dripped down his face.

There was a flare of pain. But it didn’t hurt.

Nothing hurt since Chu Wanning had breathed his last.

Stones and rotten vegetables continued to rain over him, as people shouted around the cart Mo Ran was being carried in. The cart was a cage with wheels, letting everyone see the proud Taxian general reduced to this sorry, pathetic state, with his head and hands bound in a cangue and kneeling in repentance.

The fearsome, all-powerful general, Hero of the North, Marquis of Nanping.

A tiger without claws and teeth.

“Wasn’t he the one who drove the northern barbarians out of our lands?” A woman said in the crowd, asking his husband with a hand on his arm. “That didn’t count for something?”

“Not anymore,” he answered, spitting on the floor, “not since he tried to overthrow the emperor.”

I didn’t, Mo Ran wanted to say. I didn’t do it, someone framed me.

Yet what would he get saying it? Would Chu Wanning come back from the dead?

If there was a way to bring him back, Mo Ran would do anything. He would let them parade him like this fifty times if it was necessary. Chu Wanning had been the most innocent party of all this plot someone had staged to bring Mo Ran down. To this day, Mo Ran still didn’t know who to blame. Who to hate.

Who was he trying to trick? The fault for this whole situation and Chu Wanning’s death, ultimately, lay in him.

But hate was more easy to manage. Sometimes, regret and shame threatened to gobble him whole when he remembered the last eight years. He had spoiled his concubines and neglected his lawful husband, letting him have the worst kind of life for a proud and soft-hearted man. The worst sort of man for the schemes and plots that lurked in a household like Mo Ran’s.

Chu Wanning should have left him behind, like his concubines and servants had done. Mo Ran wouldn’t have blamed him.

“Have you seen him?” A scholar admonished his child, a big eyed boy no older than five. “Be an upright man, never act like this beast.”

The child merely nodded his head, struggling to understand what Mo Ran had done to deserve such treatment from the public. They were throwing dirty things at him! That was a rotten egg splashed on the man’s back!

“Traitor! Bastard!”

“Worse than pigs and dogs!”

“I hope you die a horrible death!”

The last one almost sparked a bit of amusement in Mo Ran. After all, he was on his way to a horrible death, paraded through the city, all the way from the imperial prison to the execution ground. This parade should serve as a reminder and a warning to all citizens, the soldiers had said.

Though it was more likely just a good way to dispose of their spoiled food.

Something hit him on his temple. Mo Ran looked down. It was a carrot, wrinkled and soft. What a waste, Mo Ran thought. It was overripe, but mostly good. He would have given everything to have something like this to bring to Chu Wanning in his last days, when they either got a broth that was merely muddy water or a mouldy bao for the two of them every couple of days.

It was funny, Mo Ran concluded, with no trace of hilarity. When he was the influential and wealthy Taxian general, with the world at his feet and whatever riches he desired at the grasp of his hand, he had given nothing to Chu Wanning. Well, nothing if you didn’t count eight years of suffering and grievances. It was much later, when he had lost everything, that he wished he had given Chu Wanning more.

Even if just to improve his health.

Perhaps, if Chu Wanning had been more selfish, he wouldn’t have died, Mo Ran ruminated. Maybe he’d have demanded Mo Ran to give him what he was allotted to as the husband of a Marquis, and his health would have been better when Mo Ran’s household collapsed. Maybe he’d have never entered the prison to be with his husband, for a crime he had nothing to do with. Maybe he wouldn’t deceive Mo Ran and let him have all the food when it got scarce.

Baobei, it was my fault, Mo Ran thought often. He hoped Chu Wanning could get a swift passing in the underworld and get a good reincarnation. Was the underworld a cold place? He wondered. Chu Wanning hated the cold.

No matter. He’d find it out soon.

When one was lost in their own thoughts, time flied. In no time, they were already at the execution grounds, a tall and thick post in the middle of a dusty arena. People surrounded the place, eager to observe how they carried out the execution of the infamous Taxian general.

Lingchi. The death by a thousand cuts.

Mo Ran let the executioners tie him to the post, offering no resistance. Briefly, he asked himself if it would be long. When the sentence arrived at his cell, he had already lost all his money and power, so he couldn’t pay the executioners to make a first cut in his neck, letting him bleed out quickly. Besides, he hadn’t really cared at the time, too busy letting his grief swallow him whole.

Chu Wanning had died the day before.

As he was tied, the executioner brought out an imposing knife, as long as his forearm, and dipped the blade in salt water.

“It will be quick,” the man said gruffly. “General Xue paid for a swift death.”

Xue-bofu, Mo Ran realised with a startle.

After his imprisonment, Xue-bofu and Xue Meng had really exerted all efforts to get them out, but to no avail. Mo Ran had felt an intense guilt for his estrangement and disrespect towards them in the last years. When he had fallen to his darkest, only Nangong Si, his wife Ye Wangxi and the Xue family had stayed with him.

A quick execution must have cost his uncle dearly as well, he sighed. He was thankful it was the last time he’d imposed on them like this.

Mo Ran’s numbed senses took a while to feel the first cut.

It was a lick of fire, heated and intense on the front of his thigh. His nerves caught on the fire seconds later, every inch of skin burning and in pain. His leg trembled, and he knew he’d have fallen if they hadn’t tied him to the post. He didn’t scream, he still had that pride.

Distantly, he felt the blood trickling down his leg.

The next one was on his chest, and another one on his shoulder. A sliver of his old impatience and ire flickered up, and he threw a dark look to the executioners. Wasn’t it supposed to be quick?

One of them shivered under the weight of his gaze, but the other, the one holding the knife, merely shrugged with an impish smile.

“Lord Mo must understand this humble one…” he whispered, holding in a snicker. “It’d look suspicious if we made it too quick and this humble one would get into trouble.”

Bah. Mo Ran merely closed his eyes and turned his head the other way. It wasn’t as if he could actually do anything about it. Let Xue-bofu ask him for a refund once Mo Ran was dead.

Though it didn’t ease his disappointment at the loss. He had allowed himself a bit of hope that he’d die before they degraded his body to the utmost. Maybe then he’d reach the underworld mostly intact, and he wouldn’t scare Chu Wanning too much when he saw him.

Given the circumstances, it’d be best if the deities sent him directly to hell, instead of letting his husband see his wretched state.

Finally, when Mo Ran had lost count and his forehead was covered in sweat, the executioner reached his knife to Mo Ran’s neck. Probably he found disappointing that he didn’t scream and decided to end things before lord Xue could complain to him.

As the blood covered him, Mo Ran was freezing. He was cold before, but now the chill bit into his flesh and seeped into his bones. He could feel his heart beating frantically in his chest, and his breathing catching up, trying to get more blood flow to his body. At least he was no longer in pain.

His eyelids weighted a lot. Soon, he had trouble opening his eyes, and the blood loss made him dizzy and sleepy.

Well. It wasn’t as if he wanted to open them again.

Wanning… it was my fault… will you forgive me?

You were a man of unmeasurable genius and grand ambitions… yet you had to spend your days locked up in the manor, like a forgotten toy in a corner.

I’m sorry…

If there’s a next life…

I will make it up to you.

***

Cangue: it was a device designed for public humilliation and punishment in Ancient China (and not so ancient times too). It's a must in c-dramas.

Bofu (伯父): uncle, especifically, father's elder brother. Remember Lan Zhan's shufu? That's your father's younger brother. Chinese genealogy 😂

Lingchi (凌迟): it's literally "death by a thousand cuts". People did pay executioners to make a cut on the prisoner's neck, asking for a quick death.

***

If you liked it, please support me by reblogging! Thanks!

#qws au #2ha #二哈和他的白猫师尊 #erha #2ha ficlet #evehere fics

47 notes · View notes

wickwrites · 3 years

Text

Burning as a Motif for Humanity in Violet Evergarden

I think, when watching Violet Evergarden, most of us picked up on fire as a motif for Violet’s trauma – the violence and destruction she witnessed in the war, and the violence and destruction she engendered with her own hands. I’m not going to go into this too much because it’s all pretty self-explanatory, if not trite, but here are some quick examples of fire as a motif for her trauma just to lay the groundwork for the rest of the essay:

In frame 1 (episode 8), Violet draws first blood on the battlefield, and the once contained fire from the felled soldiers’ lanterns spread quickly through the forest, a symbol for how one small act of violence can cascade into large scale destruction. In frame 2, Gilbert stares at the carnage in front of him, horrified. In frame 3, the major is shot, and all we get to see is a screen of flames. In frame 4 (episode 12), Merkulov stares into a fire as he schemes about re-kindling the war.

I want to follow this (well trodden) opinion up with a more encompassing statement. That is, fire, in Violet Evergarden, is not limited to representing the destructive power of violence and trauma. Instead, it is a motif for humanity itself – an embodiment of the full range of experiences and emotions that make us human.

To show this, I’m going to start off at the beginning of Violet’s journey, focusing on how her disconnect (from herself as well as others) is illustrated in episode one. For instance, her initial struggle to move her now mechanical arms as she sits in her hospital bed in the opening sequence is an excellent embodiment of her dissociation from her own body and lack of agency. I want to, however, focus on two scenes that are particularly relevant for our discussion:

First, the scene where Violet spills tea on her hand:

And second, the scene where Hodgins insists that Violet is burning:

These scenes are similar: in both, someone asserts that Violet must be in pain, specifically due to burning, and in both, Violet rejects that statement. In the first, however, that burning is physical. And in the second, that burning is emotional. Regardless, Violet is so removed from her own body that she is incapable of feeling either. Her mechanical hand is therefore an embodiment of her inhumanity (ie. her “dollness” or “weapon-ness”). Like her, it is cold, mechanical, insensitive, without life or agency. After all, up until now, all she’s been doing is killing on command, without the ability to think for herself, experience her own pain, or sympathize with her victims’ pain.

When the screen shows that Hodgins is indeed correct, that Violet is literally on fire (frame 1), that fire is depicted with restraint. Flames engulfs Violet’s body, but those flames are from a streetlamp enclosed in glass. It is controlled and distant. This encapsulates Violet’s current state; she is literally on fire, but that fire is so compartmentalized and suppressed, and she is so far removed from her own experience, that she is incapable of feeling it.

In frame 2, we are viewing Violet in a flashback, from Hodgin’s point of view. Although we’re offered a close up shot of her bloodied hands, we see, about two cuts later, that Hodgin is actually observing Violet from afar (frame 2.5). This distance demonstrates that he cannot bring himself to reach out to her, something that Hodgin confesses he feels guilty about literally 5 seconds later. They were, at that point in time, and perhaps even now, unable to connect.

In frames 3 and 4, Hodgin is speaking again. We get this super far shot of Violet’s body. The camera is straight on, objective, and unfeeling. This unsympathetic framing has two functions. First, it distances us from Violet. Our inability to see the details on her face and her relatively neutral body language gives us, the audience, no real way inidication her thoughts. Second, it distances Violet from herself. As someone who experiences dissociative symptoms from PTSD, this is a very poignant way of framing what it feels like to be removed from your own experience. Hodgin’s line, “You’ll understand what I’m saying one day. And, for the first time, you’ll notice all your burn scars,” further drives home the sense that Violet is completely estranged from herself. It almost feels like we are looking at her, from her own detached point of view.

We’re going to move on now, but we’ll get back to these frames later in the analysis, so hold onto them.

Throughout Violet’s journey, fire comes up again and again. Specifically, it shows up in moments of emotional intimacy, connection, and healing. Let’s see what I mean by this:

I have here a collection of moments that all occur at the same narrative point in their respective mini-stories: the moment where one character reaches out to another, sympathizes with them, and literally pulls them of their darkness. For example, frame 1 (episode 3) shows Violet bringing a letter from Luculia to her brother. It expresses Luculia’s gratitude and love for him, and ultimately mends their relationship. In frame 2 (episode 4), Violet and Iris share a moment of emotional intimacy and connection, which is the beginning of Iris’ story’s resolution. In frame 3 (episode 9), Violet’s suicidal despondency is interrupted by the mailman, bringing her a heartwarming letter from all her friends. In frame 4 (episode 11), Violet comforts a dying solder by a fireplace.

It’s not that other modes of lighting do not exist – modern looking lamps show up repeatedly in the show. Even Iris’ rural family has them, so I can reasonably assume that, no, the above moments do not all coincidentally use lamps because that’s all there is in this universe; the usage of fire during moments of catharsis is deliberate, and establishes that fire can also bring hope, kindness, and love.

Now that we’ve explored the dual nature of fire as both destructive/constructive, painful/cathartic, let’s go onto the thesis of my essay. Why do I say that being on fire is to be human? Let’s go back to the scene where Hodgin tells Violet she’s on fire (episode 1, on the left), and compare it to the scene where Violet finally realizes that Hodgin was right and that she is on fire (episode 7, on the right):

In these sequences, there is a notable shift in framing and perspective. In frame 1b, we finally get to see Violet’s blood-stained hands from her point of view, as opposed to from Hodgin’s point of view in 1a. Violet becomes aware of her past as an actual agent choosing to kill, shown through the first-person point of view. Similarly, the medium, straight on shot of Violet looking down at her hands (frame 2a) is replaced with an intimate first-person, close-up view (frame 2b). In shots 3a and 3b, the difference in framing is most pronounced. In 3a, we get this straight on, long shot. In frame 3b, the camera’s detachment is replaced by a claustrophobic closeness. While this framing does an excellent job at conveying the panicked feeling of “everything crashing down all at once”, it also demonstrates Violet’s new-found awareness of herself. While before, the camera was used to alienate, now it is used to create a sense of painful awareness and intimacy.

These series of shots are the first in the entire show, I believe, of Violet's body from her own point of view. Their co-incidence with her awakening self-awareness characterizes the state of “being in one’s body” as a precondition to self-connection, or more specifically, to Violet’s understanding of herself as neither a weapon nor a doll, but as a human. Correspondingly, this pivotal moment serves as a catalyst for her subsequent emotional development. From this episode on towards the finale, we’re launched into a heart wrenching sequence of events: Violet’s desperate grieving for Gilbert’s apparent death, her attempted suicide driven by newfound grief, and most importantly, Violet receiving her first written letter, an act that is strongly representative of genuine human connection. Following these events, Violet’s emotional connection to both herself and others only continues to grow; during her two final jobs of the story, she breaks down crying in response to the suffering of her clients, demonstrating a level of compassion—if not empathy—that she seems to have never been able to tap into before.

At the same time, Violet acquires a new sense of agency, making plot-driving decisions that no longer require other characters’ validations. Most poignantly, in episode 12, she chooses to stay on the train to fight Merkulov, explicitly going against Dietfried’s order for her to leave. Her reason?

She doesn’t want anyone to die anymore.

And it’s this moment, for me, that consolidated her as a character with true agency. Up until now, all her major decisions have been framed in relation to Gilbert: she killed in the war because Gilbert ordered her to, and she became an Auto Memories Doll because she wanted to understand Gilbert’s enigmatic “I love you”. Now, however, her motivation is purely her own—she fights, simply because she doesn’t want anyone else to die. It’s a line implies an intimate knowledge of loss. It’s a sentiment motivated by compassion. It’s a raw and extraordinarily human thing to say.

