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nobodyfamousposts · 4 years ago

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Miracle Queen Aftermath

Because there is a disappointing lack of focus or depth for the aftermath of Miracle Queen in canon, I have made my own.

Be warned of: Chloe salt. A lot of it. Chloe faces consequences for things.

Some Bustier salt. Some Adrien being called out on things (but he gets better).

Enjoy!

In the weeks following the Miracle Queen incident, a lot had happened.

Hawk Moth had increased his power, and was now able to summon akumas and amoks at the same time.

Master Fu was gone and now Ladybug found herself the official Guardian of the Miraculous—along with the Miracle Box, kwamis, and duties that entails.

Marinette had resolved to let go of her crush on Adrien, and to support him and Kagami in their new relationship together.

And Chloe had been arrested and would now be going on trial for assisting a terrorist.

It was that last bit of news that had caused the most commotion in Paris and the world at large. What people would have dismissed as simply another akuma attack turned into a much greater matter when accusations started to be made about Chloe helping the super villain intentionally. This was soon backed by multiple eyewitness accounts and further proven by leaked video evidence showing Chloe not only attempting to grab a butterfly for herself after she was de-akumatized but even negotiating with the terrorist before the incident in which she betrayed the heroes of Paris and revealed the identities of most of the team.

To say that the people of Paris were outraged was putting it mildly. People were akumatized over it. Chloe was in a secured facility where she had armed guards around to watch her just as much as they were there to protect her. New legislation was being considered to specifically address willingly aiding supervillains. The backlash was so severe that many were calling the mayor’s own position into question.

After all, if his daughter could do all of that, who was to say that he wasn’t also in Hawk Moth’s pocket?

For Mayor Andre, his hands were tied. While he had covered for his daughter and her selfishness in the past, this was one thing he couldn’t overlook. Not when it brought his position as mayor under scrutiny. And certainly not when it opened a probe into his own dealings.

None of this was helped either by the multitude of witnesses of Chloe‘s past behavior. In particular, her many victims over the years.

And there were a lot.

Now that Chloe was actually being held accountable for something, it seemed to have opened a floodgate of outcries as the many people she tormented finally felt able to air their grievances. They came out on TV, on social media, on radio. Stories littered the air and internet of the horrors of dealing with this single teenage girl.

“She tried to cheat during this designing competition. She apparently stole some other girl’s hat design and tried to pass it off as her own.”

“She was the reason the mayor tried to shut down my ice skating rink! To build another gym! Paris has enough gyms! Why couldn’t she just go to one of those?”

“She had her dad shut down Clara Nightingale’s music video and got her akumatized just because she didn’t get to play Ladybug. We waited in that line for HOURS and didn’t get chosen either, but no one else threw a fit over it.”

“She shoved a giant signed poster of Adrien Agreste professing his love to her in my friend’s face just to make her cry! I found out after the fact that he didn’t even know about it!”

“Our entire school was punished for someone pulling the fire alarm except for her because she threatened our principal. So while the rest of us were having to clean up the school, she spent the entire time insulting and making fun of us.“

“Knowing her, she probably pulled the fire alarm in the first place.”

“She tried to crash a train! I don’t think I can emphasize that enough: she tried to crash a train!“

“Chloe Bourgeois joined up with Hawk Moth? Can’t say it’s a shock.”

“Yeah, given how many akumas she caused, I’d been wondering if she hadn’t been working with him all along.”

It wasn’t that unbelievable to the populous. Nor did anyone feel particularly sympathetic towards her for her current situation. Some might have for lack of knowing her, but Chloe had carved herself a special place in the memories and hearts of nearly every Parisian. There was nobody who didn’t know of her or have some experience with her by this point. So when it came out that she was arrested and facing criminal charges, the response was…rather telling.

Practically everyone was calling loved ones as soon as they heard, resulting in high phone and internet traffic. The Ladyblog crashed after making the announcement. Several people threw parties. People over the internet started coming up with a list of “Things We Will Be Allowed To Do Once Chloe Is In Prison”, with a count that currently rested at 139 and was rising quickly. One guy bought 500 cupcakes and just started passing them out to people on the street singing a jaunty little tune from some late 1930’s cult classic American movie. The school had closed down for a couple of days due to several teachers calling out sick—possibly with hangovers from celebrating a bit too hard. Various Queen-related hashtags and memes were trending with each seeming to fight for the top spot of most used. #let her eat cake was currently in the lead. And Mr. Ramier somehow orchestrated a 21 pigeon salute. On Chloe’s rooftop.

As it was, nobody expressed surprise when it came out that she worked with a supervillain. Many were disappointed, shaking their heads and saying “if only something had been done sooner” or blaming the parents and teachers and other adults in her life. Most were angry, mainly that things had been allowed to get this far and that they hadn’t been acted on earlier—particularly after the train incident.

But no. Nobody was surprised.

Except, perhaps, Marinette herself.

Still reeling from the events of Miracle Queen and the aftermath of…well…everything involved, Marinette had been questioning herself. Constantly. Incessantly. Going over and over in her mind all the things she could have done differently. Blaming herself for all the major blows to their team.

She lost her mentor. Her allies have been compromised. Chloe, one of her former allies, chose to betray them all. Hawk Moth had the grimoire now. Marinette didn’t have a grimoire. Fu had no memories.

And it was all because of her mistakes.

Last time, the prospect of never having to deal with Chloe again had been a relief.

Now…it was background static to her.

She could barely hear the announcements and cheers over the endless cycle of her own thoughts.

I should have tried harder. I should have been more aware. I failed them all. This is because of me.

So while everyone else in Paris was celebrating, de-stressing, or just outright reveling in the news, Marinette was grieving. With the help of the kwamis and Chat Noir, she had been trying to come to terms with what happened and figure out the next plan of action.

Hawk Moth had changed the game, so she needed to step up hers.

The days seemed to have passed in a blur. Between working with the kwamis, trying to recreate and retranslate the grimoire, and simply trying to deal with the remnants of Fu’s life that he had left to her, Marinette had barely even kept up with the current state of things in Paris. Or in particular, Chloe.

Not until the day came when Bustier made an announcement.

Chloe‘s trial date was finally decided. And though she didn’t say as such, it was clear that the case against her was pretty solid. There was video evidence. Eye witness accounts. And Chloe’s own words and actions working against her.

The odds were not in her favor on this. Even if her parents did try to help her, she wasn’t going to get off this time. Aside from getting the best lawyers money by, there really wasn’t much they could do.

Maybe that was why Bustier had tried to step in?

“Now class, I have received word that they are moving to the next step with Chloe’s hearing. Right now, they are looking for character witnesses for Chloe’s defense.” The kind teacher explained, causing Marinette to snap to awareness and realize just what was going on. Partly because of the mention of Chloe and her court case.

But mostly because of the sudden dead silence in the class…

To be fair, she wasn’t sure she could say anything either. Marinette felt her throat go dry and her muscles tense. There was a sudden tightness in her lungs that while she could breathe, it felt like she was suffocating. Why was Bustier bringing this up now?

The teacher smiled, seemingly unaware of the sudden tension and Marinette’s slow drowning. “I know this has been a difficult experience knowing that one of your classmates is facing such a trial. And Chloe will certainly need support. So I thought it would be kind if everyone wrote a letter supporting her for the hearing coming up, so the courts can hear about Chloe and understand more about who she is.”

Silence. Dead silence.

Maybe Bustier herself picked up on the growing tension, as she proceeded to move to passing out papers to the class. “I thought it would make for a nice project, so I will give you all the forms explaining the requirements. Take some time to think over what positive things you want to say about Chloe. If you have any questions, please feel free to come talk to me.”

After that, she quickly left the room, citing the desire to let them have this free time to work on the letters.

The class remained silent for a good minute after she left. Almost as if they were questioning if she would return. Or perhaps if she was listening.

Then—

“‘Think about what positive things we want to say about Chloe?’ Well that’s easy!” Alix spoke blithely, curling the paper she received into a ball. “Nothing!” She shouted and tossed it over her shoulder. “Assignment done!”

Murmurs filled the classroom. Some sounded uncertain, but most seemed to be in agreement. Or at least expressing distaste for the assignment.

“Is she serious?”

“Does she really expect us to?”

“Of all the worst ideas...”

Marinette could hear them, but couldn’t seem to acknowledge anything around her. And furthermore, she couldn’t make herself respond.

Chloe‘s trial was set for a point in the next few weeks, and at this point there was no denying just what type of person she was. If anything, this was probably the first time that anyone was allowed to actually speak their mind about the girl, and they were all reveling in it. Her classmates in particular.

Marinette couldn’t quite bring herself to.

Sure, Chloe has tried to blackmail her more than once.

And damaged her gift to their teacher.

And attempted to frame her a few times.

And stolen her hat design.

And her diary.

And a Miraculous.

And all of the other Miraculous.

But...she had been doing better for a while there, hadn’t she?

Didn’t she only betray them all in the end because Marinette had chosen Kagami over her for her own selfish reasons? Didn’t Hawk Moth only capture Fu because of her own mistake? Hadn’t Chloe only revealed everyone else because she felt betrayed? Couldn’t Marinette have done more to prevent Chloe turning?

Wasn’t a simple letter on Chloe’s virtues the least she could do?

So why...

Why couldn’t she seem to bring herself to?

Kim frowned, looking at his paper in worry. “We’re not going to get graded on this, are we?”

Nathaniel huffed. “I’ll willingly take the failing grade any day.”

“Hear hear!”

“But if it’s a grade…” Max murmured to himself. Out of everyone in the class, he took his grades the most seriously, so this was no doubt a difficult choice for him. He looked at his paper with a rather conflicted expression for a minute before sighing and turning it face-down on the desk. “No. It’s an impossible task in the first place.”

Kim rested a hand on Max’s shoulder in sympathy. It wasn’t that he cared as much about grades as Max did, but it was clear that the fallout of refusing could be more troubling for the genius who took his academic performance so seriously. If Bustier did make it a mandatory assignment with a grade, it’d be horribly unfair of her.

“What was it Chloe said before?” Ivan asked, looking over his page with a glare. “Once a monster, always a monster? I guess she’d know more than anyone.”

Mylene hugged him. “You’re not a monster. You never chose to be.”

“None of us did.” Nino agreed.

“Nobody did except her.” Alix bit out.

Mumbles of agreement came from the rest of the class. It was clear that none of them were on board with having anything to do with Chloe, much less try to help her with her current legal woes.

There was a large part of Marinette that agreed with them. But even so, there was also a large part of her that insisted she had to do the right thing and help.

She knew she should say something. She was supposed to say something here. Because it was her fault, after all. She was Ladybug. She had to be the better person. Shouldn’t she?

“Marinette? Girl, are you okay?” Alya asked, drawing her attention. “You look a bit pale.”

It was too much. It was suffocating.

“I think I need some air. Excuse me.”

She didn’t know if anyone watched her leave the classroom. She hadn’t even noticed if anyone had chosen to follow her.

Not until…

“Marinette, are you all right?”

She spun around in surprise.

“Oh! Adrien! Hey! Hi! Hello!” She blabbered. Why was he here? Did he come out after her? Why? She didn’t need this right now! She struggled enough with him under normal circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could handle being alone with him now. Her stress over everything was bad enough, but having him approach her set her anxiety skyrocketing.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling at her—and oh, what a beautiful smile. On any other day, it would ease her worries and make her want to swoon, but right now, it just made her more nervous.

“Are you all right?” He asked again. “You didn’t look so well in class.”

“Y-yeah. Just…” she sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind. With…you know…everything.”

He nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean.”

She smiled. She could always count on Adrien to be a calming supportive friend. He was always so sweet and reliable. If anyone could understand or relate to the chaotic mix of emotions she was feeling, he could.

He sighed in sympathy. “Poor Chloe.”

She froze.

“Chloe?”

“Well, yeah.” He replied, like it was obvious. “I mean, she did a bad thing, but now she’s going through the worst experience of her life. One that could ruin her future. And people are glad about it!” He shook his head. “It’s just too cruel.”

Marinette just stared.

He wasn’t wrong. But…that was what he was worried about?

She couldn’t fault him of course, because Adrien was always so kind and considerate and of course he’d feel for Chloe but…something about this just…pulled at something inside of her and was choking it.

“Chloe is already suffering enough and it feels like no one wants to help her. You heard them.” He gestured back to the classroom. “We’re being given an opportunity to make a difference for her and they’re all just saying she deserves it. Chloe is alone and hurting and they want her to hurt more.”

She felt a denial on her lips but couldn’t give voice to it.

“Everyone is so great with each other. It’s always just Chloe who is kind of on the outside. I know you’ve seen it.”

She hadn’t, actually. Because it was never Chloe on the outside looking in, it was Chloe looking down on them. Whether it was because she genuinely thought she was better or because it made her feel better to do so.

He hesitated for a moment before looking at her. And there was something in his expression that told her he was about to ask something. A gut feeling told her that it was going to be something she wouldn’t like.

“Do you think you could talk to them?” He asked her, looking so sad and despondent that she just wanted to hug him and agree to anything to make that look go away.

“M-me?”

He wanted her to convince her classmates to help Chloe?

“I know you and Chloe have had your differences, but you’ve been able to see past her front. And you’ve done a lot to help her before.” He smiled. “Like the party you threw for her after she became Queen Bee.”

A traitorous voice asked if giving her a second chance with the Miraculous she had previously stolen wasn’t enough? Why did she have to feel bad for her leaving and throw her a party to make her feel special?

“Chloe really needs the help right now. And you’re always so good about that sort of thing.” He looked to her imploringly. “Do you think you could try to get them to at least give Chloe a hand? I don’t know what impact it’ll have in her hearing, but any little bit helps, right?”

Go back in there? With the tension and the suffocation to try and convince her classmates to help when she was questioning whether to herself?

But she had to, right? After all, couldn’t she have prevented this if she had acted sooner? Couldn’t she have helped sooner instead of being focused on her own petty problems? Isn’t that what Ladybug should do?

“Please, Marinette? They listen to you. If you asked them to, I’m sure they’d be willing to at least try.”

Her vision started to dim, seeming to tunnel in on Adrien and his sad and hopeful expression. Her thoughts crying about CHLOE and poor CHLOE and how hurt CHLOE was and how it was her fault for CHLOE—

“I—”

“Oh no! No, you do NOT.”

Marinette suddenly found herself torn away from Adrien by a sudden grab of her arm and pulling sensation. She felt as if she was pushed out of the way by a fierce gale. Like a raging whirlwind had spun her around and behind it.

That whirlwind’s name was Alya.

“How dare you? How dare you try to make my girl be responsible for this!”

Marinette floundered because she had not expected this and oh no now her best friend looked ready to tear her crush’s head off!

“Alya, we don’t have to do this!” She pleaded, trying to calm the other girl down.

“Oh, we most certainly do.” Came another voice. And sure enough, the rest of the class had stepped out as well. All of them looked in varying ranges of frustrated and that frustration was clearly directed at her and Adrien.

Or rather just Adrien, as Marinette discovered when Rose and Juleka pulled her aside and out of their direct line of sight. They were all looking at Adrien, and those were not nice or understanding expressions.

Oh no! This was a disaster! Now everyone was upset and she should have just agreed or said something sooner!

Completely unaware of Marinette’s inner turmoil, Alya stepped forward and jabbed at Adrien in the chest. “You are not going to make my girl feel bad and try to help someone who has never done a single nice thing for her or anyone.” She spat out, forcing him to back away.

Adrien held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Come on, Chloe is not that bad.“

“Not that bad?” Nino exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief at his friend’s words. “Adrien, Chloe betrayed us!“

“She took over Paris!”

“She turned us into her servants!“

“Not to mention the other things…”

“Do we really have to name each time?” Alya started to count on her fingers. “Chloe CHOSE to take the Miraculous for herself instead of returning it. She CHOSE to transform in front of everyone and reveal her identity to the world. She CHOSE to try and crash a train, risking the lives of EVERYONE on board just to show off. She CHOSE to run off with it when Ladybug tried to take it back.”

“She also chose to continue being horrible to everyone even after Ladybug gave her a second chance.” Nathaniel added, bitterly. “She didn’t get better after becoming Queen Bee. It just became another thing for her to lord over people.”

Alya nodded. “And when Ladybug made it clear to her that she wasn’t going to be Queen Bee again, she felt ENTITLED to something that was never hers in the first place. And because of that, she made the active, knowing, and willful choice to work with Hawk Moth.”

“And out all of us while she was at it.” Kim added. “Turning us into her personal ‘guard’. Making us fight our heroes against our will.” He shuddered. “I don’t know if you were hit by those things, Adrien, but it was NOT a pleasant experience having your body turned into a puppet.”

Adrien wanted to argue that he understood full well, but that was only as Chat. He couldn’t say that here.

Unaware of his inner turmoil, Alya continued. “So no, we are not going to forgive Chloe. We are not going to try and ‘get along’ with her because her own poor choices have led her to have a ‘rough time’.”

Adrien grew nervous at the way the others drew closer to Alya as she spoke, clearly backing her statements as she continued.

“We are not going to defend her or speak up on her behalf to the entirety of Paris she ALSO betrayed. Whatever consequences Chloe has to face—quite possibly the first ones she will EVER have faced in her LIFE—are nothing less than what she deserves.”

“Yeah!” Came the exclamations from the rest of the crowd.

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Adrien argued.

“Not know what she was doing?! Adrien, she willingly accepted an akuma! She used it to take control of us and revealed us to Hawk Moth!” Alya exclaimed. “That’s just—how can you even justify that?”

With as angry as Alya was, any lesser or wiser man would have backed off.

Adrien…well, she certainly would never call him unwise, so it had to be because he was more strong-willed than that to be willing to stand his ground here.

“Hawk Moth was the one who manipulated Chloe!” He insisted. “And he’s the one who got away scott free and left Chloe to take the fall.”

“And whose fault was that?” Alya countered. “Chloe HELPED him. He only got as far as he did because of her and he only got away because she helped him!”

“Don’t you think this is cruel?” He argued back. “Yes, Chloe was wrong, but she was already called out for what she did by Ladybug and Chat Noir. The entire city hates her. Isn’t that enough?”

“NO!” Alya shouted. “No, it isn’t! Because Chloe has always gotten away with her antics in the past but you’re actually trying to get us to let Chloe off for a legitimate crime here! If Chloe is going to prison, it’s only because she deserves it!”

Around them, several of the others in the class nodded in agreement.

“How can you say that?” Adrien demanded. “Chloe made a mistake and she’s suffering for it! All this time, she’s felt left out and cut off and this only further emphasizes that for her! She’s been alone all this time and now she’s alone and miserable!”

“Then why should that be OUR problem?” Alya questioned, raising her hands in exasperation. “Why are you trying to MAKE it our problem?!”

Adrien drew back, looking genuinely hurt.

"But treating someone badly never made them become a good person."

"Yeah, because letting Chloe have her way all this time has totally made strides in her path to becoming a good person." Alix called out sarcastically.

"If anything, it's made her worse." Max added. "She's gone from simply causing akumas to intentionally becoming one."

“But—”

Alya cut him off. “But nothing, Adrien! You have to have some gall to be trying to get us to make nice with Chloe after she betrayed us all! And here I thought your little lecture to Marinette to make her feel bad for being relieved that Chloe was leaving Paris was pretty hard to beat.”

Nino blanched at that. “You did what?” He turned on Adrien. “Dude! You know that happened after Chloe tried to crash that train!”

“She was just trying to prove herself.” Adrien weakly argued.

“PEOPLE were on there!” Nino bit out. “They could have DIED because Chloe was showing off! And you got on to MARINETTE? Where was this attitude with Chloe?”

“I’ve called her out!”

“Yeah, one time.” Alya groused. “AFTER the rest of us had spent the better part of the day cleaning up after HER mess. Which she never apologized for or admitted to doing, by the way.”

“And in response, she threw a party.” Juleka muttered.

“It was a nice party, sure.” Rose added quickly.

Alya though shook her head. “But being a good hostess is nowhere near the same thing as being a good person. And before the night was over, you rolled over for her and she went RIGHT back to acting as she always had.”

“She made Mylene cry.” Ivan glared. “She made Mylene cry and you just laughed.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You said it yourself: ‘she’ll never change’. Except you said that like it was a good thing.”

Marinette looked back and forth between the two, everything inside her screaming at her to help. But she was completely lost on which one she was supposed to help. Because Adrien had a point about what Chloe’s going through but Alya was right about what Chloe did and she needed to do the “right thing” and help Chloe but why did everything Alya say resonate so strongly with her and bring such a feeling of vindication—

No. She was getting distracted. She needed to help. And right now, it was Adrien against the rest of the class.

But Alya was worked up. And Adrien was looking past her to Marinette, eyes begging for help and still so hopeful that she would step in. And Chloe was still in prison and Marinette could fix everything if she just tried so why can’t she try?

“Alya,” Marinette tried. “You told me to give Chloe a chance before after the fire alarm incident, remember? You said we were a lot alike.”

“That was to get you to go to a party!” Alya shouted, making Marinette step back in surprise. “I never meant it like this!”

She stepped forward and took Marinette by the shoulders, holding her sternly.

“Marinette, you are nothing like Chloe! Not where it counts! Yeah, you both can be short sighted when it comes to trying for what you want, but you at least notice and CARE how other people feel! And when you make a mistake, you at least TRY to make it right!”

She shook her head.

“Chloe…doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t try to.” Alix cut in. “If Chloe was feeling sad and lonely, that was pretty much her own fault.”

Adrien looked like he wanted to argue, but Alix didn’t even give him a chance.

“It wasn’t like we left her out. We went well out of our way to try and befriend her. We invited her to things. We tried to help her. Hell, you said it yourself—Marinette has tried to help her more than anybody! And each and every time, Chloe only took what we offered like it was something we owed her but that she was also too good for. I mean, I certainly can’t recall a time she ever thanked me. Can you?” She asked, turning to the other classmates.

All around them, there were murmurs of agreement. Maybe a couple hesitated as they tried to recall a time—one single moment of kindness on Chloe’s part only to come up empty.

“Chloe’s had a hard time.” Adrien insisted. “You know how her parents are—”

“Oh yes, her ‘Daddy the Mayor’.” Alix rolled her eyes. “Like we don’t hear enough about him every time it comes to something Chloe wants. She only threatens us or anyone with him every other day.”

Adrien shook his head and tried to explain. “It’s only because her parents aren’t there for her emotionally.”

“Again, not seeing how this is our problem? Or justification for anything she’s done to us? Or how this excuses her willingly helping a supervillain?”

“Because we’re her classmates!” He argued back, gesturing to all of them. “Out of everyone, we’ve all had the most interactions with her.”

“All of which were negative.” Came a cutting remark, followed by grumbling.

“There were good times, too!” Adrien insisted with a frown. His eyes spanned over the assembled classmates before they came to rest on one in particular. “Kim, you have to have seen Chloe’s good side. You liked her before.”

“Before.” Kim replied, emphasizing the word and the timeframe it referred to. “But being humiliated and her sending out that pic to everyone in school kind of crushed that crush.”

“How did she even have our numbers?” Ivan asked.

“But there had to be something that made you like her in the first place.” Adrien encouraged.

The taller boy shrugged, uncertain and uncaring. “Maybe so, but was it something that was really there? Or something I just wanted to see? Because I’m looking back and quite frankly, I don’t know what past me was thinking.”

“Wow, that’s deep, man.” Nathaniel whispered.

“Thanks!”

Seeing Nathaniel gave Adrien an idea. “Wait, Nathaniel! Didn’t Chloe let you put her in your comic?”

“Forced us to, more like.” The artist bit back. “And even when we tried to fit her, we got nothing but complaints from her. It was no wonder we never got past the initial concept art for her character.”

Adrien winced. “It was an attempt, at least?”

Nathaniel wasn’t buying it. “A poor one.”

“She’s been trying to be better.” Adrien was getting increasingly frustrated. This was not how he was expecting this argument to go. “Rose? What about you? You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

After all, Rose was sweet and caring, always willing to see the good in anyone. Surely she would have something nice about Chloe!

Juleka frowned at him over his focus on her girlfriend and moved to stand beside her. “Don’t push her.”

Still he tried.

“Rose?”

“I’m sorry, Adrien.” Rose said, hugging herself. “But Chloe has done nothing but hurt people. And going out of our way to protect her has only ended up biting us.”

That wasn’t true. Not...all the time at least. There had to have been at least one instance where she did the right thing!

Adrien brightened in realization. “Didn’t she catch you when you fell after being deakumatized during Heroes Day?”

The blonde girl frowned. “Well, yes…but she wasn’t very nice about it. Even though I did the same for her before.”

“Rose, come on…”

She shook her head. “I put myself at risk to help Chloe when she was being chased by zombies, and only got turned into one for my efforts. Chloe never appreciated it. She never thanked me. She didn’t even do anything to help when we were trying to keep her safe!”

“We all ended up kissing zombies because of her.” Alix accused, crossing her arms and looking particularly annoyed. “And not just because she caused the akuma in the first place.”

“Why are you pushing this?” Mylene asked. “We’ve been asked. We said no. Isn’t that enough?”

“But—”

“Adrien, you’ve got a good heart.” Ivan started.

“Easy for him when he’s not the one who has to be on the receiving end of Chloe’s tantrums.” Alix cut in, clearly sounding bitter.

“You’ve got a good heart.” Ivan repeated, sending Alix a look that asked her to back off. “But Chloe…doesn’t.”

Adrien shook his head, remaining insistent. “That’s why she needs help.”

“If she needs help,” Mylene spoke, “It should come from her parents. Her teachers. Any of the adults in her life. She has plenty of adults who are fully capable of helping her. It should not be expected to come from the kids she’s spent years tormenting.”

She gestured to herself and the others around her. “And that’s what she’s been doing: tormenting us.”

“To great joy, might I add.” Max droned.

“She hasn’t been cruel to everyone.” Adrien muttered.

That brought out a backlash of outrage.

“She outted my crush!”

“She insulted Mylene’s cooking and made her cry!”

“She got Aurore akumatized and nearly caused Paris to be incinerated in a volcano!”

“She tried to push Mylene out of the lead role of our movie!”

“She locked Juleka in the restroom!”

Wait...

But that hadn’t been Chloe. She had stayed with the class at the time. The one who did do it was...

He glanced around until he saw her—a redhead in the background behind the rest of the class. She looked anxious and uncomfortable, and almost seemed to be trying to edge around the class to get to the stairs.

Adrien did seem aware. Or rather, he was focused on the fact she was there.

“Sabrina? What about you? Chloe was your friend!”

