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rfadaydreaming · 4 years ago

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— cellophane

why won’t you do it for me? when all i do is for you?

pairing: jumin x mc

words: 4.4k

link to read on ao3 [x]

prompt: failures // fights

tags: angst, language, unhealthy relationship, a bit toxic tbh, insecure jumin, emotional manipulation, unhappy marriage

a/n: for: @mysme-events angst week. this piece is inspired by fka twigs song, cellophane!

“Are you mad at me?”

Your voice had come out smaller than you had intended.

“Is there a reason I should be mad at you?”

He replied without meeting your gaze, opting to focus on the rain outside the car window instead. You didn’t quite know what kind of emotion his tone was carrying, but yet you knew it wasn’t good.

“No...”

You became hyperaware of the bad taste beginning to form in the back of your throat. It’s all too familiar, unfortunately.

“Then I shouldn't be mad at you. Should I?”

You didn’t answer him. You just weren’t sure what to say.

Heavy silence filled the car once again, the rain against the roof of the vehicle was the only thing that occupied the small space.

You sighed louder than you meant to, arms crossing over your torso, cheek resting against the foggy glass of the window. The cold felt nice against your skin, helped keep you grounded, calm. You took in a few deep breaths as you thought back on the events of earlier tonight.

The unfamiliar hand grazing the small of your back surprised you to say the least, you wanted to flinch away the moment you felt his hands touch you,, but yet you didn’t move. Why? You’re not exactly sure. Politeness, anxiety, maybe a mix of both. Maybe something else underneath it all.

You recognized the voice as a business partner of Jumins, the owner of the company that’s been occupying most of your husband's time as of late. Late nights, long meetings, hoards and hoards of paperwork.

His reputation was one you knew well, hearing it all secondhand from Jumin. He was quick to drop anyone who disagreed with him, no matter how small. Such a pain for your stubborn husband to work around, but yet as always, he somehow managed.

But one thing your husband made sure you knew about was his stance with women in particular. You weren’t allowed to come to the company dinners anymore. You could only drop things off through Jaehee at the office.

It seems he didn’t even want you to call him after meetings, one thing you two have always done even before you had started dating. Maybe the fear of his colleague overhearing your voice was the reason behind it, you didn’t know, you didn’t ask. You knew he would get upset if you did.

Stay away from him, was all he warned.

And you promised him that you would.

“And you must be the famous Mrs Han, I presume?”

He was in front of you now, his hand lingering on your hip for a moment before pulling away. You inched away ever so slightly.

“Ah, Yes. I am.”

You had to look up to him to reply due to how close he was, the first thing you noticed was just how much he resembled Jumin. The only major difference was his eyes, while your husbands were grey and light, his were brown and deep. The similarities threw you off guard for a moment, however your surprise once you met his gaze seemed to be taken a different way than you had intended.

A slight chuckle escaped his lungs, It was warm and clear, it had a bit more of a higher pitch than Jumin’s did. More character to it.

“I’ve heard such great things about you! Your husband seems like quite the happy man. And I can see why, you’re beautiful. Ah– If I can say that, that is.”

You shied away without thinking, you didn’t particularly like the feeling you had in your stomach right now. You were also painfully aware of how his position was giving him a ‘good view’ of your body from up there, as your husband would sometimes say.

His words seemed innocent, he seemed kind. But Jumin’s warning still flickered within your mind.

“Thanks, I suppose.”

You fully expected him to take advantage of his much taller height, but yet he didn’t seem to. His eyes were trained onto your own as he smiled, never glancing down at your chest even once.

A weird feeling stirred deep within your insides.

He isn’t like how Jumin described at all.

Why would your husband lie?

You entertained his small talk for a few minutes, he introduced himself, as did you.

Fear was the main thing holding you back from leaving, of course. Jumin had been working on this project for months now, the memories of him falling asleep over his laptop, his dark circles, his late night confessions of just how much his head ached were fresh in the back of your mind.

His mood swings, his exhaustion, his late nights.

Be polite.

Be polite for Jumin.

“–But enough about all that! Do you drink?”

“Uhm… Wine, sometimes. But i’m not the biggest fan.”

“Any reason in particular?”

He leaned into you a bit, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. You naturally smiled in return.

“I’ve tried some wine, but they’re just all so bitter to me.”

You scrunched your nose a little at the memories. Vineyards with Jumin were never your favorite, he just loved such sour wines.

“Bitter? Your husband is an investor in how many wineries exactly, yet only offers his wife bitter wine? Hm. We can’t have that now, can we?”

He spoke with a smile, wrapping his arm around your waist and beginning to guide you towards the bar. Before you even got the chance to protest in return, he was already sweeping you away. His thumb ran circles on your hip that you were painfully aware of.

The pit in your stomach was growing heavier and heavier with every step.

It's been awhile since Jumin’s had even touched you like this, you thought.

It was nice.

He was rambling on about the wines he had lined up for tonight as he led you to a seat, pulling it out for you while still going on and on. You couldn’t even find an opening to interject, ask for a bathroom break, anything.

He ordered you a drink, as well as one for himself.

You desperately scanned the room for Jumin, eyes bouncing off black suit after black suit. You just couldn’t pinpoint him like this, everyone was wearing such similar clothing...

You swallowed thickly and took a sip of the wine in front of you, face cringing a bit as you expected the worst, however pleasantly surprised once the taste had hit your tongue.

It wasn't nearly as bitter as the wines Jumin often offered you.

Jumin’s sudden touch to your knee had caused you to jump a little, breaking you away from your racing thoughts.

“Stop.”

He finally met your gaze, you scrunched your brows in confusion. Two fingers pressed down against your skin, putting a halt to your restless leg.

“You know I don't like when you do that.”

A sigh escaped his lungs as he pulled his hand back, crossing his arms over his torso once again. Back to staring at whatever was so interesting outside the window. Oh yes, you had forgotten. How could you.

You glanced down at your knee after he had already pulled away.

It was red from the pressure that had been placed there.

“Well, sorry for being such an inconvenience then.”