When Violet embarks on her journey to decipher Gilbert’s love, she is devoid of many traits we consider inherent and possibly even unique to being human—suffering, compassion, altruism, love, agency, and the interplay between them. As an Auto Memories Doll, she learns to live, experiencing all these emotions she had never had the luxury to experience before, and we quickly realize that she cannot know what love is without simultaneously wrestling with her trauma. She learns that yes, sometimes the fire destroys and sometimes it burns, but sometimes it thaws too, and you cannot have one without the other. You cannot choose what the fire does to you; you cannot choose what you want to feel. Thus, to be on fire is to know the anguish of its destruction, but it is also, and more importantly, to know the catharsis of human connection, to be the warm flame that pulls someone else out of the dark, to be pulled out of the dark yourself. To be on fire is to be human.

#violet evergarden #violet evergarden analysis #anime analysis #anime #anime essay #anime meta #violet evergarden meta #analysis #w.writing #w.analysis

47 notes · View notes

anxiouspotatorants · 3 years

Note

HOLD UP!!! You immediately had me at the "Twilight AU but Rory is the vampire" here 👀👀👀👀. Color me intrigued AND inspired.

Ok so first off, the 'reveal' conversation. The COMEDY potential!! Just Jess being overall nervous but also pretty curious to know about what Rory as a vampire is like, whereas Rory is trying pretty hard to make him be more afraid and to hopefully get him to run away screaming so she can have some reason to tackle him, but this guy just isn't budging!

The shiny skin reveal! Like first off, THIS CAN'T BE THE SAME WITH EDWARD BECAUSE RORY'S NOT PLANNING ON STRIPPING IN FRONT OF JESS HERE (no matter how much she might like him despite her better judgement). Imagine the complete lack of suspense when she just uncovers her arm and shows Jess how it sparkles into the sunlight.

Rory: This is the skin of a killer, Jess!!

Jess: Wow, didn't know murderers had a continuous discount at Claire's for silvery glitter.

Rory: 😒

JESS WITH THE ICONIC GOOGLE SEARCH. THE DREAMS ABOUT RORY COMING IN WITH THE FULL DRACULA GETUP, MENACINGLY LEANING IN TO BITE HIM AS HE TAKES HIS "Paint me like one of your french girls" pose. Jess waking up from it not knowing whether he's scared or has just figured out a new kink for himself.

Jess dodging all of Rory's attempts to get him to stop wanting to see her by just coming in and asking her all of these questions while they're in the middle of the recess crowd in school. Rory giving up after the fourth attempt and answering all of his questions in a hushed tone.

Jess: So you can read people's minds?

Rory: Yes, except for yours. I still haven't figured out why though.

Jess: Huh, maybe Liz's all-round smoking diet during her pregnancy had its benefits after all.

Rory: Jess!!

I'm not sure whether I'd want Rory to be an older vampire like Edward or a more newly-made one, and in this case Lorelai is potentially still human but knows about Rory's condition despite Rory trying to keep her in the dark about it when she first turned. They still haven't found a way to break it to Richard and Emily though, despite their various brainstorming sessions over it.

Lorelai: We could get them drunk and just announce it to them!

Rory: Wonderful, and they'll accept their formerly estranged granddaughter as an undead creature.

Lorelai: Hey, you only asked how we should tell them, you never asked about how they'd handle it.

Jess just straight-up asking if she would eat the bullies in the high-school. Rory vehemently replying that no, she doesn't eat people, she just drinks the blood, but if he must know,......yes she drank from Chuck Presby once because she was angry and hungry and his blood almost tasted like Gatorade, so she's refrained from trying out the other bullies' blood. No, Chuck doesn't know what happened, he just thinks some girl went a bit too far with her hickey.

Jess and Rory talking to each other late at night and organizing a "studying" session where they just end up watching various B-movies, and sometimes Jess ends up falling asleep on the other side of the couch while Rory looks on at him and look, she's not being creepy here, she's just sitting on her side admiring this insane boy who still hasn't woken up one morning and decided that being friends with a vampire girl isn't in fact one of the smartest choices he could make in his life, and she can't help but like him because of that, ok? Also she really needs to hear more of his thoughts on some of the other American classics, it's imperative.

Rory ending up protecting Jess from an ongoing car that almost hits him instead of the whole "other vampire craves his blood" storyline but Jess ends up spraining his arm when he fell to the ground and Rory just feels guilty that she couldn't have saved him in a better way and tries to avoid him after that. Unfortunately she can't because this dumbass is walking along her trail in the nearby woods with his arm in a sling and goddamn it Jess, you're scaring away the deer!!

Yes. A thousand times yes. To all of this. The comedy. The pining. The Google search idea and elder Gilmore announcement. Yes to it all. But may I raise you some alternatives/more ideas:

In the books the sparkling looks more like the vampires are on fire. So when Rory reveals some skin in the sunlight, Jess is like «Shit, stop doing that do you have a death wish?!» and Rory just gives him a shit eating grin and waves her arm in and out of the sunlight. Also what if she doesn’t strip but takes of her sweater to reveal a t-shirt and Jess has a momentary heart attack thinking a vampire was about to flash him? All this being said the Claire’s silvery glitter scene is too good to replace ;-;

There just has to be a point while they’re close friends that Rory tries to impress/scare Jess by pulling him over her shoulders and carrying him while she speed runs. But when she tries to say something badass or seductive she has a brain fart and the only thing that comes out is: «Hold on tight... spidermonkey.» Jess doesn’t get to react before she runs, and when she’s finished the first thing he does is puke (apparently it’s hard to get used to that running according to SMeyer). Rory: «Oh no I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done it, it was stupid and now you’re hurt and-»

Jess: «Spidermonkey???»

Rory: «oh, you’re fine.»

Jess: «SPIDERMONKEY????»

Rory: «I’ll just leave you here for the bears,» and walks away.

I’m not sure what her vampire origin story should be. It could be all the Gilmores are vampires and they bite each other at a certain age after procreating (and the eldest Lorelai decided to be an asshole and bite Rory early) or it could just be Rory like you said. In that case maybe Christopher became one and bit Rory because he wants her and Lorelai and him to be one big happy family of the night? But Lorelai refused and Rory protected her? Or maybe it was a stranger who passed by Stars Hollow?

Jess questions Rory’s humanity not after being saved by a car crash (pre friendship that is, I still think your idea should come in afterwards) but because he consistently skips school and on a sunny day («How can I lock myself in a stuffy dusty dark room on a day like this, uncle Luke?») he comes upon Rory hunting and eating a dear. That and/or she saves him from the swan. And because it’s Rory and she’s a clumsy new-born she saves him by speeding over and suckerpunching the swan so hard it does an action movie sweep miles into the forest.

Rory’s cover for sunny days in Stars Hollow is that she’s staying at Chilton longer for an assignment, or in the case of her still going to ST High it’s visiting their library for resources. Because she hates missing school, that cover is usually true, and she just refuses to go into any spot with sunlight:

Rory: «I have this skin condition, I have sun allergy»

Madeleine or Louise: «That’s not a thing is it»

Paris: «It is [starts infodumping]»

She usually locks herself in the darkest corner of the library and speeding away in a flash at closing time before anyone can spot her.

Rory has lost count of the amount of times Jess has dared her to drink from him. She refuses because she’s scared if hurting a friend:«What if I taste your blood and it’s so good I can’t stop? Like it tastes like heroin or ecstasy or coffee?» Jess usually counters with either «If you could resist Chuck Presby you can resist me» or «What makes you think I’d taste so good, huh?» Rory always ends up thinking she would have a blush right now if she was still human.

Jess wants to be a vampire too because hey what else does he have a chance at doing in life? But Rory refuses because she sees the potential in him and what he can be, and doesn’t want to take his chance at a good and normal life away from him. But at some point they get into a dangerous situation where Jess’ only options are death or vampyrism and Rory finally gives in. Also this is our AU and we get to decide which Twilight vampire-rules apply and in this AU vampires age mentally (it’s a bullshit excuse SMeyer and you know it).

This one depends on the origin but hey it’s an idea: While Rory was still a new new-born, her and Lorelai locked themselves up in the crap shack for a full week watching all the vampire movies they could in search of information that could help them. Rory decided to do empirical experiments too, and had garlic food, got a cross close to her, wore silver and stabbed her arm a wooden stake. The garlic food (like all food now sadly) tasted crap but didn’t kill her, nor did any of the rest. The wooden stake hurt but it healed fast.

Rory gets both Lorelai and Jess to order insane amounts of food just to watch them eat it because she misses the taste and needs to live vicariously through their tastebuds. In the AU where both Gilmore girls are vampires, they order so much food because they have no idea what the normal amount is (chaotic vampire Gilmores for the win).

Also I did not realize how well Bella and Edward’s powers fit Rory and Jess? Like of course Rory would be a mind reader and of course Jess’ thing would be an all-encompassing shield. Sometime when he’s still human and «bugging» Rory she poses the theory that maybe his head is just empty and doesn’t have any interesting ideas. Jess pretends to be hurt (okay he’s a little hurt but he’d never tell her that) and Rory immediately falls into apologetic mode.

Rory wants to go to prom because it’s a human teenage activity she refuses to miss before starts figuring out what to make out of her vampire life. Jess isn’t hyped for it but promises to get tickets. They end up both going as vampires because that altercation happens a week or so before. Jess struggles with not eating everyone in sight but he sticks close to Rory and they leave without a single drop of blood on their hands.

Also Luke as Charlie! Paying attention to the beat attacks and being the only one who noticed that Rory doesn’t actually eat the food on her plate anymore (her mom eats her own plate then switches it with Rory’s) and when Rory and Jess reveal the secret he momentarily closes down and has to take a fishing trip to process everything. But he comes back a ride or die wanting to protect the poor kids.

I also feel like there should be multiple moments where one is insanely attracted to the other and questions this attraction strongly. Like Rory crushing on Jess and wondering if it’s bloodthirst or just the last remains of her human teenage hormones. And Jess being full on into Rory while still acknowledging the fact that it could be some vampire seduction powers, but what the hell does he care? There’s a cute undead bookworm right there and if he has to go he doesn’t mind dying to be a pretty girl’s lunch meal.

#why does this AU work so well what the hell #also I loved your ideas so much!!!#The Google search the Claire’s line Jess consistently bugging Rory into sharing everything #this feels like a crack fic with a heart and I’m here for it #gilmore girls au #twilight au #literati #rory x jess #vampire au #midnight brunch

18 notes · View notes

itsybitsylemonsqueezy · 4 years

Note

Hi! I happened to stumble across your analyses on both Majima and Saejima and boy am I blown away by them! You captured their personalities so well it’s awespiring. Is there a chance you’ll write a post about Kiryu as well? It’s just that originally I’ve had a hard time liking him as a character because of the numerous mistakes he has made across the series (and the fact that others don’t really address them for some reason). Despite that I’m a huge fan of kazumaji and that’s why I feel conflicted sometimes. Anyway, I would really like to hear your thoughts about it!

Awww, you’re very kind ^^; Thanks for asking for more c: So, the reason why I haven’t yet made a post about Kiryu is NOT due to my lack of feelings about him, it’s quite the opposite. I have essays worth of feelings about Kiryu and just... have not found the time to really give those feelings credit ^^; But, since you ask and you’re having a hard time with his character, let me at least start.

As a preamble, let me first say that there’s a difference between a character making a mistake and the writing making a mistake. This is not to say Kiryu never makes mistakes, far from it. I have a lot of feelings about Kiryu’s mistakes, they’re one of the reasons I love him, but a lot of the more egregious fuck ups are the writers making weak or poorly thought out choices. For example, like you point out, Kiryu makes mistakes and no one ever calls him out for it... that’s a writing flaw, not a problem with Kiryu.

(Please note that to give my best reading of Kiryu, I’m going to reference as many games as I have seen, which is through game 6. If you do not wish to be spoiled through at least game 5 (I never reference game 6 if I can help it), do not read further.)

Continuing with that example... I cannot tell you how simultaneously OVERJOYED and FURIOUS I am about game 3 when Mine, MINE YOSHITAKA, a character who was introduced that game and then never appears again, is the only person who criticizes Kiryu’s decisions when he has DEMONSTRABLY made bad ones! Like, Mine’s criticisms are ENTIRELY valid, but because they come out of his mouth it’s hard to say if the audience is meant to sympathize or not. Especially since Mine is sort of the antagonist of that game and he’s not really pitched as a sympathetic character. You have to really be willing to be critical of Kiryu to hear what Mine’s saying there and agree with him. The way the scene is played, you’re sort of supposed to still identify with Kiryu and insist that he’s never done anything wrong ever, even though he’s put all of his friends in a vulnerable position and IS arguably to blame for the state Daigo’s in now, as Mine points out.

And the writing is on some level aware that it is Kiryu’s fault or they wouldn’t have brought it up. They wouldn’t have had Mine say that if they didn’t see that problem. But the problem is they’re afraid of letting Kiryu be flawed. They’re afraid that if Kiryu’s wrong, even once, he won’t be The Good Guy anymore and the audience won’t like him anymore. This is weak and cowardly writing. Characters aren’t compelling because they’re never wrong, characters are compelling from what they do when they’re wrong. Any character who’s never wrong is unrealistic and, ultimately, boring. We all fuck up, we’re all only human. You ultimately will not identify with an infallible god because they would make choices you wouldn’t. I’m sure we can all think of characters who were pitched to us as infallible that, sooner or later, we ended up hating because of this very trait. So trying to pitch Kiryu as infallible is a ginormous mistake. But an understandable one, especially in a franchise that depends on the likability of its main character. But this means that they don’t trust their own writing, they don’t trust Kiryu’s inherent appeal and they fuck up the story around refusing to take risks. It’s one of the most heartbreaking writing decisions for me that those words come out of Mine’s mouth and not one of Kiryu’s friends.

Because it’s Kiryu’s friends who deserve to get to say that. It’s Kiryu’s friends, the people who are directly affected by his actions and the people who CARE about Kiryu, who have the right to criticize him. Not some fucking young blood with a chip on his shoulder. Having Mine say it makes the criticism look biased an illegitimate when it isn’t. I understand the writing impulse to not let us criticize Kiryu, but think how much more compelling it would be to show that Kiryu’s relationships are strong enough to handle criticism. That the trust and love is there for a friend to come to Kiryu with this and to force Kiryu to confront himself and listen rather than ignore the problems and insist that he’s never done anything wrong. But to make that call, to let us doubt Kiryu, you, as the writer, have to trust your story, you have to trust your character, and, worst of all, you have to trust your audience. Many many writers of popular media do not trust their audiences. They don’t trust that if they let you doubt, you’ll come with them and see where the story leads. They’re afraid you’ll lose interest and turn away. Many writers feel that they cannot take the risk of trusting their writing for fear of losing their base and therefore their income.