Of course she would help! Because who better than her own best friend to speak on her behalf?

The rest of the class broke into mutters as they realized the same.

But Sabrina...bit her lip and looked away. Refusing to even meet Adrien’s gaze.

“Sabrina?” Marinette tried, concerned about this reaction. Sabrina had been Chloe’s best friend—or at least the closest thing she could have to a friend. “Minion” or “Servant” would be more accurate. “Slave” would be more honest.

The girl had been Chloe’s only real fan and follower, and had assisted Chloe in some of her worst plots.

Marinette had briefly seen another side to her. A girl who was so desperate for friendship that she latched onto even the slightest bit of kindness and went to the greatest of extremes to appease the “friend” so they wouldn’t leave her. It was no wonder she had fallen in with Chloe—someone like that was perfect for the spoiled girl. Compared to her, Marinette’s anxieties and need to please were nothing.

And Chloe had pretty much been her world for years.

What must she be feeling now?

“Should we really be getting her opinion?” Ivan whispered. “You know how she and Chloe were…”

“Well, if anyone would have anything positive to tell the courts about Chloe, it would be her.” Mylene whispered back.

Sabrina took a breath and spoke quickly—almost shouting in her rush.

“I’m sorry but my therapist said I shouldn’t!”

That got a surprise. The rest of the classmates glanced to each other before looking back to the girl. Adrien in particular looked shell-shocked. Marinette couldn’t blame him. She felt the same.

Sabrina for her part seemed to tense up, as if ready to defend herself from the rest of the class.

Marinette stepped forward. “Sabrina? Are…you okay?”

The other girl shook her head, looking close to tears.

“After word got out what Chloe did, the police had to question me about Chloe. They were able to see that I wasn’t involved, but they…didn’t like what I told them about our relationship. Afterwards, my dad decided to have me see a counselor and she…has been telling me things that I hadn’t really considered.” She curled in on herself. “They all think I should stay away from Chloe and anything directly related to her…for my own health.”

Adrien frowned at that. “But don’t you want to help Chloe?”

Sabrina jumped. “Of course, I do!”

“Hold up, Adrien!” Nino stepped in. “She just said police took her in because of Chloe!”

“But they let her go…”

“It still happened!” Mylene argued. “It doesn’t matter how nice they are, how innocent you know you are, or if you’re released in the end, it’s still terrifying when it happens!”

"And it only happened to her because of Chloe." Alya added.

Rose, in her infinite sweetness, reached out to take Sabrina’s hand in support. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Sabrina sobbed and covered her face. Aside from Rose, no one else really attempted to comfort her. Most of them simply watched her, pitying her current state. But they also remembered how complicit she had been in Chloe’s schemes, so they were conflicted. While they did feel bad for her current situation, there was a part of most of them that noted how she had brought it upon herself by being Chloe‘s lackey for so long, so their sympathy was limited.

Perhaps it was out of awkwardness, or maybe an attempt to give some respect for Sabrina’s privacy that the classmates turned away from her and instead focused on the heart of the argument.

“Man...” Nino tried. “Maybe you should let it go?” Though it was clear from his tone that he knew it wasn’t likely.

Because Adrien had still not given up, it seemed.

He looked around between of the classmates, growing more desperate. But those that remained either looked at him straight on as if daring him to call on them or looked away. A few of them even closed ranks as if to block his view of certain others. It was clear none of them were willing to help him on this.

None of them except…

“Marinette.” He called out, drawing her gaze to him instantly. “You understand, don’t you?”

She bit her lip. “I…”

“Back off, Adrien.” Kim said, giving the other boy an angry frown as he stood in front of her to shield her from his gaze. “It’s not on Marinette to help Chloe.”

“Yeah! She suffered more than any of us!“ Ivan shouted.

“She has been Chloe’s main target for years.” Nathaniel agreed. “She is the last person who is obligated to help Chloe now.“

Adrien winced at the harshness of their words and in their tone. “I just thought that Marinette could help. Like before.”

“Just because she could doesn’t mean she should have had to.” Alya countered. “She’s a teenager. Dealing with Chloe should have been the job of adults. Her parents. Bustier. Damocles. Any one of them should have done something—and if they can’t, the courts will. It’s their job. Not ours.”

“And getting her to help you wouldn’t make a difference anyway even if you had convinced us.” Max said, shifting his glasses. “Chloe helped Hawk Moth. There is nothing we could say that could undo that. And even if we did try, we would either be guilty of committing perjury or aiding in a conspiracy.”

“What?” Adrien jerked in surprise.

“The best we can do is be character witnesses.” Mylene explained. “But this is a court and we can’t claim something that isn’t true! We can’t say anything nice about Chloe when she hasn’t done anything nice!”

Max nodded and shifted his glasses. “Furthermore, our testimonies—even if they were positive—would only serve to create a narrative about Chloe and the type of person she is. They can’t explain away the current evidence against her.”

He rubbed the back of his head. He knew there were issues, but he also knew Chloe. He knew what she could be like. He knew she was a good person deep down. “I know she’s made some mistakes—”

“No.” Alya stated sharply. “Calling them ‘Mistakes’ implies that her actions were unintentional. ‘Mistakes’ implies that people were harmed by accident. ‘Mistakes’ implies that she would have any point learned from them. They weren’t mistakes, Adrien. They were willful acts of cruelty every single time.”

Ivan shook his head, pityingly. “We can’t save Chloe from this. We have nothing to say in her defense. The kindest thing we can do for her is stay silent.”

“She’s better than you think she is. She threw that party once for everyone, remember? You all went.” Adrien reminded them.

“That only proved that she could throw a party and be a good host, not that she could be a good person. There is a difference.” Nathaniel pointed out.

“Not that Chloe could tell.“ Alix sniped.

Adrien ignored the barb. He had given up on getting any of them to listen and now only had eyes for her. His last hope.

“Marinette….come on…please.”

She hesitated.

Everything in her that was Ladybug and her crush on Adrien and her desire to make people happy and take the high road and give second-third-fourth chances wanted nothing more than to give it to him.

Except...

There was a long pause. No one spoke.

The other classmates have had their say. They were letting Marinette have hers. And she knew in that moment that if she spoke up…if she did as Adrien wished and tried to help Chloe…she knew they would go along with her. It may be more out of respect for Marinette than it would be out of any sort of forgiveness for anything Chloe had done, but it would still help Chloe and it would still make Adrien happy.

…and hadn’t Marinette already done that enough?

“Did you know?” Marinette started, not looking at anyone. “I would have been well within my rights to press charges against Chloe?”

Adrien balked at that.

“She’s stolen from me at least three times now.” She shrugged. “I mean, sure, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about my diary since she had Sabrina steal it for her, but she did steal my hat design for a competition and I had proof. I could have pressed charges against Chloe and let her face some consequences…but I didn’t.”

She looked up at Adrien. “I also could have pressed charges for what she did to my gift for Madame Bustier. Since she did break into my locker and vandalize my property while it was still technically mine…but I didn’t.

“Adrien.” She spoke almost in monotone, the only sign of her emotions being how she clenched her fists. “Did you know that after the fashion show, my parents and I took a train to get home?”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

“It was the same train Chloe took control of and nearly caused to crash.”

Several gasps resounded around them. Apparently this had not been common knowledge.

“Even if Chloe could have bought her way out of any consequence for the other things, we all could certainly have had her face some major trouble for that one…” Marinette took a shuddering breath. “But we didn’t.”

Adrien frowned. “I…I see that—”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She cut him off. “Because instead of any of that…rather than hold Chloe accountable at any point, I catered to her. I tried to understand Chloe. I tried to make things nicer for Chloe. I tried to excuse Chloe. Time and again. Just like everyone else. Just like you wanted me to. Just like you’re asking me to now. And what did that get us?”

The more she talked, the more words filled out and she was unable to stop the torrent.

“I defended her from Alya after Madame Bustier was akumatized, and Chloe stole a Miraculous and nearly got my family killed. I helped Chloe bond with her Mom—costing myself any chance at a once in a lifetime opportunity in the process—and Chloe tried to get me banished from Paris just for saying she wasn’t a superhero. I threw Chloe a party to show her some appreciation, and she willingly worked with a supervillain to take over Paris. Just to fuel her ego and because she felt she was owed something that wasn’t hers.”

She tilted her head, considering.

“What is that American saying? Three strikes and you’re out?” Her eyes narrowed. “I have given Chloe more than three chances. I have done nothing BUT give her chances. And clean up after her. And just…try to help her. At no point has she been grateful. At no point did she ever apologize. Or show the slightest bit of remorse for anyone she hurt. Or just…try to do better.”

She stepped forward. Past her classmates. Past Alya, who looked ready to tear into Adrien herself.

“So tell me, Adrien. How much more am I supposed to do? What miracle am I supposed to achieve to help Chloe to be a better person that I haven’t already done?”

“You can just try.” Adrien begged. “Chloe’s alone. She has no one in her corner. You’ve given her chances before! Can’t you find it in your heart to give her another chance this time?”

“Why haven’t you?” Alya demanded.

Adrien drew back in surprise at that.

But the girl wasn’t letting him off. “If you’re so certain Chloe is the victim in all this, then why aren’t you stepping up to help her? Why are you pushing Marinette and the rest of us to do it?”

Alya wrapped an arm around Marinette in support. “If you truly believe Chloe has some sort of inner goodness that only needs the right person to bring it out, then it’s pretty clear Marinette is just not that person. She’s tried enough.”

Alix nodded. “I’m pretty sure she could’ve demolished a brick wall with how many time she’s banged her head against it by this point trying to drag a decent person out of Chloe.”

Others in the class also nodded and gave sounds of agreement to that.

Adrien frowned, lowering his head despondently. “I’m just one person. There’s only so much weight my word will have. I just...I just want to give her the best chance.”

“That’s nice for Chloe, I guess.” Kim muttered. “But not much for us.”

Adrien looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Alya stepped forward, releasing Marinette in the process. “Adrien, why should we as Chloe’s victims have to help protect her? That’s the thing we’re not getting here. WE are the ones she hurt. WE are the ones she betrayed to Hawk Moth. So why are WE supposed to try and save her from her own consequences? Why are you wanting us to?”

Adrien hesitated.

“Can you even imagine what it was like? Being frozen in time. Unable to move or speak? Only able to hear her voice in your head? Feeling your body respond as she’s calling you and being unable to stop?” She clutched her arms, as if trying to hug herself. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was knowing what she was doing to us but being completely unable to stop it? How humiliating it was when she had us bowing to her and calling her our Queen? And then…” She took a breath. “She made us fight our heroes. Ladybug and Chat Noir trusted us to help them and we used the Miraculous they entrusted to us to try and kill them.”

“We were just lucky that they were able to turn the tables on us.” Kim muttered. “I don’t even want to know what would have happened if we had won.”

“Luka still has nightmares.” Juleka whispered. “He won’t talk about it, but he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks.”

Marinette winced. She hadn’t even considered that everyone else could be suffering ramifications of Miracle Queen as well.

“We could have killed them.” Max stated. “Given the nature of the Snake Miraculous’s power, we very well could have more than once for all we know.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have killed them?” Rose suggested, trying to be positive. “I mean, Chloe wanted all of the Miraculous, right? She probably wanted them as her servants as well.”

Max glared. “I’m pretty sure I attempted to send Chat Noir into space. Even a Miraculous can’t protect someone from that.”

Adrien tried not to wince at the memory. How he managed to even move enough to activate the Miraculous, he still wasn’t sure.

“We fought against them. We never wanted to, but we did.” Alya bit out. “Not even because of Hawk Moth this time, but because of Chloe. And now you are wanting us to just…overlook the trauma of the whole thing to help Chloe after what she did. For something she hasn’t shown even the slightest remorse for.”

She shook her head.

“I know you’re nice, Adrien. But this level of kindness is a cruelty.”

He winced. And it looked like he wanted to argue. But he just…wilted.

“I just…it feels harsh. What’s happening to her. The amount of hate she’s getting. That her entire life could be over.”

That was true. While they felt her current status was well deserved, it was a harsh sentence for anyone. Especially a teenager.

Nathaniel sighed. “Adrien, it is harsh. Maybe cruel. But fact is that she still brought on herself.”

“Isn’t that just victim-blaming though?” Adrien countered, frustrated now. “I mean, Hawk Moth manipulated her! How was that her fault? He’s the one who did it. She was…” He clenched his fists in anger. “Chloe is a victim.”

“No, we are the victims.” Alya insisted, gesturing to herself and the other revealed former heroes. “We were the ones used to fight our heroes. We were the ones who had our identities revealed to the world against our will. And now we are the ones having to live with the results of Chloe‘s choices, just like we always are.“

Adrien looked ready to argue. And maybe he would have, except...

Nino rested a hand on Adrien’s shoulder.

“Adrien. Dude. Just stop. We have enough to deal with and this…this isn’t helping.”

Adrien frowned at that, concerned by his friend’s attitude. “Nino?”

Nino lowered his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Really, I was trying not to think about it. But my parents are currently talking with police about their options. Now that I’ve been exposed as one of the temporary heroes, they’re questioning if it’s not safe for us at home anymore. There is a chance of us having to go into protective custody.”

Alya winced at that, drawing attention to her. “My parents have been talking as well. My mom quit her job. She said she doesn’t want to work for someone who would let their daughter do such a thing and put me in danger. She’s looking at drawing me out of school since it was pretty much Chloe‘s base of operations. And since Chloe is the Mayor’s daughter…and Hawk Moth…and just…everything?” She looked away, clearly anxious.

“There’s a chance we may have to move out of Paris altogether.”

Marinette gasped.

Alya looked to the other girl, sad and guilty all in one. “I’m sorry, girl. I guess I’ve been hoping it wouldn’t be an issue. I’ve been trying to talk them out of it, but it’s hard given everything that happened. Currently, the only reason they’re willing to stay is to see through to the end of the trial. But after that…” She shrugged, shaking her head uncertainly. “Who can say?”

“No…” Adrien whispered in shock.

The others in class came closer around her, trying to offer some comfort and reassurances—what little they could give, at least. This was a situation that was clearly beyond them. Marinette herself hugged Alya tightly for all she was worth, and the other girl held her back just as much, neither wanting to be parted.

Adrien, however, remained on the outside looking in. Watching the people Chloe had tormented even before Miracle Queen and realizing just how badly they’ve been hurt by this. It hit him then—for what was perhaps the first time just how much pain Chloe had caused his friends. And how unfair he had been to expect them to simply deal with it.

He stayed the lone person outside of the circle. By this point, did he really deserve to join in the comfort? To try to be the one to give comfort? After what he had tried to push on them all?

After minutes passed, they were finally able to draw away from each other.

“I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner.” Alya told Marinette. “I guess I was just hoping…y’know…that it wasn’t real. Or that it would go away and things would work out on their own.”

Marinette smiled. “No, I understand.”

And she did. That’s exactly what she herself had been doing for the past few weeks as well. Trying to deal with things without really dealing with them. Working without acknowledging just what it all meant because she was scared she would break down and that would be just one more thing Hawk Moth would have won because of this whole mess.

“I was kind of the same way.” She admitted, and it felt like a slight relief to be able to say aloud to someone. “I’m sorry I couldn’t talk to you about it.”

She still couldn’t, unfortunately. Not about Ladybug and the kwamis and the Miracle Box.

But…she could talk about Fu. How she lost him. How she feels. She could help support Alya and her classmates and be there for them in the meantime.

She…hadn’t lost everything.

Not yet.

And that was the scary thing…

Adrien gaped at the group. He had thought the trauma was bad enough, and that at least could be worked through. But this...

“I’m sorry. I...I didn’t even realize...”

“Adrien, what Chloe did put a major target on our backs.” Alya explained. “Nobody knows how we became heroes, or that Ladybug was the one to specifically choose us and give us the miraculous to use. Nobody knows WHY we were chosen. It’s not just Hawk Moth, any regular criminal can come after us now in an attempt to get a hold of that power. And we can’t exactly protect ourselves.”

She shrugged helplessly.

“We kind of have enough to worry about with the fallout of Chloe‘s actions. And now you want us to try and protect Chloe on top of that?“

Seeing it now, in this light...it was cruel. It was cruel and unfair and hurtful, and Marinette felt horrible for considering letting herself be talked into it.

Adrien himself felt horrible for even suggesting it.

“We all have to live with the consequences of Chloe’s choices.” Alya stated. “So why shouldn’t she?”

Silence followed. It practically echoed throughout the entire hallway.

He said nothing in response. What could he possibly say? He’d known that Chloe was…difficult with other people, to say the least. He’d known the type of person she was. But she was his friend and friends forgive and support each other, right?

But they were right as well. It wasn’t fair to expect them to help Chloe after what she did. Especially once he knew of the level of harm she’d caused them. He felt the horror trickle in. The trauma everyone felt. The knowledge of what they’d been forced to do. The fact that…

He suddenly found it harder to breathe.

Nino could leave.

Adrien could lose his best friend because of this.

And who knew how many of the others would be forced to leave as well. Aside from Nino; Kim, Max, Alya, and Luka were other heroes as well. Juleka was Luka’s sister. And how many of the other classmates might be pulled out of this class and school because it’s unsafe? And Kagami—oh god, she was outted as well. He hadn’t heard from her in a while. Her mother is probably furious. She could move back to Japan because of this. And Marinette…she had been lucky to not be caught up in that fight since she was a hero only the one time, but that could have been just one more thing Chloe ruined for her…

…what about himself?

He paled.

He was longtime friends with Chloe. Went to school with Chloe. Was in class with Chloe. Chloe, who was currently getting a lot of heat from all of Paris. How was his Father going to react to that? The man was always focused on the company and appearances…what would he do now that Chloe had fallen from grace in such a way? Would he forbid Adrien from talking to Chloe again? Would he pull Adrien from school?

…would he ban Adrien from leaving the house altogether?

How was he only just now considering the impact? For himself or anyone else? Of course people would be hurt. Of course they would be upset. Of course people would respond. Somehow, he knew that, and yet he had only been focused on Chloe that it hadn’t actually hit home until now…

And in that light…

It had been selfish to ask. Honestly, he’d known that when he first tried to approach Marinette. But he felt he had to try. Honestly, part of him had known better than to ask in the first place. But at the same time…there was a part of him that still believed things could just go back to “normal”.

…how foolish. That was a “normal” that nobody else wanted. And even more, it was one that was now impossible…all because of Chloe herself.

“I just wanted to help.”

He deflated, losing all remaining fight.

“I’m sorry.”

The classmates glanced between each other. There was much they could have said, but really, anything they could have said already had been. And with him seeming resigned, it appeared there was no longer a need to defend themselves.

Marinette—ever the mediator, stepped up and hugged Adrien.

“Adrien, this isn’t something you can help with. None of us can. What happens in the trial is up to the courts. And what happens to Chloe is up to her.”

Slowly, he reached up and hugged her as well. The warmth and comfort brought some limited solace in this situation. He felt lost. Out of control. Like the world was moving around him and he didn’t know where he was standing much less where he was supposed to be.

They weren’t ready to forgive Chloe. And he couldn’t force them to be. Given the circumstances, he couldn’t blame them. And it was really unfair of him to try. Especially…

“I’m sorry, Marinette.” He whispered to her.

He had tried to use her. Looking back, he had a bit of a tendency to rely on Marinette to fix things when she shouldn’t have had to. Especially when it was for Chloe’s sake. He knew plenty of times Chloe had done things…but he always seemed to overlook how hurt Marinette was because of it, simply due to how well she always appeared afterwards. She was strong and confident, but also a good listener and willing to forgive. It was like nothing really brought her down.

It was due to this that Marinette was often the one he turned to whenever things happened. Because she would listen. She would understand. And she would always try to help, regardless of her position.

In this light…he may have over relied on her too much.

“I wasn’t fair to you.” He admitted. “I just saw Chloe hurting and only thought about how to fix things for her. I didn’t consider your feelings.” He hugged her more strongly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t speak. But she squeezed him back.

He felt another body press against him. A quick glance showed it to be Nino.

“I’m still super mad with her. And I don’t like how you tried to push us to defend her after what she did. But I get that she’s your friend and you care about her. I’d do the same if it were you in her place.” He gave a small laugh. “Not that I think you ever would, of course.”

Adrien smiled back. “Thanks.”

This…this felt much better.

Things weren’t okay right now. He still wanted to help Chloe. His classmates were still hurt. People were still angry. Hawk Moth was still out there.

But whatever happened...in this moment, he felt they could make it.

#ml fic #chloe salt #miracle queen #marinette dupain cheng #marinette defense squad #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #adrien salt

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caffeinatedseri · 4 years ago

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Murakami and Ranpo

Some minor spoilers ahead for the third BSD LN, The Untold Story of the Founding of the Detective Agency." If you aren't concerned with spoilers, I did my best with summarizing the plot for anyone who hasn't read the novel.

In the third BSD LN, Fukuzawa and Ranpo are tasked with finding the culprit of an ominous death threat at a theatrical play. The threat is written as follows:

“An angel shall bring death, in the truest sense of the word, to the performer. —V.”

This threat fits perfectly with the play, which is a mystery play where each character gets killed by an "angel" who murders. However, the characters don't know if they're being killed by an angel or a regular person, because there's nothing supernatural about their causes of death (getting stabbed by a knife, poison, strangulation, etc.).

Each character was a former angel who had been banished from the celestial world, because they admired humans so much that God turned them into humans. Therefore, the characters in the play believed that an angel was sent after them to punish them for their sins.

This sets up two mysteries for us to follow:

1. The mystery of the real death threat, sent by "V" — who is the culprit behind it, who will they kill, and why?

2. The mystery within the play — is it an angel or real person killing each character, and why?

Paradoxes (and Things That Don't Make Sense)

The play is called, "The Living World is a Dream, the Nocturnal Dream is Reality," which is a quote from the real Edogawa Ranpo's work, but I couldn't find the exact source. The title proposes a paradox: reality is a dream, and dreams are reality.

Several other paradoxes present themselves in the story, but they appear most prominently in Ranpo's big speech where he solves the mystery of the play, and the murder simultaneously:

“The murder and the play’s story are connected on a deep level. This play reversed the tide of the narrative. A group of fallen angels tried to return to the heavens, but the angel of judgment tried to stop them. Meanwhile, the angel’s judgment was but a show, and the supposed victim, a human, faked it. The angel’s and humans’ roles were reversed, switching the judge and the judged. That’s the kind of play this was. "

"...the narrative is in reverse. Our structures have been swapped along with the victim and killer as well. In other words—he isn’t the killer, but a victim."

This reveal subverts the original expectation that the plot would follow two separate mysteries. Instead, the lines are blurred between reality and fiction, killer and killed, and dreams and reality because now the two mysteries are intertwined.

I think this part of the story is deliberately written to be confusing (or at least not very clearly explained) as to fit in with the themes found in Murakami's writing.

Who is Murakami?

Haruki Murakami is a famous Japanese author, and you may have read some of his famous works, "Norwegian Wood" and "Kafka on the Shore."

Since this is Bungou (Literary) Stray Dogs, Murakami makes an appearance in this light novel as the main actor of the play.

Before I go on to explain Murakami's role in the novel, I'll give a brief background on his real counterpart and explain how the theatrical play in the novel reflects the real Murakami's work.

Murakami writes in the genre of "magical realism", where the lines between fantasy and reality are blurred as magical elements are seamlessly incorporated into the story. I'll be using "Kafka on the Shore" as the main example for this point, since it's a great example of Murakami's expertise in magical realism.

In "Kafka on the Shore," there are 2 interrelated plot lines, alternating with each chapter, similar to the 2 supposed mysteries outlined at the beginning of the novel.

Like its moniker, "Kafka on the Shore" resembles a "Kafkaesque" style of writing due to its surreal elements that are bizarre and illogical in the rules of reality.

In an interview about this novel, Murakami said:

"Kafka on the Shore contains several riddles, but there aren't any solutions provided. Instead, several of these riddles combine, and through their interaction the possibility of a solution takes shape. And the form this solution takes will be different for each reader. To put it another way, the riddles function as part of the solution. It's hard to explain, but that's the kind of novel I set out to write."

The Outcome of the Play

In theme with Murakami's bizarre, magical-realism writings, several illogical events take place within the span of the LN:

1. Before the play even starts, Murakami (the character) and the rest of the cast completely disregard the death threat. Even though the logical and safe solution would be to reschedule the play, it is a very literal representation of "the play must go on" mindset.

2. Murakami gets stabbed mid-sentence, on stage by a white blade that magically disappears.

3. Murakami bleeds real blood and has no pulse, which would signify his death, but he doesn't actually die.

Despite all this, Ranpo is extremely good at observing various elements of a situation and putting them together to form a solution, much like how the interactions of "Kafka on the Shore"'s riddles form their own solution.

Ranpo appears on stage and makes an Oscar-worthy performance out of his announcement that reveals Murakami to be the culprit behind his own death. It doesn't make much logical sense that Murakami would fake his own death for a performance, but rather it's an action motivated by pure passion.

“I…,” muttered Murakami in almost a whisper. He raised his voice and continued, “I am an actor! I become someone I am not and live a life that doesn’t exist! My job is to expose what it means to be human! It doesn’t matter if I play the lead part or a minor part. It doesn’t matter if I am a villain or hero. I become them with every part of my body! There is no other job for me! This is the only way I can live!”

And here, Murakami reveals the final paradox of the play:

"But there is one thing that cannot be avoided while acting on the stage of life, and that is death! Death is not the opposite of life; it is life’s symbol and banner. However, it also provides a great paradox! Nobody alive has ever experienced it! That’s why to me, the greatest job of all would be performing the death of a person. Not death as a device or a mere convention, but real death that I could convey to the audience. That was the pinnacle of theatrical performance to me. And this is the outcome of my toil."

Murakami eventually gets arrested for the fake death threat and deceiving the police, among other things. The most notable moment after this comes in Ranpo's dialogue to Murakami:

“I thought you were amazing,” Ranpo suddenly said from behind as Murakami was being taken away. “I didn’t quite understand all of it myself, but I don’t think it’s something that just anyone could do. By the way, take a look at the audience. Look at their faces.”

1. Ranpo sees Murakami's act as something admirable, most likely because Ranpo appreciates a good mystery and had fun solving it.

2. Ranpo tells Murakami to look at the audience, to which he turns around and sees the faces of a broken audience who came to watch a play and instead witnessed a real not-so-real murder.

“You said your job was entertainment, right? But could you really call it that…when you look at their expressions?” For the first time, Murakami’s eyes showed a sign of weakness. “…I see.” A small voice, unlike what one would expect from a stage actor with a powerful voice, fell from the stage. “I was…only performing for myself.”