You laughed a little in disbelief as you spoke, pressing your cheek against the window once more.

Maybe it was a childish thing to say, but you truly didn’t care right now. You slumped further into the seat, humming to yourself softly as you stole some glances here and there towards your husband.

His face was void of any readable emotion as of now, but his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes said everything you needed to know. He seemed to be thinking about something, your words perhaps. He suddenly met your eyes without warning. It made you flinch.

“Inconvenience.”

He looked at you as he spoke. It felt so cold. You could feel anxiety beginning to build.

“Inconvenience, is searching all over the venue for my wife when she won’t even bother to pick up her phone for her husband.”

He opened his mouth to continue, but you had cut him off before he got the chance,

“Jumin I told you it was almost dead earlier tonight, I just–“

“Don’t interrupt me while i’m speaking. Please.”

Jumin raised his voice harshly, it was ever so slight, but it still took you by surprise. His eyes were oddly intense with an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint, all you knew is that they carried weight behind him. One you weren’t used to seeing.

His gaze made you feel small and slightly embarrassed, you weren’t even sure why. It just did.

You nodded and closed your mouth, letting him go on.

“Inconvenience, is watching my wife entertain another man while I watch from the sidelines. Not just any man, but the one man I so vividly remember telling her to stay away from.”

You opened your mouth to interject once more but his brows furrowed as soon as you did so, his chin tilted forward in silent warning.

He continued on.

“Inconvenience, is seeing my wife share drinks with another man. Flirting with another man. Touching another man.”

“I didn't flirt.”

You raised your voice slightly, not by much, but it was enough to make him raise a brow. It was just... so hard to control yourself when he was being like this sometimes.

“Sharing a few drinks with him, laughing and giggling like some teenage schoolgirl, letting him put his hands all over you. Might as well have.”

Jumin’s tone was still so cold, monotone, and for some reason that hurt more than anything else could have.

It was like this most of the time. He would never yell, he would never shout, barely even show any emotion at all if you’re being honest. It drove you up the wall sometimes. You always left feeling like you were the irrational one because of it, no matter the case.

It seems that’s what was happening again. As it always does.

“I wasn't given a choice, Jumin! He wouldn’t let me–”

The car came to a sudden stop, you groaned a bit, nearly biting your tongue due to the stop. It interrupted you just as you had begun to raise your voice.

Jumin gave you an heavy look before rolling down the partition, Driver Kim gave him the confirmation that you two were back home.

He got out first, offering you a hand that you had refused to take.

The elevator ride was so uncomfortable.

His posture was relaxed as it usually was, hands messing with his cufflinks absentmindedly, his expression nearly blank while he stared at the panel of buttons on the wall, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world or something. The only indicator he has when he’s upset would be a clenched jaw.

It was something you had become oh so familiar with these past couple of months.

Anxiety was building up inside of your body, it felt itchy, it nearly burned. It was almost always there and had no issues made itself well known. But there was something deeper building behind it, not just from the argument. Something unfamiliar, bitter, ugly.

It frightened you.

You weren’t sure what it was yet.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

The two of you entered the penthouse in heavy silence, it felt like even breathing was much too loud for the atmosphere around the both of you. Elizabeth the Third had come running over as soon as the door opened, but it seems even she was able to sense the tension. You weren’t surprised, she usually can.

She opted to climb up on the couch instead, tail twitching back and forth as she watched her parents carefully from afar. You vaguely wondered if she knew something you didn’t.

Jumin went straight to the kitchen as soon as his jacket and shoes were off, not a word was spoken while he left. He went for a glass of wine you could only presume, he usually did once he got home. Normally you would get on his case about it, his more unhealthy drinking habits had been increasing as of late, but tonight wasn’t the time to nag him for it. You didn’t have the energy to fuel the fire more than you already had.

You walked over to the living-room with a sigh, giving Elizabeth a slight pat before sprawling out on the couch. Your feet ached due to the heels from earlier tonight, but the relief of home was a welcomed feeling. You let your body sink into the cushions as you relaxed, at least the best you could for now.

You stared outside the window for a few moments, admiring the beauty of the city below. Your mind wandered just a bit. So many different types of people, most you’ll never meet, never see. But yet you wondered if maybe anyone out there knew how you felt right now. Maybe they could offer advice, a shoulder to cry on, something. Anything.

You closed your eyes, suddenly aware of how heavy they were getting, allowing your head fall back against the couch. It felt nice for a moment.

You drew in a deep breath, your lungs stung as you pushed their limits.

It was peaceful.

Jumin popping open a wine bottle in the kitchen caused you to flinch as you were brought back down to reality. The anxiety of the situation flooded back all at once, enough to make your stomach churn.

The gentle still of before was gone in an instant.

You knew how all of this would play out. It truly felt rehearsed at this point.

He would press your buttons.

You would get angry.

He would give you the silent treatment as soon as you lost your cool.

You would apologize.

He would forgive you.

The two of you make up until the next time, then the cycle repeats.

You were almost numb to it at this point.

It used to be fun fighting with Jumin at first, if you could even call it that. It never lasted for too long, never too harsh either. You both would talk it out, laugh a little, then of course the make up afterwards was always amazing.

But now? There was nothing. No heated passion afterwards. No talking. No laughing.

Nothing.

Now you two could stay angry at each other for days on end until eventually one of you got tired of it, usually you. And someone halfheartedly apologizes, again, usually you. There was no communication either, you two just… go on like it never happened.

But it did happen.

It does happen.

And it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it doesn’t.

You heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, getting louder every second that passed. A soft sigh left your chest as you kept your eyes closed, maybe he would go away if you closed them tight enough, you could only hope.

It's Jumin. That’s your husband. You should never feel that way about him. But yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t.

You opened your eyes slowly and watched as he sat on the chair across from you, crossing his ankles in a somewhat sophisticated manner before slowly looking you up and down. The position you had wasn’t ladylike if you were being frank, your legs spread out despite the smaller dress you wore, arms sprawled out across the back of the couch, your posture slouched deep into the cushions. It felt a bit judgemental the way he observed you, maybe not, but right now you genuinely couldn’t tell.