And, again, part of the issue is the aims of the story. At the end of the day, RGG is here to produce a fighting video game, that’s it. Wrapping that up in a compelling story makes it more sellable, but their primary focus isn’t the story itself. It’s getting you to buy a fighting video game. If the mechanics aren’t up to par, if they fights aren’t cool and interesting, the rest doesn’t matter. RGG came up with a story to link the games together and invested in making an interesting protag, but it was to sell the games. If the point of this story was the story, I think we’d be seeing different writing decisions and maybe some of these flaws could have been avoided. And I don’t actually mean to point this out as a criticism and say why aren’t they creating art for art’s sake? I mean it really as a grain of salt that I personally use to try not to hold the writing here up to the standard that I would a novel or something. That may not be useful perspective for anyone else, but it’s a thing I like to keep in mind.

So, part of what we see in Kiryu is that the writing fucking sucks. And it’s fair not to want to redeem Kiryu’s character or dig deeper into him when the writing hasn’t provided you with much. So no one feel bad if you’re not persuaded by my assessment, I’m not here to shame or convince anyone, I’m just offering my two cents.

And now alllll of that said... Let’s talk about my boy, Kiryu Kazuma.

I said earlier that characters are compelling based on how they react to mistakes, how they deal with them. Let me tell you, Kiryu is aware that he’s made mistakes. And he has regrets.

What I find compelling about Kiryu is that he tries so fucking hard to do the right thing, all the fucking time. What I find compelling about Kiryu is that he wants so much to make people happy, to make people proud of him. He is scared all the time of doing wrong by people and making himself untrustworthy, making himself scary. He has lost so much, he has lost everything and he still gets up every goddamn day and tries.

Does he fuck up? YES. ABSOLUTELY. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. But he gets up. Every. Fucking. Day. And tries. And you can’t buy that. You can’t ask for that. That’s just who he is, a guy who tries.

I don’t... have time to explain the depths of my love for Kiryu, but let’s take my favorite Kiryu, what I think the best characterization of Kiryu is in the entire fucking series: game 5. Game 5 Kiryu is my favorite fucking Kiryu, including 1, including Zero, bar fucking none. I fucking love game 5 Kiryu.

And Game 5 begins with a colossal mistake.

Before the game starts, Kiryu is convinced, either earnestly or nefariously, to leave his little family and specifically abandon AHEM release his daughter Haruka to someone else. This is the stupidest fucking thing Kiryu’s done since giving up the chairmanship. But he does it because he is told that he is a greater threat to his family WITH them than abandoning them. I want you to think about that. Kiryu loves his family so much he would sooner leave them than do them harm. I need to remind you that Kiryu has already destroyed and rebuilt his own life once already. He has repeatedly given up everything for his dream of having a family and for all his beautiful kids more than once. And he just loves his little Okinawa home so much, he can’t stand the idea that he would bring it harm, so he fucks off. This is categorically the wrong decision and any other reasonable adult would know this. I’m sure you yourself understand intuitively why a parent, no matter how dubious, can’t just leave a brood of underage children to fend for themselves in the world.

But here’s the thing: Kiryu’s made a number of dumbass decisions that have led him to this point in his life. He doesn’t have any adult, peer friends to counsel him about this. He’s deliberately estranged himself from Majima, from Date, from all the people who could have helped him out here and told him not to. And deep down Kiryu’s always been worried that he was unworthy of this. He’s always been afraid that he didn’t really deserve to be happy, deserve his little family of innocents. And the plot SURE AS FUCK has confirmed that for him, repeatedly putting the kids in danger and reminding him that you can never actually leave the yakuza. Kiryu knows he’s fucked up. He knows adopting his family was a mistake, but it was too late, what was he gonna do now? But here comes this little insidious voice confirming his worst fears, telling him he needs to go, and Kiryu listens. He has no one else to listen to and he’s been so beaten down by the plot by this point, he’s lost so fucking much now, that he doesn’t have the strength to believe in himself anymore. So he goes. Believing that he is doing the right thing.

And then, as it always does, the plot comes for him, telling Kiryu he needs to come help, telling Kiryu only he can fix it. And Kiryu, for the first time in his life, puts his foot down. He’s so fucking tired, he won’t fucking do it, not one more time. Because every time he gets his ass up to help, what happens? Someone else dies. Someone else dies and it’s Kiryu’s fault all over again, and it’s Nishiki all over again, and Kiryu can barely fucking live with himself for all the guilt that he feels. He starts to help and he just loses. Every fucking time. So this time, no, this time he won’t do it. He can’t do it anymore. He just wants... everyone to be okay. And he’s so sure that everyone would be better off without him.

If that’s a huge screaming red flag for anyone else IT SHOULD BE. Kiryu is in a depression spiral. He’s suicidal. He’s cut himself off from all his meaningful relationships, he’s not participating in his favorite hobbies, he’s alone and isolated in a new city where he doesn’t know anyone. He’s Not Doing Good. Game 5 is about finally, FINALLY confronting Kiryu’s demons, all the pent up unresolved guilt and turmoil that we never fucking addressed for 5 games running. (And if you’re hearing Bitter Resentment in the way the games have handled Kiryu’s emotional reactions OH BOY YOU BETCHA but that’s for another post.)

So Kiryu finally says no. He won’t fucking do it. But the plot comes for the fucking carotid. It’s Majima. It’s Majima. The only person Kiryu really, truly trusts. The person Kiryu was relying on to still be there, to be strong, to do the things Kiryu couldn’t. It’s Majima this time. And Kiryu loses his goddamn mind. That was the one thing you had left to take from him, his belief in Majima, and you took it. Kiryu nearly has a psychotic break at the news and decides, fine. Fine. I’ll go fix this, and then I can die. Then it’s over. Because there ain’t nothing left for him now.

And he does. Kiryu gets his ass down there, he solves the fucking problem, and then he does his level best to die there. Because it’s what he feels he deserves. He’s let down everyone. All those losses, all those people... they’re his fault. If he was really the hero, he could have saved them. If he was really a good person, these tragedies wouldn’t keep happening. It must be his fault. Fuck, even Majima died, even Majima... and he wasn’t even there, he couldn’t even have helped him, he just... He abandoned him. And Kiryu feels intensely that guilt and grief for his mistakes and his missed opportunities. And all he can think to do with that feeling... is die. It’s what Nishiki did before him. It’s what Kazama did before that. That’s what you do when you’ve fucked up and you don’t know how to fix it. You die. Then no one has to deal with you anymore.

But Haruka. His daughter. The best thing he ever did. She’s up there on stage and she loves him. She still loves him and wants him to be her dad. She’s been with him the whole time, she knows all about it. And she’s not scared. And she doesn’t think he’s bad. Maybe... maybe he can stay alive then. Maybe it’s okay if Haruka is still his daughter. And against all belief, he finds his way back to Haruka. He stays alive for her. He won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. And maybe... he can learn to do something different this time.

Kiryu... makes mistakes all the time. But he knows. And he feels so guilty. The writing doesn’t always do a great job of showing it. We don’t process Nishiki the way we should. We kill Rikiya for no reason. We forget that game 3 should have been TRIGGERING AS SHIT. And we awkwardly no homo out of Kiryu’s most important relationship while still insisting that it is Kiryu’s most important relationship. The writing is spotty and flawed and sometimes you can barely piece together a coherent narrative out of it.

But at its white burning core is a guy who just keeps trying. Who gets up the next day and tries again. Because he’s lost so much. Because he loves so much. Because he believes there is value in being nice to people and being a good person. And I love that.

#Kiryu Kazuma #Yakuza #I have a lot of feelings about Kiryu Kazuma #have some #major spoilers for game 5 #floweysky

47 notes · View notes

juviin · 3 years

Photo

Here’s literally all the rosie lore.

(template 1) (template 2)

Name: Rosemary Nare Etana Alias: Ro, Rose, Rosie Personality: Rosemary is very open about her emotions. She takes a while to warm up to people, but when she does, she loves people very strongly. Relatives: Father (estranged), Mother (deceased), 4 older siblings, 2 younger siblings. Status: Alive Species: Human Gender: cis female Age: 19 Eyes: Gold Hair: Pink Appearance: Rosemary is 5′5 and has short pink hair. She has two scars, one along her back and one on her lower right abdomen. She also has a tattoo on her calf of a lily. Birthday: July 30th Constellation: Leo Height: 5′5″ or 165 cm Blood Type: O Occupation: Magic Knight -Squad: Black Bulls Country: Clover Affinity: Lava Magic (On a scale of 0-10: 0 being terrible and 10 being the best) Physical Strength 5/10 Magic Amount 7/10 Magic Control 9/10 Magic Sensing 6/10 Cleverness 9/10 Growth 8/10 Equipment: none

(this next one is all in first person which i am NOT used to writing in but...)

Part 1: The Basics

What is your full name?--Rosemary Nare Etana

Where and when were you born?--I was born on July 30th in a large city in the Common Realm, however we moved to a small town shortly after I was born.

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)--

Lily Etana was my mother’s name. She worked several jobs while raising us, like waitressing and being a maid. She was very kind too, but a lot of people took advantage of her for that. I guess that’s why Val and I have taken to being aggressive about how we feel, and aggressive in sticking up for her. When I was 12, an assassin killed her and gave me the scar across my back. I’m sure he was sent by my grandparents, but they played the fool and even sent an advisor to her funeral. Since then, that advisor has scheduled meetings with me monthly to make sure I haven’t told anyone.

My father’s name is Andranik Typhos the fourth? something like that, but I don’t know very much about him. I know he’s a noble, but I’ve never met him. I don’t hear that many complaints about him, and Mother says he was a wonderful gentleman, but I’ve met his parents, and I find it hard to believe that they would raise a lovely son.

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?--I have four! On my mom’s side, at least.

Valerian is the oldest. He’s sixteen years older than me, so he’s a lot more mature than me, and very protective of us younger siblings. He has three kids, too, and his wife is Eli’s cousin. They have been married since I was only three, so she’s been in our lives forever. The two of them basically became my parents after our mother died, so I couldn’t be more grateful to them.

Then is Dahlia. Dahlia is 12 years older than me. She’s very calm, and there have been more than a few times where Valerian has been freaking out and Dahlia always keeps her cool and fixes the problem. She’s the best at makeup.

Basil is in the direct middle, and they’re 9 years older than me. They are very energetic and mischievous. I don’t think Basil wants a spouse, but they’re very dedicated to their craft. I blame them for the multiple scams of my father’s estate, but who’s complaining? Basil also has a scar along their right cheek, running from their nose to their chin

Azalea is the closest to my age, she’s 25. She’s a lot like our mom. She treats everyone with kindness, but I worry about people taking advantage of her for that.

Also, I know that my father has two children younger than me with his wife, but I’ve never met them and I probably never will.

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.--I live with the Black Bulls! The base is really crazy and always changing, but there’s always something going on, so everyday is fun.

What is your occupation?--I’m a Magic Knight, but I have also worked some other jobs in the past.

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks--I’m 5′5, and around 150lbs. My skin is pale, so I tend to burn very easily, and my eyes are yellow and my hair is pink. I like to wear warm colors and clothes that aren’t very tight, as well as boots. I have two large scars, one is about three inches and is a slash along my stomach, while the other one is about eight inches long and runs across my upper back, both from assassination attempts. I try to hide both of them. I also have one tattoo on my lower calf, so it’s usually covered.

To which social class do you belong?--I believe I’m considered a commoner. I likely wouldn’t be considered a noble unless something happened to my father’s legitimate children, though I have no interest in being taken in by his family.

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?—I get nosebleeds often because of an injury when i was younger.

Are you right- or left-handed?—right handed

What does your voice sound like?—If I had to describe it, I’d say it’s medium in pitch and kind of airy.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?--nothing particularly?

What do you have in your pockets?—um. a handful of flowers, a pocket watch, and assorted candies.

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?—I sometimes bite my nails.

Part 2: Growing Up

How would you describe your childhood in general?--Average for the most part, I’d say. I had a loving mother and 4 great siblings. Still, my mother’s death hit all of us very hard.

What is your earliest memory?--Sadly, my first assassination attempt. That one was when I was around five and it was sent by my father’s family. It gave me the scar on my stomach, and also gave Basil the scar on their face from them protecting me.

How much schooling have you had?--I went to the small schoolhouse in town up until I was 12, and then I started going less so I could work more.

Did you enjoy school?--I enjoyed learning, but I’ve found that I learn more outside of school.

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?--I learned basic first aid and how to identify certain plants and herbs from my siblings. I mostly learned battle from experience and assassins.

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.—my siblings, especially Basil

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?--We all got along very well as kids, though they were all a lot older than me so that did strain our relationships a bit, especially as the youngest.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?--As a child I wanted to work in medicine, even though my magic is ill suited for it. I only decided that I wanted to become a Magic Knight after my mother’s death.

As a child, what were your favorite activities?—i used to love helping my mother garden.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?--I cried a lot more than I do now. I was always scared, as I knew from a young age that my father’s parents wanted me dead.

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?--My only friend was really Eli, but she hung out with all the kids from town, so i vaguely knew them.

When and with whom was your first kiss?--also Eli, when we were about 12 and 13.

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?--I’m not. After Eli left town I kind of lost myself for the next two years until I became a knight.

Part 3: Past Influences

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?--My mother's death perhaps?

Who has had the most influence on you?--Eli. I think if not for her, I would be a very different person.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?--The amount of nobles I’ve insulted to their faces on official magic knight business.

What is your greatest regret?--being born.

What is the most evil thing you have ever done?--I don’t think I’ve ever done anything “evil”, only some malicious things, but I don’t regret them.

Do you have a criminal record of any kind?--No, but I probably should for extortion.

When was the time you were the most frightened?--The first attempt on my life.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?--My elder brother catching me lying about my profession.

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?—i would be stronger.

What is your best memory?—probably the first few months with the black bulls. It was genuine happiness for the first time in a while.

What is your worst memory?—the aftermath of my mother’s death. I don’t remember the actual event, some mix of trauma and head injuries, but I do remember the weeks following.

Part 4: Beliefs And Opinions

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?—i think i’m more pessimistic, but i'm trying to be an optimist.

What is your greatest fear?--My greatest fear is once again being too weak to protect the people that I love.

What are your religious views?--I’m not religious.

What are your political views?--I think that the Clover Kingdom’s nobility is corrupt, and the whole system needs to be fixed.

What are your views on sex?--I think nothing much of it.

Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?--I think I’m a hypocrite on this. I think killing is unacceptable, but I wouldn’t hesitate to kill the people that harm the ones I love.

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?--In my opinion, the most evil thing one can do is to habitually hurt and abuse others.

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?--No. I don’t think that anything like that is real.

What do you believe makes a successful life?--I think that money plays a large part of success.

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?--Very open. My emotions are very easily read.

Do you have any biases or prejudices?--Yeah i hate nobles.

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?--I try to stay out of the public eye as best I can. I also refuse to do jobs near my grandparents’ home.

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?--Finral or Eli. I’d do anything for them.

Part 5: Relationships With Others

In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?—I try to keep people at a distance, but when I become close to someone, they become one of my People. I’d do anything for the people I’m close to.

Who is the most important person in your life, and why?--Right now, it’s probably Eli or Finral. They’ve positively affected me in more ways than I can count.