Murakami realizes that he traumatized his entire audience on his quest to reach the "pinnacle of theatrical performance." In his small world that consisted of just the stage, he failed to see the outside world and forgot to consider how his actions would impact others. It's also important to mention that it was Ranpo specifically who pointed it out to him.

The focus on the audience mirrors Fukuzawa's thoughts when Ranpo was giving his big speech before Murakami appeared on the stage:

Fukuzawa was at his wits’ end. From the playgoers’ point of view, the fact that people knew there was going to be a murder beforehand completely changed their view of the situation. Was it really okay to tell them that? But Ranpo showed no concern for the audience’s worries.

Ranpo, throughout the entire novel, is portrayed as this extraordinarily ordinary kid who means well but simply doesn't understand what others are thinking. He was taught that he wasn't special, but this only isolated him into his own tiny world, because the outside world was filled with things he didn't understand.

This leads to him upsetting a bunch of people by blatantly calling out things about them that shouldn't be called out, like the theater's owner Ms. Egawa, and even Fukuzawa at one point.

However, this moment when he calls out Murakami is pivotal because it shows how he's grown from this event. He's learned to be considerate of others. He's seen how he can upset other people with the things he says, and he's learned from that enough to show another person who's trapped in their own individual world.

Although Ranpo is depicted to be somewhat self-centered throughout this novel and even after it, Fukuzawa taught him that he isn't alone in this world. Because Fukuzawa showed compassion to Ranpo, a special fifteen-year-old kid who didn't know better in a world of monsters, Ranpo learned how to exist in a world where he was different from everyone else, and that was okay.

Thank you for reading! If you haven't read this LN yet, I would still highly recommend it because I didn't cover the entirety of the mystery, and it's a wonderful read to understand more about Ranpo and Fukuzawa's backstory.

#bsd #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd ranpo #murakami #bsd light novel #i actually read the LN a while ago #but didn't realize murakami was in it until i finished kafka on the shore

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years ago

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coping mechanisms : a.h

everyone has their ways of coping with traumatic events, but it’s finally time you faced yours. (2.5K)

m y e t s y s h o p

also pls don’t steal my work or share it without crediting, it takes a lot of time and effort to write these!

Sitting on the jet, you were abnormally quiet. Usually, the team couldn’t get you and Spencer to stop talking about anything and everything. Yet today, a strange silence loomed over you as Spencer rambled on about statistics, whilst Hotch tried to catch gaze from across the table that everyone besides you noticed.

“You know, based on Greek mythology, Ares is the God of War, son of Hera and Zeus and is one of the twelve Olympians. He’s also the equivalent of Mars in Roman mythology.” Spencer finishes his explanation with a small smile towards the team as your eyes remain fixated on the case file in front of you, something that didn’t go amiss by Hotch.

“So, this unsub thinks of himself as a God?” JJ questions as she scrolls through the various photos on her tablet of the nine victims so far.

“Each one has a new symbol on them, you see, on their wrists?” You finally speak up to everyone’s surprise. “Spence, are these symbols correlating to the other eleven Olympians?” You ask, focusing on your best friends gaze as his smile meets his eyes.

Taking in all of the images, Spencer nods. “It looks that way, but this one here, the sun which would symbolise Apollo, the God of archery, music, dance, healing diseases, truth and prophecy, and more recognisably sun and light. But it isn’t quite complete, looks as if the unsub was interrupted.” Spencer explains, watching as your interest quickly declines, and you lean back into your seat.

“Maybe there will be some security footage outside of the bar leading toward the alleyway the victim was found.” Hotch states, closing his case file as the jet begins to descend. “Morgan, I want you and JJ to go to the ME’s office, see if the symbols all correlate and any other marks that may be on the victims. Rossi, you and Reid go to the crime scene where Olivia Collins was found, see if anyone in the area saw anything. Y/n, you and I will go to the station.” Hotch tries to see if you’ll even focus on him, but you’ve retreated into yourself, shut down.

Eventually, you nod along with everyone else, unaware of the concern etched in Hotch’s hardened expression as you close your eyes, rubbing your temple as you lean against the window.

“Agent Hotchner?” A man walks over to you and Hotch, holding his hand out. “Officer Richards, a pleasure to meet you.”

“This is SSA Y/L/N, where would you like us to set up?” Hotch asks as you follow behind him to a free room, passing the blur of noise of phone calls and officers talking. “Y/n?” Hotch calls out your name, snapping out of your daze.

“Sorry,” You apologise, feeling the heat rising through your cheeks as Hotch hums to himself.

“Is something wrong, Y/n?” Hotch questions as he sits down beside you in the private office, his hands resting on the table. “If there is, you can tell me, especially if it affects your ability to work on the case.” Hotch tells you, his voice softer as your eyes grow heavy once more as you hide your hands in your lap.

“I don’t know Hotch,” You sigh. “and that’s the issue.”

Rising to his feet, Hotch closes the door to the room, shutting out the noise from the rest of the station as he returns to his seat beside you. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you? You seemed jittery on the jet.” Hotch states, not even needing you to agree with him.

“I just,” You struggle to form the correct words as you focus on your boss who looks back at you with a gentle expression. “I’m not feeling like myself, Hotch. And I just, I don’t know what to do about it anymore.”

Silence falls over you both as you play with the hem of your shirt, not wanting to face your bosses reaction. “Is it related to Utah?” Hotch watches as you tense at the mention of it. “If it is, you’re still entitled to see someone about it, Y/n.”

“But it was months ago, Hotch.” You comment quickly. “I should be over it, I moved on, I got better.” You explain. “So why is it now coming back to haunt me?” You exhale deeply.

“What happened to you in Utah isn’t something you can just walk away from, Y/n. You were captured and beaten, held at gunpoint in front of all of us to watch.” Hotch pauses as tears form in your eyes, one escaping as it glides across your cheek.

It was a sight Hotch will never be able to forget. He was the first one to find you in that building as you lay on the ground too weak to move. You were muttering nonsense as you screamed in pain when he tried to help you to your feet.

You were gone for three weeks, and in that time you were filmed being tortured and threatened to be killed whilst your team watched on a live stream. Hotch had never felt so useless since Hayley had died, and he didn’t dare want to risk losing you too, even if he had never said anything about how he felt.

“I know, I just want to forget about it.” You admit, wiping your eyes quickly with the cuff of your sleeve. “I have to.” You forcefully state before reaching over for the case files, but Hotch places his hand on the file, stopping you from taking it.

“Y/n,” Hotch starts with his authoritative tone. “you need to speak to someone when the case is over, and that’s an order.”

“I will, Hotch.” You force a small smile, taking the file and delving in deeper to the evidence that’s been collected so far.

“I’m saying that as your boss, and, and as a friend, okay?” Hotch adds softly, witnessing your forced smile soften into something genuine, even if it were for a split second, it returned.

You were getting closer, four more bodies had been found with the symbols of Hermes, Ares, Posideon and Hades carved into their wrists.

“What if the unsub knows we’re onto him? And this is his endgame now?” JJ suggests.

“But he hasn’t finished all twelve.” You state bluntly, ignoring the look on JJ’s face as you rise to your feet and look over the victim pool once more.

“Maybe that doesn’t matter to him.” Hotch comments, stepping toward you as he stands by your side, his back turned to everyone else. “Keep level, Y/L/N.” He mutters to you, a shudder going through your body as Hotch averts his attention back to the rest of the team. “Each of his victims has been associated in some way with each Olympian. Maybe he doesn’t have all twelve in the first place.”

“He’s halfway through the twelve though, why stop now?” Emily speaks up as Garcia interrupts and appears on the screen.

“Good afternoon my favourite crime fighters. I’ve discovered something that I think might help with your suspect pool.” Garcia states brightly. “It looks as if the victims were all part of the same after school club in High School. All from different friend groups and societies, but they all attended the Greek mythology club at Preston State.”

“How many others were involved in this group, baby girl?” Morgan asks, leaning forward as you listen to the sound of Garcia typing becoming further and further away.

“Four others. There’s Hayden Lewis who is currently serving seven months in jail for possession of drugs, Jordan Littlewood, she moved upstate to Michigan last year, Elise Harding and oh,” Garcia pauses, and you zone back into the room as you reach for the back of a chair to support yourself on.

“What?” JJ enquiries as Penelope pushes her glasses back up her nose, focusing on the camera.

“When the group was in school, there was a fire in the same block that the club was held in. It says that six students and one teacher were killed in the accident, including Greek mythology club member, Timothy Cardel.” Garcia sadly sighs.

“What time of day did the fire occur Garcia?” Spencer leans forward in his chair, and you can see the cogs whirring behind his eyes.

“Erm,” Garcia hums to herself until she clicks on something. “3:35 pm on a Tuesday.”

“What’re you thinking, Reid?” Hotch focuses on Spencer as you take a seat, catching Hotches eye for a split second before Spencer starts to explain his thought process.

“Most school clubs happen after school, meaning there’s a high possibility the Greek mythology club was held on a Tuesday after school, and all the members were there when the fire happened. If school finishes at 3, then they would’ve all been in that building when the fire started.” Spencer explains, and you nod along.

“Meaning Timothy got left behind.” You state coldly, all eyes turning to you.

“I think we’re ready to deliver the profile,” Hotch announces as he rises to his feet, the rest of you following suit.

Fastening the velcro around your vest, you place your gun into its holster, unaware of Hotch hovering by the doorway as you exit.

“Y/n,” Catching you by surprise, you jump before glaring to Hotch. “sorry,” He tries to sound sincere, but a small smile creeps into his face as you relax beside him. “are you sure you want to do this? It might be best if you stay at the station.” Hotch suggests in a low tone.

“No,” You respond too quickly. “I, I want to come. I’m fine, really.” You add, nodding to yourself as you walk on, but Hotch reaches for your arm, pulling you back.

Your eyes focus on his hand resting on your arm, and quickly Hotch removes his hand from your arm. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” He tells you sincerely, something you’ve heard countless times, but something about this seems different. No one else in the team is around, they’re all outside waiting for you both.

“I won’t.” You mutter in response, moving aside from Hotch as you exit the building, thankful for some fresh air as your vest is starting to feel constrictive.

Upon arriving at the unsubs house, you’re already feeling the humidity getting to you worse than it had been the entire time you’d been in the city. Spencer joked when the jet landed that you’ll get used to it, that fewer layers were key and Garcia would’ve loved a chance to see Morgan in fewer layers; but this was far from pleasant.

As you all filed out, guns at the ready Morgan followed behind Hotch whilst you’re on the tail end of the team.

You were unintentionally squinting as you listen to the sound of Morgan kicking the front door in as Hotch’s firm voice fills your ears.

“Y/n?” Snapping out from the blurred house, three versions of Spencer takes over your peripheral. “Hey, let’s sit down, okay?” Spencer speaks quietly, delicately as he reaches out to take a hold of your arm, but you jolt away.

“Get off me.” You snap, walking past him as your vision only worsens and the humidity seeps through your clothing, itching your skin as each step feels weighted until you reach the steps of the house.

Hotch emerges behind JJ and Morgan as they hold the unsub, passing you quickly, hiding their concerned looks.

“Y/L/N?” Hotch steps closer, capturing a glimpse of panic in your eyes just as you pass out as your head hits the pavement.

Cold coffee and stale doughnuts. The well worn in fabric beneath you had a spring sticking out, jabbing against your left thigh. You were back in the station. But what was more surprising was the hushed sound of a conversation ending between two of your colleagues whilst your eyes remained closed.

“Do you think you’ll ever tell her?” Rossi mutters as he averts his gaze from your ‘sleeping’ form to Hotch, who is unable to take his eyes from you for a single second.

“I’m not sure, Dave.” Hotch admits, wanting to reach out and brush the stray hairs out of your face, but he doesn’t want to risk waking you up, not yet at least. “Maybe someday, but not today.”

Rossi tuts to himself. “You’re letting all the good ones slip out of your grasp, Aaron,” Rossi comments. “and you know how much Jack loves her.”

The mention of Jack causes your heart to swell, and it takes everything for you to not smile as you gain consciousness.

“He’s not the only one,” Hotch adds, just as a yawn escapes your lips and you begin to open your eyes.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Rossi speaks up, rising to his feet whilst Hotch stays glued to his chair beside you.

Slowly, you try to sit upright but Hotch leans forward, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “I’d just stay lying for a while if I were you.” Hotch suggests as you nod along, forcing yourself back down.

“I’ll go check on the others, let them know you’re alright.” Rossi excuses himself, leaving a heavy silence over you and Hotch.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?” Hotch asks, his stern gaze concentrated on the exhaustion in yours.

“No time like the present.” You force a laugh, ignoring Hotch’s prior suggestion and sit upright as a slight pang crosses your temples. “I’m going to take some leave when we get back to Quantico.” You tell Hotch, watching as he nods.

“I think it’s for the best, Y/L/N.” He responds, catching the sight of your leg bouncing for a moment before you rest your hand on your thigh, forcing it to remain still.

“I know I’m due for a lecture, and a debriefing about the mission,” You hold back the urge to sigh, but Hotch beats you to it as a heavy sigh leaves his lips, causing you to smile.

The sight of a smile crossing your face is too contagious at the moment between you both. “We can talk more when we’re back. For now, I think it’s best if we just got you home in one piece.” Hotch stands up and hovers beside you, his arm extended as you gratefully accept.

“Thanks, Hotch.” You smile softly up to him as you exit the sheriff's office and near the rest of your team.

After a series of short questions, you’re all heading towards the jet.

“I couldn’t be happier to go home.” JJ sighs as she rests her head in her hand, looking out at the city as you near the airport.

Sitting beside Hotch in the passenger seat, your eyes glance over to him. “Me too,” You reply, a smile gracing your lips, knowing there’s more yet to be discussed with Hotch, including what he said before you fully woke up. “me too.”

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digitalworldbound · 3 years ago

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takari w.i.p

hi! it’s been forever, i know, but i’ve just graduated college! i’ve been loosely working on a short takari fic centered around the language of flowers and such. i feel like hikari loves flowers and takeru loves giving them to her? it will have six little parts, but i only have the first two half-way finished. anyways, here is a snippet (pls be gentle, i haven’t edited it yet):

Five Times Takeru gave Hikari Flowers, and the One Time she Returned the Favor

The Beginning

“You know, Takeru,” his mother began one day, a hot summer breeze floating through the window. Their new apartment was bare, her voice bouncing off the empty walls. Takeru, legs dangling off of the kitchen counter, trailed his eyes on his mother as she meticulously arranged flowers into the perfect formation. “Every woman loves flowers.”

The blond nodded, pretending to understand. Though he was a bright boy, there were many concepts he had yet to wrap his mind around. If only Yamato were here, Takeru thought.

Sensing her son’s disinterest, Takeru’s mother tried another approach. “Flowers have their own language.” Her fingers diligently arranged the blossoms, hesitating only to admire her son’s wide eyes/

“What do you mean, mommy? How can they talk if they don’t have mouths?” Takeru hopped down from his perch, cautiously approaching his mother’s newest bouquet. While a daisy was become victim to the young boy’s scrutinizing gaze, Nancy laughed. For a boy of only six, Takeru was very serious. “No, baby, they don’t have mouths.” Her giggles continued at her son’s disbelieving stare. “The different flowers have meanings, sweetheart.”

Takeru hesitated, eyeing the stem in between his fingers warily. “What about this one, then?” The once pristine white petals had dropped with the boy’s investigation. Nancy crouched beside Takeru, gingerly taking the blossom from his grasp. “Well, my love, daisies symbolize hope.”

Daisies – Innocence, Hope

Peonies – Bashful, Happiness

Lilacs – Joy of Youth

Wood logs crackled underneath a flame, the glow illuminating the dirty faces of children. Takeru had hoped that finding the eighth Chosen would put the rest of the group at east but going home had caused more problems than he had thought. Yamato was upset, confused, and alone. Meanwhile, Takeru was sat between Taichi and Koushiro, enjoying the hum of the digital crickets. Across from him was Sora, arm wrapped around a shivering Hikari. Gatomon set several feet away, diligently cleaning meat from fish bones.

The campfire chatter had dwindled into the faint snores of their Digimon partners, the air seeming heavy without his brother’s smooth harmonica music. Koushiro and Taichi huddled around a laptop screen, discussing things in a series of whispers. Takeru stood up, stirring Patamon from his slumber. Picking his partner up in his arms, Takeru made his way towards the girls.

A breeze whistled through a field of flowers as Hikari gazed curiously at the boy with the green hat.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully, his toothy grin putting the younger girl at ease. “My name is Takeru. What’s yours?” A warmth spread to his cheeks. He already knew her name, hearing her brother scream for her during the battle with Myotismon, but that wasn’t the same as her telling him herself. His mother always told him that first impressions were the only impression a person gets. It was embarrassing to think that they had only known each other for two minutes before he burst into tears.

“I’m Hikari,” she answered simply, her dark eyes reflecting the dancing flames. He stood beside her, arranging Patamon comfortably on the ground once more. A chilled breeze danced through the trees, stray flower petals dancing around their small group.

Hikari’s shoulders were tense, dark shadows emphasizing her eyes. Though she had only been with them for a day, she had witnessed the group at the absolute best and terrifying worst. Her entire body had been overtaken by a mysterious entity; her brother attacked by his best friend. Yet, her cheeks lacked any tear-tracks.

“You’re really brave, you know?” Takeru looked earnestly in her eyes. There would be no way he could stand in the face of an evil vampire, composed and fierce as she was. Knees tucked close to her chest, Hikari looked small in the firelight. Dirt streaked her face, her hair knotted from her semi-possessed state. Her shoulders shrugged as if she didn’t believe him. “Well,” he continued “When I first came to the Digital World, all I did was cry. I was scared of everything. Even with Puppetmon, I was shaking like a leaf.” From the ground, Patamon nodded solemnly.

Fire crackled, bright ashes decorating the air like miniature fireworks. A voice, barely above the volume of a whisper, floated through his ears. “Why did you cry? Was it that terrible?” Hikari’s eyes remained focused on the campfire, but her body leaned in his direction.

“It wasn’t terrible at all! It was fun when we were all together; I think I was confused. My brother was with me for the first time in forever, but he was so angry. Then, monsters started attacking us and everything just got all jumbled. You didn’t even have time to prepare for any of this, but you had to fight the worst monster yet. You didn’t even cry! You’re like a Power Ranger or something.”

Hikari giggled, her eyes settling on Takeru’s face for a second. Flower petals had woven themselves through her knotted strands, giving Sora plenty to fret over. With the older girl focused on tidying up their newest member and Patamon snoring lightly, Takeru let his gaze wander to the stretch of land beside them. The field of flowers was untouched, stems standing proudly. Careful not to disturb his sleeping partner, Takeru made his way towards the blossoms. It had felt like an eternity had passed since he talked to his mother about the language of flowers, but he did his best to recall.

Waist deep in a field of fresh blooms, Takeru gathered the prettiest ones. Hikari’s eyes had followed his form, but he did not divert his attention. If his mother was right, all girls loved flowers, and he was sure Hikari would be no different. The flowers smelled sweet, their scent tousling his blond locks.

Though only a few minutes passed, the fire was low by the time he returned. Koushiro had tucked himself into a sleeping bag, laptop secured underneath his arm. Sora busied herself with cleaning up their mess. Fish bones and various twigs were tossed into the pit, the fire dancing in response. Taichi perched himself underneath a nearby tree, Agumon sitting faithfully beside him. Looking around, he found Hikari not far from her brother.

Hair combed, she looked almost peaceful as she stroked her partner’s fur. Gatomon had curled herself in Hikari’s lap, purring lightly as she slept. Takeru did his best to approach quietly, but as soon as he set foot into camp, Patamon raced towards him.

“Takeru, I thought v you were gone forever!”. In a flurry of orange wings, Takeru’s partner rested lightly on his hat. “Don’t be silly, Patamon! I would never leave you.”

“Why do you have all those flowers, Takeru?” Patamon’s voiced echoed in the quiet of the night. Hikari glanced up, giving them a brief smile before her amber eyes focused on his makeshift bouquet. A flush of heat settled into Takeru’s cheeks. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Hikari gazed up at him, eyebrows raised quizzically. With the confidence of an eight-year-old boy, Takeru thrusted the myriad of flowers towards her. “Surprise!” His grin was wide, toothy and disarming.

First the first time since he met her, Hikari smiled. For a fleeting moment, she was glowing. “They’re beautiful.” Though soft spoken, Takeru knew the words were genuine. The sparkle in her eyes told him more than her words ever could: his mother had been right.

Rubbing his sticky palms on him shorts, the blond plopped himself down beside his new friend. Hikari ran her fingers through the peonies, taking a moment to sniff the lilac. A stray daisy landed on the toe of Takeru’s sneaker.

“Hey, Hikari,” he began, leaning over to pick up the blossom, “did you know that flowers have their own language?”

Her amber eyes tore themselves from her gift, lashes fluttering in confusion. “What do you mean?” Hikari’s voice was stronger than before, the corner of her lips twitching in an almost-smile. Patamon sleepily curled up in his partner’s lap. The embers reflected in his wide, blue eyes. “Well, let me tell you what my mommy told me.”

Violets – Loyalty, Devotion, Faithfulness

Takeru could feel the table groan under the weight of his fist. He had been so careless! If he had only let Hikari go through the gate first, then-

“Takeru! Stop! Punching the desk won’t help bring Hikari back!” Daisuke’s breath was hot on his face, his presence far too close for comfort. It was too much, Daisuke was too much. It happened in a blur. Takeru’s fist tangled themselves in the fabric of Daisuke’s shirt, shoving him into a nearby chair. Metal screeched against the linoleum floor.

“You don’t know that! You don’t know her!” Takeru screamed. From somewhere beside him, Takeru barely registered Miyako’s gasp of fear. Iori cowered behind her, burying his face in the older girl’s dress. He was too angry to care. Hikari was alone in one of the most volatile parts of Digital World because of his negligence. Because of their negligence. All of them were to blame, yet the others didn’t seem perturbed.

Daisuke, body crumpled on the ground, gaped at Takeru from his huddle on the floor. His cinnamon hair was tousled, eyes rimmed in red. Maybe the blond had been too harsh on his friend. The beast of rage that seemingly possessed his body quieted. Guilt seeped into his stomach, forcing bile into his throat. Takeru’s hands tugged at his hair, a loud groan escaping his lips.

Miyako crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s nobody’s fault Hikari is lost. You need to quit punching your friends, Takeru. If Daisuke is indisposed, it will be harder to get her back.” Iori nodded in agreement, the tension too thick for him to speak. Takeru’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Miyako was right. The only way to ensure Hikari’s safety was if the boys work together,

A truce had to be called. Arm outstretched, the goggle-headed boy warily eyed Takeru’s hand before he finally accepted. Daisuke straightened his clothes, brushing off invisible dirt. “You know,” he began slowly, his eyes trailed on his sneakers, “I may not know Hikari as well as you do, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried about her.” Takeru raised his arm, trying not to feel offended when Daisuke flinched. He rested his palm on the band of goggles, earning a smile that rivaled the brightness of the sun. “So, we have an understanding?”

With his hair tousled and eyes bright, Daisuke reminded Takeru of Taichi. The knots in his stomach seemed to unravel. “Of course.”

The walk back to Hikari’s apartment was silent, the crickets singing their sweet lullaby. Daisuke parted ways early on, Chibimon’s growling stomach becoming impossible to ignore. Takeru found his eyes trailed to the girl’s frail figure, anxious that she would find some other way to disappear on him.

Rescuing her had been simpler than either boy had thought. It had only taken minutes for their Digimon to break into the dome, swooping down like the awkward, preteen heroes they were. Hikari was unharmed, her smile nearly blinding Takeru from his perch on Pegasusmon. It seemed that she was able to care for herself, finding a reliable hiding spot until Miyako messaged her with their plan. All too soon, the three Chosen were gathered in a heap of limbs on the floor of the computer lab, exhausted after another adventure.

His lingering gaze must have been more obvious than he thought. No sooner than they had reached the bottom of her apartment complex, Hikari halted. “Takeru, you need to relax. I’m okay,” she insisted. She gestured to herself as if to say ‘Look at me! I’m all in one piece!’ The streetlights cast shadows underneath her eyes. Gatomon stirred in her partner’s arm, her fretful sleep causing Hikari’s eyebrows to knit together.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there.” Bitterness dripped from his words. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end as the brunette gazed at him. Takeru felt as if he were eight-years-old again, promising their leader that he would do everything in his power to protect Hikari. What would Taichi say when he found out he failed?

Lost in his thoughts, the blond startled as Hikari’s hand ghosted over his shoulder. “None of us should have been there, Takeru. I’m grateful that it was me instead of the others. Miyako is so rash, she would have gotten herself hurt. Daisuke would have done something reckless, and Iori would have frozen if there was any confrontation.”

In the dim glow of the streetlight, Takeru’s eyes found hers. She was right and he knew it. If any of them could handle being stranded in another world, it would be Hikari. Emotions clouded his gaze, the color shifting to a stormy gray. “I’ll make it up to you.” His voice was so resolute and firm that it left Hikari wondering just when the boy with the green hat had gotten so strong.

He started up the stairs, giving the brunette no choice but to follow. His steps only slowed when the pair reached the Yagami’s door. The front door was worn from a childhood well-lived, the nameplate crooked in the most endearing way. A small flowerbox sat just outside their kitchen windows and without much thought Takeru plucked one of the purple stems. Hikari raised an eyebrow at his antics, but any response died in her throat when she realized how close he was.

His breath fanned her face, ruffling the strands of hair that pulled themselves loose from her barrette. A corner of Takeru’s lip curled up into a smirk, tucked the end of the flower behind Hikari’s pink-tinged ear.

“Goodnight, Hikari. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He was gone before Hikari could reply, her mouth open in shock. What was that about?

#takari #wip #digimon #takeru takaishi #hikari yagami

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celestias-right-hoof-mas-au · 3 years ago

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WARNING: As I mentioned in the previous chapter, this story is based on an adult parody of MLP called The Mentally Advanced Series. I would encourage that if you had not watched it to do so to get a grasp of the world in which this takes place. Many of the jokes, lore, and otherwise are in reference to MAS, not just simply My Little Pony. I have also made a supercut that includes every reference and appearance of Celestia in the series. In case watching the entire MAS series maybe too time consuming. If you find Celestia, or other canon characters, used in crude and unpleasant depictions offensive, this is your warning. However, I would appreciate that you take a look anyway with an open mind.