“Feeling better?”

“Oh fuck off.”

You spat in return with a bitter laugh, god how you hated when he said shit like that during times like these. You knew that he knew you hated it too. Enter the pushing of buttons.

“I was simply asking a question. No need to get so worked up, my dear.”

He focused his attention on the dark liquid swirling within his glass while he spoke, putting emphasis on the pet name, feigning fondness. You narrowed your eyes in return.

“I feel great, especially good knowing that i’m not the one in the wrong here.”

While you beamed, he tensed.

You shouldn’t have said that. You knew you shouldn’t have the second it came out of your mouth.

“A lot of confidence coming from a woman who was acting like a little whore less than an hour ago.”

He suddenly met your gaze, your eyes widened as you felt anger begin to flood your chest. Jumin had never called you something like that before.

“Excuse me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Your voice was laced with offense, rage, maybe a bit of hurt if he cared to listen closely enough. But inside you knew he didn’t. You had gotten up from your place on the couch so quickly it had made you light headed for a few moments.

“Apparently something since you feel the need to flirt with any man you can get you hands on whenever I'm not around.”

Jumin looked up at you, you looked back down at him.

You were silent for a moment.

Processing things, taking it all in. Trying your hardest not to lose your cool, you just knew once you lost it he would have the upper hand. Don't lose your cool MC, please, you mentally chided. You inhaled deeply, exhaling even deeper as you took a quick breather.

“Look. I know how hard you’ve been working on this project okay, I didn’t want to fuck it up by saying something wrong to the guy or anything, I didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, Jumin.”

You pleaded almost pathetically. Here it goes. This is the part where you usually start to apologize.

“Please, dont pretend like you’ve ever had my best interest in mind.” He said with a bitter laugh.

His laugh stung.

It was the thing to finally push you over the edge.

“You know what, I really, really wish I didn’t. If you cared enough to pay attention you’d see i’m always putting your best interest first and it makes my life miserable, absolutely fucking miserable Jumin! I can't even speak to another man without you getting all insecure and pissed off about it, and guess what happens after that? You make me feel fucking insane when i’ve done nothing wrong!”

You shouted, vented, spilt things you’d never even said out loud before.

“I don't even want to go outside anymore because I just know i’m going to do something that’ll make you mad, and you know what? I’m the person who has to apologize for it. Every single time. I’m the person who ends up comforting you even after you spend hours making me feel like i’m some whore or a broken fucking toy you only keep around because you’re scared of being alone again. It’s always me, me! It’s never you! I am so, so fucking tired of yo- this.”

He met your eyes, they were wide with surprise, shock, maybe even anger, but honestly you didn’t have the energy to care about his feelings right now. You couldn’t. It’s all you ever do, and it’s taking its toll on you. It’s too much.

Your slip up felt heavy in your throat. An apology almost spilt from your lips, but you stopped yourself before it had.

“This. I am so tired of this.”

You corrected yourself much quieter this time. It sounded so desperate, so empty.

The both of you sat in heavy silence once more. Exhaustion was slowly creeping its way into your body, mentally and physically.

You regretted all of your words almost instantly.

They weren’t false. But that only made you feel worse.

“MC.”

He spoke up after a few moments.

“Jumin.”

You replied calmly.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

He genuinely seemed confused as he spoke, nervous, scared. On the inside you knew that he knew. He just wanted clarity, confirmation on what your words truly meant. It annoyed you, you had just explained exactly what you meant. But with a sigh, you held back your frustrations.

“Jumin. I am tired of this.”

You put emphasis on it, weakly pointing between the two of you. Eyes beginning to well with tears that you tried your hardest to shove away, your voice sounded so raw from yelling before, It hurt your own ears to listen to it.

A flash of guilt rapidly spread across his features, the glass in his hand shook slightly as he soaked in the true meaning behind your words. You were starting to feel guilty, he looked… scared. Your heart hurt looking at him in such a state right now.

His features softened as he met your eyes, he swallowed thickly. He looked like the old Jumin for a second again.

“MC, I’m–“

You cut him off with a shake of your head, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your mouth,

“You’re so sorry. I know. You always do that. You put me through all of this only to apologize the second I say something that makes you even the slightest bit nervous.”

He broke away from your gaze like it had burned, instead staring down at the red liquid resting within his glass. His jaw was clenched again.

When you first entered a relationship with Jumin, you knew the kind of person he was. And at the time, you really thought you were okay with that.

He had a lot to work through, you knew.

You could help, you told yourself, you told him. You’d be there for him while he figured things out, it would get better, as long as you were there for him, he would get better.

And he did. For the first year at least.

But now, things were different. So different.

You would start to laugh at the cashier's jokes too loudly for his liking. He would grab your arm a little tighter than usual, a silent warning, and you would quickly stop.

If you entertained Zen’s antics a few times too many, he would give you the silent treatment. Eventually your relationship with Zen had suffered in the long run, it was just better for Jumin’s sake if you two didn’t talk anymore.

Is it better for your sake, MC?

You remember Zen asking, but you couldn’t answer him.

Now it’s gotten to the point where you can’t even look at another man for a few seconds too long or else it turns into another argument.

Sorry didn’t feel comforting anymore.

After all, nothing changed afterwards, so did he ever really mean it?

They were just empty words to you now.

He’ll grow out of it, right?

That’s what you wanted to believe at the beginning. But how long would it take before he did? If he ever did? You didn’t know if you’d be able to stick around long enough to find that out.

“Jumin I’m not sure… if this is…”

working anymore.

The words just wouldn’t leave your throat. But still, he knew. And you knew that he knew.

You took a few steps back with a sigh.

Something had triggered within your husband as he grasped the gravity of the situation, the implication behind your words, the consequences of his actions. He dropped the wine glass to the floor, making you jump from the awful sound it made as it shattered against the hardwood.

“You can’t leave.”

His eyes were wide as his head shook frantically, his expression took you by surprise, you could see panic claw their way into his features.

“Jumin.”

“No. Don’t– Don't leave. I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.”