Who is the person you respect the most, and why?—Captain Yami is the person I respect the most. Joining the Black Bulls changed my life so much for the better, and I’m so grateful that he gave me that opportunity.

Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people—Eli is my best friend. She’s loud and always smiling, but I worry about her. I’m also pretty close to Magna. He’s a great friend and brings out my mischievous side more.

Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.--Finral is great. He’s a little goofy, but he is very loyal and loving.

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.--I think I’m in love right now.

How close are you to your family?--I’m very close to my older siblings.

Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?--No. I think I’d like to at some point be a mother, but not for a while longer.

Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?--I think I would find it hard to turn to anyone, but if I was so desperate, probably Eli or Magna. I’m too afraid to show Finral my weakness.

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?--No. I need to be strong enough to protect myself.

If you died or went missing, who would miss you?--I think that the bulls would.

Who is the person you despise the most, and why?--My father. My mother spoke kindly of him, but he abandoned her.

Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?--I argue more.

Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?—depends who I'm with, but I’m more likely to take a leadership role.

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?—I’d prefer a smaller group, personally, but i’m not bad with large groups.

Do you care what others think of you?—yes. immensely

Part 6: Likes And Dislikes

What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes?--I enjoy reading romance novels, and spending time in nature. Flower fields remind me of home and give me comfort.

What is your most treasured possession?—my pocket watch. my mother gave it to me, since it was a gift to her from my father.

What is your favorite color?—i like warm pale yellow

What is your favorite food?—I like crepes!

What, if anything, do you like to read?—I like to read romance.

What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?--I enjoy reading. On days off, I often spend hours at a time sitting outside and reading.

Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?—I generally don’t, but I will drink sometimes. I probably drink an average amount.

How do you spend a typical Saturday night?—generally hanging around the Bulls hideout. If I have a day off I often go visit home to see my mother’s grave and give her flowers.

What makes you laugh?—My squadmates! I’ve been told my sense of humor is bad..

What, if anything, shocks or offends you?--I hate the prejudices of the Clover nobles.

What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?—When that happens (because it has before) I will usually walk around the base, sometimes I eat a snack. I also like to head outside and look at the stars when I can’t sleep.

How do you deal with stress?—I will usually end up letting it out, whether emotionally or magically. I don't like to bottle things up.

Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?—I prefer having a plan.

What are your pet peeves?—people talking over others.

Part 7: Self Images And Etc.

Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?--I wake up at about 7 every morning, and get ready for the day. If I have a mission, I’ll leave for it early. On days I don’t have a mission, I will either go visit my mother’s grave or go see my grandparents or their advisor.

What is your greatest strength as a person?--I’d say my strength is supporting people. And also throwing lava.

What is your greatest weakness?--I lie a bit too much, and I am a bit indifferent towards people I don’t care about.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?--I would want to be more caring.

Are you generally introverted or extroverted?--I’d say introvert.

Are you generally organized or messy?--Organized. I don’t like disorder.

Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.--I’m good at lying, cleaning, and fighting. I’m bad at controlling my emotions, sewing, and cooking.

Do you like yourself?--No, I really don’t.

What are your reasons for being a magic knight*? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…)--I am a magic knight because I want to protect people.

What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?--I want to heal from my past.

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?--I hope to still be a Magic Knight, and hopefully a higher rank.

If you could choose, how would you want to die?--I would want to die swiftly if I could choose.

If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.--I would try to isolate myself from the people I love, so that they wouldn’t have to deal with grief. I think I would generally be calm.

What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?--I want to be remembered for my strength.

What three words best describe your personality?--open. loyal. decisive.

What three words would others probably use to describe you?--Rosie is loyal, smart, and loving!!-Eli

#black clover #black clover oc #bc oc #oc rosemary #my art #fhdjksfhk this took so LONG im dying jim #im also doing this Whole thing for eli but shes nowhere near done yet #nini ocs

19 notes · View notes

fiction-in-my-blood · 4 years

Text

MC and Estranged Father (Scandel In The Spotlight)