Celestia Supercut Link

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Days passed with bootcamp still on the horizon. Valiance’s mind was evermore focused on the possibility of becoming one of Celestia’s finest. In preparation for her big day, and to calm her nerves, Valiance exercised vigorously. Not a morning passed where she didn’t run, strength trained, or practice the little amount of spells she knew.

A blaring ringing stirred Valiance awake from her slumber. She groggily reached her hoof to tap the all too familiar alarm clock before rubbing the sleepiness away from her eyes. With a deep breath, and a small rocking of herself, she was up and out of bed in a jiffy. Any residual tiredness she might’ve felt was quickly washed away with an ice cold splash of water and the freshness one gets from brushing their teeth.

As Valiance stretched about her stiff muscles before her daily morning run, she halted to a stop. Her ears flicked back and forth when met with a low rumbling noise in the distance. The once peaceful silence of the cool early morning was violently shattered as a loud explosion rang between the buildings. The birds outside screeched and scattered away as the sky blackened with an ominous cloud. Valiance rushed towards the window and peered out to see what was happening.

"What in Equestria was that?!" Valiance gasped. Had something gone wrong with the weather production? That thought was immediately thrown out the window when the storm cloud began to speed towards the castle, appearing sentient in nature. Squinting her eyes, Valiance's jaw dropped at her revelation.

It wasn’t a cloud at all, it was a swarm made of thousands of invaders. Their porous chiton and glass wings left no room for doubt.

“Changelings?! I thought Celestia had them all eradicated?!” Valiance exclaimed as she grabbed her helmet. After a brief moment to change into her armor, Valiance unsheathed her weapon, an ornamented halberd, and rushed outside. Chaos flooded the streets of Canterlot as ponies desperately attempted to evade the parasitic menace. The empty husks of what was once the good ponies of Canterlot were scattered in the streets.

Valiance shuddered and cut through an alleyway. There, she witnessed the horror of the changeling's feeding habits. The creature huddled over an unconscious pony with its tongue like proboscis sucking the fluids out of its victim's neck. It has been said that the changelings could survive solely off of the emotion of love. However, there was no evidence of that as far as Valiance saw, and she had no intentions of finding out such rumors.

The amber glow of her magic slowly powered up and took possession of her halberd. The creature’s unblinking eyes snapped onto Valiance’s position, before the changeling soldier could even react, the long piercing thorn of Valiance’s weapon ripped into its skull like a hot fork stabbing into butter. Its back leg and wings twitched as the rest of its body slumped over and detached itself from the pony beneath it. Valiance rushed over towards the victim, who she could now see was a stallion, and looked him over to inspect the severity of his injuries.

The pony wore heavy darkened bags underneath his eyes, protruding cheekbones and colorless cracked lips. Despite his gaunt appearance, Valiance noted his pulse was still relatively steady and his breathing wasn’t too faint. She concluded that the stallion would survive and hid him behind some trash bins so no other changeling would find him before he woke.

In no time at all, Valiance had reached the castle grounds. The front gates were left open and unattended. The quietness in that moment was eerily contrasted by the screams in the distance. Without hesitation, Valiance sprinted into the grounds with a burning spirit and a molten heart.

"Help! Anypony, please!" Shrieked a pink and raspberry pony as she was being roughly carried away by a pair of changelings.

Higher and higher they climbed into the sky when suddenly, one of the changelings let out a guttural screech. Valiance's halberd embedded into the stomach of the changeling with a sickening crunch.

With its comrade dead, the remaining changeling released the little unicorn from its weakened grip. The unicorn screamed and shut her eyes as she plummeted towards the ground, but instead of crashing to her death, her body came to a sudden stop. Slowly peeking through her glasses with persian blue eyes, she found herself encased in amber magic.

But to her surprise, her gaze was not met by another carapaced equine, instead, she was met by an enormous pale mare. The stranger's body and face was obscured by a strikingly unique set of armor she had never seen from any of the castle staff, or Canterlot for that matter, and although intimidating, she felt comfort from the mysterious horse who was protectively holding her away from the monster with glazed compound eyes. Gently, the pony found her footing on the cool grass and the magic slowly faded away.

“Go, I’ll keep him busy while you escape.” Valiance ordered.

“W-well what about you?!” the pink unicorn replied in desperation.

“There’s no time, get somewhere safe. I can handle this.” Valiance implored with a more stern tone. The small pony hesitated momentarily and adjusted her glasses. Then, she made a break for it, ashamed of abandoning her savior.

The remaining changeling, knowingly outmatched, let out a piercing shriek. The familiar buzzing of changeling wings came from all directions as reinforcements surrounded Valiance. It did not matter, however, as Valiance made short work of them all.

Once her adversaries had been disposed of, Valiance made her way to the front of the castle. Though she had no idea how the changelings accomplished it, they had blown a massive hole where the entrance to the castle would be. Inside wasn’t much better, with the changelings’ filthy webbing covering the walls and ceiling. Before she could continue onwards she noticed very subtle movement coming from the larger mountains of webbing. Using the spear tip of her weapon, she carefully cut open one of the mounds. When suddenly, a guard’s head popped out from inside. The royal guard let out a choking gasp, desperately coughing for air as he violently wriggled from the grotesque wrapping.

“Oh thank Celestia, you found me! I couldn’t imagine the meal they’d make out of me if you hadn’t come!” The grey stallion cheered profusely as his body was hauled out of its confines by Valiance’s magic.

“Are you alright? Can you stand on your own?” Valiance asked, offering a shoulder to lean on.

The pony patted himself lightly and clicked his hooves on the floor, “Seems like I’m good to go!”

“Great. Help me get everypony else out of these pods.” Valiance urged, pointing to the other pods in the room. With a quick nod, the stallion rushed over and began peeling his comrades out of their wrapping. Free from their binds, the soldiers pawed the ground aggressively, eager for a second chance against the parasites who had hit the heart of their home.

“Thanks for saving our hides, soldier. Did you just roll into town?” asked the chief officer of the group.

“Just signed up the other day, sir.” Valiance saluted, straightening her posture.

“Well, hells bells, sorry to hear that, private. But at this point we need all the hooves we can get. Head over to the west wing where the castle staff have holed up. That’s where the rest of the new recruits are as well. The rest of us are gonna go exterminate these bugs, ain’t that right, boys?!” the officer commanded, his band cheering and war ready. No sooner did Valiance break apart from the team did she gallop away towards her destination. The further she headed west, the dimmer and more rotten the castle became. It was as if everything the changelings touched became corrupted. Eventually she came to a hall where the doors had been sealed shut. So corroded and splintered were the doors, that Valiance believed she had found what she was looking for. She pried the remains of the doors open, hoping some survivors were still within.

However, there were none. Valiance’s heart dropped at what she found instead. Like flies on a rotting carcass, the room was full of changelings and podded victims lay scattered on every surface.

The freshly made pods glowed with a luminescent green and were just bright enough to see what lay inside. Within them were ponies in various forms of digestion. Some had their innards pouring out of themselves and others were torn apart by changeling grubs who feasted upon them. Nopony was spared, for in the farthest corner of the room lay a much smaller pod than the rest. Inside, floated the curled up body of a filly. Just as Valiance had made her horrific discovery, so too did the changelings take notice of her presence.

With barely enough time to draw her weapon, Valiance was bombarded by insectoid bodies. She cleaved her halbert into their shells and slashed at their soft underbellies. Yet even still, they kept coming and piling onto her. Her vision blurred from the shifting bodies and she felt them crawling everywhere attempting to pry her armor off. Desperately, Valiance stomped and kicked, but to no avail. Her legs began to buckle from their biting and stabbing, so much so, that the pain kept her from using any advanced spells to get away. Even teleportation was useless as the growing cloudiness in her mind prevented her from deciding on a direction.

The changelings began to drag her into the ground. Valiance was exhausted and her vision tunneled to a pinpoint. Just when all hope was lost, a blinding light pierced through the skittering changelings, in the blink of an eye, their forms evaporated into dust. Through her helmet and darkening vision, she could faintly make out the silhouette of an ethereal equine. The large pony slowly came closer and closer before Valiance’s world went completely black.

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil’s In The Details

You stop by the morgue and find a crucial piece of the puzzle that leads you towards a unconventional solution.

Chapter 2: Consulting With The Experts

Your mind begins to wonder about this puzzling case while the surrounding world zooms past you in a dizzying blur. It all started with some missing people cases…well, you are certain that it started there. Your colleagues believe that you are chasing shadows, and that it really started with the recent string of murders.

On the surface, both the missing people and the murders do not have any connections with each other. But they do share at least one confirmed detail given from multiple witnesses and resources: they all acted strangely before either disappearing or becoming a victim of foul play. You know that the connection is pretty broad, but at the same time…a huge group of people exhibited dissociative behavior before meeting their current fate. Something in your gut tells you that it all just seems too convenient to be a coincidence, but multiple witness testimonies are not enough to connect the dots that no one else seems to notice.

You now have put all your focus on another plausible shared connection: the strange injection wounds found on the victim’s bodies. It’s also a bit of a stretch, but when you looked through all the accounts of the missing people cases again…a few minor details that were glossed over before are now glaringly obvious. Several accounts mention suspicions about the use of drugs being involved, and ten of those accounts include descriptions of seeing wounds that look to be inflicted by needles. That is one too many coincidences for your liking, but just mere conjecture will not be taken seriously by the higher ups…which is exactly why you dropped everything to go to the morgue.

Normally, you would go to a toxicologist for this kind of information, but Red Grave’s history with demons as well as the black market for their weapons and other nefarious goods steered you towards another kind of expert. Everyone knows that those who deal with the dead in this city have seen some pretty interesting deaths in their time…such as overdoses from otherworldly drugs or accidental poisoning from a mishandled weapon.

So, to prove that your speculations have merit, you have enlisted the help of Grayson Beckett a.k.a. Graves, the medical examiner who does not seem to mind his morbid nickname. He’s a little strange as all professionals in his line of work tend to be, but that has not stopped him from being one of the best in the field. His eccentricities have never stopped you from valuing his expert opinion in matters he’s more qualified for than you are. And it does not hurt that he is one of the few to also find all these oddities of this case to be quite perplexing.

Your inner contemplation comes to an end when you finally arrive at the police station of Red Grave City, pulling into parking space before cutting off the engine and removing your helmet. You shake your hair away from your face while gathering your thoughts, putting on that mask of professional stoicism as you hop off the bike. It does not take you long to track down Grayson in the morgue since he can always be found roaming around the cold chamber. He told you once that he finds it calming to pace around in there during his downtime…something about the silence of the deceased makes for perfect conversation whenever he needs to sort out his thoughts.

But when you walk into the macabre storage room, you find him pacing around like a madman, far from the epitome of calm and more like a vision of distress. He jumps back with a startled gasp before letting out a sigh of relief. “Ah! There you are, Detective…very timely arrival as always,” he greets, straightening his clothes before holding his hands behind his back.

“What’s wrong, Graves?” you inquire with a raised brow.

“Oh!” he gasps with a shake of his head. “Right…well, you see uh…” he trails off, shoulders twitching as he clears his throat, “…one of the body’s is uh…missing.”

“Missing?” you repeat, staring dead straight at him. “As in…”

“Gone!” he abruptly shrieks, waving his hands around wildly before raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s as if it simply got up and left!”

“Alright, slow down,” you urge him calmly while taking out your glasses, slipping them on before grabbing your sketchbook from inside your jacket. “Start at the beginning,” you instruct as your hand slides the pencil from the spiral spine before readying itself on a blank sheet.

Grayson takes a couple of deep breaths. “I came in first thing in the morning, like usual, and shuffled through a bit of paperwork before getting ready for an examination.” He walks over to one of the storage doors. “When I went to pull out the body in question, I noticed that the hatch wasn’t closed properly,” he informs while pointing to said hatch on the door before continuing. “It seemed very odd to me, but I chalked it up to maybe carelessness from one of the other examiners. But when I opened it up…” He grips the hatch and pulls the door open to reveal an empty chamber. “The body wasn’t there!”

Huh…San Diego’s theory has some merit after all, you admit wryly while finishing a small drawing of a zombie bride walking out from the storage chamber before launching in a series of questions. “You’re absolutely sure you were the first to arrive here?”

“Why yes!” he exclaims with a nod. “I always come in an hour before anyone else.”

“Do you know who was last here?”

Grayson shakes his head. “Not right off the top of my head, but we do keep records of our examinations. Let me just…” He goes over to a nearby computer and informs you that he is emailing the record to you while you jot down the possibility of the body snatcher being an employee here.

“Does anyone else have a key to this room?”

“Only me and the other two examiners have access as well as some of the higher ups,” he explains while tapping away on the keyboard.

“Which body was it?”

“The strangled victim from last week.”

Your brow quirks above the frame of your glasses as Grayson sends the email with one final click before turning around to share more details. “I was going to check it one last time before handing it over to the family…Oh how am I going to explain this to them?” he bemoans, sagging his shoulders as he lets out a dejected sigh.

“The security footage may have caught something as well,” you inform while gesturing towards two security cameras in the corners of the room with your pencil. You draw a noose around the zombie bride and write down that the missing body is one of the victims of your current case. “I’ll put in a report as soon as I’m back at the station,” you assure him a confident nod.

Grayson straightens his shoulders and takes another deep breath before thanking you with a grateful smile. You make a quick note about the cameras before closing your sketchbook with a sharp snap. “Now…you said something about results?” you ask, getting back the matter at hand while readjusting your glasses.

“That I did, Detective! Right this way!”

He motions you to follow him over to a small makeshift desk in the corner of the room, which acts as his office even though he has an official one outside the cold chamber. He opens a laptop covered with various punk rock stickers and signs into his work email. “After a bit of research and numerous email exchanges with the toxicologists, I’m able to confirm with utmost certainty that the strange substance is…” he pauses for the dramatic effect while searching for the appropriate emails, circling the important part of the exchange with his cursor. “Completely unknown,” he reveals with a curious lilt in his tone of voice.

“Why am I not surprised?” you mutter with a frustrated sigh.

Grayson nods in agreement. “Now, from what I was able to gather from limited resources on the streets,” he begins as his eyes flit from side to side even though he knows that you are the only one present with him. “This strange substance isn’t a new drug out on black market either,” he finishes with a secretive wink.

“And yet it’s administered through an injection,” you ponder aloud as your mind begins to churn with new theories.

“Yes, well…in my humble opinion, it appears to be more like a venom than poison since it needs to be injected in the first place,” he clarifies with a small shrug.

“A venom…hmm…” You flip open your sketchbook and take note of this new bit of information. “Any idea what this venom might do once it enters the system?”

“I can’t say for sure,” he admits with a sad shake of his head. “And there’s not enough evidence to support your theory about the victims being paralyzed, but that’s only because we were not aware of this mysterious venom at the time. If only we knew beforehand…we could’ve dug a little deeper,” he laments while looking at the empty storage chamber.

“Well, you’ll get your chance with this next body,” you reassure with a small grin while finishing up the last of your notes.

“Excellent!” he exclaims, face lighting up with childlike joy as he claps his hands in excitement. “Perhaps we’ll finally have some answers…right, Quickdraw?”

You chortle at him using your nickname. This little victory may not be enough to convince your superiors to validate your theory, but it could be the hairline sliver that leads to a crack in the case. So, you give into Grayson’s infectious joy for a moment and bring one hand up to tip your imaginary cowboy hat to him while putting on your best western accent.

“Sure thing, Partner.”

Grayson chuckles as you bid him farewell and take your leave. You flip through your sketchbook while you make your way through the Department of Criminal Investigations. Your mind starts to put a few key pieces together, hoping that it will be enough to convince the Lieutenant of your ongoing theory. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts under your nose as you enter the main office area of the department, reminding you to grab your first cup of joe in the morning.

You walk towards a group of coworkers surrounding Blaise Fuller, also known as Detective Douche, the fond nickname given to him by Carmen for his overall contemptible attitude. They all grow quiet as your approach and their eyes follow you as you pass them by, whispering in hushed tones while you pour yourself a cup at the designated coffee station of the department. He should be wowing me with his stellar observation skills, you surmise while sprucing up your coffee with a couple of sugar packets and a splash of creamer. Any minute now. You stir your coffee with a plastic stirrer before taking a long sip. In three…two…

“Well, well…looks like the Ice Bitch finished a little too early this time.”

You can practically hear the smarmy grin plastered on his mouth before you turn around to address him. Your eyes look over the frame of your glasses to focus on his smug face, pinning him down with your unimpressed gaze as you finish your first sip of coffee with a pleasant hum. “Funny…that’s what your ex-girlfriend said about you too.”

All traces of smug arrogance drop from Fuller’s face while a series of shocked gasps and stifled laughter sounds off from everybody within earshot. You honestly cannot tell if he’s angrier about the vulgar insult or the fact that said insult is the unfortunate truth. Maybe I hit him a little too far below the belt, you wonder as he squares up his shoulders and prepares to bite back with his own venomous rebuff. But then again, you do not have time for his juvenile attempts at getting a rise out of you. So, you put one hand on your hip and take another sip of your coffee, showing oblivious disinterest while waiting for what will assuredly be the most scornful slight of the century.

“Hey! Knock it off you two!”

Your eyes dart over to Jayce Spencer, your former partner before the promotion, standing there with a severe frown on his face. The resounding snickers from before gets cut short as everybody quickly disperses from the scene. Fuller snorts and gives you a deriding glare before rejoining the small group of co-workers by his desk. You move towards your own desk in the opposite direction, intending to check your email while waiting for the Lieutenant’s temper to cool off before presenting your findings to him.

“Detective Y/N! My office. Now.”

But it seems that you’re not getting off the hook so easily this time. A resigned sigh leaves your lips as you march towards the Lieutenant holding his office door open for you with a stern grimace. You enter the office and launch into an explanation as soon as the door clicks shut behind you.

“Before you go off on me, let me explain-”

“What the hell were you thinking leaving the scene of a crime that early?” he demands testily, brushing past you to sit down behind his immaculate deck. “We’re in the middle of goddamn shitshow out there and you skipping out-”

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, I wasn’t skipping out,” you cut him off as you take a seat in front of his desk before pulling out your cellphone. “I got a call from Grayson and went to check up on a possible lead.”

Jayce quirks a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that right?” You open your call log and show him the exact time of the call you received from Grayson. He takes a quick look at the screen before sighing deeply through his nose. “Well, whatever you have better make up for all calls from the press asking me to reprimand you for almost running over a few of their journalists.”

“Sorry about that, Sir,” you apologize softly, “…maybe next time they won’t block my way,” you mutter under your breath while pocketing your phone. Jayce just rolls his eyes at your flippant retort as you take out your sketchbook. “This is the fifth victim with the same exact puncture wound as the others,” you inform, showing the drawing of the victim and his wounds before handing your sketchbook over to him. “And Grayson helped me confirm that the substance found in the previous victim’s body is unknown to the lab and on the streets.”

Jayce looks over your various notes and sketches, nodding his head in agreement to some of your observations and raising a quizzical brow at the zombie bride. “Fuck…” he sighs under his breath as he hands the sketchbook back over to you.

“Yep. Fuck indeed.”

“So, we really do have a serial killer on the loose,” he surmises quietly as you put away your sketchbook.

“Possibly.”

Jayce rests his elbows on the desk and leans in closer as he scans you with his critical gaze. “What’re you getting at, Detective?”

You cross your legs and take off your glasses so that you could regard him with your solemn gaze head on. “I believe that demons are involved, Sir.”

“Demons,” he repeats with a blank stare before letting out a tired sigh. “Now, I know you check your boxes and cross your T’s more than anyone here, but I gotta ask…”

You let out your own exasperated sigh while pinching your brow. “Lieutenant-”

“Y/N…let’s drop the formalities and speak veteran to veteran.” His voice drops down low, sharp eyes clearly showing concern as he asks the question that you have been dreading since concluding demon involvement. “Are you sure you’re not just seein’ ghosts of cases past?”

Your eyebrow twitches as boiling anger surges through your body. “Fuck you, Jayce!” you growl, furiously hopping out of your seat and slamming your hands down on his desk. “You know better than anyone that I don’t let past feelings or trauma get in the way of my reasoning!” you argue, never tearing your irate gaze away from his worried face.

“Easier said than done, Hothead,” he counters calmly, not at all fazed by your outburst. “I’m only asking as a friend who, may I remind you, knows the truth behind what happened during our first case together.”

All your searing rage begins to bubble back down as you concede to his concerns. It still irks you that he still thinks that you have not gotten over what happened…but nonetheless, you know that it is within his right as your superior to question your state of mind. You curse under your breath as you settle back down in your seat, crossing your legs and huffing in defeat while he continues to stare you patiently.

“Are you seein’ ghosts?”

“No ghosts, Hard Ass,” you assert, “only dead bodies and a killer to catch.”

Jayce nods. “I believe you. But without sufficient evidence to support your claim…” he trails off with a weary sigh as he leans back into his chair.

“It’s fucking bullshit,” you grunt irritably, bobbing your foot up and down in frustration while shaking your head. “We’re living in a city drowning in demons and they have the gall to-”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, “but that’s precisely why we need the evidence…or else we’ll have every criminal we apprehend claiming that a fucking demon made them do it.”

A contemplative silence falls over the office and you go over the available options that will move the case forward. You cannot proceed the normal way; dealers in the black market are not known to help their local law enforcement catch a killer, especially if demons or Devil Arms are involved. What I really need is…Your foot stops fidgeting as the proverbial lightbulb blinks on above your head.

“What if we consult with an expert?”

Jayce furrows his brow in serious thought for a moment before the true intention behind your suggestion hits him. “You’re not seriously suggesting that we consort with a demon hunter, are you?” he inquires with an incredulous chortle.

“Yeah, I am,” you confirm with a curt nod. “Hell, maybe collaborate with one since there were a bunch of them roaming the streets when that freaky tree cropped up a year ago.” Jayce gives you a bewildered look from across the desk, but you go on with your perfectly reasonable explanation. “Plus, some of them are well respected by the people…unlike some us here who swore to serve and protect.”

Jayce squints his eyes as he thinks it over, steadily staring at you while his face goes through a torrent of expressions: wariness, consideration, and dismissal before finally settling on a decision. “Goddammit, Y/N,” he mutters with a shake of his head. “You have anyone in mind?” he asks hesitantly, eyes gleaming with curiosity despite his apprehension.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” You straighten up in your shoulder and announce the best candidate with utmost confidence and conviction in your voice. “Dante, the Son of Sparda and Legendary Devil Hunter himself.”

Jayce’s jaw literally drops in shock. “You have got to be bustin’ balls! That nutjob has a file this long and there’s no way-”

“Which is why he’s the perfect man for the job,” you cut in smoothly before listing off the reasons behind your suggested collaborator. “He’s infamous around here; the richest of the rich know him from his father’s status and the lowest of the low know him from reputation alone.” You uncross your legs and lean in closer towards the desk. “And if we offer to wipe his record clean-”

“Say what now?” Jayce scoffs in disbelief.

“Then he may just help us without payment,” you finish with a nonchalant shrug while grinning triumphantly.

“Un-fuckin’-believable,” he mumbles, head hanging low as he pinches his brow. “You know that we’re not supposed to wipe records for cooperation, right?”

“Yeah, but we both know that only works on paper,” you refute smugly, crossing your arms and sitting back in your chair as you provide more incentive for your former partner. “And we might as well use his name to get the press off our backs since they’ll focus on him instead of how we’re floundering right now.”

Jayce glares at you before leaning back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing his chin as he mulls over the plan you’ve just presented to him. You wait patiently, knowing that he is going through the other possibilities in his head before inevitably coming to the same conclusion as you did. Once a hard ass, always a hard ass, you observe in quiet amusement as he finally lets out a resigned sigh.

“Alright, fine. Go and find this crazy son of bitch…see if he’ll work with us in exchange for getting his record cleaned,” he relents, lowering his head so that his cautious gaze meets your determined eyes. “But I’ll warn you now: you’ll be walking a very fine line if you choose to work with a mercenary like him.” He gets up from his chair, moves around his desk to stand in front of you, and delivers his one final warning.

“Stay sharp. And for fuck’s sake, be careful.” He offers his hand as you stand up.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” You take his hand and give it a firm shake. “You won’t regret it.”

“We’ll see about that, Detective.”

Jayce walks by you and opens his office door, signaling that this discussion is officially over. You exit his office and head straight to your desk, trying your best to hide your enthusiasm while considering your next step: there is still a key witness that needs interviewing, witness statements to look over, and the missing body at the morgue. But your gut instinct tells you to seek out Dante as soon as possible…maybe do a bit of investigating of your own on this prolific mercenary before heading out.

After all, the day has yet to truly begin and this Legendary Devil Hunter may very well be exactly what you need to solve this case.

Read Chapter 3

My Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona and @exsultry

#dante x reader #dante #devil may cry #detective reader #murder mystery #crime drama #eventual romance #the devil's in the details #ooooh the plot thickens!!! 👀👀👀#and it seems a clever lil devil will make his debut soon!#harlot writes

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sleepysera · 4 years ago

Text

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk and the Superiority of Human Nature

Oftentimes, people enjoy reading fiction to escape the harsh corners of reality. They like happy endings, and stories that entertain the more positive, lighter notions of life. If anything forces these people to confront the uncomfortable aspects of existence, many seem to prefer being guided through it with strength, resilience, and an overall restoration to balance in the end. In Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, a short story collection about personified animals, David Sedaris brings the reader’s awareness to the vividly darker shades of reality and, after forcing them to look, leaves them there to laugh or cry at what they see. Through the use of book presentation, personification, and allegory, Sedaris lures his readers until they are all at once trapped with the inescapable confrontation of the darker side of humanity. It is here, through the reader’s own concluding reaction of discomfort and disgust that the author brings the concept of human nature to its knees with humility, proving the notion that humans are not all that superior to the very nature of the animals that they would seek to always hold mastery over.

Beginning from the outset with a mirage of judgement, the way that the author and the illustrator, Ian Falconer, present the book gives the impression that each story will be a light read about animals, much like a children’s story to be read before bed. Each story is only a few pages long with a larger font, and comes complete with an entire page or two of illustration. This model mimics a children’s book, and the reader is almost invited to approach the stories with a childlike innocence, thus giving an initial illusion of a happy ending. On the first page of “The Motherless Bear,” there is a cute picture of a sad and crying bear. Although the drawing appears similar to that of a children’s book, the story immediately takes a darker turn as the bear’s mother suddenly dies leaving her to grieve. The reader follows her further and soon understands that the bear stays in her unresolved grief looking only for the attention that comes with sympathy. As her life begins to unravel due to her endless complaints in search of such attention, she finally finds someone undeniably much worse off than her: a male bear who was taken prisoner by a human village, where they treat him horrendously. They had knocked out his teeth and beat him, among various other mistreatments.