He was on you in an instant, you knew he stepped on the glass judging by the sound it made, but yet he didn’t even flinch. You didn’t have time to process anything before he was holding you tightly against his chest, you couldn’t go anywhere even if you tried to, the pressure hurt a little.

“We’re fine.”

His voice was shaky as he comforted himself more than anyone, it had an uncertain edge to it, painfully reminding you back to the first time you had stayed in his apartment. It made you more than a little nervous.

“This won’t happen again. Just don't leave. Don't leave me.”

Jumin rambled uncharacteristically, apologizing relentlessly as he buried his face into the top of your hair, his hands coming to hold the back of your head softly, pulling you into his chest. The sudden shift in his mood was enough to give you whiplash, you felt so much, too fast. Confused, guilty, scared, numb. Surprise wasn’t one of them though, no. It’s always like this.

You could hear him swallow thickly while he shakily ran his fingers through your hair, his racing heartbeat filling all your senses. You couldn’t help but notice his embrace didn’t feel as comfortable as it once did, it was unfamiliar to you.

Your silence only made him even more nervous.

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, your jawline, your temple, your forehead. You felt his tears press against your skin. He kissed your lips next, it was sloppy, panicked, filled with emotion. A sharp contrast to the Jumin you’ve been used to these past few months. Past few hours.

You didn’t react.

You didn’t kiss him back.

There was no spark to his touch like there should be. Like there used to be.

Your stomach was reeling, your ears were ringing. You suddenly buried your face into Jumin’s chest without warning, sobbing so hard that your head felt like it was about to burst from the pressure of your tears, your husband instead took this as a good sign. He hushed you with more of his frantic apologizes, but to be honest you weren’t really listening to him right now. Your mind only focused on one realization as you broke down within your husband's cold embrace.

“I love you.”

He whispered into your hair, you could tell by his tone that he really did mean it too. He cried with you even. Something he’d only done a few times in the relationship before.

You knew he did. You knew deep down, he loved you.

All you could offer in return was a nod. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move. Just nod.

You realized something in that moment.

You weren’t able to say I love you back to your husband anymore.

#mystic messenger #mysme #mm #jumin han #jumin han mystic messenger #han jumin #jumin x mc #jumin x mc mystic messenger #jumin han mysme #jumin han mm #jumin mm #mysmeangstweek #my first ever angst omg i hope it’s okay #left it open for a part two. maybe. dont count on it.#yay i went back and edited this #sorry if you read the last version sbkshdj there was a lot of mistakes

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

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Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 3

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Mentions of slave trafficking

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 3 - Born Without Tears

The red-dressed beauty lightly opened his vermilion lips and blew into the jade flute. The flute sound was full of lingering affection, softly touching his heart, as if he was inviting all listeners to join the red curtain and share the scenery together.

Song Qingshi's mother was an internationally renowned pianist. Because of her influence, music had become Song Qingshi's only hobby outside of school. In the last days of Song Qingshi's life, he had lost all body functions, but his consciousness was extremely clear.

His mother invested heavily in installing top-notch audio equipment in his room to play music everyday. She also asked top musicians in various fields to give him a small concert every day.

Music rescued him from the brink of despair and soothed his heart. During this special time, Song Qingshi was particularly sensitive to the emotions in music. He could hear the player's tenderness in the passionate piano music, and he could also find hidden encouragement in the sad and solemn guzheng music. . .

Now, he heard the familiar struggle and despair in the lingering and affectionate sound of the flute.

Song Qingshi finally raised his head, staring at the brilliant phoenix in a daze. He could no longer look away.

Jin FeiRen found out that Song Qing finally became interested in one of the beauties, and he was overjoyed: "Song Xianzun is interested in this slave? His name is Yue Wuhuan, naturally charming, a rare wood single-spirit root. That means he's much more resistant when tossing him around in bed. The more you rough him up, the more unhinged he comes. Those who have tried it have never failed to boast about it. Do you want to taste him first?"

Song Qingshi's ears were reddened by his explicit recommendation. He quickly turned his eyes away, and said dumbly: "No need."

"Medicine Master Xianzun is clean and does not engage in those activities. If you don't love these things, don't force him, friend." LingBao Xianzun came over, pointing to Yue Wuhuan and exclaimed, "If I remember, was this the best product sold by Xie Que? This immortal world is still the best place for him to raise beautiful people; one is more tasteful than the last. Alas, I have a friend who is his good friend, and all kinds of better goods will be sold to you first."

Jin FeiRen waved his hand and said, "You flatter me. What he really has a good relationship with are thirty hu of mermaid pearls."

LingBao Xianzun laughed: "If all friendships in the world could be created with money, my friend would be surrounded by the most affectionate people in the world. Come, come, let me have three cups with my friend and celebrate the wind and moon together.

Jin FeiRen also laughed, and ordered the young man in his arms to fill a glass of wine and drink with LingBao Xianzun.

LingBao Xianzun had already drunk a lot. He was slightly drunk. He leaned against the table and listened to the flute. He exclaimed: "I remember that when this beauty first entered this place, he was reluctant to accompany guests, even under the control of Acacia Seal. It was very interesting to see, but now he has become so promiscuous, and his flavour has changed. You have great methods, my friend."

Jin FeiRen shook his head: "It's a pity that this beauty doesn't cry no matter how rough you toss him around. He was born without tears, and because of that, some of his appeal has been lost."

Song Qingshi heard the professional question and couldn't help answering: "Being born without tears may be a problem with the lacrimal secretion system."

Jin Fei was dumbfounded for a moment. He appreciated his friendship with Song Qingshi, but he couldn't keep up with his medical obsession. He had to laugh awkwardly and switch off the topic: "Don't look at this beauty's promiscuity deceive you. In the mortal world, he was also a noble and respectable prince. When he was eight years old, Xie Que found that he had excellent aptitude when he was looking for beauties in the mortal world, so he showed his supernatural powers and presented the emperor with a pill for prolonging life. The old emperor was so happy that he happily gave his son to the immortal leader. Xie Que is also an ingenious person. He will seriously accept mortals with spiritual roots as disciples, and coax them to trust him. Then he uses that trust to trick them to sign the spiritual contract of voluntary slavery. He then teaches them superficial techniques, and, when they appear to be at their peak, brands them with the Acacia Seal. He always gets them when the colour is at the best time for picking, and then sells them to the brothels to serve in their rooms.