This isn’t really a HC or coupley thing, just an idea I had and couldn’t stop writing. I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear your thoughts!

~~~~~~

It had been a dreary few days in the Revance house. Masami’s temper was far shorter than usual, ever since she got a letter in the mail that she wouldn’t even let Nagito see. Not even when Kyohei teasingly threatened her. She was too distracted by the contents and no one knew why. It was like her current mood had affected the beautiful spring weather. It had been raining cat and dogs for the past week!

The contents of the letter, from her father, were locked away in Masami’s desk draw. He had rarely been around in her childhood. He was a workaholic, who somehow had time for plenty other women than her mother. He sent her money on her birthday and hardly ever showed up to her parent-teacher conferences- his excuse was being on the other side of the world at a concert he was holding. They always seemed to occur in the most important times in her childhood.

She still got those montetary gifts on her birthday- it was the only one she got this year as no one else in the house actually knew it was her birthday and since her mother passed, she didn’t care much for it. But, this year was different. This time, it came with a note.

That letter expressed his regret for the way he treated her and her mother- the two had never married as Masami was an accident, but he was a man with pride and would support his own offspring no matter what. Financially anyway. Masami didn’t care much for an apology from the man she hardly knew anything about except for what the press told her. Her mother was a kind woman who never told her anything bad about him, so she grew up not believing anything she told her. This man didn’t even come to her mother’s funeral, why was he suddenly getting friendly now?

However, the thing that really angered her about that massage was his wish to meet her. He had somehow found out she was living with a group of male superstars, and she wasn’t sure how. However, knowing his connections in the industry, it was likely someone from Revance’s managerial company. Her father was his own type of superstar, however slightly niche to the younger generations.

The letter told her he would be visiting the house on a specific day, after he finished one of the last concerts he said he was ever going to do. He told her he was quiting performing his music to the masses and was going to concentrate on the personal life he had abandoned for too long. Masami thought it was too late for that, but she wasn’t going to make herself scarce- it would just cause trouble for the others for a random stranger to show up on their doorstep, asking for her.

So, on that faithful day a week after the gloominess on the usually ‘peaceful’ house settled, the rain had finally let up. Not metaphorically, physically. Masami was in an even worse mood than she had already been and the sky outside was covered in white clouds, but at least the plant life wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, be flooded today.

“Hey, um, Masami... Are you feeling okay?” Nagito sheepishly approached her as she sat at the dining table, where she had holed herself up lately. At the beginning of this week-long, slient, rampage, the dirty idol had been able to tease her without trembling in fear of her wrath. Now, he was too scared to even speak in her presence.

She had been trying to distract herself with work until the door bell rang, but it wasn’t much use. This was like the worst type of writer’s block she had ever had. She could write just fine, just not the stuff she should be writing. The lyrics she wrote were hateful and annoyed when she should be writing about young love and growing old with your significant other. Takashi definitely wouldn’t be happy if he saw the scrawlings in her journal.

“Just peachy.” The sarcasm was thick in her venomous words, not looking up to see the rest of Revance grouped together behind Nagito, peering and waiting to see what would happen next. Lets just say he lost a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

“Th-That’s great!” Not knowing what else to say, Nagito retreated, only to get rapped up the side of his head.

“That did nothing!” Kyohei glared in a hushed tone, not wanting Masami to know he had sent in one of his lieutenants to gather information.

“But Kyoo~, I don’t know what else I can do! She didn’t even blush when she walked in on me in the shower room yesterday.” Nagito sulked. It wasn’t like Masami to get used to the sight of his body and he knew she was too deep in thought in the moment to even see him. She almost started stripping herself before he could escape. The loud and long sigh she let out didn’t go unnoticed, but he was much too scared to ask at the time.

Before the boys could go about hashing another plan to find out what had been bugging her so much, the door bell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Kota grumbled, being the closest. However, just as he was getting up, he was pulled back down by an unbelievable force on his shoulder.

“It’s not for you.” Masami glared down at him and even Iori showed a look of bewilderment at the harshness of her eyes. It was like they could see fire raging behind them.

Masami wasted no time in leisurely strolling to the door, although in her head it was the hesitance to open it that made her so slow. She really, really didn’t want to see her father or hear anything he had to say to her, not after her mother died, but what was the use of pushing him away? One thing she believed about her father that her mother had told her is that he persistent and ambitious. How else could you become one of the most famous and sort after composers in the world?

With a growling sigh, she forced herself to let her hand rest on the door handle before turning it, throwing it open just to get this awkward reunion over with.

Only, the victim of her contempt wasn’t her father, but none other than the group’s kind-hearted manger. “M-Mr Sasayama?” She finally showed an expression other than irritation, which was shock and shame. Sasayama had an astonished look of his own face to see the usually happy, yet sometimes defeated, girl so angry.

“Masami, have the boys been difficult? Do you want me to intervene?” He was quick to offer his help, but that only reminded Masami why she had opened the door in the first place. She almost felt like tearing up, but she promised herself she wouldn’t. Her father didn’t deserve to hurt her like he had.

“No. No, thank you, Mr Sasayama, I’m fine. Would you like to come in?” She forced herself to smile, just to get someone off her back for a bit so she could sort out her thoughts and emotions. The constant questioning and seemingly worried members had been grinding on her already worn nerves and she certainly didn’t need any sympathy from someone else she looked up to.

As Sasayama was walking through the door she held open, her expression falling just while his back was turned, another voice called out from the street. Both turned, both surprised by what they saw. It was a man, no surprise there because the sound of Masami’s name had been very low, with greyed and some white stranded hair. It was long enough to reach the bottom of his ears, the front curtains pushed back by circular, black-framed glasses resting on top of his head. He held a fabric hat screwed up in his hands, either a beenie or a flat cap niether could tell. His face, wrinkled and aged by cigarettes, was contort in a worried expression, part of his bottom lip pinched between whitened teeth. He wore a grey blazer with black elbow patches, a black turtle neck and grey suit pants that matched his jacket. His whole aura was gloomier than the overcast weather.

“M-Masami?” Through panting breathes, the man’s tone was asking, unsure if the woman that stood before him was really his own flesh and blood. He shouldn’t be so unsure, she was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother- except for the unimpressed and stressed expression on her youthful face.

Masami didn’t let go of the door, nor did she make any move to voice an invite, so the manager that still stood beside her felt the need to speak up. “M-Mr Sakamoto! What are you doing here?” Sasayama couldn’t hold back his surprise to see such a world-renouned man standing at his band’s doorstep, the slightest shine on his forehead and the deepest crease between his brows.

“Mr Sasayama, go inside, would you?” Masami tried to be polite, but since she had calmed herself down from meeting the manager instead of her estranged family member, she had been caught off-guard. Her mood was a hundred times worse than moment before- if that was even possible.

“Miss Masami, I don’t th-.”

“Is he the one you asked?” Masami cut the man off, something she would never usually do, but she was just so pissed off. It was bad enough to suspect someone at the agency would leak information like this, but their own manager? He could have caused a lot more trouble than this mess.

“N-No, an old friend of mine...” Her father led off, awkardly avoiding eye contact as he felt himself relax. It was a relief to know he hadn’t just gone up to a random woman and assumed it was his daughter. One hand reached up to his neck to pull at the now suffocating fabric around it. For once he wished he had a different taste in fashion.

“Get in then. Or are you just going to stand there and waste more time than you already have with me?” After a sigh, Masami spat those words out like they were covered in deadly poison. Sasayama didn’t know what to say, nor did the men standing at the end of the hallway, having listened in to see what all the fuss was about. The composer gulped before nodding and Masami let him in, slamming the door behind him to try an let out some frustration.

After taking his shoes off, Masami guided him into the garden, the Revance boys escaping from her sight before she found out how they were about to invade her privacy. They would have discussed their confusion about the man’s appearance, some aware of who he was and some not, but they were too eager to speak in case they missed something in the tense conversation that was sure to arise.

Sitting across from each other at the outside dining table, Masami’s leg crossed over the other with her arms overlapping each other and the celebrity sitting with his hands clasped together and head drooped like some sort of pray, the two definitely didn’t seem any sort of related. It was like Masami was reprimanding him with just her decerning gaze, which was fair. The man had been an awful dad to her and a more than terrible lover to her mother. The minimum he had done for her was offer child support while telling her mother he loved her, which was definitely false if he was able to sleep with whatever woman came up to him after a show or red carpet.

“Are you going to start talking or do I need to gain clairevoyance?” Masami’s tone was dull and low, something the boys couldn’t hear but could definitely see her lips moving. Sakamoto shot up, his wrinkled hat crushed even more in his hands.

“Ye-Yes... Yes, sorry, I’m the one who asked to meet you.” A quiet and unsure tone was odd for this man, not that any of them knew as no one had actually met him, but the rich aura he gave off gave them a clue he would usually be confident in himself.

“More like you announced you would be coming without even asking if I wanted to meet you.” Masami glared and Sakamoto almost felt like laughing if he wasn’t so scared. Her mother always had a stern glare when she was mad at him and Masami mimicked her so well. Instead, he settled on trying to hide a dopey grin.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to see me but I need you to know... I... I’m quiting composing.” This was a lot for her father to say and anyone could see that in the slight quiver in his voice. His posture was now straight, his true height bearing an air of sanguinity and positivity if he wore his usual confident grin.

“You said.” Masami couldn’t care less what this man did with his life, he didn’t when she was growing up. But she still didn’t know what he wanted her to know or why he was doing it. It did make her a little curious, but not enough to ask. Not enough to even allow him to think she cared.

“Yes, I guess I did. Well, I know I didn’t say I’m moving back to Japan.” The attempt to lighten the mood drastically failed when Masami’s facial expression didn’t change in the slightest. Sakamoto lived in Australlia. Masami was told she had gone to his house a few times, but she didn’t remember. She only remembered his absence.

“Why would you do that? Isn’t your life in Sydney?” Masami blurted out without thinking. The question gave her father a little hope.

“I know you hate me for what I did to you and your mother. I know I wasn’t a father to you. I know I ran away from that responbility. From raising you. And... I’m done running.” Sakamoto finally met her gaze with something other than defeat. He was determind to reconstruct the bridges he had burnt with his last living relative. It hadn’t been made public, but he had a health scare not only a month ago and it gave him the existential crisis he needed to realise how wrong he had truly been. He regreted what he had done and wanted to meet the woman his truest love had raised. Was that so wrong?

“Are you... Are you fucking kidding me?” Masami finally raised her voice for the first time she has been living in this house, and maybe ever, and that made everyone but her jump. She was a monster, standing up in an attempt to ease her fury. She didn’t like getting mad, but there was no other option when it came to this man.

“You didn’t come to my high school graduation. You didn’t come to my 18th birthday party. You didn’t even call me, ever, when I was growing up! Even after mom’s funeral I never heard from you on the subject except for a condolence letter! And you think you can come here and say some cliche words, which I’m sure I’ve heard in a movie, and think everything will be a-okay?” Masami started listing off her father’s shortcomings, even going the extra mile to raise a finger for each one. She paced back and forth, trying so hard not to cry. She was so, so mad...

And so, so happy. For once in her life she felt like her father loved her, or at least accepted her, even if they were just empty words. But, that made her feel guilty. The man that had ruined her mother’s life by abandoning her with a baby to raise on her own when she was just as young and as ambitious. She was a violinist, but she had to quit to take care of this girl that had fallen into her lap.

“I know I was an accident and you didn’t want children, but, god, even the worst parents stick around for their child. They don’t abandon them to a single mother with dreams of her own! She was too good to you, you know that right? She had nothing else but compliments for you! She made you out to be this hard working genius, even though you were in the tabloids every other week! And no amount of money is going to be able to pay back that pain.” Pulling a familiar envelope out of her back pocket, Masami slapped it on the table in front of her. It was far thicker than anyone else who had seen it remembered it being. It wasn’t even possible to seal it again.

��This is..?” Sakamoto led off as he picked up the envelope and peered inside, eyes wide at the millions of yen that were stacked there. Ever since Masami was her own person and made her own money, she never spent any of the money her father had sent her. She didn’t want to, she felt like it was blood-money, and she had waited for the day to shove it back in his face. Showing him she didn’t need him.

“It’s all the money you sent me since mom died. You can count it if you like. I don’t need it, I have my own job.” Masami scowled, crossing her arms in an attempt to reject anything further he would try to offer her.

“How... How did you do that?” Sakamoto was at a lost for words, the bills in his hand as heavy as the weight of the world. All that time he thought he was helping her and this is what happens?

“I sold stories to a publishing firm and comissioned poetry to couples. It’s not hard. I guess I got that creativity from you? It’s the only useful thing, anyway.” Avoiding eye contact, the boys darted out of the door way, hoping she hadn’t seen them before she looked in their direction. Even Sasayama had joined them now, although guiltily.

“...Masami... You need to take this.” Sakamoto’s tone was finally strong, his voice heavy with demand. The daughter jumped, surprised to hear those specific words and looked back at him to make sure she had heard him right. He seemed... angry?

“I don’t need it. I’m sure you’ll find a use for it, going into retirement.” Masami’s voice faltered for a moment, but her resolve to hinder any further reason for him to get in contact amped her up. There was no sign of her budging in the sterness of her own tone.

“Noriko-”

“Keep her name out of your mouth.” Masami was quick to interrupt her father from belittling her mother by reguarding her so casually. She may be dead, but that only made it worse. She wouldn’t be hear to defend herself.

“...I got a letter from your mother before she died.” Sakamoto sighed, placing the money softly on the table and reaching into his own back pocket. Sliding along the table under his fingertips was an old-looking piece of paper, the edges curled with time and what might have been stains from a clear liquid. When Masami snatched it from him and brought it to her face, she could smell the distinct scent of vodka.

Masami wasted no time in unfolding the letter apparently sent by her mother and instantly started tearing up at the familiar but forgetten handwriting. Her mother’s penmanship was poor, to say the least, but that didn’t mean it was illegible. Still, Sakamoto announced a summary on the letter, just in case.

“She told me to support you whole-heartedly and critised me for the I’ve done so far.” Sakamoto let out a low, soft chuckle at the memory of the only woman he’s ever loved. She was a strong person, stronger than him, and he knew he let her down. It’s what made the usually positive chortle sound so depressed.

“She told me to make sure you got through college, so I set up the scholarship program at the place she said you wanted to go to. She told me to help you find your first car, so I sent the money and a brochure. She told me to help you get your first job, but I didn’t even know what you wanted to be. She told me to do so many things that I hadn’t been able to do because I was selfish, and I’m still failing her. I... I loved her and I wasn’t there for her...” The weight of all those years of guilt pushed down on Sakamoto’s shoulders. Usually, if she wasn’t so distracted by the letter from beyond the grave right in front of her, Masami would be screaming bloody-murder so even suggested he cared for her mother. Abandoning someone isn’t love. It’s cowardice and fear. You can’t throw away someone’s life for a one-night stand and call it love. That’s what she believed.

“She sent me letters about you every year. Telling me how much you had grown and how you were doing in school. I never replied because I didn’t know what to say...” Sakamoto took a deep breath to go off on another tangent, but no words came when he saw his daughter, alone for so many years, with tears gliding down her face and onto the paper in her hands. She sniffled when she noticed him staring and turned, using the sleeve of her jumper to dry her face quickly.

“She was too good to you...” Her voice came out hoarse, both from her crying and yelling, and Sakamoto let out a relieved sigh to know she was too emotional to scream again.

“You said.” Was words that shouldn’t have been said, really, at such an emotional point in their relationship and how traumatic this was for Masami, but she couldn’t help but let out a low, breathy chuckle that no one heard or saw with her back still turned. He was as cocky as her mother had told her.

“... Masami?” Sakamoto called out again, his tone high and questioning once again, asking if it would be alright for him to speak again. Masami turned to see him reaching out for her, but the distance was too great for either of them to meet each other and he was still sitting down. She didn’t make a move towards him, but by holding his eye contact the composer knew he was permitted to continue.

“I know you hate me. You should. Really, you should never forgive me...” Sakamoto led off as he thought of things to say.

“This is meant to help your case?” Masami chuckled, turning fully towards him but not growing any closer. The boys remerged now that no one was looking in their direction.

“I ruined your mother’s life, and she gave me the greatest gift I could have asked for. She told me to keep composing and working to be the best I could be while she raised a daughter everyone could be proud of and happy to be around. She didn’t want to give up on her dream, but I, admittedly, gave her no choice. You’re right, I didn’t want children...." Even though he was a man with extraordinary talents, Sakamoto didn’t seem much to be one with words. He stumbled and shared too much, but Masami appreciated that about him. She had that same issue when she was writing her songs. She got too excited, wrote too much, and had to cut out a lot. It took practice and time to be able to just say what needs to be said without rambling.