As the bear is about to complain again, she is ambushed by the humans and taken hostage herself. The male bear is disposed of, and the story ends as she becomes the new prisoner living under the horrible conditions. On the last page is an illustration of the same bear, still sad, but now she is covered in sores, missing teeth, and is missing fur all over. Through the power of presentation and illustration, Sedaris and Falconer present a misleading premise that slowly unravels as the stories and illustrations evolve, getting darker, more grotesque, and more violent with every page. This progression reflects and coincides with the growing suspense that this was a book meant to captivate the mind and force it to face that which it has always been too uncomfortable to face about itself. After being lured in, the reader is given no choice but to confront the truth that life is never wholly innocent, and that there are horrible realities to be reconciled with the nature of life itself.

“‘But the muzzle--,’ the bear said.

‘That’s just to make me look dangerous.’

“Oh,’ the bear said. ‘I get it.’

‘No,’ he told her, ‘I don’t think you do. See, I have got maggots living in my knees. I’m alive, but flies are raising families in my flesh’” (Sedaris 37).

Following the initial impression left by the illustrations, the reader then notices the obvious use of personification, as each story revolves around animal characters who act and speak as though they were human. The reader, as a human, is emotionally removed enough from the animal characters to see clearly and place judgement on the absurdities and faults that develop within each story. With a focus upon animals, there is an understood concept that they are not one of “us,” and the reader is guided to feel more objectively upon each glimpse into the animals’ lives. In one of the stories, “The Mouse and the Snake,” a mouse adopts a baby snake as her pet. Immediately apparent is the ironic concept of prey adopting predator, and as the story progresses, the metaphor of humans adopting dangerous animals as pets grows all the stronger.

“In time she stopped using the word, ‘pet,’ as it seemed demeaning. The term ‘to own’ was banished as well, as it made it sound as though she were keeping him against his will, like a firefly trapped in a jar. ‘He’s a reptile companion,’ she took to saying, and thus, in time, he became her only companion” (Sedaris 43).

Even though humans do the same with their own pets, the personification of a mouse doing the same action encourages emotional removal to the point of judgement. The reader begins to place judgement upon the mouse. The mouse grows more infatuated with her “companion,” and begins to exhibit absurd behaviors such as trying to speak in hisses so that the snake could perhaps understand her. Yet, progress further, and the lighter reflections of human behavior towards pets continues into the extreme, and the mouse has slit her own tongue while covering up blatant murder to feed her “companion.” The reader journeys through this crescendo of absurdity until at the climax the reader discovers the snake has eaten the mouse. As a human being, the reader is led to view this ending as not only inevitable, but highly foolish--and yet, it leaves the reader with a subtle discomfort anyway, as though finding themselves at a crossroads in perception. The boundary between what is acceptable and unacceptable to humanity is blurred as this personification to the point of absurdity forces the reader to see that which humans would judge negatively in others, and that which humans would be hesitant to judge themselves for. The ability to objectively judge the personified animals was a mere illusion, for we as humans are forced to reckon with the recognition that we are no better ourselves.

To emphasize the absurdity of human judgement, Sedaris utilizes the structure of allegory to lead the reader into further acknowledging the faults of human nature. With blurred human and animal behavior through allegory showing such grotesque suggestions on humanity, the reader is left to react on their own, with humor or disgust. By establishing the reader’s attention with the illusion of innocence and judgement, the author then hones in precisely on the specific aspects of society he wants to address. In “The Judicious Brown Chicken,” for example, he allegorizes the concept of human reasoning and with a laser focus exponentially increases the absurd aspects of reasoning to the point of satire. The brown chicken witnesses several deaths around her, and in her desperate quest to survive, she reasons out how it was each victim’s fault that they died.

“The hawk could just as easily have abducted her, but it did not. The question was, why? A less spiritual being might have taken a practical approach: the guinea hen was smaller and easier to carry. But that wasn’t the answer, and the chicken knew it. The hen had been killed because she empathized too much and was strange to boot” (Sedaris 115).

Unable to cope with overwhelming anxiety about death, the fear of the unknown mixes bizarrely with the need for logical reasoning in a blind grab for the mirage of control over uncontrollable circumstances. Humans, as well as this chicken, often resort to explaining the unexplainable with spiritual rationalizations, even though these happenings are scientifically more likely dictated by chance. Through picking and choosing what to believe--even at the expense of logic and rationality--the chicken’s story mimics countless stories over human history, hinting at a deeper underlying aspect of human nature that is uncomfortable for us to face head on. With the amplified strangeness of the chicken’s reasoning, the human reader has no choice but to realize that human beings have been known to enact similar lines of thinking, and still do all the time. Throughout history we see civilizations evolve in similar ways, often intertwining politics with religion, such as with the witch hunts beginning in the 15th century. By placing blame on a victim for dying, the chicken feels comforted by the illusion of control over the chaotic nature of life and death. So too, would humans seek any explanation that could help them reject the chaos of existence; yet, as we can see with the chicken, the depths we go to in blaming others might very well have no actual foundations in reality. These stories confront people with uncomfortable ideas which they would often rather deny, and the reaction they have over them are telling in what shadows of human nature they would rather escape than admit are really there.

The end result with Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is a collection of short stories dripping with irony, all of which are offensive first and foremost in their unflinching reflections upon the truth behind human nature. Though the reader may wish to deny looking at such darker aspects of life, the very presence of discomfort and revulsion in response to the themes illuminate a certain truth--a certain recognition. It is in this spark of recognition that Sedaris catches the reader off-guard, and it is in this recognition that the reader may react with disgust or humor. To cry is to deny the truth, but to laugh is to acknowledge and even accept such reflections that humans are petty, weak, and violent. With a piercing gaze, Sedaris unflinchingly expresses the hypocrisy, irony, and idiocy of human nature. With his ruthless satire, he forces his reader to acknowledge or deny these darker aspects, humbling human nature’s pride and wounding its ego with this final message: we are not as superior as we would like to think.

Works Cited

Sedaris, David. Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk. Little, Brown and Company, 2010.

#I woke up the other morning and chose write literary analysis essay #literary analysis #lit #literature #david sedaris #essay #writing #dark humor #spoilers #satire #book response

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years ago

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THE LOOK-ALIKES.

With the revelation that the “Lucius Malfoy” in attendance at the Rosier-Abbott engagement party was really James Potter, chaos and confusion became the order of the evening -- and for days afterward, as high society scrambled to determine who had really been at the party, and who had merely appeared to attend.

Given the duplicitous nature of many of the Order’s chosen polyjuice victims, and their haste to want to save face rather than admit to embarrassment, it is likely that the world will never know the truth of everything that happened that night. However, we know the various stratagems by which the Order of the Phoenix cleared the guest list for themselves:

LUCIUS & NARCISSA MALFOY: Andromeda "dosed" her nephew, Draco, with a tiny little potion to get him sick (just a simple cold) - but of course, Narcissa and Lucius won’t go anywhere when their precious son is sick!! (A fact well known among their circle.) So they stayed home, while Mary and James "became" them. Andromeda didn't need to get close to do so - just dropped-in while they were out and about.

Their alibi was rendered unassailable by the reversion of “Lucius” to James after his death, and while they scored themselves no social points by staying home (nor respect from the Dark Lord for having let themselves be used thus), everyone has had to get used to the fact that the Malfoys will dote on their little boy above all else.

BELLATRIX & RODOLPHUS & RABASTAN LESTRANGE: To allow Andromeda to avoid her crazier sister and because Ryland didn't think he could, Sirius did the work to slip the Lestranges a sleeping draught strong enough to keep them drowsy into the earlier morning hours. He wasn't seen breaking in to their home and, aside from a potential headache, there shouldn't be any lasting effects to what he did (unfortunate perhaps, but even Sirius wasn't about to kill his cousin in such a situation).

They were roused early by Voldemort himself descending on their home; despite their grogginess from the lingering potion, these most loyal followers dragged themselves from their respective beds and made their way back to the Rosier estate in time to witness the induction of one Ainsley Abbott into their ranks.

CASPER CROUCH: Branwen faked a letter from her mother to Casper Crouch: It's time you go on a date together, how about the party you're both invited to? Crouch, who knew Bran since they were toddlers, was as little pleased by this as Bran would have been herself had it been real. So, when Branwen showed up at his house and offered him a few Galleons saying I’ll give you this if you stay home and say you got sick, he willingly agreed.

Because Fabian (acting as Crouch) would have to leave after an hour by pretending to get sick, all messages coming to Crouch after the party would be something like I hope you feel better! and no one will notice a thing. At least, that was the plan; given what really happened, it’s unlikely anyone will be thinking of sending polite notes worrying about Casper’s health! Fortunately any gossip that “his” presence with Bran might have inspired shoul be overshadowed by the rest of the night’s events, so he’ll probably never be any the wiser -- just cross at having missed an interesting party for once!

ELLADORA ROWLE: Caradoc actually did the whole formal-proposal thing to Elladora Rowle. He does attend with the real Elladora for the first moments of the event and then brings her outside for one of those private (possibly naughty?) talks, where he and Edgar (gently) knock her out and hide her in a bush. Edgar takes over and they search the cellar. After an hour, they plan to switch back, with Caradoc just telling Elladora that she fainted. They would resume the night together. At least that was the plan... until Edgar and Caradoc come up from the cellar to the chaos following the death of James.

Then the plan changes only a little: Edgar flees with the Orb, and Caradoc fights his way to the garden where he revives Elladora and tells her that a battle broke out and both of them were Stunned in the chaos, he must get her home at once - and as no one is likely to check the precise timing of events against Elladora’s bewildered memory, his cover story will be one of the most air-tight of the night.

PERPETUA BULSTRODE: Lu meets Lady Bulstrode on the 14th for a private afternoon tea (and all that it includes). The Order knows Lady Bulstrode thinks herself too old now to attend such events so it is Lu's job to charm her into considering going together. "Oh, please Lady Bulstrode! Who else is ever going to take me to such a dazzling party!" When she agrees, Lu suggests to celebrate this decision with a little "party cocktail" to "knock that age out of your bones". In reality it's only a whisper-dreams potion where every word you hear upon falling asleep will become a vivid and delightful dream. So Lu whispers some sweet nothings about the party into her ear as she falls asleep and then catches up with Dorcas.

If during the next few days people mention her at the party, she will simply think that between the party cocktail and her age, some facts must've gotten blurred. Certainly she’s not about to admit that she doesn’t remember her heroically maternal rescue of pretty, dim-witted Cordelia Greengrass from the chaos! And if she spends the next few months paying a private Healer for some extremely discrete memory-assistance, well... she’s a miserable old codger anyway. She probably deserves to fret a bit.

EDWIN & MORGANNA YAXLEY: After they agreed on which Yaxley they each would get to play, Mundungus assured Sirius that he would take care of delaying the real couple. How? Fashion sabotage. While getting ready for the party, the Yaxleys notice that the clothes tailored and selected for the night have lost all their charms that made them unique and the latest fashion. This is nothing short of an emergency, and it forces them to ask for a tailor to fix the charms on them in haste. Unbeknownst to them, the sabotour and their 'saviour' is exactly the same person working undercover: Mundungus. Now, woven with the spells that make their garments magical, there is a little hex that causes them to lose track of time -- confused but not completely out, just delaying them enough to give Sirius, playing Morganna, and Mundungus, playing Edwin, the time to sneak into the party.

The hope was that between the fashion emergency and the hex, the real Edwin and Morganna might be a little too stressed and confused to remember exactly at what time they arrived and to whom they'd spoken first. Besides, the only thing that ought to have mattered was that everyone would be in awe of their outfits! That they arrived just in time to witness the party descend into chaos is unfortunate... but at least they didn’t happen across themselves during the hasty about-face they beat the minute they saw which way the wind was blowing!

IGOR KARKAROFF: Having known they needed to gain some part of Karkaroff for the event, Emma accepted to have tea at his house. What was innocent quickly turned sinister as Karkaroff tried to use force to seduce young Emma. Hearing the commotion, Fabian raced to the rescue and knocked Igor out. Together, they pulled a tooth for the potion.

If Karkaroff remembered this, it was unbeknownst to anyone, as he wasn’t keen on sharing how he’d been turned down. He did not plan on attending the party after the debacle and expressed this sadness vehemently to Archie while the latter got ready for the evening. Archie was able to slip Igor a sleeping draught that should last several hours, allowing Daisy to become him for the evening. If asked later, it's possible that Igor might tell the truth...but for Emma's sake, everyone is hoping he'll be too embarrassed to mention it. Still, he certainly knows he didn't go to the party with her....

Much of the above plots were conceived and written by our fantastically talented players and the admins would like to take the opportunity to both praise and thank everyone for their participation in this and every event (official and otherwise) in our game! We literally could not do this without all of you!

#homenumevent #homenumplot

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lord-rosenth0rne · 5 years ago

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Franken-Stans

Quick Drabble that I might post later on my AO3 account later. It goes with the Franken-Stan set @siro-cyll created here which also on our Redbubble page. You can have the Twin Set or either Stan or Ford.

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The room was dark, as usual. The only source of light came from a desk lamp that hung over the sole occupant of the room as he poured over some ancient text he found on one of his recent adventures. One hand feverishly wrote in a notebook as the other held his place on the page while he muttered under his breath various ideas and translations. Stanford Pines had been so wrapped up in his research, he did not note the arrival of a lumbering figure behind him until a pair of green hands appeared on either side of his peripherals.

“Braaaaaainssss…” A deep, gruff voice groaned out. In one swift move, Ford pushed himself up to his feet, kicked his chair into the figure, and reached for the gun on his hip. The figure cried out as they crashed to the floor. In seconds, Ford pinned the intruder to the ground with a boot to the chest and pointed the gun at their face. His own chest was racked with heavy, shuddering pants. The figure immediately put their hands out. “Woah! Woah! Sixer! It’s me!”

“Stanley?” Ford breathed, removing his boot and reaching for a light source. The room flooded with light and there, on the floor in what looked to be some sort of zombie getup was his twin brother, Stanley Pines. “What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s Halloween, genius. You know? The best night of the year?” Stan grumbled as his brother helped him up.

“Halloween?” the older twin stared off a moment in thought. His thoughtful expression melted into a sad one. “I haven’t celebrated Halloween since…”

This caused Stan to frown but shake his head and punch Ford lightly in the arm.

“Don’t be such a sad sack. That’s all behind us! Say, do you remember how we used to celebrate?” Stan grinned as he threw an arm around his brother. Ford’s thoughtfulness returned as he brought his hand to his chin.

“We’d dress up in matching costumes, then go trick-or-treating…” he murmured.

“And what did we do when we didn’t get treats?”

Ford gave a mischievous smirk.

“Terrorize the occupant until they did so…” he snickered but then stopped. “Didn’t we give Mr. Cretcher a heart attack one year that was near fatal?”

Stan scoffed and waved a hand dismissively.

“He got better. Besides, no telling if it was his time or not. So, how about it? Wanna dress up for old times sake and scare the bejeezus out of the kids trick-or-treating?”

Ford’s smirk only widened.

“On one condition. We lose the zombie costume and go with something a little more tasteful.”

“Deal!”

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Trick-or-treating in Gravity Falls was not unlike Summerween, only with obvious pumpkins instead of melons. Everyone was dressed to the nines in either repeat costumes, or if you were like Pacifica, a completely different costume because she wouldn’t be caught ‘dead’ in the same one in the same year. They would go about trick-or-treating for most of the night then return home with their treasures, hiding the good stuff from their parents who needed to ‘taste test for poison’ and take the name brand candies.

But before all of that, they needed to gather the treats. A group of four were the first victims- er- trick-or-treaters to the Mystery Shack of the night. Stan had decked the place out as he usually did with horrifying decorations and such, same as every twice a year. The porch squeaked eerily under their weights and before they could ring the doorbell, it flew opened to reveal a panicked man in a long white lab coat with black upper arms rubber gloves, black circles under his eyes and a pair of goggles on his forehead.

“Oh no!” He gasped upon seeing the children. “Run! You have to get out of here! My creation! It’s-!”

A roar from inside the house as well as heavy stomps heading for the door made the kids jump.

“It’s too late! Run children!” the man screamed as he was tackled down to the porch by a green and black blur. “No! You are my creation! You must obey me!”

The kids all screamed as they watched the figure that tackled the man begin to shake and strangle him with green, stitched together hands.

“No! No! You can’t-! URGH!”

The man soon went limp with an arm dramatically draped over his face and the figure dropped him only to get to his feet. The kids watched in horror and gasped when the figure snapped its attention in their direction. It let out a low, gurgling growl and lurched forward at them. With one last terrified scream, the kids scattered and ran back toward the town. The growl slowly turned into a hearty laugh and Stan shook his head.

“You know, that’s the first time I didn’t resort to face-melting or gore to get a scream!” he grinned with his hands on his hips and glanced over at Ford who pushed himself up.

“Of course not. It’s a classic that resorts to real-world bodily harm. Anyone who’s smart enough will run from it,” Ford chuckled, fixing his goggles and hair. “At this rate, though, we may not give out any candy if we just keep running them off.”

“Eh, one less cavity to worry about.”

“You know, that was the same mindset of Mr. Cretcher way back when.”

“Shut up and get ready. There’s another group on the way! And I wanna try the ‘stabbed through the chest’ skit.”

The ‘stabbed through the chest’ skit involved Ford answering the door as Dr. Frankenstein and engaging the children of what he’s been up to before seemingly being skewered through the chest from behind by ‘his monster’. Ford would then proceed to collapse to the floor and Stan would run after the kids halfway down the dirt road before walking back, cackling evilly. From this trick on, Ford’s coat kept the bloodstains and contributed to a more sinister look each time the kids came by.

Another skit would include another strangling, but this time the kids would witness the ‘rise’ of Frankenstein’s monster in the backyard where Ford had put together a makeshift lab and table. Stan would lay on the table motionless and Ford would ham it up, going through the motions of Dr. Frankenstein as he was trying to bring his creation to life. After the ‘switch being pulled’ and a small light show, Stan would sit up from the table and attack Ford. The kids, again, would go running, screaming back toward town and Ford would set the stage again to pull the same stunt. Stan figured this was his favorite skit by far so he didn’t do much to try to do a different one.

During one of the ‘rise’ skits, one of the groups had an adult with them who grabbed the nearest prop and began to beat Stan with it when he rose up and tried reaching for Ford. He didn’t have time to turn to strangle anyone. Ford had to pull the guy off of him and was thankful that the prop that was being used was made of lightweight wood. Still, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when hit with it.

“Okay, I think that’s it for the night…” Stan grumbled, now sitting on the porch couch with an ice pack as Ford brought him a Pitt Cola and sat down next to him with a mug of coffee.

“You did a number on that last guy though,” Ford admitted.

“Me? He did a number on me!”

“Yeah, but you scared him bad enough to cause his fight instincts to kick in without doing much,” the older twin snickered. Stan blinked then grinned.

“Yeah, I guess I did, didn’t I? HA! What a maroon! I still got it!” Stan laughed. “Seriously, though, that hurt.”

“I would imagine. How’s your head?”

“Pounding. But I had fun so it’s not as bad as it could have been.”

“Good. Happy Halloween, Stanley.”

“Happy Halloween, Sixer. I think we really needed this.” Stan sighed, glancing out over the staged area. Ford nodded then grimaced as he pulled out a handful of off-brand candy that Stan had bought for trick-or-treating.

“Yeah. But next year we're getting better candy. The off-brand is gross.”

“Then you’re the one paying for it. Not me. Besides, Soos will eat it when he comes back from that party his girl dragged him to.”

“Deal.”

#Gravity Falls #Franken-Stans #Ford Pines #Stan Pines #Halloween 2k19 #Frankenstein and his monster #Happy Halloween everyone!

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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In Retrograde : Chapter One (branjie) - ephemerals

Author’s Note: Really excited to share my first fic for this fandom. Loosely inspired by Sharp Objects by Gillan Flynn. You can follow me @missvanjies !!

Synopsis: After spending months uninspired, Vanessa, a local reporter, becomes infatuated with writing a story surrounding the downfall of a police officer discharged after killing an innocent man.

When Brooke Lynn returns to her hometown after her life begins to fall apart, she doesn’t expect to find solace in the charismatic brunette who seems just a little too invested in uncovering all the secrets of her past.

chapter one

Friday, March 23rd, 2018

Innocent Teenager Mistaken for Ruthless Criminal, Killed by Police.

At approximately 9:37 pm on Wednesday, March 21st, police units were called to a domestic dispute at Wexford as shots were overheard by neighbours. When emergency units arrived at the scene, a young woman, later identified as 23 year-old Eva Talbott, was pronounced dead after obtaining a gunshot to the head. Her fiancé, 25 year-old Damon Carmichael was witnessed fleeing the scene by multiple onlookers. Carmichael had been known by police for many years due to an extensive history of domestic violence with past partners.

Backup units were called to search for the suspect who headed north, described by witnesses as 6’2, Caucasian, slim with short dark hair, wearing a burgundy sweatshirt. The murder weapon was not found at the scene. Two local officers Sergeant Brooke Lynn Hytes and Constable Yvie Oddly were patrolling Warden Avenue at this time and responded to the backup call. At 10:03 pm, Sergeant Hytes reported that they had found the suspect near Wexford Heights United Church, and received orders to approach him carefully assuming he was armed. After resisting arrest and becoming agitated, Sergeant Hytes followed orders and fired two shots, both in the victim’s chest. Paramedics attending the crime identified the body as 19 year old Thomas Price, a Biology student at the University of Toronto.

Police authorities described the incident “as a truly shocking tragedy for the Toronto community” but refused to comment on the current status of Ms Hytes’ job. While no further action has been taken yet, it is highly unlikely that she will remain in the force after this tragedy. Constable Oddly has taken leave following this accident. There is a public outcry for Ms Hytes to receive criminal charges, with the community starting various online petitions that have had viral success worldwide. It is likely the police commissioner will call an enquiry if this public pressure continues.

Damon Carmichael has since been taken into police custody and charged with first degree murder, alongside various other outstanding charges. We reached out to the victims families and Ms Hytes, however they declined to comment. We will keep you up to date with the all the news on this ongoing story.

…

Tuesday, April 3rd, 2018.

Brooke presses her head against the cold glass of the window, eyes drawn to the picturesque countryside. Green against green blurring together. It’s a big change from the concrete jungle she had become accustomed to over the last few years. Suburbia had never suited her. However, there was always something peaceful about coming back to her hometown, regardless of how unwelcome she may be.

It had been quite some time since she had been home. While she loved her parents dearly, dealing with them could only be described as difficult at the best of times. Her mother was overbearing. Brooke knew she had outlandish expectations of what she expected from her only child. Her father never said very much about it all. So, when she broke the news to her parents that she had been dismissed from her job after she killed an innocent kid, they were far from impressed. And then a few days later, she told them her fiancé had called off the engagement. It was this rotten cycle that every few years Brooke would hit rock bottom and return, crying for their help.

In the seat beside her, her best friend Nina had been unusually quiet the entire journey. Nina was everything Brooke wasn’t. On the surface, it may have seemed like Brooke had everything together, but those close to her knew she was far from it. Between anxiously tapping away at the wheel and humming alone to the radio, Nina hadn’t been able to speak a word. Some things were better left unsaid. But she was aware there was a tension looming, full of unanswered questions and uncertainty. And Nina had never been one to stay silent for long.

“Brooke-“ Nina’s concentration diverts from the road momentarily, first to Brooke, then to the rear view mirror. Gravel crunches under the wheels. Music plays softly from the radio. Brooke interjects, her voice low and soft.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not going to, baby,” Nina drawls, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

There’s a kind smile on Nina’s face, Brooke can see it in the reflection of the windscreen. She rolls her eyes like a brooding teenager, quietly scoffs at Nina’s words. Brooke is the furthest from okay that perhaps she had ever been. It was hard to keep things from Nina, she always had an inkling of what was bubbling under the surface.

Gravel crunches, music plays, they sit in silence.

Brooke reaches over to turn up the radio but Nina swats her hand away. She needs a fucking cigarette, a drink, maybe even something else if she could get her hands on it.

“I took the day off from work to pick your ass up,” Nina forces a laugh. Brooke knows she’s trying way too hard to lighten the mood, “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. You can talk to me.”

It’s times like this where Brooke is reminded that Nina is too compassionate for her own good. In the days after the shooting, Nina was the first (and only) person to reassure her things will end up alright. When she found out she had lost her job, when her fiancé left her, Nina was there. Took vacation leave from work to visit Toronto for a couple of days. Nina was that ride-or-die friend.

For the majority of her life, Nina has been the only person to really care.

“Thank you,” is all that Brooke can muster up the courage to say. It comes in a whisper, so muffled she swears Nina won’t hear it. She knows at some point she has to talk to Nina about the mess she has made for herself, but now was not the time.

…

“You could stay with me,” Nina had offered, right after finding out Luke had called off the engagement. It was a shame, Nina thought, he was a decent guy. Far from who she expected Brooke to end up with. Brooke had been surprisingly calm on the phone, recalling word for word what Luke had said.

“ Fuck up after fuck up. I stood by you every single time Brooke and this is how you fucking repay me? You made me look like a fool being with you .”

Brooke had seen this coming from a mile away. They didn’t really love each other, it was a relationship out of convenience. The kind that comes along when you don’t believe you deserve any better. To him, Brooke was just a trophy. She made his friends drool and his parents proud. All he wanted was the visuals. Brooke knew he didn’t give a shit about her feelings. For the longest time, Luke ignored all the baggage Brooke came with. When things slowly unravelled, he tried his hardest to keep things in his control. This time was just so far out of his control it was the final straw.

“I’m sure Justin would be thrilled with me staying,” Brooke knew that would be a stupid decision on Nina’s part. Her husband had never been fond of Brooke and vice versa. In his mind, Brooke was a bad influence, shitty friend, unloyal partner, an addict, emotionally unstable. Now, a fucking murder. Nina adored him and that was enough for Brooke to try and be civil. Luckily, her husband’s many opinions didn’t make Nina love Brooke any less.

“It isn’t a bad idea though,” Nina’s voice crackled over the phone, “Come back home for a while, baby. Wait until it blows over. Stay with us.”

“This thing isn’t going to blow over,” It was two in the morning and she’s leaning up against the exterior of some nightclub, smoking a cigarette. She was alone, six, maybe seven vodka sodas deep, “I killed someone. People don’t usually forget about something like that.”