Although everyone knew he was taking advantage of those loopholes, they all turned a blind eye and eventually accepted this method of slave trafficking."

The Yanshou Pill can only be taken once to extend someone's life to reach 100 years old.

Cultivators can live at least three hundred years so long as they build a good foundation base. They don't need this tasteless kind of thing at all. Most of them are bought for their mortal servants. The price is very cheap, only worth two low-grade spirit stones. Such huge profits have continued to promote the slave trade.

There is an endless stream of cultivators in the trade, but none of them are well-versed as Xie Que.

Song Qingshi was surprised to find in his memory that the original body had seen Xie Que before.

That spring, the original body was studying a new way to create pills behind closed doors. Xie Que came to seek medical treatment with a comatose child. The child was a mortal, about eleven or twelve years old, with a rare pure yang physique and a wood spiritual root. Moreover, when he reached the third rank, his talents were different, and he was even better than some of the wasted descendants of various immortal families. Xie Que said that it was his new apprentice who had recruited more than three years ago. When he went to the mountains to practice, he was bitten by a Devil Mask Snake. Devil Mask Snakes are not extremely poisonous, but they will turn the faces of the poisoned person different colours, just like they were wearing a mask.

The original body typically didn't treat mortals, but Xie cried out in tears, saying that this was his most important apprentice, and he was willing to pay a high price to save him. The original body was in a good mood at the time, and was annoyed by his repeated crying. The Devil Mask Snake poison was also easy to detoxify. He finally relented and ordered a servant to give him two detoxification pills and ordered Xie Que not to cry again.

Xie Que stayed beside the apprentice’s bed and took care of him for three days. The apprentice woke up from a coma, his body no longer in a serious condition, but it took time for the ghost marks on his face to disappear. They stayed in the valley for half a month, and waited until his apprentice's face fully recovered.

During that time, the peach blossoms in the medicine garden bloomed just right, like red brocade all over the sky. When the original body encounters a problem with his alchemy, he often sits in a high place and looks at the peach blossoms and thinks. Every time, the original body would see a small figure under the peach blossom practicing swordsmanship. He practiced in the morning, at noon, and at night, as if it had become a landscape of symbiosis with the peach blossoms.

Mortals trying to cultivate immortality are like a fish leaping over a dragon's gate. The path comes with many difficulties and dangers, and there are few successful ones.

Xie Que was always by his side, with a worried expression on his face. He was either afraid that he would drop his sword or that he would become exhausted. The two quarreled several times. On a whim, the original's body and mind let out a spiritual thought to investigate. He heard the child say to Xie Que: "Master, although mortals are not as good as immortals, my father taught me to reward my diligence, and diligence can make up for my weaknesses. So I have to work harder and never waste time."

"What you said makes sense," Xie Que tried to persuade him with a bitter face. "Your injury has not healed. I'm afraid you might hurt your body. And. . . why do you have to practice sword? Entertaining cultivation, wouldn’t it be better for you to learn some flute, piano or something?"

"Master taught me to use music to cultivate Taoism is very good," the child scratched his head embarrassedly. "But I like swords, I want to be like Mo Yuan Jianzun. Master, rest assured, I know all the songs you taught me. I practiced better than my senior brothers and sisters, and I definitely don't put off practice."

Xie Que had no choice but to say: "I will find you the right ice silk gloves later. You must wear them when you practice swords. You must soak your hands with lotion at night to make your hands soft. This will prevent calluses, so you won't miss the subsequent practice."

The child cheered, excitedly: "Master, you are so kind."

"Don't get hurt," Xie Que lightly knocked on his forehead and complained. "You naughty devil. Your master is terrified. From now on, stay in the sects when you practice, and you are not allowed to go to the back mountains. Take breaks as well to avoid ruining your eyes."

The child accepted all these conditions.

Xie Que leaned over, rubbed his head gently, and sighed: "You don't know how much Master values you. . ."

"I know." The child raised his head and said in a serious voice: "I know that the immortal world looks down on mortals that cultivate immortality, and even looks down on the master who only accepts mortals as disciples. I don't want to shame my master, so I must cultivate a Golden Core to prove to everyone that Master’s vision is right!"

Xie Que looked at his face silently, his eyes distant and difficult to distinguish.

The child pulled Xie Que's sleeves, turned his eyes, and said embarrassedly: "Wuhuan likes Master the most!"

Xie Que stretched out his fingertips, stroked the child's colorful face, looked carefully, and finally stopped reluctantly on the small red mole under his left eye, which was dazzlingly beautiful. He was silent for a long time, showing a very kind smile: "Master also likes you the most."

. . .

#mistakenly saving the villain #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #mistakenly saving the villain translation #song qingshi #yue wuhuan

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dorminchu · 3 years ago

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Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 03

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine Swann & Lyutsifer Safin Warnings: PTSD, moderate language. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— Episode III: HEDGEHOG’S DILEMMA —

Over the next hour, Madeleine’s initial animosity dissipated into tacit acceptance of the situation. Apart from the two unnamed associates, her and Safin, there were no other passengers. On paper, their route was straightforward. They'd stop at Genève, switch trains, be on their way to Sion. A five hour commute in total. Leaving roughly four hours to glean as much information as possible about her primary source of information.

At a glance she placed Safin somewhere in his early-to-mid-thirties. He had a soft face chipped away through years of ruthlessness—you could see it in his eyes, this kind of cold reticence that needed no introduction. The scarring threw off her estimate by a slight margin. He was dressed smartly, darker colours, blending in easily with any other first-class commuter except for the gloves. Madeleine, in a white blouse, grey wool cardigan to match her shoes.

“I'm curious. When you contacted the HR office and informed them I wouldn't be coming in, how did they take it?”