Maybe...

Maybe that’s what their relationship needed?

“But I want to know you, Masami. We’re all we’ve got left and you’re all I have left of her. I’ll give up anything to prove to you I want to be your father.” Sakamoto met her discerning gaze with that same determinded glare he had given her moments ago. Now it was her turn to say the wrong thing before turning it around.

“You’ll never be my father.” The words drifted out of her mouth as she clenched her fists at her side, slightly crinkling the old, hardened letter in one hand. Sakamoto’s heart broke right there and then.

“My mother was my father. And my aunt. My sister. She was my best friend. She raised me as if we had a huge family and I never felt alone... But...” Masami stopped herself before she could go off on her own tangent, telling herself not to beat around the bush.

“... I guess you can work on becoming my dad?” Masami grew shy, clutching her hands in front of her as she glared at the ground. She had always wanted to know what he was really like. Who wouldn’t? It’s your father. Even if she hated him, if there was a chance, that little girl who didn’t have anyone to meet her first boyfriend and warn him about getting overly-friendly wanted to know him. The girl who didn’t have anyone to protect her at fairs when her mother as busy with work. The girl who wanted to play wrestle with her father but her mother was too tired to act like that. They wanted to have him in her life.

Sakamoto shot up the second he heard those words. Sure, he wasn’t a much for true affection, but one time couldn’t hurt, right? He inched closer to her, timidly lifting his hands up to her shoulders and closed them around her. He was stiff and awkward, not knowing how to hold his daughter.

Which made her giggle. She laughed and laughed at how formal her own father seemed and couldn’t keep it in. Her whole life was an extraodinary circumstance, so when everything got weirder, like now, when she was reuniting with the man she hated for so long, she couldn’t help but find it funny.

“You think she’s finally cracked?” Iori mumbled, cringing as he watched the babbling idiot trying to cover her tittering with her hand as the two leaned away from her.

“It really was a roller coaster, huh?” Nagito laughed sheepishly, earning another rap around the head for being so loud.

“I’m going to sleep.” Kota grumbled, acting tired and bored. Really, he wanted to get away before Masami surely noticed them in this sensitive time.

“Her dad’s Hanzo Sakamoto?” Takashi could help but mumble to himself as he glared at the ground. The famous composer was a sort of inspiration for him.

“Hopefully now she won’t bite our heads off the second we speak in front of her.” Kyohei sighed, getting up with the others but leaving a quick glance at the newly formed family in their garden. The skies cleared for weeks after that day.

#sits #scandel in the spotlight #kyohei rikudoh #nagito aoshima #kota igarashi #iori enjo #takashi ninagawa #voltage fanfic #voltage games

25 notes · View notes

natsumebookss · 3 years

Text

Io Asteria Voice Lines

Next up's Io, the last member of my main three Nebula girls! Let me know if you want to see lines for the others! (I can't promise all nine for fear of clogging this blog with Nebula content, but Stelle and Phea are definitely priority ones.). Enjoy!

Self-Introduction 1: The name's Io Asteria. I just came here for intel, so don't get too used to me. With any luck, I'll be outta here before you know it, so don't you dare give me a reason to miss this place, okay?

Self-Introduction 2: Hello, honored citizen. I am Io Asteria and I am most pleased to meet your--gyah, don't you dare walk in on me when I'm trying to practice my professional introductions! I swear I'll fucking kill you if this happens again!

(Note: Io is the daughter of the Manufacturer and one of Olympia's three current presidents. Since the Manufacturer kidnapped her and faked her death when she was very young, she wasn't really raised in a presidential household and...it shows. Hence why she works on looking more "polished" to the public now that they know she's alive.)

Personal Story

Story Chapter End 1: The Firebrands...they've gotta be the best path to my revenge, right?

Story Chapter End 2: If I'm a mad princess who kills for what she wants...what stopped me from killing her?

(Note: Io did not take the Actress revelation well at all and it was frankly a miracle she didn't Witch out then and there. She did, however, mercilessly attack the Manufacturer, and since he's her father and people didn't know the full story, the Actresses at Star Corporations assume she's some kind of madwoman. She starts to assume this herself until another magical girl, Xing, confronts her for trying to join the Firebrands. Xing asks Io if she can really kill her, since she's one of the Firebrands' biggest enemies. Io doesn't, which makes her question if she really is who the rumors make her out to be.)

Story Chapter End 3: Valvi-nee's the only family I've got now, so I've gotta fight for us to stay together!

Story Select 1: How the hell can I not hate my father? He started all this!

Story Select 2: I'll do whatever it takes to get back to them.

Story Select 3: If it's for the ones I love, I don't care what I've gotta do!

Story Select 4: I'm sorry, Xing. I guess I can't be a Firebrand after all.

Story Select 5: Is it normal to hate someone enough to try to kill them?

Story Select 6: Your gang captured my friend, so you ain't getting off that easy!

Stats

Strengthening Complete: My lasers are all fired up and ready for action!

Strengthening Max: I'm so strong now, I could vaporize a Firebrand just for lookin' at me! Relax, I'm kidding!

Episode Level Up: I'm Nebula through and through, past alliances be damned!

Magia Level Up: If only my father could see how strong I am now. I bet I could almost convince him to put a stop to all this with enough magic.

Magical Release 1: I'll never stop bein' amazed at how generous Valvi-nee is. She should hate me after everything my family's done to hers.

Magical Release 2: Back when I was out on the streets homeless, she took care of me. Even once she found out I was a dirty Tsukimura...

Magical Release 3: God knows I couldn't forgive like that. That's why she deserves a happy life more than any of us. Certainly more than me.

Awaken 1: This is where the Manufacturer came from. These magical girls inspired him to make us. That's why I gotta fight for them!

Home Screen

Login (first login): The Actress name my father gave me was "Altesse," or "highness" to you. I ditched it and became Chevalier as soon as I found out I didn't wanna be the one being saved. I might not be a kind knight, but I'll protect ya all the same.

Login (morning): School is so pointless when you're an Actress like me. I mean, what're they gonna do, make me write 2000 words on the horrors of war when I was made to be part of all that? Valvi-nee'll kill me if I skip, though.

Login (noon): Why aren't I sitting with anyone? All the rich girls at Mizuna are way outta my wheelhouse 'cause I was raised to be a warrior instead of an heiress. Maybe I should try some of the regular gals who tested in instead.

Login (evening): Wait, is that actually a video store over there? I should probably be getting back, but I gotta check it out. These things all closed by the time I escaped Star Corporations, and 'sides, I still haven't decided what movie I'm gonna watch tonight.

Login (night): Hey, you goin' to the midnight premiere of that horror movie in a few hours? I swear, the franchise is so bad, but I've always gotta be the first to see them. Even a student director like me could do better than that!

Login (other): Leo-nii volunteers at a hospital and was born with healing magic, so he helps us out a lot on cases. I get that both presidential kids couldn't up and leave the country, but I miss him so much already.

Login (AP full): I might be neutral, but I ain't sitting out when it comes to Actress work. Stelle and Valvi-nee need all the Soul Gems they can get, and I like takin' out Witches anyway. Anything to keep me from going at some of the shady magical girls in town.

NOTE: Io really, really hates Promised Blood and Neo-Magius due to the former's status as a Firebrand-like magical girl gang and the latter's association with the Wings of the Magius (whose brainwashing techniques she opposes most of all since her friend Stelle was brainwashed for many years). Of the Nebula members, Io has come the closest to breaching the neutrality contract, since her and Juri being in the same room together practically guarantees that a fight will break out between them.

Login (BP full): Can the Mirror Witch really make copies of anything? Even your past selves? 'Cause when I think about the girl I was back then and how I believed all my father's lies, I just wanna throttle her! Maybe I'll finally get the chance!

Tap 1: There's that cheesecake shop they were talking about... Valvi-nee wanted caramel and Koto wanted mint. I told Koto I didn't want anything to do with that nasty stuff, but whatever. I'm feeling nice today.

Tap 2: People always tell me I get mad real easy, but that ain't the case. Just don't hurt my friends or call me by my father's name, and you're good. Can't say what'll happen to you if you call me Io Tsukimura, though.

Tap 3: Surprised to see me in a Mizuna uniform? I pulled some strings to get in. Mizuna can brag about havin' a president's daughter, and they'll write me one hell of a reference letter for film school. I ain't proud of it, but that's how it's done, y'know?

Tap 4: Mom and Leo-nii just found out about me a few months ago, and it's already leaked all over. The lost First Daughter, alive all this time and all that. Don't get me wrong, having them back is awesome but...I'm just glad the paparazzi aren't breathing down my neck here.

Tap 5: Every rebel leader from the movies gotta have a bruiser to back him up, and I don't mind playing that role. If it's what I have to do to keep Valka and Omega out of trouble, then consider it done.

Tap 6: My wings retract when I'm not in Actress form, so looking human is super annoying. I wanna stretch them out all the time, but all the "out" Actresses at my old school went Firebrand. They kept pestering me so damn much that I just go to school like this now.

Tap 7: "You're a light Actress like her. If you killed the Valkaine Project, you'd be at the top of the food chain." That was the last thing that Firebrand said to me before she hit the pavement. Just hearing that made my blood boil so hard, the other Nebula girls had to tear me off her.

Tap 8: Tsukuyo and I hang out sometimes. I never thought I'd find someone in Kamihama who went through the same stuff as me, so it's nice getting tips from her on the whole estranged twin thing. I'm still gonna make sure she loosens up a ton by the time I leave, though!

NOTE: I have a whole semi-event planned in my head where Io finds out about Tsukuyo's secret and asks her for advice. She kinda intimidates Tsukuyo a bit at first (a callback to her interrogation in the Endless Solitude arc), but they eventually become odd friends. The rest of the event consists of Io taking Tsukuyo out of her comfort zone, trying to get her to rebel more, etcetera. I also feel like she'd be good friends with Kyoko.

Tap 9: I--I can't go over there...there are too many people. You have to get me out of here! *clears throat and attempts to return to her normal personality*. You gotta understand, I don't do crowds. Back at Star Corporations, I was a special experiment kept under complete isolation and...God, you gotta get me outta here right now!

Battle Start: Oh, they're askin' for it now! C'mon!

Battle Victory 1: Ha! They were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't even stop to think if they should!

NOTE: Yes, this is meant to be a Jurassic Park reference. Io is that much of a movie nerd, and fully intends on screaming the actual quote at her father the minute they meet again.

Battle Victory 2: All right, everyone's safe! Now I just gotta make sure the enemy's completely withdrawn.

Battle Victory 3: If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

Doppel: We're finally together, Mom.

Dying: You'll never win in the end!

NOTE: I spent a long time trying to phrase this before remembering the She-Ra theme and figuring a negative version of it would flow best.

#magia record #premiere nebula

3 notes · View notes

today-only-happens-once · 4 years

Note

Have you talked about your DnD PCs before? Can you talk about your game on tumblr? What's all been going on last few sessions :o

ANON you are one of my favorite people today this ask made me so freaking happy. (So is @psychedelicships who said I had an invitation to ramble about my d&d campaign) Sorry for my excited gushing and rambling slkdfjdsklfjskldfj

My D&D Player Character

So my current D&D PC is named Kyssarda. She’s a half-elf neutral-good monk. I’ve rambled about her backstory before but the condensed version is that there’s a pattern of people leaving her/abandoning her in her life. Her parents died in a fire that her older brother rescued her from when she was four. She passed out on the way out, and when she woke up, she’d been told that she’d been left on the doorstep of the temple. Her brother was no where to be found. When she eventually made her way back home, her home was ash. Monks trained her, but they weren’t really equipped to raise a small child, so Kyssarda had a very lonely upbringing. The monks follow Sehanine (d&d deity), so she was raised on the tenants of her teachings and the teachings about following your own path led to her eventually striking out on her own. As a result of her upbringing and past, the people in her life (i.e. the party) are super important to her, because they are the first friends she ever chose and in some ways, they’ve chosen her too. She has abandonment issues up the wazoo, and hoo has she been reminded of that in recent sessions.

She’s very... empathetic and soft. She pays close attention to the mental/emotional state of her party members. Part of that is just who she is, but a lot of that is informed by her own loneliness. She doesn’t want others to feel like they’re alone, because she knows very intimately how much that can suck. Her loyalty and protectiveness of her friends leads her to sometimes not make the most tactically advantageous decision in combat, and also means that she has basically no self-preservation instincts (which is the main reason I’m pretty sure she’s gonna die before the campaign is over).

Campaign Stuff/Ramblings (under a cut because I’m literally just never going to shut up lets goooo):

So the original party consisted of a Teifling Paladin, a Wood Elf Rogue (who is multiclassing in monk), a Leonin Blood Hunter, and Kyssarda. We met during a fighting tournament and was contracted by the king to retrieve something for him. We teamed up for that, and convinced the king to come along too. So we traveled to some ruins, fought some stuff, and found the relic the king needed. We ran into a Jotenheim giant and fought that. In the process, the Leonin ended up attacking Kyssarda (cuz he’s basically a werewolf lion, and when he goes to his hybrid form and drops below half-health, he has to save on a wisdom saving throw or he just attacks the closest figure which happened to be meeee).

Later on in a different fight in the same place, Kyssarda freaking died thanks to 2 chain lightnings (I took damage while unconcious and then rolled a Nat1 on the death save). But the king we brought along was a cleric who had what was needed for revivify. So Kyssarda came back, with a withered left hand. The Leonin felt responsible for her death because he’d attacked her earlier, and vowed to help her fix her hand.

I forget exactly when, but during this journey, Kyssarda and the Leonin learned that there was a war brewing between two different kingdoms and that the Elf Rogue seemed to have a personal (but vague?) stake in the outcome of that war.

but ON OUR WAY BACK to the city, we got side-tracked with a quest to help a little girl rescue her family. So we also fought a troll and a hag. And when we were getting her family out, we also found (Surprise!!) the estranged (kinda) sister of the Elf Rogue.

This lead to some downtime back at the main city. Kyssarda got her hand fixed at a temple. We got the sister of the Elf Rogue healed up at the same temple. The Leonin had a hilarious and embarrassing fight with a creature I can’t remember the name of. And lots of research was done by all about various things. Kyssarda did the most research, as she grew up working in the library section of the monk monastery so she’s always curious. So she starts looking into things about the war going on, and learns that Mr. Elf Rogue is in fact ROYALTY. He’s a prince of one of the countries at war. And we had learned already that he had fled the city with his siblings but not that he was royalty?? So that was a trip to learn.

Meanwhile, Kyssarda is also helping the Teifling Paladin with some research because he’s been having weird dreams. And while they’re chillin’ in the library, the Paladin finds this book and gets sucked into it. Like. One minute he’s there, one minute he’s not and the book is floating before it closes and slams on the table. So Kyssarda (Ms. Abandonment Issues and also Freshly Traumatized By Havivng Died) panics and takes the book and runs. Our Paladin is still in the book. We sent him a Sending Scroll asking if he was okay and he basically said “Yeah im fine I’ll be back eventually”. Kyssarda also had a nice heart-to-heart with the Elf Rogue about the reemergence of his sister and told him a little about how her own brother abandoned her and encouraged him to just be patient with her (because the sister is not happy with him).

But the show must go on, and our Elf Rogue really wants to get back to his home and help in the war effort somehow, plus find his brother who also is MIA. So Kyssarda, the Leonin, the Royal Elf Rogue, his sister, AND another human PC (a guy who helped sneak the Elf Rogue and his siblings out the city all those years ago and was being played by the guy who used to be the Paladin) all travel out headed towards the Elf Rogue’s homeland.

But we get to the border at a bridge, and the party finds themselves facing down some harpies, some marrows, and a water elemental. In the fight, Kyssarda casts silence to help against the siren song the harpies were singing. Which was mostly a good thing. The water elemental was something else though. It engulfed both Kyssarda and the Elf Rogue, and Kyssarda was down to 1 HP when the Leonin yanked her out. However, because of a REALLY unfortunate roll by the human pc to save from a drop into the river (rolled a 2 and had a minus 2 on the modifier), he was unconcious and drowning. And none of our characters knew because. y’know. Silence. He kept drowning as the fight went on. And he eventually got washed up on some rocks and could make one death save after two failed ones. And he failed. And we had no cleric, and besides... it was more than a minute before we found his body down river.

And all of our characters felt terrible. Kyssarda has a tendency to take blame for things that maybe aren’t strictly her fault, so she definitely feels a weight of responsibility for complicated reasons. The Leonin expressed that he felt some level of responsibility as well, and also hesitation about going forward with the journey though some conversation between Kyssarda and him lead to him continuing on regardless. The Elf Rogue was pretty torn up about it.

We got some Elf Rogue backstory that addresses the fact that he was royalty (which was something Kyssarda had thought about asking) and more explanation of what’s been going on with him and his connection to the land we’re heading towards. We run into a fey creature that was an old ally of the Elf Rogue and Teifling Paladin, and we agreed to help him.

Cue the session last night.

We go to get some stuff of his back from an Incubus/Succubus pair. And sh!t hit the fan. Our Elf Rogue rolled really high stealth and decided that was a fine reason to dive through the broken window. Meanwhile, we were going on this side-quest with a half-orc barbarian (played by the guy that’s usually the paladin and who had the first PC death of the game the session prior). And the Incubus and Succubus can each essentially mind-control people, or try to. And both our barbarian and our Leonin Blood Hunter failed their wisdom save and so our two biggest heavy hitters were mind-controlled by the enemy. THAT went about as well as you’d expect.

Over the course of the fight, the Leonin went unconcious twice. Kyssarda once. The Elf Rogue twice. And the barbarian would have gone unconcious but thanks to relentless endurance, he was brought back to one HP. In fact, we reached a point towards the end where the Leonin, Kyssarda, and the Elf Rogue were all unconcious and our barbarian was the only one standing...at one HP. That’s when the incubus (we’d killed his mate by then) took the Elf Rogue’s sister and made a break for it. The barbarian brought me back first (because I was dying in acid and therefore automatically failing death saves). Then I brought back the Leonin and we got the Elf Rogue up too. We managed to chase down the Incubus and save the sister as well. but HOLE. EE. SH!T. Most terrifying, stressful D&D combat of my LIFE. Kyssarda came very, very close for two rounds to offering herself up as a willing victim/slave/whatever if they’d let her friends go. She didn’t because the tide was starting to turn by then in the fight but it was a ROLLERCOASTER.