“You were doing your job.”

“My job was to protect people, Nina. I think people are rightfully angry. I’m fucking angry with myself.”

Brooke pressed the lit end of the cigarette into the skin of her thigh. She winced at the sensation and hoped that Nina couldn’t recognise the sound through the phone.

“I know, baby,” Nina cooed soothingly through the speakers. Brooke flicked the ash from her skin, circling the damage with her finger. A bullet hole of her own. Tender, red, swollen, burnt. Her fingers trace another, and another, and another. One for a dead teenager, one for a broken marriage, one for a stint in rehab. A timeline of events in aging scars scattered sporadically across her legs. One for losing her job, one for every time she disappointed her parents, one for every time she disappointed Nina.

Fuck up after fuck up .

She is silent and she is spiralling on the streets of Toronto in the early hours of the morning. What was even worse for Brooke is Nina knows. Nina always knows.

“ Come home . I’ll come and get you. I’ve got some sick days I can use, I’ll drive to Toronto, help you pack some stuff up. You shouldn’t be alone right now, Brooke. You know what happens.”

It could be because she was drunk, or depressed, or tired, but surprisingly, Brooke said yes.

…

As they pull into town, Brooke almost asks Nina to drive her back. Almost . She reminds herself that unfortunately she doesn’t have a home anymore. Her apartment occupied by someone else now, her things split with her ex-boyfriend. She wishes she felt some remorse about her breakup but Brooke was completely numb. The anger had settled through the drinking and the chaos. Now, Brooke was detached from this mess. Repression wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but it would do for now.

The streets of the suburbs slowly became more familiar as they edged closer to her parents house. They were on the nicer side of town, with picket fences, green lawns and manicured gardens. Upper-middle class. They drive past Nina’s house, two stories with pastel sliding. Somehow exactly what she envisioned Nina living in. They brought it about a year ago, a little worse for wear. Every time she would ring, Nina would have an anecdote about something stupid Justin had done that day. It was the simple, domestic life Brooke had always longed for but would never have.

“Last chance, you don’t have to stay with your parents,” Nina grins as they turned the final corner towards Brooke’s family home. She’s joking and happy and for a second, Brooke cracks the slightest smile.

“Justin wouldn’t even let me through the front door.”

Nina couldn’t argue with that.

As the car pulls to a halt, Nina speaks again, “Promise me you’ll behave yourself, Brooke. I can’t be running after you while you self destruct again.”

Bemused, Brooke raises an eyebrow. It was a strange thing to come from Nina’s mouth, usually selfless, kind. Her folded arms unravel to reach for the seat belt buckle, as an air of silence lay between them. Reaching for the door handle, Brooke reassures her, “Yeah, Nina. I’ll be good.”

It’s far from genuine; Brooke knows this, Nina knows this. She’s seconds away from coming apart at the seams. Brooke steps out into the spring air and Nina follows suit. She opens up the trunk of the car and pulls out the remnants of her life in Toronto. A few boxes of sentimental items, two suitcases of clothes, nothing substantial. It’s hard to believe her entire belongings had comfortably fit inside the back of Nina’s car.

The wheels of the suitcases catch momentarily on the gravel pathway on the way to the house. Brooke drags both cases behind her haphazardly. In her arms, Nina has piled as many boxes as possible, surpassing the height of her head. They both struggle up the stairs and before she knew it, Brooke is faced with ringing the doorbell. She straightens her posture, sighs, and presses her fingertip to the doorbell.

Her mother greets her with a frenzied hug, incoherently mumbling to Nina about how she promised to visit months ago and hasn’t. Her father watches from behind the doorway, arms folded and face emotionless. Somewhere in the midst her mother acknowledges Brooke, mentions something about gaining weight or losing weight, maybe she should take some more pride in her appearance, especially now that she’s single. It’s a whirlwind she’s swept up in, as her mother pulls away from the hug and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Her father grabs the boxes from Nina. Brooke follows him in silence, her suitcases in tow. Downstairs, her mother and Nina remain carried away in conversation, the sound polite laughs echoing through the house. They set her things down at the foot of her childhood bed. Brooke’s father shyly smiles and opens his arms, “I’m glad you’re home, kiddo.”

Brooke falls into his embrace, “How much convincing did it take this time?” After the sequence of events that usually occur once Brooke returns home, her mother was quite apprehensive of letting her back into the house. An understandably fear, but Brooke’s father would never let his daughter be left without a home to come back to.

“Eh,” he playfully muses, “I had to get on my knees and beg.”

The smile on Brooke’s face is authentic for the first time in weeks. They pull away from each other slowly and maybe, Brooke is just a little happy to be home.

“Now, lets go downstairs kiddo, before your mother talks Nina’s ear off.”

…

It was a typical Tuesday night for Vanessa and her girls, having been dragged along to the local bar by an already tipsy Silky. To her left, A’keria sips politely on the glass of wine Silky had gifted her, claiming that unlike the rest of them, she can’t rock up to work hungover the next morning. Unlike Silky, Vanessa always had thought this was sensible; A’keria taught at the local high school and she knew that teenagers could be the worst people on the planet sometimes. Vanessa had no qualms about drinking on a weeknight, especially with how slow work was at the moment. She knew that tomorrow, once again, she would be writing about the local football team losing their sixth consecutive game or an upcoming fundraiser on the weekend. It wasn’t exactly how she envisioned using her journalism degree, but a job was a job.

On her right, Silky had been complaining about a rude customer for so unbelievably long, Vanessa had zoned out. She didn’t miss the days of working in retail at all. Silky had some horror stories from the years of running her bakery. She might just be writing for the local newspaper, but Vanessa was grateful she didn’t have to deal with unsatisfied customers and hormonal teenagers on a daily basis.

“So, I overheard somthin’ interesting today,” Vanessa’s ears perk up as Silky changes the subject. She takes a swig from her beer as Silky continues, “Miss Brooke Lynn’s back in town.”

Perplexed, Vanessa remains silent. That name sounds familiar, but Vanessa can’t seem to figure out why. Both Silky and A’keria grew up together in town, so quite often Vanessa had no clue who they were talking about. Local legends, bitches from high school, the usual offenders. It pricks an interest in her as A’keria scoffs, “Damn, that bitch can’t stay away for long. That’s why Nina’s taken so much time off work lately, probably cleanin’ up that girl’s latest bullshit.”

Vanessa had interviewed Nina a few times now regarding the productions she ran at the high school. She was a colleague of A’keria’s, so over time they had become acquainted at several functions and events. From what she knew, they all went to school together as teenagers and she was one of the few people they spoke fondly of. Vanessa quickly recalls various anecdotes and stories the girls have told her, trying to put her finger on how she knows this name.

“Nina needs to stop pandering to that bitch and let her reap what she sows,” Silky retorts before knocking back the rest of her drink, “Miss Hytes’ can’t keep running back from Toronto every time somethin’ goes wrong.”

Brooke Lynn Hytes. Toronto. Oh .

“Wait, Brooke Lynn Hytes as in Sergeant Hytes ?” Both Silky and A’keria sharply turn to face Vanessa, “As in the officer who killed that innocent kid? The one all over the internet?”

A’keria nods, “That’s her.”

“Fuck,” it comes out as a gentle hiss, Vanessa stunned by the realisation, “She lived here? You knew her?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” A’keria interjects, “We know how you like those bad white girls.”

“There’s a story there-“ Vanessa starts before being cut off by A’keria.

“Don’t get any ideas, that girls a bad omen.”

A bad omen maybe, a good story definitely. Writing a story about a fall from grace, a golden girl gone wild, something interesting would definitely get her out of this slump she has fallen into. It’s an exciting prospect. An article to finally showcase her talent.

Both A’keria and Silky watched as the cogs in her mind ran into overdrive. Hometown Hero, National Disgrace ; Vanessa could see the headline now.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #angst #in retrograde #ephemerals #tw self harm #tw addiction #submission

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honeykngdom · 6 years ago

Text

sacrilegious | demon!sweet pea x reader

SUMMARY: I was wondering if you could do a story where sweets is a demon? idk maybe reader finds out or something. maybe he has a sweet spot for her. WARNINGS: cursing, mild violence , mentions of death WORDS: 2600+ | RATING: ☁ ♕ A/N: I’m not entirely sure where I planned on going with this, but I would be open to continuing and doing a part 2 if people were interested. I’d have to do a little more research on what kind of demon I wanted to use specifically, but I think this is a pretty interesting start .. lemme know whatcha think!

It’s been thirty-six days since I had first seen her, and she had first seen me. Not that I was counting, or anything, but just that I was cautiously much more aware of her existence as a whole. Her presence, once a quiet lull left lurking in the background, now seemed to be at the forefront of my thoughts, and her face filled my long days. Her name consistently remained on the tip of my tongue.

You like her, don’t beat around the bush.

To be frank, she terrified me.

She wasn’t as easy as the other humans to read, and not nearly as gullible or ignorant. During a moment of weakness, she had been able to see a part of me I had been carefully hiding from the rest of the world. And at that moment, I hadn’t realized that the situation had been compromising. I had been having harmless fun, or so I thought.

I’ve spent decades enjoying various types of music and food, dipping my toes into so many different environments and cultures, but had never felt quite so cozy than I did here in Riverdale. The Southside was nothing if not glorious, and every sadist’s dream. I had been able to find a skin that fits right, utilized what I was for a greater purpose, felt like I belonged. The Serpents embodied everything I was and stood for, and so brandishing the double-headed snake felt like nothing but second nature.

It was a Saturday night and being twenty-three and careless; I took to the Wyrm’s neon fixtures and smokey pool tables in need of release. Whiskey and I had a longstanding friendship and mutual agreement, but I suppose it might have been the mix of Fogarty’s tequila that loosened my grip.

But I felt good. Better than that, even, I felt satisfied.

Being a divine spirit, immoral or otherwise, I never quite had the luxury of feeling utterly content with anything. Not in food, not in knowledge, not in sex, and certainly not in power.

Why else would I still be here?

But being here, surrounded by these people, enjoying each and everything I craved all at once, it was exhilarating. And, in that small moment where my realities blended and the lines blurred, I found myself stumbling out of the men’s washroom, struggling with my zipper. The heavy thrum of the bass mixed with the loud, overlapping conversations made an erratic melody in my head, but the faintest hint of despair mixed among the chaos pulled my attention away from the bar, and towards the rear exit that led to the parking lot.

Smoking had become an ugly habit, truthfully, but one that seemed to feed the insatiable monster within me. In spite of the darkness that consumed me as I ventured into the night, I was able to register the heat signatures of the duo standing across the lot. One, roughly six-foot-two, and the other much smaller.

Oh, look. Snacks.

Naturally, I couldn’t kill one without killing the other. I certainly wasn’t overly picky with my meals but knew very well I couldn’t leave a witness - especially not one as delectable as she was.

Fixing my leather collar, my long legs carried me forward as I pinched the cherry off my cigarette and tossed it in the general direction of the butt-bucket bolted to the side of the post. The closer I ventured, the easier it was to make out what they were saying;

“Let me go!” cried the young woman, her voice not so soft given her plea.

It was met with a snort, followed by another rough shove. The chain-link fences moved against each other, and by the looks of it, if the perpetrator didn’t settle down, he was going to draw far too much attention to himself.

Amateur.

“You’re on my side of the tracks, bitch,” he snarls, gripping onto the front of her jacket to pin her to the fence, “I told you what’d happen if I caught you down here again.”

Fear illuminated her features, sinking into her bones. It was obvious. It could have been pitch black, and she could have been silent, I still would have been able to feel her anxiety pulsating from inside the bar. Her figure, now surrounded by a thick wavering aura, began to look smaller as she tried to pull her arms into her chest to cover herself.

Time for some fun.

“You know,” I interjected as I stepped out from the shadows, hands steady in my pockets, “Most people don’t waste their time with pleasantries. So go ahead, show her. What’s gonna happen?”

“Why don’t you fucking mind your business, Serpent?” the man retorted over his shoulder, not really paying me as much attention as I wanted.

My fists clenched tightly at my sides, nails digging into the flesh as the heat travels from my chest and into my face.

“That’s a big mouth for such a small person.” I replied coolly.

“Even bigger fists.” he responded, lifting his chin as his boots echoed in the empty lot. The man takes an advancing step, brown hues boring down profoundly into the mine.

I lifted my mouth at the corner, head tilting to the side, “That so? Wanna see mine?” There was a moment when the male’s body tensed in reaction to my words; he narrowed his eyes almost appearing to do a double take as I take another step forward.

“Get lost,” he spat, turning back to his victim; she looked past him to where I stood, face not painted in relief, but in terror, as my features came into the light. “This isn’t any of your business.”

It was in this moment that I could feel the slip. My eyes darkened, vision switching from straining against the darkness of the night, to crystal clear shapes and heat signatures. Perfect for hunting. My hand shot forward, gripping the man by the throat tightly; my upper lip twitched in anticipation, feeling the heat bubbling angrily in my core, screaming, aching, pleading to be released.

Never fucking satisfied.

Letting that feeling get the better of me, I gripped his wrists tightly in my hands, then twisted them back until I was met with deafening snaps as the cartilage and bone gave way under my strength, “On this side of the tracks, everything is my business.” I whispered into his ear, unable to contain the slight joy that graced my lips as he screamed mercilessly in my arms.

And in the next instant, he ceased to exist.

Way to play with your food, you pig. We didn’t even have any fun.

I looked up to where the woman stood, paralyzed in fear.

Well I mean, there’s still her -

I had full intentions on finishing what I had started; I picked up the lifeless body from the ground, hauling him over my shoulder as the woman took off.

There can sometimes be nothing more terrifying than the very dead of night. When night creeps in and washes away the everyday hustle and bustle of life that once filled every corner of a house, even the most confident of people can be left feeling as if something is watching them. In the silence that accompanies darkness, every last sound can appear deafening. And for some, the things that go bump in the night are the things of our nightmares.

I must have been one of hers.

“For fuck sakes,” I growled; I’d just have to enjoy him later. I knew there was no real measure of distance she could put between us that would make her safe. Her scent was left in a trail behind her, like a beaming arrow guiding me to her. Discarding the body into the dumpster just behind the bar, I wiped my hands on the back of my denim and lifted my nose to the sky.

It took me a moment, focusing on the path her scent had made, visually envisioning where exactly she was - heading west on Chopin, towards Bo’s convenience store. Within seconds, I was stretching my long legs behind her, listening to her heart erratically beating in her chest, pumping the deliciously warm life-force within her veins. She smelled sweet, almost too sweet like a heavy sugar icing that came with the pre-made store bought cakes.

We were just passing his shop doors when I grabbed hold of her by the elbow; she protested against my restraints, kicking my shin rather roughly in her attempt to evade, but alas, no such luck. I pulled her into my side, turning into the alley just behind the shop only to have her pressed against the brick.

Even in the darkness, it was easy to see the way her blood raced up into her neck and flushed her face with a lovely pink. Her eyes were wide with fear, lungs filling with air in short gasps. I loosened my hold, but did not put any more distance between us, “I’m not going to hurt you.” I uttered softly, “That was a stupid idea.” I continued once she had calmed herself enough.

“You -” she breathed, mouth pulled back into a grimace. Her eyes wandered over the length of my body, my shoulders, drinking in every last feature. She knew me, she knew who I was - or, rather, who I was supposed to be, “You killed him.”

“I did the Southside a favour.” I argued.

“You snapped his arms like they were twigs,” she replied, her eyes narrowing as she glowered up at me, “And then his neck. You picked him up like he weighs nothing -”

“To be fair, you don’t weigh very much either.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

I let my brows raise, “Can we? Talk about you?”

She paused, her heartbeat stuttering for the briefest moment. After a few seconds of deliberation, she tries to wiggle her wrists in my grasp, “Will you let me go?”

“Will you run from me?” I countered.

What are you doing?

She shook her head slowly, meeting my gaze with a quiet ‘I promise’ that was barely audible to the human hear. Carefully, I removed my hands from her wrists, watching as she rubbed them with a slight wince; I offered an apologetic smile, and although it was measly, she seemed a little more at ease being in control of her own body again.

“Why did you run this time?” I asked after a few moments, bringing another cigarette up to my lips, lighter flickering against the breeze.

“You were going to kill me next.” she deadpanned, taking the smoke from between my lips to inhale deeply; her shoulders seemed to relax more visibly with her next exhale.

“You’ve seen me before,” I reminded her, stealing my smoke back, “I didn’t kill you then.”

“Why not?”

Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure why I hadn’t. My shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, leaning my body against the brick next to hers, “I followed you home that night.” I began after a few moments, “I was going to. Kill you. In all of my decades on this earth, I’ve been very good with keeping what I am a secret, until you and your pesky camera.” She glances up at me impishly, hands disappearing into her pockets. “I sat outside of your window for hours, waiting until your mother’s Vicodin kicked in and the wine put her to sleep.”

“What changed your mind?” she asked, this time her voice a little less stable, much quieter.

You.

Involuntarily, I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as I mulled over the several possible answers - all of which was true to an extent, but none that would be satisfactory, I was sure. “Why didn’t you scream?” I watched her features drop into a scowl at my words, “It’s not often people see me like that without becoming hysteric or jumping into a sort of frenzy,” she doesn’t meet my eyes this time, choosing to keep her gaze fixed on the ground as she reached for the cigarette I extended towards her.

She flinched, momentary fear replacing the ease that settled over her bones. There it was again - undeniably sweet and sickly, thundering in her chest, pumping through her veins. “Honestly? Mythological creatures fascinate me.”

I felt my brows pull together, “Do I look like a myth to you?”

“You know what I mean,” her eyes flutter in a gentle roll, inviting me to follow her as she began to drift towards the street again. “I was more concerned with getting home to figure out what you were, more than I was actually worried about you killing me.”

“That’s .. incredibly careless, actually. Are you sure you’re human?” I teased lightly as I settled into a leisurely stroll alongside her.

“Just barely.” she quipped.

“Don’t worry, me too.” I glanced sideways down at her, and winked. Immediately, her skin lit up with a soft pink. “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

She shook her head once, “No, but I’ve got a thousand questions.”

I wasn’t entirely sure I had any of the answers she was looking for. I mean, of course I did, I just wasn’t sure if talking about it was going to make things worse.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of tires running over puddles and the wind in the trees. Riverdale had become eerily quiet, and not in a comforting way. It wasn’t until I recognized what street we had turned onto before I realized we were headed towards her home.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.

“Sweet Pea,” I replied.

“Your real name.”

“That is my real name.” I assured her; it wasn’t a total lie. That was the name I received when I had first been initiated, that was the name that stuck. It had been an odd choice, but given that I appeared far scarier than my name sounded, it made me the perfect candidate to take care of the dirty business.

Not very many people expected a six-foot-five body of muscle to come out with a pair of pliers after they’ve been told they’re sending in Sweet Pea. Truthfully, I took far more joy out of handling those situations than the others would have.

“You really expect me to call you that?”

I shrugged indifferently, “You can call me whatever you’d like. I’m not picky.” We came to a slow crawl, stopping just outside of the pathway littered with wilting flowers and weeds. The lights inside the home remained off, but the light above the door came to life as we ventured near.

She looked up at me from under her lashes, bottom lip caught between her teeth; I had seen this before. Many times. I was no stranger to body language, and I could read her loud and clear; I had been intimate with people before, and never once had it posed an issue. People, men and women alike, were incredibly needy and driven by carnal desires, making prey such as the girl before me irresistibly enticing.

But I had never, ever, been intimate with someone that knew what I was.

“How about I call you tomorrow, and take you out for breakfast since you .. took care of that guy.” she offered, holding her cellular device out. “You eat breakfast, right?

I took it from her fingertips, “I prefer my cattle live, but I suppose fried bacon will have to do.” I joked, noticing the way the corners of her mouth threatened a smile. “I look forward to hearing from you.” I mused quietly, holding the phone back out to return it to her.

“Goodnight, Sweet Pea.” she murmured, twisting the knob on her front door.

I couldn’t help but crack a smile, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

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sp4c3-0ddity · 6 years ago

Text

the mercenary and the witch

Summary:

Lance is in bad company, spying on Sendak's band of outlaws for hire and reporting on their movements to his friends. But his position within grows precarious when Sendak reaps the spoils of battle...

Word count: 8265 (one-shot, complete)

A/N:

for @rueitae since she helped a lot with developing the idea and because she’s just really into Sendak fic right now

also please note this is darker than what i typically share. there’s implied torture/whump as well as an implied threat of...well, the R-word (though nothing is portrayed)

in any case, i hope you like it!! and if you do, please comment and/or reblog!! also i’ll just say right now i can’t guarantee a sequel

Read below or here on ao3:

Sendak found no gold in the village, which naturally put him and the rest of the mercenary company in a foul mood. They flushed the rebels out and received no payment in return, so they vowed to take it in whatever way they could.

Lance would’ve been content with a hot dinner and a warm bed to spend the night, but his comrades had other plans. For every unsavory ex-soldier pillaging silos of grain and casks of ale were two outlaws turning millers and thatchers and tailors out of their homes; for every boy with an ax stuck in his hand and enlisted against his and his parents’ wishes was a girl getting leered at or felt up or worse.

And Lance bore witness to it all with nausea curling in his gut and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

But Thace couldn’t always be there to stop him from saying something.

“You’d take their only cow?” Lance demanded of Morvok, a weaker willed Galra ex-soldier - a deserter, he suspected from his shifty manner. He crossed his arms and stared down the mercenary as if he could force him to drop the lead rope through sheer force of will.

“I like a good cup of milk as much as the next baby,” Morvok retorted, though he didn’t quite meet Lance’s eyes. He tried to veer past him, but he blocked the barn doorway.

And, well, Lance couldn’t claim to be as broad in the shoulders as Shiro or as large in the gut as Hunk, but he still had half a head on Morvok. “Leave the cow alone, Morvok,” he said, voice low and threatening (he hoped).

But Morvok didn’t quail. Instead he finally raised his gaze, eyes narrowing, and said, “I don’t think I will, boy.”

“Why not? It’s not like you need a cow!” Lance flailed his arms; if threatening wouldn’t work, maybe reason would. “And how the hell are you going to care for a cow while we’re on the road?” He gestured towards the poor, too-docile-for-her-own-good creature, who only mooed listlessly. “She needs hay and needs to be milked early every morning, and what about when we’re on our next job and—”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Morvok interrupted with an ugly little smirk Lance wanted to punch off his ugly smug face. “Sendak’s thinking of making this charming little village our base of operations. The villagers have been oh so hospitable since we cleaned up their infestation, and they have that delightfully strategic tower that—wait, boy, where are you going?”

But Lance barely heard the tail end of his explanation. He spun on his heel and deserted Morvok at the barn, leaving him to his victim in favor of sprinting away to where he pitched his tent near the base of the tower - the one and only fortification upon a hill with a perfect vantage of the fertile wheat fields surrounding the farming village. His heart pounded wildly both in exertion and from a panic that grew more familiar with each “surprise” job that Sendak took.

“We’re attacking that village,” Sendak announced at sunrise as the last straggling mercenaries emerged from their tents in various states of dress. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but one of its residents hired us to flush out an unsavory rebel presence.” He barked a humorless laugh, his empty eye socket glowing yellow behind the smoke filling it. “I told him we would be more than happy to free them of their menace.”

Lance’s heart jumped into his throat, eyes widening as he exchanged an alarmed glance with Thace, the only halfway decent mercenary in the band. In his time with them, he’d yet to face any rebels against Zarkon’s conquest. What if he encountered someone he knew in battle? If any of his fellow mercenaries observed him hesitate, they wouldn’t think twice about serving up his traitorous head to Sendak on a stolen silver platter.

And Sendak never—

“Why’re ye on’y tellin’ us about this job now?” someone demanded. “We been marchin’ for weeks, and ye ain’t told us nuthin’!”

Others echoed his sentiments, and Sendak, with all the gravitas of a once-favored Galra general, let the grumblings die out before he replied, “And inform the traitor in our midst so he can alert the Voltron Mercenaries? I think not…”

While a slow smirk curled Sendak’s lips, while the deserters and criminals and scum raised their voices in angry, indignant shouts - of denial, of reproach, of suspicion, Lance swallowed before forcing himself to join in - but not without reaching for the two-way mirror hidden inside his coat.

Its presence failed to reassure him.

Lance tore his tent flap open, barely pausing to activate the ward against eavesdroppers woven into the canvas - likely as not he’d have to pay for a mage to renew the charm soon before it faded. He fumbled for the gleaming silver mirror, breath fogging the surface as he held it up to his face and said, “Show me Pidge.”

His heart stuttered in his chest while the mirror’s surface blurred and shifted, his face and the gloomy interior of his depressingly impersonal tent fading to…well, he wasn’t really sure what. Something dark, he assessed with his brow furrowed. He squinted at the mirror, hoping to glean something else, turning it around in his hands before sighing, his heart sinking into his stomach and a dreadful ache in his chest.

Lance missed Pidge so much it hurt worse than any arrow to the arm or sword to the leg. He missed all his friends and family in the months since he enlisted in Sendak’s renegade mercenary band, with whom he felt more lonely than he ever had in his life despite his singular friend, but it was Pidge he longed to see, to speak to, to hold most of all.

Well, if there was one good thing that would come of Sendak discovering him, it would be an inevitable reunion with Pidge and the others after he fled.

Lance gave up on contacting Pidge for the moment; she probably left her mirror facing down on her desk or beside her bed, too distracted by an experiment or with a rebel intelligence report to remember to pick it up. It’d happened once before, and she contacted him barely an hour later herself, the mirror nestled safely in his hand flashing white before he brought it to his eye and felt the smile splitting his face the instant her gaze met his.

So this was nothing.

(Or so he tried to convince himself.)

Lance sat cross-legged on his bedroll, tapping his fingers against his knees. An agitated energy sat under his skin, so he almost tucked the mirror away. But he didn’t fancy holding himself back from stopping his repulsive comrades from harassing and stealing from villagers (lest they scrutinize him too much), and he needed to tell someone about Sendak’s plans.

He raised the mirror again and muttered, “Show me Allura.”

His face faded, another far more beautiful and ethereal (he was man enough to admit as much) face taking its place.

Allura grinned, but when he couldn’t muster a grin of his own, hers faltered. She raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, and Lance reached for the slate and chalk he hid under his bedroll.

The chalk screeched as he scribbled a simple message on the slate and raised it so Allura could read:

Sendak suspects.

Allura’s eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth in an oddly dainty expression of horror. She reached for something out of his view, her face lowering, and after a few painstaking seconds she raised a scrap of parchment that read in her calligraphic scrawl, Are you safe?