“They were surprised that you came in when you did, but ultimately sympathetic, given the nature of the situation. Your secretary mentioned that you're not one to take time off without prior notice.”

“Of course she would.”

“Would you like to know what they thought of you?”

As he spoke he watched her closely. “Diligent and well-mannered when it came to clientele. Aloof outside of an office setting. After graduating from two prestigious universities, you were still working at a public clinic. Your office and equipment were particularly sparse for a twenty-six year-old in the modern era. I imagine they thought you were in an inordinate amount of debt or else eccentric.”

Madeleine chewed on that for a few seconds. “That’s all well and good, but you cannot get all the nuances about a person from simple inference, or a background check.” Safin remained unreadable. “It was the secretary who told you all this?”

“In this profession, people provide me a lot of information I don’t ask for. I’ve learnt not to take it personally. You’d know what that is like, I’m sure.”

“I suppose so.”

Sunlight beamed on the side of her head, warming her past the point of languid ease. Should've picked the aisle seat. Trapped by her handbag at her ankles; burner phone, wallet, spare cosmetics, and a custom holster for a gun she hadn't touched since moving in with Arnaud.

Three years ago, what was on her mind? Fresh out of Oxford, too cynical to be starry-eyed. Volunteering still gave her a false sense of self-importance, rather than existential exhaustion. Carving out her altruistic identity through deeds, not the blood money she had to take advantage of. Still believing in a world governed by monetary prowess and tacit favours. That somehow, she'd make up for inherited sins in sheer time and effort.

On her own, she just ended pulling up roots and moving on every couple years, leaving behind very little of herself. Taking some perverse pride in the impossibility of knowing an enigma but each year she noticed the empty space, the quiet of the flat, more encompassing. Lines on her face. Still young but not forever.

Maybe she needed some change in her life. Company, but not for the sake of matrimony. Living with Arnaud in Paris had made it easier to accept the façade of a charmed life, even if their relationship was one of social convenience. It got her father off her case. Her colleagues finally stopped speculating that she'd gone frigid and switched to wondering when she and Arnaud were going to move on or get hitched. Never to her face. Always to the secretary, who passed along the information with the same enthusiasm as commentary on the window dressings.

Marriage crossed her mind, once or twice, in abstract. A last resort to keep up the veneer of normalcy. She could change her name. Become another unassuming face among thousands. Settle down while she was young. She wasn't a company man like her father. Maybe, for a year or two, before her past knocked her back into reality. Keeping her family life and professional life separate was paramount. The events of this morning proved as much.

An attendant came over smelling of artificial vanilla and enquired if they would need anything. Stench recalled the low-lit bathroom in Conakry; a rush of saliva flooded Madeleine’s mouth as before vomiting. She shook her head. The attendant looked over at her in concern.

“Everything's fine, thank you,” said Safin.

Madeleine threw him a bitter look as the attendant continued down the aisle. The sentiment was not reciprocated. Taken up by a need for conversation, if only to get out of her own head into someone else's for a while, she began, “So—” cleared her throat “—so, you head your own team?”

“That's correct.”

“How long have you been operating?”

“Fourteen years.”

“That’s quite a long time. I cannot say I'm familiar with the detail.”

“Our operations tend to stray away from the public eye. The situation in Conakry was an exception.”

Madeleine nodded primly. Still grasping for a conversation topic that wouldn’t completely sabotage her own intentions. What the hell could she do if he was one of SPECTRE? Second-guessing all his responses wouldn't get her anywhere. She simpered.

“I understand that this is not an ideal location to talk in-depth. But it wouldn’t hurt to know why my father saw fit to bother with me after all this time.”

“He has never discussed his business with you?”

“He made sure to keep me abreast of most of it. But I always knew where the money came from.” Madeleine frowned slightly. “There was an incident in Bolivia, back in 2008. I was volunteering on behalf of the IDPs and civilians affected by the water crisis. Dominic Greene, the famous entrepreneur, lost his life and the organisation QUANTUM shut down. But the gas explosion at the La Perla de las Dunas, that was all over the news. At the time it was deemed a political assault because several key members of the Bolivian military were rumoured to be involved.”

“On the news, do you recall ever hearing of a man named Luiz Medrano?”

“Medrano? As in, the exiled dictator?”

Safin nodded. “General Medrano cut a deal with Greene. Undisputed access to a seemingly useless piece of land in the Atacama Desert. It was, in fact, the site of an underground dam. Greene would have a monopoly over Bolivia's water, and Medrano and his coup would seize control of the country.” A particularly cold smile crossed Safin’s face but didn’t reach his eyes. “Not all of their subordinates were loyal. Someone from the outside must have intercepted at the hotel. Even so, their claim over the dam might have stayed out of the public eye if not for the amount of military figures found complicit in that political handover.” He paused. “QUANTUM's disbandment was not made public at the time. How would you know of this?”

Madeleine lowered her voice. “QUANTUM was my father's company, and Mr Greene was one of his associates. Besides, I never knew Greene personally. I don't think my father mentioned him to me more than twice in my life. I just put two-and-two together. He'd never let me see his shame directly.”

“I presume your father was acting in the interest of your protection.”

“He's always been meddling in my affairs! Even when I was a little girl. It's funny, you know. He was too busy to raise me so it fell to my mother. And then, once I got older, he decided to come back into my life. I would stay with him for a few months and go back to whichever school he put me through for the rest of the year. We stopped talking once I went off to Oxford.”

“And your mother?”

Madeleine froze. Averted her face towards the window. “She passed on when I was younger.”

Something indecipherable surfaced in his expression. “My apologies.”

“No, it’s all right. I’ve had time to mourn.” She scowled at nothing in particular. “I hope you realise I don’t have much on me.”

“Your personal affairs have been collected from the flat. You will have access to them once we reach our destination.”

“And that was decided by him, or you?” Safin held her gaze. “Well, you are doing this on his behalf, are you not?”

No answer. Back to silence until the attendant passed by again, accompanied by the scent of faux-vanilla. Madeleine couldn’t stand to sit another minute.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Safin without looking up.