Before we closed the session, we went back to that fey guy and got paid though Kyssarda stormed off kind of? She didn’t vibe with the guy because she almost lost her friends over his stupid book and she was shaken and upset. But she had a conversation with the Leonin at the end of the session just kinda... dealing with the trauma of the past few days in-game. It was actually a really nice moment. I think my favorite RP moment for Kyssarda so far.

So yeah! If you read all of this, I’m surprised and touched. Heh. I literally love D&D so freaking much, and I’m especially attached to this party and this character... though her lack of self-preservation does have me starting to plan for another back-up character just in case. ^u^

9 notes · View notes

renwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

we are family

Day 4: we are family.

Describe or draw a familiar moment. Are they close, or estranged? Are they blood relatives, or family found with friends?

Two Traynors stared each other down, hands hovering over a small box. There were 5 empty shot glasses in a semicircle around them, flanking the pristine chess board between the pair.

Wiping her hands with a dish towel, Priya Suresh-Traynor pleaded with her family. “Dessert is almost ready, do you two have to do this now?”

“The fate of the galaxy depends on it, mum,” Samantha Traynor mumbled back, not breaking eye contact with her father.

“You heard the kid,” Geoffrey Traynor seconded with a lazy smile. “I need to know my little sprog‘s mind hasn’t gotten soft since she’s been away.”

“Soft?? Did you miss the part where I kicked Polgara T’Suza’s arse across the Citadel?”

“Vid or it didn’t happen.”

What are you, five??

...God, I wish I had a vid. Are there vids? I wonder if I can ask for one...

“I have a trophy proving it happened. And a witness.” Sam’s eyes flitted over to the witness in question, her gaze narrowing.

Commander Annelise Shepard held her glass of red wine in surrender. Her voice came out wet and shaky from her fresh sip. “She’s—” Shepard patted her chest from the cough. “—She’s correct. She electrocuted that asari good.”

And got a shower as a prize.

That narrow challenge in her eyes switched to panic as Sam glanced back at her father, who was tsking in disapproval. “Neuro-feedback chess? ...Sammy. You didn’t.”

The Comms Specialist scowled. “I didn’t choose it, it was part of the tourney rules. Usually, yes, I have slightly more integrity.” Unless I really want to win, that is. “It was just a lark, father.”

“Well as long as it was on a lark you buried that smug asari, I guess you’re forgiven. ...still can’t top your Dad at 5-Shot Speed Chess though, I bet.” The older man blew on his knuckles theatrically and gave them a wiggle before resuming his position at the worn speed clock.

Oh, you’re on.

“Oh, you’re on.”

Priya gave an apologetic smile at Shepard, who had taken up perch at the kitchen counter partition. The bar seat next to her was empty, waiting for Sam to return from her tense game. The matriarch of the Traynor family was busy at the stove stirring the simmering pot of kheer on one burner while checking a boiling sugary syrup on another. The warm kitchen filled with the scent of Indian spices and jasmine rice bled over into the prefab living room area.

“I wish I could lie and say something like ‘they aren’t usually like this,’ but…” Priya shrugged and smiled fondly at her husband as the game began. The speed clock snapped with each hit as the older and younger Traynor dove into an intense exchange of pieces. “It’s actually a tradition when Sammy comes home.” She paused before clarifying. “A tradition since Sammy was proper drinking age, mind you.”

Annelise smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

Sighing, Priya tapped away her Omni-tool where a reverse countdown timer could be seen by Shepard. “I think it was One-Shot Speed Chess back then,” she admitted. “I swear we were a classy family at some point. ...I can’t recall when, precisely, but I assumed we had to have bumbled into it somewhere in the last 25 years.”

“I’m 26, mum,” Sam reminded loudly as she slapped the clock once more.

“We were definitely classy when you were one, sprog,” Priya snarked back. “I mean, you weren’t because you just ate and shat all day, but Geoffrey and I were newlyweds and still extremely classy.”

“Muuuuuuum!”

Oh my God do we have to talk about me shitting my diaper in front of Shepard???

Annelise failed to hide a staccato of exhale-laughs behind her wine glass, amused by the exchange.

Oh my God why did we come here?

...Oh shit Dad almost had me there.

Oh shit are they doing this on purpose? Working together against me??

Betrayed by my own flesh and blood!

Sam had to do a few lazy blinks to push back the swimming in her head and vision. Those shots were creeping in fast aided by a full stomach of naan and saag paneer. But she resumed focus on the game at hand, giving the clock another slap as she nudged her white bishop in an offensive position.

“So, Comm—Annelise,” Priya fumbled slightly. “What are your parents like?”

Mum. Did you not watch any ANN profiles?

Shepard’s sip of wine was casual, unruffled by the question. “Couldn’t tell you. Both gone. Mom when I was four from eezo poisoning, Dad when I was thirteen. Fire in our apartment building.”

What could have been a very awkward silence was instead filled with Priya’s empathetic tongue cluck (honed from years of practice as a registered nurse). “You poor thing. Too much life experience forced onto someone so young.” Her vigorous stirring motion never wavered. “Not to mention the life of a marine on top of all that. What a hand this universe deals us, hm?”

“Indeed,” Annelise agreed. She smiled sadly, her eyes inward as though weighing something. “This reminds me of the dinners I had with my brother and dad.”

Oh? Samantha’s head tilted so she could hear better. Her father was closing in on one corner of the board, but her queen sprang into a hole in his defenses.

“Oh?” Priya asked, echoing Sam’s own curiosity.

Nodding, Annelise rotating the now empty wine glass in her hand. “Dad wasn’t much for cooking, but John loved it. He loved grilling and barbecue. He’d usually save some of his courier paycheck for a good cut of meat at the store and try out different seasonings.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I bet he would have loved your cooking.”

“I fear I know the answer, but where is ...John?” At Shepard’s nod, Priya continued. “Where is John now?”

Oh no.

Should have given your folks some notes, Traynor.

I didn’t think it was my tale to tell!

How are you this bad at relationships, Traynor??

“Also gone, right before Dad. Car accident.” Annelise chewed her cheek a moment. “You know, before the Skyllian Blitz, I thought I was pretty unlucky based on all that.”

“And now?”

“Well, everything’s kind of a shit show, so jury’s out on that.” Annelise looked over at Sam, who was getting louder and more erratic with her clock taps. “But lucky in other ways.”

“Oh good answer, love!” Priya crowed, snapping the towel in Annelise’s direction. “A for effort, superbly charming response.” Her Omni-tool started beeping, signaling the woman to pull the pot of rice milk off the burner and set it aside to cool before turning her attention to the syrup. “What were three favorite things your brother cooked?”

An exhale deep through Shepard’s nose as she held her chin in her hand. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about that in ages.” She nodded at Priya’s silent pantomime offer to refill her wine glass. “He loved ribeye steak. Kind of fatty for me, and too damn expensive, but… I dunno, I liked it because he liked it so much.”

Aw. Sam felt a pang of longing for Shepard. There was a fondness to the woman’s tone that didn’t come up often.

How often does Commander Bloody Shepard have a moment to think about her family? Or talk about them?

We should work on that, Traynor.

Geoffrey piped up regarding one of his favorite subjects. “Good man! Good cut of beef. What temperature?” He pointed a finger at Annelise as though calling on a student in one of his classes.

“Medium rare.”

“Good man indeed,” Geoffrey agreed as he slapped the timer one more time. White and black sides pieces were dwindling as lines of attack thinned out.

“Let’s see, what else… He actually did a spiced mutton I really liked. Sometimes lamb. Both were dirt cheap for awhile in Seattle before the drought, so he made a lot of it.” Annelise smiled as she accepted a small round poor of kheer, a sprinkling of ground nuts on top. “Oh, and his ribs were to die for. John had this dry rub mixture he spent months tinkering with. Took damn near eight hours to cook, but worth it.”

Geoffrey exchanged a look with his wife before cutting back to the game. Priya nodded.“Oh we love lamb in this house. One of the many reasons we applied for colony life. No more ration stamps from those artificial trade wars with the Volus, and all our farming sustainable and available direct to the colony first.” Priya fired up her Omni-tool. “I have a lot of great lamb recipes if you’re—goodness! I haven’t asked how your cooking chops fare?”

Nudging a pawn over to take Sam’s knight, Geoffrey jibed. “A loaded question, dear. We all know our Sammy is completely dependent on Alliance-provided cafeteria food. How she survived four years at Oxford is a complete mystery. She should have either ended up three hundred pounds from eating rubbish or died of scurvy.”

Hey!

“You talk a lot of shit, old man, for someone who just got checked. And it’s called a dormitory meal plan, I’ll have you know. I had three square meals.”

I just probably didn’t drink water the entire time. All booze or energy drinks.

“Of cafeteria food, further proving my point. Also, check.”

Ugh. Also, what?

That exhale-laugh from Annelise almost pulled Sam away from her last ditch strategy. The Commander extended her own Omni-tool. “I’d love the help. While I can survive on a remote moon with just a knife and a canteen, I don’t prefer to. I did undercover work for a year after graduating N7, so we had to learn how to be human again. Cooking included. Some of it even some fancy five course meals meant to impress targets.”

“So you know where all the forks go and what they do?” Samantha asked, slapping the timer. “Check.”

“I definitely do.” Those green eyes glittered with mirth.

“Oooh, be still my heart.” Sam shot a finger-gun at her girlfriend.

Priya made some flicking motions with her fingers before an answering ping from Shepard’s wrist. “Well, here are some of Sammy’s favorites. Someone should have them, since the pride of my life can’t make toast.”

“Hey!”

“I also made note of some of the ones with Sammy’s allergies.”

Annelise flicked through the holo screen, studying the recipes. “Curry, shellfish, and peanuts, right?”

You forgot public speaking and losing at chess to my father.

Sam’s mother clutched her heart theatrically. “You know! Oh Geoffrey, did you hear? Sammy trusted her with shellfish, darling!” Priya poured a ladle full of the syrup over a small pyramid of large cake-like balls that had been chilling in a dish. She brought the dish over to the pair of competitors whose game was nearing completion.

“Check! And I did, love! It seems our Samantha is serious about this one! ...or her commanding officer looked at her file.” He grinned at his daughter before reaching for one of the gulab jamun.

Scowling, Sam slapped his hand away from the bowl before slapping the speed clock again. She could feel a heat rising in her neck and jaw (hopefully it was just the alcohol). “No dessert til we finish the game! And check!”

After a tentative bite, Annelise dug into the bowl of sweet kheer with enthusiasm. “I mean, you’re not wrong, sir. But I had the decency to act surprised when she finally told me. How was that again, Samantha?”

Oh sonabitch.

“When we went out on a date in public for the first time and I stole a bite of your lobster roll and my throat closed and we had to go to the med center.”

Both of her parents barked her name at the same time. “Samantha Karuna Traynor!” Her father added, “You always were a sucker for lobster despite never learning your lesson. And check.”

“It was worth it!” Sam squawked. “It was delicious! Also: check mate!” The pawn she’d been nudging forward that her father ignored got promoted to a rook and was now perfectly positioned to box in his king.

Geoffrey stared at the change of fortune, dismayed and swaying a little in his chair. The shots were clearly taking hold. He tipped his king over in surrender, bowed his head at his daughter, and grabbed the topmost gulab jamun.

Samantha joined him with a second ball, the syrup coating dripping slightly. They raised their desserts in salute before taking a big bite.

Mouth full, Sam grinned up at Shepard who was standing next to her chair. “I had you there to rescue me, darling. I knew I’d be all right.”

“I hope that’s always the case,” Annelise smiled back as she kissed Sam’s forehead.

Before she slowly dropped down to one knee.

#merweek2020 #mass effect relationship week #june 4 #shaynor #samantha traynor #femshep #samantha traynor x femshep #family #i petered out at the end #i'm tired #we are family prompt

25 notes · View notes

ecritverite · 4 years

Text

▌ REAL NAME: peter maddox woods (though perry is the only one who calls him peter most of the time)

▌SINGLE OR TAKEN: with the exception of a few girlfriends in his high school years that didn’t last more than a few weeks, he’s single till 1967 when he meets the lovely photographer, perry marchand @voirverite

▌ABILITIES OR POWERS: scathing wit, a wicked sense of humour given a place to thrive, and a tendency to know how situations are going to go before they happen.

( ...and here is where i am cutting this off to read more so yall don’t have a huge post on your dash and can choose to read at ur own will... )

▌EYE COLOR: a very pale blue that often looks grey until he’s in deeply saturated golden hour sunlight or by the sea, in which case his eyes look almost cerulean.

▌HAIR COLOR: an irish blooded dark brown, nearing black. starts to streak like salt and pepper in his late thirties and eventually goes silver by his mid-late forties.

▌FAMILY MEMBERS: mother and father, both estranged and woods bears very little resemblance to them in myriad ways, and a lesbian cottagecore-esque aunt who woods is cut off contact from at a young age and doesn’t reconnect with until later in his adulthood.

▌PETS: an irish wolfhound named boris, gifted to him and perry by musician mark crowe, and a dalmatian named marlene, also gifted to the couple by a luxuriously-living friend who can spend that kind of money on a dog...

▌SOMETHING THEY DON’T LIKE: insanely entitled fans — he’s dealt with a few too many in his life and their attitude turns him sour. sometimes i think woods ends up being far too judgemental of people due to his job experience but this eventually wears off by the eighties when he’s gone through a period of development and isn’t working as a roadie any longer. also, touring.

▌HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES: ... touring... (it’s a love/hate relationship), writing at odd hours of the night, birdwatching, smoking pipes, visiting bookstores, reading clever literature that sometimes includes funny children’s books, movie nights with perry, drinking coffee, driving on open road at night, rugby & american football (but only if he’s playing it, otherwise he doesn’t give a shit), browsing car catalogues, boating, when he has more time off there are brief stints where i believe he’d be into making little plane and car models, painting flowers.

▌EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE: he’s got more than one story about how in football he’d accidentally broken an opponent player’s nose or knocked the wind completely out of someone - and at the first school he transferred to in america, he ended up brawling with other boys all the time smh (though, i must add, he never started the fights)

▌EVER KILLED ANYONE BEFORE: hell no. woods would cry before he did smth like that

▌ANIMAL THAT REPRESENTS THEM: definitely wolf-like in how he dutiful he is: he recognises he is an important part of his ‘pack’ (the band) and values his position as such. he’s private, fiercely loyal, and more afraid of a stranger than they are of him. but he also has a really warm, loving side that is actually somewhat paternal and nurturing and can also be very playful with those he loves and holds close. but if you asked anyone else, i’m sure they’d see him as a bear - for many reasons lmao

▌WORST HABITS: his propensity for drinking too much coffee, the way he can wear his thoughts on his face too much when it comes to irritation, foregoing pitstops if he possibly can when it comes to a tight tour schedule, underestimating himself, sometimes he can be a little overcautious when his anxiety is bubbling, his nitpicking when it comes to tidiness - especially ‘keeping the bus clean’.

▌ROLE MODELS: tbh perry, his aunt, scott halpritt, frank o’hara, tolkien, perhaps a teacher from his past, and i think he’d really dig rob halford...

▌SEXUAL ORIENTATION: gay as gay can be...

▌THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE/KIDS: marriage: he believes that if he’s to marry someone it’s perry and eventually i think they would have a ceremony of their own for fun but make it official as soon as it’s legal and they’d do it for benefits with their own twist. but kids? no sirree. he helps perry babysit friends’ children but his only involvement with younger people is when he becomes a visiting lecturer at high schools and does consulting prof stuff at community colleges.

▌FEARS: suburbia... there’s just something about the sameness of the white upper middle class and their family ‘fronts’, especially in america, that irks him. he also has always had the fear that he would never be loved, truly, but finds he is quite wrong in that assumption.

▌STYLE PREFERENCES: in youth his style is pretty conservative with the small expressional flare in the form of colour. through life he tends to lean towards mod-like fashion in three piece suits, turtlenecks, stripes, and solid primary colours of various tints and shades. however, while working on tour, he can be found in athletic-fitting tshirts (sometimes band merch or a black shirt with STAFF in white lettering) and comfortable working levis. he loves boots and some fine clothes, and takes special care in selecting elements that compliment through colour. occasionally, he embellishes with modest gold jewellery. leather is good too - especially in the 80s.. catch him with those leather jackets. and at least once in the 60s he had a pair of red leather trousers.

▌SOMEONE THEY LOVE: all the people he considers pupils.

▌APPROACH TO FRIENDSHIPS: he commonly waits for people to approach him - if he knows they’re interested in talking to him, he’ll spare his time, but he’s used to being sweet-talked for access to backstage. if he wants to befriend someone, he’s often too unsure, and if forced to confront, he’ll employ humour and be extra vigilant about his external impression due to anxiety.

▌THOUGHTS ON PIE: he’s english... pies are life. especially if they’re meat pies... put that shit on toast just like them beans and crisps

▌FAVORITE DRINK: sherry, vodka lemonades, black coffee, or yorkshire tea with a bit of cream... eventually he develops a taste for herbal teas when he has to wean himself off the caffeine.

▌FAVORITE PLACE TO SPEND TIME AT: working on his car or his boat - don’t bother woods when he’s on his boat. or in the bath...

▌SWIM IN THE LAKE OR IN THE OCEAN: ocean — he’s drawn to any large body of water, but there’s something about the tide he really enjoys.

▌THEIR TYPE: thicker, shorter men with just enough build to show they’re a little physically active, anyone who has soft and understanding eyes, and those who are responsible but not so restrained and austere that they don’t know how to have a good time. he loves when a person can make him laugh, too.

▌CAMPING OR INDOORS: woods prefers staying indoors but when it comes to camping, he’s no spring chicken and can set up a tent and a fire within the hour that you touch down. if you were on a survival show, you’d want to have woods on your team with his background.

tagged by: @sleazygoing my king thank u so much tagging: literally anyone who wishes... perhaps @mancicon or @camillelafaye hehe

#i wrote out this long thing abt how he is straight passing sometimes for the abilities powers but it became a meta so im saving that #for another time KSJDHG #anyway enjoy #the copious amounts of woods info #* ooc : headcanons.

6 notes · View notes

mydearsaddiary · 4 years

Text

Speakeasy Tonight Neil Season 3 Fanfic- Chapter 8

Author notes: +16, some subjects may be sensitive to some readers. (Violence and harassment)

Hello! Here’s chapter 8! Can’t believe Im almost done with it! I plan on going until chapter 10 or 11, but we are almost done with the Adler saga! Thank you so much for reading until here! Let’s go on until the end! Enjoy!

Candy (08/16/2020)

Chapter 8- Behind the eight ball