Lance swiped his sleeve - dirtying it, sadly - over the slate before scribbling, For now. When Allura frowned in obvious concern, he managed a reassuring smile and a simple two-fingered salute. “I can make a quick escape if I need to,” he promised.

(Wait, could Allura even read lips?)

Before Allura could respond to his words - whether she understood it or not - Lance wiped the slate clean again and wrote, Pidge?

After he showed it to Allura, she smiled but shook her head. She again raised the same scrap of parchment with a new addition under the first message:

With Matt.

And if Pidge was with her brother…well, Lance could rest easy knowing there was a simple explanation for her distraction (and that if anyone would keep her safe, it would be Matt). A relieved smile pushed at his lips, a tension easing from his shoulders, but with the most pressing information out of the way, he needed to report to Allura about the ambush on the rebel hideout.

Again he wiped the slate clean, but as he pressed the tip of the chalk to the board, the flap concealing the entrance to his tent flew open.

Lance’s heart leapt. He shoved slate and chalk back under his bedroll and covered the two-way mirror with his hand before turning to face the intruder.

His heart stopped in his chest when he recognized Haxus - Sendak’s loyal lieutenant, the only man that followed when Emperor Zarkon exiled him - towering over him. “Commander Sendak requests the presence of every man in the company,” he said, speech almost jarring in its formality.

Lance stiffened his spine, carefully composing his expression into something more apathetic. He nodded - the band, for all Haxus’ efforts, wasn’t disciplined enough for salutes - and said, “I’ll follow you out.”

Haxus appraised him for a heartbeat - did he suspect Lance of the treachery? - before saying, “Hurry it up, boy. The commander doesn’t have all day.”

The instant he turned his back, Lance rolled his eyes - being called “boy” all the time just because he was the newest and youngest recruit (at least before they kidnapped a handful of village boys) grated on him - and, after carefully tucking the two-way mirror back into his coat, trailed after Haxus.

The mercenaries milled about in the courtyard in front of the fortified tower, an armed mob just shy of unruly. Villagers mingled with them - some obviously terrified judging from their hunched shoulders and shifting eyes, others looking more curious - while they grumbled about being called away from more important tasks like looting.

Haxus cut a path through the rabble to the base of the tower, but Lance lingered at the edge of the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently - he needed to return to his tent and pass his message along to Allura - and a scowl twisted his lips. Even Thace’s arrival didn’t set him at ease, so he only greeted him with a sullen nod.

“I heard you tried to stop Morvok from stealing a cow,” Thace observed.

That only darkened Lance’s mood. He crossed his arms, glowering at the ground; he did not need his warnings now. “It didn’t work,” he muttered.

“I know, but…” Thace trailed off with a sigh, but Lance knew what he was thinking anyway.

“You can’t stop this lot from having their fun, and getting in their way will only anger them and draw their attention to you.”

Thace was spared the trouble of saying anything else by Sendak’s arrival.

It was a small blessing: Sendak didn’t leave them to wait long in the humid heat, sweating in their boots and armor. But the genuine and triumphant grin - broader than the one he donned when their ambush succeeded in driving away the rebels - on his face, with his teeth flashing in the waning light and his smoking eye glowing, instantly set Lance on edge.

Good news for Sendak was not good news for him.

“Today was an even greater victory than I even imagined!” Sendak announced, tone full of barely repressed glee.

“You’d think Zarkon just declared him the heir to his empire,” Lance mumbled under his breath.

(When Thace flashed him a grudging smile, he considered it a personal triumph.)

“We drove the rebels away from a poor, defenseless village they victimized for so long—”

Lance rolled his eyes, the irony making him sick to his stomach again.

“—and we reaped the spoils they left behind!”

“Of course…” he scoffed, almost too loud.

But the mercenaries, riled up by Sendak’s speech, drowned his voice out with their own cheering and jeering.

The rabble only grew louder at the stirring of some commotion at the front of the crowd, at two mercenaries dragging a slumped figure between them, so Sendak fought to make himself heard:

“And among the fleeing rebels I found the most precious of the battle’s spoils: the rebel witch herself!”

Lance couldn’t deny his curiosity as the mob cursed at whomever was brought before them. His heart pounded relentlessly against his ribs, tension filling him as he stood on his toes to peer over the heads of those standing between him and the tower.

His eyes found Pidge.

A bound, gagged, barely standing yet seething Pidge, glaring at her captors with unfocused eyes.

Lance didn’t know he’d stepped forward - he just knew the blood rushing through his veins filled him with a furious energy - until Thace’s fingers clamped around his arm and dragged him backwards. “Let me go,” he hissed after failing to wrench himself out of his grip.

“No.” Thace grabbed his shoulders and shook him, stepping between him and the mob - between him and Pidge.

Pidge, Pidge, Pidge.

Just moments ago he thought she was safe, but now he found her here, amid a crowd of deadly, angry, dreadful mercenaries whose commander was once a notorious Galra general that captured the Castle of Lions itself.

But Pidge…oh, it was Pidge that thwarted and expelled Sendak, and the bastard remembered.

Lance wanted to kill him, and Thace stood in his way. He glared up at him, heedless of the noise and witnesses around them. He didn’t care; he could take them all if they tried to stop him too. “Let. Me. Go.”

“So you can do something stupid?” He shook his head. “Return to your tent, Lance.”

Lance couldn’t. Tension filled his muscles, turning them into taut springs, and all he saw was Pidge, her fear obvious behind her defiance as Sendak gloated. But his rage faded ever so slightly, giving away to a gut-wrenching fear of his own. “I need to—”

Thace flung an arm around his chest and shoved him away, tugging him closer and speaking directly into his ear, “Sendak is waiting for the instant you - any one of us - steps out of line. If he has any reason to suspect treachery, justified or not, he won’t hesitate to kill you - and her.”

Lance swallowed the sudden lump lodged in his throat, blinking angry tears from his eyes. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” he demanded, gesturing towards the tower and the crowd milled around it. “Thace, she’s—”

He broke off; he couldn’t really trust Thace, friendly and decent or not.

“She means something to you?” Thace wondered, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

Lance nodded, too choked up to speak. And what could he say? Would he really pour out his heart, confess that Pidge was his lover - that he asked her to marry him before Allura sent him to infiltrate Sendak’s mercenaries - to a near-stranger whose intentions he still couldn’t glean?

“Then I will listen for her fate,” Thace promised, “but you will return to your tent.”

His tone brooked no argument - it reminded him of Coran when he forced Allura or Shiro to rest before they overworked themselves - but Lance still found the wherewithal to protest, “But I need to see—”

“Think of what will become of her should Sendak discover the true purpose of that mirror you keep hidden on your person.”

Lance stiffened, almost so startled it superseded his anger. “How do you—”

“I know how to spot magical objects,” Thace said simply, “and you’re not nearly as careful as you think you are. That ward on your tent is nearly dead, by the way.”

“You won’t tell—”

“Of course not,” he said, frowning almost grumpily. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

Lance glared at him - Fine, keep your secrets. - but forced his limbs to unwind and relax. “Tell me as soon as you know something. I need to know.” For once he didn’t care to modulate his tone, didn’t care he sounded like he was begging.

“I will,” Thace promised. “Now go.”

And finally Lance turned towards his tent, each step taken - each step that carried him further away from Pidge - more difficult than the last.

***

Thace didn’t keep him waiting for long - and definitely not long enough for him to scramble for his two-way mirror and try and fail again to contact Pidge. And, oh, that was why he got nothing, he realized with an awful twisting in his gut.

He didn’t know she was in the very village the mercenaries ambushed - didn’t encounter her in the battle - didn’t know anything. How could he be so useless to her when she needed him?

He buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Pidge…I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Lance bit back his automatic denial, instead raising his eyes to look up at Thace. “What did you find?”

Thace crossed his arms and sighed. “She’ll be under constant rotating guard inside the tower,” he said. “Sendak doesn’t intend to slaughter her like he did with all the other captured rebels; he wants to cart her off to Daibazaal and present her to Emperor Zarkon. But…” He glanced at Lance, his brow furrowing, and added, “I doubt you’ll like this next part any better.”

He jumped to his feet, unable to hide his urgency, and said, “Tell me anyway.”

“Sendak won’t be stopping his men from…harassing her,” Thace said. “His only condition for her arrival to Daibazaal is that she be alive.”

Lance barely heard the last of his words, the blood rushing past his ears drowning them out. He didn’t know if he was more furious or horrified, his heart somehow racing and tightening in fear at once.

He’d spent the better part of a year with this rabble of mercenaries; he knew what they were capable of without the slightest provocation. Pidge could be beaten within an inch of her life or suffer the same fate as any defenseless village girl and Sendak wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it.

And Lance would be powerless to stop it.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try anyway.

Escape would be their best bet, but he doubted he’d be able to manage it with Pidge locked up in a tower cell. But just the thought of waiting till they marched again in two days’ time filled him with nausea.

Lance needed to see her, just hold her and hear her voice again, make sure she was as all right as she could be trapped here, promise he was already planning a way out for her - a way out for both of them. He needed—

He turned to Thace and said, “I want guard duty.”

“No.”

“For the ancients’ sake, quit telling me no!” Lance roared, throwing his fists into the air. “I don’t even need your permission!”

“No, you don’t,” Thace agreed, to his surprise, “but you do need my advice.”

“What the hell do you know?” Lance sneered, aware but uncaring that he sounded petulant. He paced the tiny space in his tent, his head brushing the canvas ceiling, and seethed. “She’s my betrothed, Thace! I can’t just not do anything!” He waved in the general direction of the tower (probably) and glared.

“I know more than you think,” Thace said, “and for these ancients’ sake, keep your voice down. Your ward—”

“—is fading, I know.” His foot tapped, and tapped, and tapped. “Where’s your compassion?” he demanded. “And what good are we if all we do is watch and wait?”

“Watch and wait,” Shiro advised Lance before he set out.

“The Blade teaches us to watch and wait,” Keith said in lieu of a proper goodbye.

Well, how was Lance supposed to watch and wait with Pidge’s safety at stake?

“I’m going to see her”—Lance met Thace’s eyes in a useless battle of wills—”with or without your help.”

Thace rubbed his face and sighed. “You and your friends and your thoughtless ways will be either the death or salvation of us all.” But, to his surprise and relief, he clapped Lance on the shoulder and swore, “You will have my help.”

“Thank you,” Lance said with a slight smile. “I’ll be careful.”

“See that you do,” Thace said. “I fear this won’t be so easy as we hope.”

***

With Pidge so close yet so far from his reach, Lance slept worse than he did in his first nights marching with the company, when fear kept him on edge lest Sendak discover him and have someone slit his throat in his sleep. In the rare stretches of slumber he snatched, nightmares plagued him - of Sendak strangling Pidge, her pale face turning blue while he watched, helpless with quicksand sucking at his legs and dragging him down till dirt filled his mouth and he startled awake gasping and fumbling for his empty water skin in the darkness of his tent.

It took all his self-control not to bolt out and sprint for the tower.

He didn’t bother trying to sleep again and instead slipped on his coat and stumbled out of his tent with the water skin in hand. After a trip to the village well, he parched his thirst, but he couldn’t so easily dismiss his nightmare.

The tower stood as a velvety black silhouette at the top of the hill, a silent watcher in the night, with a torch half-hidden by a crenelation burning atop it. Sendak likely stationed someone he trusted - and with sharp eyes - up there to watch for anyone taking advantage of the darkness to sneak around…

The doors to the only tavern - which, in a village so small, should’ve locked up soon after sunset - burst open, a few drunken mercenaries slipping over their own shadows. One fell, landing on his hands and knees, while his fellows doubled over and guffawed, the sound disturbing the otherwise quiet evening - the only peace the village got with this rabble in residence.

“Stupid girl,” the one on the ground grumbled. He stood, rubbing his chin, and added, “She ain’t so pretty she can play hard to get.”

One of his companions laughed even louder. “You aren’t so pretty she’ll play hard to get.”

The first one raised his fist, swinging it with a wordless bellow, but he was so drunk he missed and stumbled while his friends laughed at his expense.

Lance rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy - he wasn’t so naive he couldn’t admit that he suffered many a stinging rejection before he met Pidge, although with the company this job forced him to keep, the mercenary probably deserved the red, hand-shaped mark on his jaw.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” one of the others said, kind enough to help the first climb to his feet. “That one mightn’t have wanted you, but I know there’s another girl in the village who can’t say no.”

The mercenaries’ shared laughter shifted to something dark and unpleasant that filled Lance with an ugly knot of dread. He watched them tread through the village, past dark shops with windows broken after days of looting, past cottages with shutters torn off their hinges and the stables empty of horses - up the hill and towards the tower.

Any sympathy Lance had vanished, all wisdom Thace ever spoke to him forgotten in the heat of a fresh wave of anger. His heart pounded as he ran to overtake the mercenaries - his own, distasteful comrades - and protested, “Didn’t you hear? Sendak said only the posted guards can ‘visit’ with his…captive.”

“No, he didn’t,” one immediately retorted.

Lance gritted his teeth to bite back his frustration, trying to rethink…what would Pidge do? “Then don’t you think you should get some sleep while you can?” He shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he hadn’t felt since the instant he saw her trussed up and gagged and dragged before a mob. “We’re marching again in a day, and I’m sure you’d rather rest in a bed you stole than the hard ground.” He smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner, but when the men still looked doubtful, he extended his arms over his head and faked a yawn. “I, for one, know what I’d rather do tonight than bother some rebel prisoner.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” one said while the others nodded in agreement. “I want my fun now while I can take it, before Sendak marches us all to death on the way to some other battle.”

They roughly pushed past Lance, but he grabbed one by the arm and wrenched him back before hissing, “What fun is an unwilling victim that’ll sooner scratch your eyes out till you have as many as Sendak than submit?” He glowered, staring him in the eye, his gaze and fingernails digging into his flesh promising bloody murder.

“What’re you yapping about, boy?” one of the others said. “The ones that fight are the most—”

“Shut your trap,” the one Lance grabbed spat, his gaze steadier and steelier than he would’ve expected of a drunken lout. “You…” His finger jabbed him in the chest. “You’re the one who tried to stop Morvok from taking a bloody cow.”

Lance swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He had a reputation, did he?

“Always standing to the side, never eager to take any spoils,” the mercenary sneered. “You’re even too good to take weapons off corpses, as if dead men need them where they’re going.”

“W-why would I steal weapons off corpses?” Lance wondered, his eyes wide…as if he could profess innocence. His comrades apparently were more observant than he gave them credit for. “I take good care of my bow and sword; I don’t need anything else.”

“What’re you, a lord’s spoiled brat?” he scoffed. He tugged his arm from Lance’s grip. “We can’t afford to let good weapons go to waste, boy, just like we like to have our fun before we die fighting someone else’s wars. But fine”—he rolled his eyes and trudged away, back in the direction they came—”I’ve lost my taste for rebel flesh thanks to your preaching.”

Lance watched the rest of them follow, not one throwing him a dirty look as they passed. He met their eyes unflinchingly, his tension refusing to abate, and even when the shadows swallowed them he felt no relief.

If one faithless mercenary made note of his post-battle habits, then all of them very well could, and if the news traveled to Sendak…

It was just one more reason for him to suspect Lance of treachery.

He needed to get Pidge out before he did anything stupid that compromised them both.

***

“You’re on duty guarding the witch until dawn.”

Blue’s brush nearly slipped from his hands when Haxus addressed Lance while he fought a yawn. His eyes shot open in surprise, but he composed his expression into something he hoped was nonchalant - rather than the stupid, triumphant grin that pushed at his lips - as he turned to face Sendak’s lieutenant. “Until we march?”

“Until we march,” Haxus confirmed. His eyes narrowed, sharp enough on him that a shiver traveled up his spine, but he didn’t let it bother him.

He was finally getting a chance to approach Pidge! The thought filled him with the energy that evaded him all day thanks to a sleepless night, and when Haxus’ footsteps faded behind him, he resumed brushing Blue’s coat to a sheen.

“Hear that, girl?” he said to his mare, allowing himself a smile. “I’ll see her tonight, and soon…” He rubbed Blue’s snout down to her soft, velvety nose. “Be ready, all right? We’ll be on our way back to the Castle before you know it.”

***

Time is short, Lance scribbled on his slate before showing it to Allura on the surface of his two-way mirror. He wiped the dust away and wrote his new message, Is Matt safe?

Allura’s eyes widened, and she scrawled on her parchment, Why do you ask?

Sendak captured Pidge, Lance replied simply. We leave soon. He paused, assessing Allura for her reaction. When her eyes slipped shut and she nodded in agreement - or in simple acceptance, because Lance refused to be convinced to stay - he cleaned his slate and wrote, Watch for us.

Explain when you return, Allura ordered, gaze sharp. But her expression softened, and she added underneath, Be careful.

Lance flashed her a reassuring smile and a two-fingered salute and said, “When aren’t I?”

(He sincerely hoped Allura couldn’t read lips because he did not want to know the answer to that question.)

Allura rolled her eyes, which Lance took as his cue to end the communication. He returned the mirror to his pocket and stood, his heart stuttering in his chest.

It was time for his guard shift.

The ward Lance used to shield his tent from eavesdroppers was little more than a pebble with a rune carved into it that he set just within the entrance. He picked it up, his heart pounding with excitement (and heavy with dread), and ran his thumb over the rune.

He knew it was losing its effectiveness…but it had to do if he wanted to seize this chance to speak with Pidge.

Lance pocketed the ward with his two-way mirror before belting on his sword and pushing his way out of his tent.

The trek up the hill to the tower dragged on as he forced himself to modulate his pace, to not seem too eager. Too many close encounters filled him with a wariness he hadn’t felt since his first month with the company, and Thace’s persistent warnings echoed through his head.

The tower door opened with a creaking of rusted hinges, and Lance entered a round room with a staircase spiraling up along the wall through the ceiling. A single mercenary leaned against the wall outside a second heavy metal door with bars over a window, cleaning under his fingernails with a knife.

“You the next one?” he asked when he glanced up at the sound of Lance’s footsteps.

“That’s right,” Lance said. He paused before him and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Who’s your partner?” the guard wondered, his eyes slipping past him.

His eyes widened, fingers tightening around his sword. “My…partner?”

The guard nodded, angling his head towards the cell door right as a pained yelp drifted from within.

Lance stiffened, jaw setting and blood running hot. “Where’s your partner?” he asked the guard.

He grinned nastily and said, “Visiting. I already got my turn with the witch.”

Lance forced his fingers to uncurl, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax. “Well, tell him it’s my turn now,” he said as levelly as he could.

(He doubted he succeeded.)

“Not till your partner gets here,” the guard said. “Commander Sendak’s orders.”

Lance rounded on him and grabbed his collar. “Listen, you—”

“No need to be so impatient, boy!” someone announced behind him. “I’m here now! I’ll even let you visit her first since you’re in such a hurry to have her to yourself.”

Lance’s eyes pinched shut as he silently begged for the patience he really did not have. “Morvok is my partner.” He let go of the man, resisting the urge to shove him away, and turned to the short deserter, eyes narrowing. “How’s your cow?”

“Taken care of,” Morvok promised with a smirk. “I milked her this morning and even offered to share some with my comrades; you might’ve taken a cup if you bothered to break your fast with us.”

Morvok’s oddly formal diction grated on Lance’s nerves, reminding him irresistibly of Sendak’s; it gave away their origins as high-ranking Galra soldiers…and rubbed his nose in what they had in common.

Lance wouldn’t put it past Morvok to spy on him and report back to Sendak.

The guard knocking on the cell door burst the tense bubble. “Shift’s over,” he called inside. “Hope you left something for the next two.”

The door swung open and closed in quick succession, the second guard emerging rubbing his nose and scowling. “The witch bit me!” he complained.

Lance smirked, pride filling him. “Guess it wasn’t a nice visit.”

“Oh, it was.” The mercenary smiled, his gaze falling to his balled fist. “I made sure she paid for it.”

His smirk froze in place, though his racing heart urged him to launch himself at the mercenary. “I’ll charge her extra just for you,” he said through gritted teeth.

The mercenary grinned and clapped Lance on the shoulder on his way out, but his partner leveled him with a suspicious gaze before following.

The tower door shut, leaving him and Morvok in a shadowed, torch-lit room…with Pidge so close he could almost touch her.

Lance grabbed the latch to open the cell door and smiled at Morvok. “And now it’s my turn to slap her around,” he said, the words tasting foul as they slipped from him.

Morvok laughed. “You surprise me, boy,” he said. “Just a few days ago you tried to stop me from stealing a cow. A cow!”

Bile rose in his throat as he said, “A cow is worth more to me than a rebel witch.”

Morvok’s awful cackle followed him into the cell as he slipped inside, guilt heavy in his gut. He set the ward with its rune at the base of the door before at last seeking what he came for.

She slowly, gingerly rose from where she crouched on the stone floor, the chains binding her to the wall rattling and her eyes wide in disbelief. “L—” she cut herself off with a startled squeak before covering her mouth with a hand and bursting into muffled, heart-wrenching sobs.

His own heart fractured as he watched her fold in on herself, the defiance that had been on display when she was paraded before the band gone. “Pidge,” Lance muttered while a lump stuck in his throat. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, her warmth, her heartbeat, the uneven rise and fall of her chest reassuring despite her broken, silent cries.

Lance buried his face in her neck and ran his fingers through her hair, unbothered by her unwashed state. Holding her - comforting her however he could - was more important than her hygiene.

Pidge pressed her face into his chest, her hands tucked against him while she shook. “Y-y-you’re here,” she managed between sobs. “I-I-I thought…the worst…L-Lance…”

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he muttered into her ear, squeezing her tighter as if that would erase all that befell her since her capture. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, Pidge.”

“Y-y-you—should y-you be here?” Pidge mumbled, her voice muted in his coat.

“It’s my turn to guard you,” Lance told her with a bitter laugh, “and nothing could keep me away.” He pulled away from her just enough to cup her face in both hands, wiping away a few tears with his thumbs and meeting brown eyes sharp despite their unhappy shine. “I would’ve been beside you the instant I saw you if I could’ve.”

Damn Thace, he thought, an angry heat filling him at the sight of yellow bruises under her eyes, marring her pale skin, at the cuts and scrapes visible through the tears in her ragged, dirty clothes. Damn Sendak most of all.

“I-I know,” Pidge said, a slight smile on her lips, “and I wondered - I hoped - if you would, but y-you shouldn’t—”

“I warded the cell,” Lance promised. “I-I’ll tell Morvok I gagged you and I d-didn’t feel like mocking if he asks.”

(Even the explanation stuck a knot of dread in his stomach, as if just pretending to beat his betrothed was something he could relish.)

Pidge’s brow furrowed, nose wrinkling in a way that might’ve been sweet in any other situation. “Lance—”

“I had to see you,” he insisted, “and I’m going to free you. We’ll both escape these degenerates once we’re on the march.” He rested his forehead against hers, their noses brushing and her breath warming his face. “We’ll find your brother and return to the Castle, then we’ll marry because if you’re ready I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Pidge smiled very slightly, her hand sliding up his chest and neck, her touch soft and sending a shiver down his spine. “I was ready to marry you before you even asked me, y-you fool.”

“Fool” wasn’t an insult coming from her, so a grin pushed at Lance’s lips as he retorted, “You would trust a fool with your heart?”

Her palm rested against his cheek. “Only if that fool is you.”

Lance kissed her, her lips soft and warm beneath his. Her breath stuttered, his own heartbeat erratic, and her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer.

Until she broke away with a hiss, eyes pinched shut and lip curled.

“Pidge?” he said when she bent over, clutching at her abdomen. His hand fell on her shoulder, worry making him nauseous. “Are you—”

“I-I think I have a few broken ribs,” she explained breathlessly, and when she glanced up at him, her eyes glistened with pain.

Lance knelt on the ground beside her, gingerly grasping her arms as fury again threatened to overrule him. He contented himself with a scowl and demanded, “Who—”

“They take turns,” Pidge explained. “It’s worse if I fight them.”

“You bit the last one’s nose,” Lance remarked, frowning with his heart heavy. “Pidge—”

“I-I’ll be fine, Lance,” she promised, her hand finding and covering his. “I trust you t-to get us out of this.”

“I will,” he swore, “and I won’t let anyone else touch you again.”

He sealed his words with another, softer kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair until he pulled away just enough that they still breathed the same air. “I love you, Pidge,” he whispered, because he needed her to hear, to understand it.

She smiled, but there was something shaky about it. “I know.” She cupped his jaw, her thumb wiping away a single tear he hadn’t noticed he shed. “I love you too.”

Pidge dragged his face down to hers until their lips touched again, the taste of hers bittersweet despite the salt of her tears. His heart pounded, an awful dread twisting his gut into knots before he parted from her, breathless and with his chest aching.

He fervently, desperately hoped that kiss wouldn’t be their last.

***

When Morvok declined his “turn” with Pidge, Lance breathed the easiest he had since Sendak dragged her before a crowd.

“What do I want with a witch?” he said. “She could curse me with a look.”

Lance didn’t bother arguing with him and instead suffered through the rest of the shift with Pidge miserable and alone only on the other side of a cell door and refusing to be baited by Morvok’s needling.

“I bet she didn’t mind you so much,” Morvok said, flashing him an unpleasant smirk. “At least you’re prettier than her other visitors.”

Lance’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Oh thanks,” he said through lips pressed together. “I’m definitely prettier than you.”

Morvok only chuckled. “You must’ve been gentle too,” he observed. “I didn’t hear a single peep from her when you—”

Lance chucked the ward at Morvok, but he was faster than he looked, ducking his head before it connected with his forehead. It struck the wall behind him with a clack and fell to the floor for him to pick up and examine with a thoughtful tilt to his mouth.

“Curious,” Morvok said, raising an eyebrow. “You carry a rock around in your pocket?”

Lance’s heart jumped, the rage that had filled him so quickly at his mocking fading fast. “It’s just a good luck charm,” he lied. “My sister gave it to me, so if I could have it back”—he held his hand out—”I’d appreciate it.”

Morvok smiled, and for once it almost looked friendly. He set the ward on his open palm and agreed, “Wouldn’t want to part a man from his beloved family heirloom.”

Morvok endured the rest of their shared shift in silence, but Lance thought he might’ve preferred his mocking.

***

Lance began to realize how much he hated standing still when the company marched at dawn. Perhaps Pidge’s presence and the danger to her hanging over his head made it worse, but when they set away from the village - away from the looted, beleaguered farmers and simple craftsmen - the tense thread threatening to snap loosened.