“Dining car. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Safin made eye-contact with the associate on his side, nodded. The man got up and followed her into the next car without a word.

The attendant and passengers became nonentities while Madeleine ordered a sandwich and coffee. The associate didn't order anything, scanning the car. Just a pair of commuters, to the untrained eye.

“Welcome back, Dr Swann,” said Safin. “How was the dining car?”

“Uneventful.”

Safin glanced at the associate who was now sitting a few rows down. “I’m glad there were no complications.”

“I would certainly hope not,” Madeleine muttered. Every sentence that left her mouth gave him more ammunition. Ill-advised to put up a haughty front for the rest of the train ride. Tolerating the situation without being happy about it. Best get a grip before she made a bigger fool of herself.

“I’m not one of your patients, Dr Swann. There's no need to try and figure me out.”

“I am not trying to do anything of the sort.” Terse, reflexive. Safin drew a quiet breath. Madeleine glanced over at him and of course, he initiated:

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“Psychology?”

“Yes.”

It was such an ordinary question that Madeleine forgot to be indignant. “I… well, truthfully there are a lot of days where it is not very glamourous. But, if the alternative is to sit by and do nothing while others are suffering, I wouldn't give up for the world.” Shrugging off her lingering bad mood with a white lie. “And you?”

“I have no complaints about my work.”

A little brisk, compared to his previous responses. But she hardly knew the man well enough to start parsing for tells. In his position she'd probably have answered the same way.

On the second train heading from Genève to Sion, Madeleine was out of conversation topics. Not that Safin was one for talking anyway. She'd settled into the pattern of being scrutinised and returning the scrutiny. Just like her father to send a highly-trained watchdog in lieu of an apology.

Once again, they had the car to themselves. The afternoon sun beaming in through the window imprinted on her retinas until she pulled down the blinds.

The passing attendant did not address her beyond a glance and a small, terse smile. Probably just itching to get to the end of his shift and go see his friends for drinks. In his absence, her eyes kept flickering over empty rows, scanning, rescanning, fruitlessly.

“Dr Swann,” said Safin quietly, “is there a reason you keep looking over at the door?”

Madeleine purposefully relaxed her shoulders. “I wasn't aware that my father owned property in Sion. It's uncommon.”

“It's an architect’s villa located in Pont-de-la-Morge. Built in 1950, refurbished in 2008. You’ll have your pick of rooms on the second floor, if that makes any difference.”

Madeleine nodded. Running his sentence through in her head a few more times. She looked up sharply. “You’ll be staying there as well?”

“Given what occurred in Guinea and France, I would say it is in your best interest to have someone watching your back for a while.”

“You might have mentioned this before.”

“My job is to keep you alive. That’s as much reassurance as I can offer.”

⁂

Arrival at the station. Ushered into another black car. The sky overhead threatening rain as the car pulled into the drive. The perimeter of the house was flanked by several men not dissimilar from the two who’d collected Madeleine from her office. They did not speak. A couple of them nodded to Safin before bidding them entry.

An abundance of glass doors and aesthetically pleasing windows. The kitchen; wood panelling and stainless-steel. A fireplace in the living room with glass doors directly adjacent that led out to a terrace. The lawn watered itself. There were three bathrooms and bedrooms respectively.

Her own room was up the stairs, on the right. Far less claustrophobic or lived-in than Arnaud’s apartment. A fitted wardrobe, a stiff-looking bed. Mahogany sofa that wasn’t really her style but could be worked around. Light on the westernmost wall. Another set of glass doors that led out to a balcony, flanked by maroon curtains. She turned on the light, drew the curtains shut. Opening the wardrobe, she found the clothes she'd left in Arnaud's apartment that morning. She parsed through the fabric, unsure whether to find this latter aspect convenient or invasive. Some of these clothes she hadn’t worn in a season or two.

Arnaud's last conversation came to mind. Had he come back to the flat after she left in order to apologise, or collect her things? If they hadn’t argued that morning he might still be alive. Worried enough, perhaps, to ask around and get himself in a lot of trouble before he was silenced.

Madeleine shut the wardrobe forcefully. A change of style the first step to reinventing herself.

Over the balcony she caught sight of Safin and his associates. He looked over as she came down the stairs. “The room is fine,” she began, “but, if I'm going to be here a week I'll need some things in the morning.”

Safin nodded. “Once we work out an itinerary, that shouldn't be an issue. You recall the two men who accompanied you?” The first nodded; the second smiled politely. “Simply inform one of them and they will transport you as needed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Madeleine. No chance of giving these men the slip and expecting to survive.

⁂

That night she buried herself under rough wool blankets. Dreamless sleep the most precious amenity of all. She couldn’t start drinking and risk a hangover. If she started taking pills she'd draw attention to herself pretty quickly.

Normally she could manage to sleep. Restless but consistent enough to scrape by unnoticed.

Waking up half-fevered. Unfamiliar ceiling. Sion, not France. Waiting for the initial swell of terror to pass, as it always did. Regulating her breathing. Just a trauma response. Laying still, unsure if it was midnight or five in the morning.

Back in Ermatige, the waves of terror and relief used to crash down, shake her apart. Twenty-six year-old Madeleine chewed her lip. Sitting up, wrapping her arms around herself. A dull throbbing behind her eyes, in the base of her skull. Heavy scent of petrichor invading her nostrils.

About to get up when she heard the creak of floorboards. Movement from the hall towards the stairs, descending. Someone was up and around. A few seconds later, Safin’s voice, indistinct.

Oh, God.

She hadn’t disturbed him, had she?

She could lay back down and feign sleep until her headache became too much to ignore. Or she could go on with her day. Checked the time. 06:21.

Technically still too early for her to be up and about.

The warmth of the sheets became cloying. She stood up, barefoot on varnished wood, creeping over to the balcony. Reaching out to touch the pane. Cool glass kissing her naked palm. In a month or two the ground would be laden with snow.

Opening the door. Stepping out onto the balcony, gripping the rail. Quieting her breath to hear the whisper of water on grass. Taking fresh air into her lungs until she was shivering. Soles of her feet smarted.