There was a tenseness in the air the whole day while I was at the Ice Box. Vince couldn’t seem to be able to quiet down. Cliff dried glasses that were already dry, Neil was on his third bourbon glass, Donovan grunted every now and then as if he wanted to disagree with something. Even Julius and Cleo sounded off key every now and then

Me and Vince going to dinner that night was messing with everybody’s head in different ways. You could feel in your body that it was like walking into the lions’ den, that you’re putting your life on the line. The anticipation never made me feel so alive before, even if I was scared. My heart palpitated inside my chest, reminding me to be ready, attentive and most of all: careful.

Vince was up and running, but I could tell sometimes he felt pain. His tough exterior and his Italian hot-blooded head didn’t permit him to show weakness for long. That was the Mad Dog alright, no one could keep him down more than a night. Some might say Vince is empty headed due to his lack of skills in grammar, math, manners or anything society deems essential to make it big, but they haven’t been in Vince’s shoes. I didn’t know what had happened to his parents although I heard something about a terrible death when he was a kid, but he was always a survivor. On top of it, he had a way of dealing with people much like I did. He was a salesman whenever he opened his mouth, and people were convinced by his words. And in case they weren’t, he carried his fists and his favorite gun “Pearl”. Having him at my side tonight made my fears controlled enough for me to be sure I could make it out alive out of the mayor’s house that night.

In contrast, there was the man I had fallen in love with. If Vince was the tough man that broke, bent and hurt, Neil was there to fix, put together and heal. The steady hands of the Doc were so much different than the vicious, trained fighter that was Vince Moretti. For this reason he had to stay behind. Someone like the mayor wasn’t his job and he knew it. I could also tell it bothered him to an extreme and that he wished he could do more than just sit still and wait. I reckoned it was the same feeling he had in the war

Whenever the riflemen went ahead to fight, as a medic he must’ve always stayed a little further behind, until he heard a cry for him. I must imagine when they came back many were bleeding and most died. He wasn’t in the thick of action but he always had to deal with the consequences, the aftermath. The admiration for him for doing so grew everyday. Not many would have been able to do it, and even for Neil, the darkness of it almost took over completely. So I couldn’t help but feel he was scared of this dinner, because its the action he wouldn’t be able to partake in, but was wondering if either me or Vince wouldn’t come back unscathed.

The only way I knew how to soothe him was to play leader, act confident. So my feet took me to him, and hugged him around his shoulders from behind. Although his focus remained on the bourbon, I could feel the tenseness in his shoulders ease

-Guess who called me this morning, before I came in?- I said and he turned his head to the side- Your mother

-Mother?-This time he turned to me. It was a weird thing hearing that word come out of his mouth. Being estranged from his family for so long... Hearing him mention a parent made him look younger and softer in my eyes. It wasn’t bad, it was just different- What about?

-She said she’s terribly sorry my last visit to Boston didn’t turn out the way it should have and we should come up again for a formal engagement dinner. I’m betting it’ll be incredibly ritzy and she did invite my family, which means Uncle Charlie will be there!

He seemed to ponder over it for a few seconds- And I’m guessing you agreed, so I have no choice but to attend another social gathering. If I knew a wedding involved meeting with so many people so often I would’ve suggested we did it all in secrecy

-Oh, don’t be a wet blanket! You only get married once!

-Thank the heavens for that- He raised his glass and I punched him in the arm, making him spill some of it- Ow! Hey! Fine, I get it. We’ll go.

-Great. It’s this weekend

-Isn’t it too early? With the whole mayor ordeal?

-It’ll be fine, it’s just a weekend. Besides, the wedding planner did say all the invitations finished being sent out yesterday!-I said with a lot more enthusiasm in me than he had in him. I would’ve taken offense otherwise, but it’s Neil. He never really made a big deal out of most things, wedding invitations included

I asked Cliff for a drink and for a while we were just sitting in a comfortable silence, I was about to propose a chess game when the phone rang

-It’s Charlie, MC. He wants to talk to you- Cliff said

I made my way there, thanking him before picking it up- Hey, Unc

-Hey, Kiddo. Been hearing quite a lot about the mayor from over here- He said cheerfully. He sounded healthier, which made me happier about my decision to send him back for a few weeks, even if it turned out being longer than I expected

-Yea, he’s been some trouble, but we’re actually almost done with him- I mentioned the documents and the dinner, catching up on all of the business recently. Then, we spent some time catching up on family and those little things about relatives like Aunt Mabel or cousin Katrina that didn’t really matter much but if was nice to talk about. I mentioned the Boston dinner and I could hear him smiling through the phone, letting me know he’d tell my family

-Listen, MC. It’s time I went back to Chicago.

-We’re almost done, Uncle Charlie. I’ll let you know!

-I know you were worried about my health. I’m glad you sent this old man away for a few weeks. I needed to call you and tell you that even though I set things up for the long term there for you, it’s time I officially retired from the Ice Box and handed over the keys to you

-Uncle...

-I won’t go anywhere, I’ll come in once in a while. It’d give me the chance to take it easy, now that I know the place is in good hands. We’ll still work together at the appliance store- He paused, thinking about his next words- But before I do, I can’t just drop everything on your shoulders. I know the Ice Box has risks and I’ve been in this business way longer than you have. I have plenty to offer before I step down for good. I wanna work on this one last job together.

I didn’t know if his desire was out of pride, or if he was missing his true home and family that he found within the Ice Box. I knew I couldn’t keep Uncle Charlie away for too long, but there was a resolve in his voice that I had to respect

-I could use you here, Unc- That was my answer

He laughed- I thought it’d take more than that to convince you. When we meet in Boston, I’ll come back to Chicago with you and Neil

-Sounds like a plan. I’ll let everyone know.

____

As the afternoon went on with preparations for the dinner I still had one thing on my mind. I needed to tell Neil I was expecting, that much I already knew. But either something seemed to get in the way, or I got too nervous to say anything. Part of me wondered if it was the universe telling me to tell him later. However, I knew that going to this dinner without telling him would betray his trust

At night when the Ice Box opened and people started to fill up the place, I decided it was time to tell him. With less than an hour before I left and everyone doing their jobs I pulled Neil away from the loud music and excited dancing to the back room

-Did you really pull me here for necking?

I laughed kissing him gently- I could have but... No. I actually need to talk to you. Remember I was trying to tell you something last week? I-

-MC, you in there?-I could hear Vince knocking- We have to go

-Oh for Pete’s sake, this isn’t happening tonight- I grabbed both of his arms looking into his eyes- I’m pregnant.

His eyes weren’t wide with surprise, but the shock was visible, more as if he had just realized something rather than just found something out. His brows twisted, trying to read in my face if I was joking or being serious. Something in my eyes must’ve convinced him, because he let out a sigh, and I could tell he was trying to find the words to say.

-MC!-Vince called again

-I have to go, now... We’ll talk about it tonight- I opened the door

-Wait a second...-He turned to follow me and I knew he was going to try to stop me.

Against my better judgement I forced myself to move to move faster- I have to go!-I repeated myself- There’s no other way

-MC!-I heard Neil’s voice but I was already far away. I could hear him following me outside but I stepped in Vince’s car and told him to drive away

I didn’t allow myself to feel heartless. A decision had to be done and it was the hard one. Although I knew within me I made the right choice by telling him before I went, I knew I had to go. I would probably face the consequences of it later, but what mattered is that the Ice Box would be safe, and Neil would still know.

-You alright, there?-Vince asked while driving

-Yes, there’s just too much going on at once- I answered- Once this night is over it’ll be a weight lifted off our shoulders. Are you ready to steal those documents?

-I am. Going to the John upstairs, his office is third door on the left and the documents are all in folders on the bottom drawer of his desk

-You got it. If you have time though, find out if there’s anything anywhere else, There must be some more important papers laying around.

-I got it, doll. You just focus on distracting the mayor

____

The moment Vince parked and the roar of the engine stopped, I swear I could hear both of our hearts struggling to not beat out of rib cages. Vince was in his fanciest suit, I was in my ritziest evening dress. He got out and in a respectable manner opened the door and offered his hand to me.

On the gate there were two mean-looking goons, keeping the mayor’s palace safe. We said who we were and easier than I imagined, we were allowed the entrance to the grand house that scared me but pulled me in just as much

When we stepped foot in the immense living room, the main door was closed behind us. The noise it made when it shut echoed throughout the room, as if it reminded us that we were outsiders, peasants and minuscule in the presence of the king, the mayor, who we could see ahead of us in the dining room. The table was set and the gigantic chandelier fell right above it like the sun of his world

-Welcome, Vince... Miss Granger. Sit down-He motioned to two chairs in front of his.

Our slow and steady steps took us to the dinner. Each step made my heart beat faster. Me and Vince hadn’t said anything since we stepped foot in the house, but we must’ve been making a pretty good job out of remaining stone-faced, because the mayor kept smiling unknowing of our plans to betray him in his own house. Vince had made a good job of saving his life. He admired him and now, he trusted him

We ended up sitting opposite to him, and the silence was almost unbearable. Adler’s eyes watched the both of us for a few seconds before he started talking- Don’t be shy. It doesn’t fit the personality of the Mad Dog or the Ice Box flapper... Oh!- He paused as if he had realized something- Don’t tell me you’re intimidated!- He looked at me- Let bygones be bygones, Miss Granger. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but... We’re all working to our mutual benefit now.

I breathed deeply, calming my nerves- That’s right. What matters for me is that the Ice Box is safe. As long as that’s the case, everything’s the cat’s pajamas

I looked at the food in front of me, inside I wondered if it was poisoned, or if he was the one fooling us. But with Vince not being the sharpest tool in the box, he dug right in, eating everything in front of him. He didn’t die or started getting sick so I safely assumed I could too

Once the anticipation of the dinner ended, the whole event was actually pretty boring with the mayor talking on and on. It reminded of dinners with Momma’s friends on Sundays. Suddenly, I was a little girl again and I couldn’t wait for it all to be over. This time, however, I knew more things were at stake. As we finished dessert a signaled to Vince discreetly with my eyes

-‘Scuse me, Adler. This was all fine and well and I’ll be right back- He started getting up- I need to go to the john. Where is it?

-Closest one is upstairs, first door on the left- He pointed up. He agreed and was on his way to, instead, steal all the documents we needed. The tick of the clock seemed to slow down, as if it was letting me know this was a very important moment, one that I would never forget

-You’re looking lovely tonight, Miss Granger- Adler said. It was his turn to get up, only to walk around the table and occupy Vince’s spot by my side. The gesture made my skin tingle, as if millions of ants crawled on it. I wanted to run, to scream and escape. However, if I could keep the mayor talking it’d be the chance we needed to end him for good

-Thanks, Adler. I see you didn’t give up on your advances towards me. Even though you know I’m a taken woman, engaged in fact.

-Oh, I know that- He touched my hair. Why was I shivering? Was I not able to control my fear? Why did his dark eyes scare me so much? I impulsively backed off, looking into his eyes seemingly brave- But- He continued either way- I know that women like you, Miss Granger, don’t consider themselves a lady, and I’ve no doubt that you’d hate to be treated like a porcelain doll, a gentlewoman- His face approached me- No... No...-He whispered- You’re different, MC. You’re fierce, you’re the leader of a group of gangsters. You got dangerous men tied on a leash.

-The Ice Box is but a small operation, there are much bigger competito-

-You’re right- He interrupted- But none of them faces the odds of society, of judgement and underestimation. No, you are an incredible woman. Any man would be lucky to call you his wife- He grabbed my jaw making me look at him. I was trying my hardest not to show any fear, but it was hard- And one thing you should know about me is that I hate when somebody claims a treasure before I do. Lucky for me, you are not married, just engaged.

-Mayor Adler- I tried to pull his hands away, but he was bigger and stronger- This wasn’t what we agreed on

-Here’s my new proposition!-He sad grabbing my jaw tighter, making me yelp- Together we should have control of the entire Chicago’s underworld. You’ll be first lady, my wife! And I’ll give you the keys to be the most powerful and biggest operation Chicago, no, the United States has ever seen. Imagine how much power you would give me. Imagine it, the First Lady of Chicago. You’d have your own empire!- His other free hand pushed my dress up my thighs, I could see the disgusting lust he had in his eyes

A force came upon me, I didn’t know where I found the strength, but I punched him on his nose, making him back away from me. I got up, pulling my gun off my leg holster and pointing it at him- Don’t you dare touch me again. I’ll never belong to a man like you.

It gave me satisfaction to see his nose bleed. But it died quickly when he laughed- Take her.

Before I realized two big men grabbed me from behind overpowering me. My screams must’ve been loud enough because I could hear steps coming towards us, and soon Vince had his gun to the mayor- Let her go!

-Vince, watch out!- I said as another one of his goons fired a shot, which hit Vince’s side. He groaned and collapsed on the floor.

Everything was slow once again. The red forming on his side, the blood gushing from his wound onto the floor. The sound of his beloved gun pearl crashing against the tiles. The sound of his body hitting the ground. The way all the documents we needed spread from inside his suit all over the floor, painting a white that contrasted the deep red around my friend. My uncle’s adopted son.

-You were planning to deceive me all along!-Adler said in rage as he saw the papers. Betrayal showed in his eyes towards Vince

-Don’t you ever dare to threaten my family again- Vince said in a quiet, hurt voice- Way to get your skull cracked

-You know what I do to those who betray me? I make them suffer- He approached Vince’s body on the floor. I sentence you to death.

-Wait! No! I’ll do it!- I yelled, but it was too late.

The two men holding me started to take me away until the whole scene was out of my vision. All I heard was a single shot

-Vince!- I yelled, to no avail

____

The next thing I remember was being taken down these dark stairs and thrown into some sort of basement. The two goons climbed back up and locked the door.

I took some time to weep. For my friend, for the fact that we failed, and for the reason that I didn’t know what I would do know.

Once I calmed down, I looked around. The basement was old fashioned, mostly grey. It was poorly lit and there was no sign of anywhere sunlight could come in. For a basement it was pretty spacious. It had a bathroom with a shower, two old mattresses on the floor, a bookshelf that was almost empty, some spider webs and a table.

I went up the stairs to try to open the door to find out it was truly locked. I climbed back down, defeated, and positioned myself on one of the mattresses, unsure of what to do next.

-I can’t believe he’s gonna keep me prisoner here...

-You best believe it. He will. And there’s no way out. Now what did little Miss Granger do to put herself into this situation?- A deep familiar female voice echoed throughout the room. From the darkness the once elegant figure emerged. The one who once was the main source of my troubles

-Vera...-I said looking up. She looked nothing like the glory she once was. Her dirty clothes and messy longer hair indicated that she was in there for too long of a time. It didn’t take me long to put two and two together and realize she had been there since she disappeared

-Well, this is a pleasant surprise. And so we reunite- She sat on the other mattress

-So you didn’t shoot the mayor and ran away from Chicago...

She snorted- You believed that story?

I shook my head- No, I just wouldn’t put it past you

-Nice of you to start with the unpleasantness, MC. Will make our time as roommates much more agreeable- She laid down- Now I’d like to get some sleep.

-Vera, how are you okay with this?!-I got up- We have to escape! He can’t do that

-I tried. There’s no way- She replied calmly, too calmly- I don’t care about any of it anymore. Politics, mayor, Chicago. It can all go to hell.

I observed the woman for a few seconds. The woman I knew would never even say “hell” before. I don’t know if I hated her more or was starting to actually like her

-Well, I ain’t staying here- I said going up to the door again.

I pushed my body against it. Pulled it with all my might, tried throwing stuff against it and everything I could. But it was useless. I was tired and I was getting nauseous. Defeated I walked back to where I was

-Finally giving up?-Vera asked

I didn’t bother answering- Just... Exactly how long have you been here?

She thought about it for a second- Must be... A few weeks now- She shrugged- I stopped counting, makes you go insane.

-He’s the only one who’s insane- I replied- I ain’t staying here!- I repeated myself, trying to give my confidence a boost. I tried to get up again but felt a pain. My hand instinctively went to my stomach, caressing it

She eyed me curiously. Then with amusement, which quickly turned into surprise-MC, you’re pregnant.

-Thanks for letting me know.-I responded sarcastically. Man, I was spending too much time with Neil.

Oh, man, Neil... I rubbed my eyes thinking about how much he must be going bonkers right now. Guilt overcame my body. He knew being the head of a gang meant I was always putting myself in danger. However, he didn’t sign up to be told he was going to be a father, and then have the gal completely disappear and have herself kidnapped. I was being so selfish. Especially after everything Neil had been through I just had to know something

-Is Adler gonna bump us off?

Vera stared at me- No... No- She shook her head- Adler only kills when he’s being merciful. Those he really hates, people like us, he likes to see them suffer.

-Sounds like the cat’s pajamas- I said unenthusiastically

-Don’t let him know you’re pregnant, MC. Don’t let him know- She said before turning away, falling asleep rather quickly for someone who was in her position.

I made a promise to come back home. To be safe. How many times had I said “I’ll be fine”.

Sometimes you just have to realize how young and stupid you really are.

____

Author’s note: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! A sneak peak on what’s coming next:

MC and Vera are stuck in Adler’s basement with no hope of rescue or a way to escape. However, that won’t make the Ice Box Flapper give up.

“I have yet to find a lock I couldn’t open”

Thank you so much! Please reach out if you need anything!!!

Coming next: Chapter 9- First, do no harm

#voltage usa #speakeasy tonight #voltage amemix #voltage inc #voltage #voltage games #lovestruck #lovestruck voltage #neil dresner #vince moretti #1920s fanfic #voltage men #lovestruck usa #lovestruck game

5 notes · View notes

sir-severance · 4 years

Text

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here.

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible, whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”

#mlandersen0 #the andersen journals #slenderverse #michael andersen #shaun andersen #patrick andersen #slenderversezine #quinnwrites

17 notes · View notes