The morning was balmy even before the sun warmed the earth, the mercenaries lethargic after several days of rest, but Sendak mercilessly pressed them forward. And, despite his certainty there was a traitor in the band’s midst, he didn’t keep their destination a secret.

Daibazaal, the heart of Zarkon’s empire.

But Lance and Pidge would be gone long before they reached Daibazaal’s border.

Sendak called for the first halt at noon. Supply wagons rolled to a stop, mercenaries on foot collapsing where they stood while those mounted - some on stolen horses - had the wherewithal to slide off first.

Lance slipped off Blue, patting her rump before stretching, wincing at the stiffness in his spine. He appraised his surroundings - the Continental Road that traversed the entire continent north to south - and looked towards Sendak, standing beside his giant black stallion while listening to a report from Haxus.

He couldn’t spot Pidge, but he knew she rode with Haxus, slung across the back of his horse like another saddlebag with her wrists and ankles bound.

The sight - the angry heat that filled him if he so much as thought about it - made him more eager to find an opening for them to escape. Doubtless it would look strange to anyone they passed too, especially if Sendak and Haxus didn’t bother to hide her, but no one - and certainly not in the lawless and war-torn territory that lay between Daibazaal and what little was left of Altea - would challenge a band of armed outlaws.

“Look sharp,” Thace told Lance, jerking him from his dismal thoughts. “Haxus is walking towards us.”

Lance straightened, heart skipping a beat when his gaze landed on Sendak’s lieutenant stalking in their direction. His mouth dried as Haxus came to a stop before them, his face impassive…except for the slightest telling curve to his lips.

“Commander Sendak requests your presence, boy,” Haxus said.

Lance swallowed, unable to resist glancing at Thace. “H-hope I’m not in trouble,” he managed to halfheartedly joke. “That would make the rest of this long march awfully awkward.”

“Let’s not dawdle,” Haxus said, his lips pressing together in obvious displeasure.

Lance tried smiling. “I’d never keep the commander waiting, sir,” he said.

Haxus looked less than impressed with that, but he paced away, and Lance followed with his heart in his throat and Thace’s concerned eyes on him.

They wove their way between resting and laughing and whining and eating mercenaries, most of them in high spirits despite the difficulty of the road. But Lance paid them no mind, body too tense and thoughts too chaotic to bother.

Sendak couldn’t know he was the traitor…but he probably did.

Thace was right; he’d been less than careful, especially of late. But Lance didn’t care anymore; so long as he could get Pidge somewhere safe, Sendak could do whatever he wanted to him.

When he stood before Sendak, Lance’s heart pounded so loud he was sure the crows roosting in the nearby trees could hear it. But he held his chin up, and before either he or Haxus spoke, he said, “You know, I don’t let just anyone summon me.”

Sendak’s lip twitched, his brow furrowing in more obvious displeasure when he sarcastically retorted, “Then I’m so grateful you honored us with your presence, boy.”

Lance smirked, finding some reassurance in the weight of the sword at his side. “Well, come now,” he said. “I don’t have all day.”

“No,” Sendak agreed with a slow smirk - one that sent an awful chill up his spine - of his own, “you don’t.”

“Oh?” He shifted his feet, leaning forward slightly. “What’s—”

“Haxus, search his pockets,” Sendak ordered.

Lance froze, eyes widening, but as Haxus approached him he shrugged and said, “Fine. All you’ll find is my shaving mirror and a good luck charm.”

He stood stiffly, leaning away as best as he could, while Haxus pawed through his coat pockets and extracted the two-way mirror and the ward. “This is all I found, Commander.”

Sendak raised the eyebrow over his smoke-filled socket. “Is there anything you can tell me about them, Lieutenant?”

Haxus examined the rune on the pebble. “This is a ward against eavesdroppers,” he reported, his fingernail tapping against it. “It matches the description of the one Morvok told us about.”

Of course.

“And the mirror?”

“The back has modified distance and communication runes scratched into it,” Haxus said, turning it to show Sendak. “It matches—”

“—the one we found on the rebel witch,” Sendak pronounced, his lips twisting into a snarl as he rounded on Lance.

He took a shameful step backwards but refused to quail anymore. He slid his sword from its sheath and held it before him, tip pointed at Sendak’s chest.

Sendak raised his arms…and smiled. “I think this, Lieutenant Haxus, is all the evidence we need to prove him the traitor,” he said, “but what should we do with him?”

“Deliver him to Emperor Zarkon with his rebel witch partner,” Haxus suggested with a sneer. “He will decide their fate.”

“Tempting,” Sendak said, “but he has fought and bled for my company.” The glow behind his smoking eye intensified, almost as if it pinned Lance to his spot. “I will give you a chance to prove your loyalty to me, boy.”

“Why the hell do you think I’d be loyal to you?” Lance spat. His blood rushed past his ears, almost deafening in its intensity, his surroundings fading away and focus narrowing to a point.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sendak beckoned someone behind him forward with a twitch of his hand. “Unless Morvok is mistaken, you and my captive are quite…close, perhaps even…betrothed.”

And in an awful echo of that awful instant, two mercenaries carted Pidge towards them. They threw her at Lance’s and Sendak’s feet with enough force she curled in on herself with a whimper.

“Pidge!” Lance crouched beside her, heart in his throat as he cupped her face and turned her towards him.

Tears streaked down her dirty face, and she sported a new bruise under her ear and a bump on her temple only half-hidden by her tangled, matted hair. He gritted his teeth against that familiar fury when she failed to speak around the gag forced past her teeth.

Lance reached behind her head to untie it, but the tip of a sword in his face stopped him. He raised his eyes to meet Sendak’s, scowling.

“You further incriminate yourself,” Sendak observed.

“What do you want?” Lance demanded. “Just tie me up with her and have done with it!”

“Not quite.” Sendak lowered his sword till the blade rested against Pidge’s neck. “You see, I hold your beloved’s life in my hands, so whatever you decide can settle her fate.”

“Then tell me what you want!” he shouted.

“All I ask is you perform one task,” Sendak said. “Do that, and no other man in this discordant rabble of mercenaries - not even me - will lay an unkind hand on her between here and Daibazaal.”

Lance swallowed, his breath short and body rigid. He met Pidge’s frantic, wide-eyed gaze, watched her furiously shake her head, her small hands grasping his. “Y-you won’t kill her,” he said. “You need her alive for Zarkon.”

“Correct,” Sendak confirmed, “but there are worse fates than death.”

Lance stared at him, as if he could spot any sign of untruth in his words through a look alone. And really, what reason did he have to trust any promise Sendak made him?

But he looked back to Pidge, his heart heavy with regret. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes slipping shut as he tried to conjure some instant of peace for them. Her fingers clutched at the front of his shirt, her body trembling slightly against his.

She still shook her head when he pulled away, but Lance stood and asked in as steady and steely a voice as he could manage, “What do you want me to do?”

Sendak smiled, baring teeth that glistened like fangs. “You will ride beside me for the remainder of the journey, but you can start the task I have for you now.” He tossed something long and thin at Lance’s feet:

A rough, thick leather strap with glittering shards of glass embedded in the fabric - a switch, nasty and cutting but still impeccably clean.

Horror - horror and a terrible, heart-stopping foreboding - gripped Lance. “You—”

“You will torment her yourself,” Sendak pronounced, “and I will watch her suffer a fraction of the betrayal I did at Zarkon’s hands.”

***

End

#plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #lidge #voltron #reem writes fic #well now that that's out of my system #maybe i can go back to working on my mess of a bang fic

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tomionekinkmeme · 6 years ago

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Samhain 2k18 - In Dreams

A/N: Modern Muggle AU

Tick. Tock. Tick…. Tock….

The clock was mocking her, she was sure of it. Why call it the face of a clock afterall? If not to represent the laughing, taunting nature of father time.

Hermione Granger had been awake for 5 days straight, her body vibrating with energy in defense of mounting exhaustion. She did not suffer from insomnia or some other sleep disorder. Yet she haunted the house like a wraith, silently drifting from room to room, always moving. She was not cramming all day and night for exams or crying over a failed relationship. No, the reason why Hermione refused to close her eyes, to lie down in any position resembling horizontal, was that every night she went to bed, she died a horrific death.

Well, maybe not literally, but in dreams she witnessed the last hours of countless victims, a passenger seeing through their eyes as they met a grisly end. Every dream was so vivid, each victim and murder unique.

The nightmares began about a month ago or was that two?

The days now ran together in her dazed state, time a viscous liquid that she waded through so slowly, she often wondered if she was moving at all. She would fight the siren call of sleep for as long as she could, drinking coffee, energy drinks, exercising, but eventually she couldn’t help but to give in to it’s honeyed promises of peaceful slumber.

She could still remember the first dream like it was yesterday, it all started with a girl named Ginny.

Flashing white bulbs and neon colored signs competed for attention everywhere she looked. It was as if she were submerged under water, the lighting diffused with a soft glow. The evening held a dreamy quality to it, the wind whipping fiery red strands into her face that she pushed behind her ear. Sounds though sharp, were muffled and distorted, the noise putting her on edge. Various songs blared from worn out speakers as they passed, people all around were talking animatedly and laughing.

Her arm was entwined with a young man who had messy black hair. His green eyes crinkled when he smiled at her, the lights glittering off the round wire glasses that sat high on his nose. He was amused by something she’d said as he pulled her further into the crowd toward the ferris wheel. Oh no, she hated heights, Hermione wanted to yell at the mystery man, but she couldn’t speak. She could only watch in apprehension as her body walked up to the carney, handed tickets to the man and got into the rickety cab of death.

The ride wasn’t quite as terrifying as Hermione had anticipated, there was a sense of security she received from her companion, a warm feeling that flooded her gut. He had a muscled arm wrapped around her and she leaned into his warmth. The evening was a blur of faces, friends chatting, snacks eaten, rides enjoyed. She could lose herself in the nostalgia this outing at the carnival invoked, it felt more fun and carefree than she remembered experiencing in a long time. The girl’s boyfriend had stepped away to use the loo as she leaned against a nearby wall.

The restrooms were located quite far from the main carnival setup on the grounds. You had to practically walk back to the parking lot just to get there and it was poorly lit too. It looked like a scene right out of a horror movie, the young perky innocent girl, all alone in the dark, waiting for her murderer to come. She was looking down at her phone, the bright screen illuminating her face, when she heard a faint sound.

She moved toward it and Hermione felt her fight or flight instincts kick in. This woman didn’t seem to possess Hermione’s same sense of self preservation and walked around the dim corner to investigate. Suddenly strong hands gripped her from behind and pulled her into a tall firm body. Within seconds she felt the prick of a needle go into her neck. The girl struggled desperately to get free, but with each wild flail of the arms and kick of her legs, she could feel her body was shutting down. She cursed her bad luck as she slipped into unconsciousness.

She couldn’t see anything, a course strip of cloth biting into her face. She went to remove it, but couldn’t move her wrists, in fact, her whole body felt tied down to a hard cool surface. This can’t be good, Hermione chided, doesn’t this girl know you should never go alone to check out a strange noise? This setup so cliché, Hermione internally rolled her eyes, trying to remember her tv history and if that included too many episodes of cold case files or some halloween slasher marathon. She couldn’t recall, though at the moment, she had more pressing matters to be concerned over.

She knew how this would play out and would much rather wake up, before the final act was performed. Wake up, wake up, wake up, she chanted, as she heard the creak of a door. The girl was trying to spew obscenities, but her mouth was gagged, as a man chuckled and ran a hand through her hair, playing with a strand between his fingers.

“I’ve been patiently waiting for you, my little lamb. Tonight is a very important night.” he trailed off as he ran the same hand along her cheek and cupped her chin. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You should feel very special, I’ve chosen you as my first and one never forgets his first time, as the saying goes.”

Tears were trailing down her eyes and her breathing was becoming erratic.

“Oh, sweet Ginerva or is it Ginny? You do seem to prefer being called Ginny, don’t you? Well, don’t you worry, you have nothing to fear. You were destined for greatness. I will make you famous, immortal even. Long after you’ve left this mortal coil, you will forever live on in the tales of this night. This story, our story will be on the tip of every tongue, burned into the hearts of anyone who hears it. Or maybe, and this is just me being entirely selfish, maybe I don’t want to share what we have with the world. What do you think?” He paused, then walked around the table, leaning down to her ear on the opposite side.

“Would you like to know a secret, my pet?” Here, he finally removed the object that kept her from speaking.

“I don’t give a shit about what you’ve got to say, you sick fuck! Let me go this instant. Harry will be looking for me, you idiot. I’m sure someone must’ve seen you with me and I don’t know if you’re aware, but I come from a long line of cops and my family will not stop until they find me.”

“Oh, sweet Ginny. Of course, I expect your family to find you!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“First they’ll find your two hands, then they’ll find your torso, that pretty little head of yours, the lovely lower half, and lastly your two legs and feet. Seven pieces to make you whole once more.”

“Untie me this instant! Give me a fair fight, you fucking coward!” She screamed.

“Such a filthy mouth,” he sighed, shoving the gag back between her lips, “I was hoping for a civil conversation, but I see now, that won’t be possible. I was going to serenade you with all the reasons why I chose you Ginerva, seven letters first name and last, seventh child, I could go on and on about why seven is the most powerful number and how you perfectly embody the number in walking, talking, human form, but the moods been ruined, hasn’t it? I suppose it was too much to ask for you to be excited about this journey we’ll share together. I get it, maybe I’d be less thrilled if I were in your place, but Ginny, can’t you at least appreciate that, in a sense, you’ll be living on forever. Forever Ginny!”

This man is clearly insane, Hermione deduced. I mean, where is he going with this monologue? It sounds to me, even he’s lost the plot. The room went silent and she couldn’t feel his presence hovering over her anymore. She wondered if he quietly slinked away, or was he just standing there unmoving, staring like a predator in wait. Each second that passed, felt like an hour, several hours, when out of nowhere there was a prick against her stomach, that was pushing with more pressure, and Jesus Christ, is this what it felt like to be stabbed? Ginny was now letting out muffled screams and sobs, as Hermione witnessed this terrible act. The pain that Hermione felt was numbed, but she knew it must’ve been agonizing as Ginny thrashed and cried against the assault.

Beep…! Beep…! Beep! Hermione jolted upright in bed, blinking, eyes madly darting around the room. She sighed, it really was just a dream. I knew that, she reaffirmed, dragging a hand down the side of her face.

Increasingly disturbed come morning as she awoke from each new and gruesome death scene, Hermione was determined to overcome these strange recurring night terrors. She had started to keep a dream journal after maybe the third or fourth night, with detailed recounts of everything she could remember. It was therapeutic writing it out and she felt a bit lighter with each swipe of the pen.

There had been a pretty blonde with wavy hair that giggled too much, named Violet or was that Lavender? She was sure it was some purple flower name. He had grabbed her from a dark alley as she was reapplying her lipstick, eyes glued to her compact, already wasted and barely standing. A little prick to the neck and Hermione was greeted with darkness once more. He was not fond of Lilac, he flayed part of her arms and legs, his sick manic laugh ringing in her ears along with the poor girls wails. Iris periodically passed out from the pain only to be waterboarded awake.

Then there was another blonde with straight hair and more of a plain face that went by Hannah. Hannah Abba, she’d actually created a last name for once. Hannah was terrified and begged continually to be spared. He who had no name, snickered at her naivety.

“Do you imagine yourself in a situation that warrants you to just walk away if you ask nicely enough?” His smooth deep baritone caressed as he cruelly cut off her air supply by shoving a thick cloth into her mouth and pinched her nose. He sighed as her face turned varying shades of pink and red.

“I’m doing you a favor, you know? You’re the human equivalent of stale white bread. No one cares about you, no one would remember you if you got hit by a car tomorrow. Not your so called friends, or peers. Not even that beta male boyfriend Neville. Sure, they may think fondly of you for a week, but after that, your memory will be gone with the ether. That’s how little your very existence impacts the world around you.”

As her skin tinged purple then blue, he released his hold on her nose. He pulled the cloth from her mouth as she took deep gulping gasps. She flinched when she felt him near once more, his breath upon her face.

“So you see, I’m saving you from a fate worse than death. To be forgotten, to have never been. No, the world will remember you, sweet Hannah as a tragic character, sure. A cautionary tale, maybe. But they won’t forget, no, they’ll always recall this very night, the night which you became a legend.”

He switched it up with a male victim another evening. Colin was tall, skinny and homely looking. When he smiled, his teeth looked about 2 sizes too big for his mouth. Colin was strangled with a plastic bag over his head. He who had no name was choking poor Colin over and over until finally he took pity on the poor sod by mounting him, and snapping his neck with a hard twist of the chin.

Hermione felt crazy, how could she be normal and create these grotesque visions. No well adjusted person fantasized about murder to the degree that she lived it every night. She researched the meaning behind dreams and the symbolism of the unconscious mind. Was there some hidden underlying issue that needed to be addressed?

“Honey, you look like death. You really shouldn’t stay up so late at night.”

“Thanks mother, I’ll try that in the future.”

We have retired F.B.I. Profiler “Mad Eye” Moody on the show today, “Mr. Moody, what would you say drives a serial killer such as the self proclaimed “Death Eater” or “Voldemort” that has eluded police capture for the past 6 years.”

“He’s been at large for 6 years, but he’s been inactive for the past 4, only recently re-emerging in the past 3 months.” Moody gruffly spit out.

“Mom, why do you watch this garbage?”

“The news? Honey, current events are important, you could stand to be more informed, you should sit down and watch with me.”

“The news is nothing more than depression inducing and fear mongering. I’ll pass.”

No, Hermione had much more important matters to ponder than brainlessly learning about what common household items give you cancer or which celebrities were having a baby.

All of her most recent dreams were about blondes, did she have some deep seated hatred for fair haired individuals. She couldn’t remember any particular trauma from her past that would result in her wishing for the death of blondes. Then again, the first victim she saw had vibrant red hair.

She consulted several sleep therapists in person and online, only to be disappointed with them spouting off the same information she had dug up herself already. In desperation, she even tried taking sleeping pills in hopes of blacking out, but those too failed to safeguard her from the haunting images.

Nothing helped and nothing changed. So she settled into her current cycle of staying awake for as many days as humanly possible, mind of over matter and all that, followed by crashing for a day, day and a half, repeat. At least then she was only faced with the horrors of her mind once a week, rather than Every. Single. Night.

~O-O~

Tick. Tock. Tick…. Tock….

Is it just me or did the clock just wink at me? Hermione blinked her eyes, staring harder at the enemy. She didn’t want to know the time, to know that it was god awful early in the morning and she should really be asleep right now, rather than standing in line for coffee like these other early bird bastards.

Hermione was tired, dead tired. What was that line from Fight Club? “This is how it is with insomnia. Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy.” That line epitomized her current state of being as she stumbled through her order, “No, it’s Hermione, H-e-r-m, ugh, just write G, it’s for Miss G. Thanks.” She muttered walking away to stand off to the side.

“I’ll have a coffee, black.”

Hermione whipped her head toward the sound, that voice. The pitch and tone of that man instantly gave her chills and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. Luckily she was near a wall and was able to lean against it nonchalantly as her mind raced a million miles a minute. Could this be the man in her dreams, was that monster real? Was she even awake right now?

“Miss G, order up!”

Hermione took a deep breath and headed toward the counter. She raked her eyes over him, tall, dark, and handsome. His hair was artfully windswept, his gait confident, he smelled like money. Some understated cologne that lingered pleasantly in the air and made your eyes follow the source.

He held himself with an air of ease as if everything just came to him, yet the coldness he radiated made him seem unapproachable, untouchable even.

He noticed her instantly, leaning heavily against the wall as if she could melt into the shadows. Her eyes kept darting toward him, she was not as subtle as she imagined. It stirred the predator inside, she was so damn skittish, beyond normal attraction or nerves. She was dripping neurosis, with her twitching and constant subtle movements. Her hair was curly and wild, it seemed to reflect her agitation. She invoked the thrill of the hunt in him, which was odd to say the least. Intrigued he put on his friendly face.

She was staring off into the distance again, only realizing too late that her line of sight settled in his direction. He flashed her a grin with his dead eyes. She almost dropped her coffee.

“I’m so sorry!” She blurted out, blushing profusely. “You just look so familiar, I was trying to place you, but I can’t seem to figure out where I would’ve seen you before.” Or heard you, demon spawn.

“Tom, order up!”

He grabbed his coffee turning towards her, hand outstretched. “It’s ok, I get that more often than you’d think.” This time, the smile reached his eyes.

“I’m Tom.” He said tipping his coffee toward her in salute.

“I’m Hermione and really, I didn’t mean to stare. I don’t suppose you attend Hogwarts Uni and I’ve seen you around campus?” She blurted the first nonsense small talk she could think of.

“Oh no, dear!” He said with a hearty laugh. “I’ve been out of University for about 10 years now.” He invited her to join him.

“I shouldn’t, I couldn’t.” Hermione stammered, adjusting her messenger bag, wondering if he would chase her should she bolt for the door.

“Nonsense, come, sit”

“Um…ok.” She sat down gracelessly, bumping her bag into the table and knocking some of her books and papers from inside the bag onto the floor. Fuck, I’ll never get out of here now.

“I’m such a klutz lately, sorry. I feel like I can’t stop apologizing to you.” Please be annoyed and send me away.

“It’s fine, it’s early and you haven’t had any of your coffee yet. You have an excuse.” He offered charmingly. Tom bent down to help her gather her things. Hermione Granger displayed on one of her cover pages. “You mentioned you attend Hogwarts? And majoring in…” he looked down at the textbook Cognitive Psychology and Cognitive Neuroscience and a paperback Dreams and Nightmares: The Origin and Meaning of Dreams.

“I’m going to take a stab and say, psych major?”

Funny you should say “stab”, seems you have a propensity toward violence even in your everyday speech.

“It was a fair guess, but no. I’m a pre-med major, I have an academic interest in psychology, hence…”

She seemed friendly enough, but there was something in her eyes. He could see fear in them if he looked hard enough. She recognized him, which was absurd as he’d never seen this girl before. She held herself surprisingly steady, considering her instinct to flee, her body was facing the door and she held tension in her legs to jump up and run at a moment’s notice.

Fascinating. He wanted to splay his hand on her knee to hold her still, he wondered if she would faint if he touched her. Or would she fight him? Would he have to wrestle her to the ground and use his body weight to hold her down. He was getting excited just thinking about her underneath him.

“Is old Slughorn still teaching Chem?”

“So you did go to Hogwarts?” She countered, eyebrow raised. Liar, liar, pants on fire. What else are you lying about sweet prince?

“I did, but ages ago.”

They talked about some of his old professors that still taught, about some of her classes. The conversation flowed freely and Hermione found herself being lulled into a false sense of security the more she listened to his opinions and thoughts on current medical practices and some of the recent breakthroughs his research firm had made in cancer cell analysis.

Was she being paranoid in thinking this highly educated well to do man was a serial killer just because of the cadence of his voice. Of course she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about him.

“I should get going, classes and all that.” Hermione was never good at a natural exit strategy.

Tom smiled warmly. “I’d love to see you again, allow me to take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow night?” She choked, catching herself from a look of horror and forcing a pleasant expression on her face. This is it, this is the moment that I’ll regret my life choices once I’m lying blindfolded and tied down on his table.

“I’d love to, but I’m just swamped with midterms coming up and I have this research paper due on Tuesday…”

“Give me your phone. We can exchange numbers and meet up the next time you have a few free hours. I’d love to pick your brain on stem cell theory, you’re more enthusiastic and knowledgeable than my current interns. It would be great having someone like you on board.”

Now this posed a unique opportunity. Getting close to him, she could find out if her suspicions were real or merely a fantastic coincidence. Surely if he was a murderer, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to piss where he eats, wait, what was that saying? Don’t take a piss in the yard? Don’t piss where you sleep?

“Hermione?”

“Hm…?” Shit, I didn’t hear what he was saying.

Tom’s hand was outstretched, her phone in his palm. He placed it in her own, playing with her fingers in a surprisingly intimate way. He stood and leaned toward her ear.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Hermione. I can’t wait to get to know you better.” he breathed, then swiftly walked away.

What the fuck was that?

~O-O~

Hermione slept like a baby. Sweet, sweet peaceful REM sleep, no night terrors, no lingering feelings of disgust and horror upon waking. I haven’t felt this good in what feels like forever, she mused.

A couple weeks passed and she fell back into routine easily, school, study, work, repeat. It seemed like the nightmares and sleep deprivation were a thing of the past. She didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she put the disturbing dreams behind her, locking them in a box within the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind.

“Hermione, can you pick up a prescription for your father tomorrow afternoon? I thought I’d be around, but Barbara filled the cancellation spot, so it looks like we’ll be in the office most of the day.”

“Of course mom, it’s no problem.”

Parts of Hannah Abbott were recently found buried in multiple shallow graves on the shore of the Thames by Reading. Seven graves, each containing a piece of her body. Police suspect this is another case of the self proclaimed “Death Eater” or “Voldemort” serial killer. He is known to stalk, torture, and kill his victims, disposing of their body, by cutting it up into 7 pieces.

Hermione stared at the tv, her eyes getting blurry and a high pitched ringing filling her head. Hannah Abbott, Hannah Abbo, Hannah Abba. Why did that name sound so familiar?

Ding.

Hermione looked down at her phone.

Hey, it’s Tom. We met at the coffee shop. How did midterms go? What are you doing this weekend? Want to have dinner?

Her stomach dropped.

Hermione ran to her bedroom grabbing her dream journal and flipping open her laptop.

“Honey are you okay?” Her mother called from the living room.

“I’m fine Mom, I just felt a headache coming on. I think I’m going to lay down.”

She furiously typed Hannah Abbott into google and opened the first article with a picture of a plain faced blonde smiling back at the camera. She typed in “Voldemort” seeing thousands of articles pop up in the search, scrolling down the screen names like “Ginny” “Lavender” and even “Colin” jumping out at her. This serial killer had been active on and off over the past 6 years, with his victim count suspected to reach as low as 23, as high as 48. The room started to spin and she was hyperventilating, this was real, all her dreams really happened.

She passed out.

~O-O~

Now that she thought about it, the dreams stopped around the time she met Tom. She felt like an idiot for not making the connection sooner! This had to mean something. She felt fear, yes, of course, but she also felt purpose and duty. Hermione was meant to prove his guilt and somehow stop his murderous killing spree, she just knew it.

Hello, Tom. It’s good to hear from you. This weekend sounds great! I’m available Saturday night, just let me know when and where. I look forward to seeing you soon. :)

#tomione #t #samhain2k18 #submission #avasafari

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