The men surrounding the premises did not move. But they must see her up there. She stepped back indoors.

Silvery glint in her peripherals. The old television reflecting the light from outside.

Combing around the drawers for a remote. She clicked it on. Quickly hit the mute button. Squinting at the harsh colours that only reignited her headache. Flitting through channels for news. Poring over the headlines.

Not a word about the MSF. It had only been a month since she came back to Europe. Next week was October.

She sat there for a while letting the colours wash over the room. Clicked it off. Stumbling into the bathroom. Bags under her eyes more pronounced than the day before.

Madeleine had a shower, trying to piece together the dream. Hazier than in her youth. She discarded it. Only a dream. Drying off, dressing for the day. Contenting herself with the solidity of wool and linen, she went downstairs to have breakfast.

Safin, hovering by the glass doors in the living-room area. Dressed as if for another commute. “Dr Swann,” he said as way of greeting.

“Morning,” she replied. It was seven forty AM. No job to distract her from this newfound sense of nihilism. She rifled through the pantry looking for some cereal and saw an expensive-looking bottle of alcohol towards the back—liquor. Madeleine took the cereal, fixed herself a bowl and some coffee.

Caffeine counteracted her torpor, but the headache remained. “I don’t suppose this safehouse has any painkillers?” Safin looked over. She was already going through cabinets. “It’s my head. Just the weather, really.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Well enough.” She met his gaze with more confidence than she could back up. Safin’s attention diverted to the side of her head.

“On your right.”

She took two with her coffee. Ate in silence. Waiting a week in the hope her father might have an excuse was a truly miserable proposition. What would she say? Hello, Papa. I’m still alive. Did you pick this location to remind me of your home in Austria? No, that wouldn’t get her anywhere. Easier to approach her father in the same context as her job.

“Who do I speak to when I’m ready to leave?”

Safin glanced over at one of the associates.

⁂

The spotter gave her the run down on the way. In terms of travel she couldn’t go beyond the canton of Valais and she could not contact anyone else outside of Kerberos to confer information about her father’s whereabouts. But aside from that she could pretty much go anywhere.

First, clothing. That took her to Bottega Veneta. In Flagranti’s Business Acumen playing over the intercom. Madeleine's hackles raised. The painkillers in effect. Caffeine wearing off. She started parsing out signs. She hadn't really thought about what she needed beyond a change.

So accustomed to the life of a disconnected middle-class that its opposite became seductive. Perusing the aisles in a daze. Selecting whatever pulled at her heart in a perverse reminder of home. Nothing too extravagant. A new raincoat and a couple pairs of shoes. Navy scarf for the winter months. Spare lipstick. A few more shirts and dress pants in monochrome. Spare underwear, socks.

Spent half an hour trying it all on. Avoiding the eyes of the woman in the glass. Most of it fit but she didn't feel any different. The raincoat especially gave her a funereal look. She already had a reputation for being severe. What did it matter? She was always severe and the rest of the world could just bite the bullet.

Shit. The spotter was waiting for her. He probably didn't care either way. They hadn't talked much and she wasn't about to humanise him. She'd only let her guard down faster.

She parsed him out. They made brief eye-contact. Unimportant banter between her and the cashier during the transaction. Taking her bags. Walking over rain-slicked asphalt. Back into the car. The beat of raindrops on the window lulling her into a false sense of security.

Snapping herself out of it when the car stopped. “I’ll get it,” she insisted. The associate didn’t protest.

Treading up the stairs, down the hall. Pulling old clothes out of drawers, off hangers. Substituting her purchased goods. It wasn’t enough to fill the wardrobe, but she would have time to buy new clothes. Set aside the old stuff to be dealt with.

Shambling downstairs. Hungry without any real appetite. Safin nowhere to be seen. It took all the strength she had just to stand. Moving over to the sofa. Slumping into it. Closing her eyes. Only for a second.

The sound of a car pulling in mixed up with the sharp staccato of rifle fire tearing apart a wooden door.

Papa's gun in the cabinet, next to the bleach.

Heavy footsteps on wood.

No matter how fast she bolted she’d never get there in time.

Gloved hand on her shoulder.

Jerking awake with a guttural hitch, like she'd been sucker-punched.

Breathing hard. Her face damp.

“Dr Swann?”

Face-to-face with the last person she wanted to justify herself to. She averted her eyes. “Oh God, it's just—I’m sorry. It was just a nightmare.”

“About Conakry?”

She swallowed dryly. “Look, it’s nothing, I’m—”

“Don’t tell me that it is nothing.” His tone suddenly sharper. “You were in significant distress, now and early this morning. Nightmares are a common response in post-traumatic—”

“—I am familiar with the definition!” Ringing silence. She hadn’t meant to raise her voice. “Your concern is not unfounded, I know that it looks very bad. But I know how to deal with this. Please, just leave me be.”

“Just now, you said, don't come any closer, I'll kill you. Does that mean anything to you?”

Her hackles raised. “It's meaningless.”

“Depriving yourself of sleep won't do you any favours when Mr White shows up. If you want to be stubborn, I'll have no option but to keep you locked down until you have recuperated. In the meantime, think over what you must do to get some proper sleep. I'm not your therapist.”

He left her to sit, bitter and confused. He hadn’t reacted this way in Guinea and she'd been close to catatonic. So, what was this about?

⁂

For the next three days the Kerberos team confined her to the safehouse. Letting her out only to walk her around the premises for twenty minute intervals like a high-strung pet. If she were to take sleeping pills she was monitored. Resentment outweighed by desperation to regain her agency.

She learnt to recognise Safin's gait back and forth down the hall. Through the glass doors that led out onto the balcony, she could always see the figures silhouetted in the light from the terrace, blending into the shadows.

Even with all of this, sleep was no easier. Waking up half-fevered, clawing away the sheets. Expecting to see her stomach torn open, entrails and blood over the sheets not unlike brain matter and bone fragments against a hot car window. Finding unbroken skin sheened in sweat. The stress of the situation in Guinea and the extreme nature of the attack would inevitably recall some previous triggers.

It didn't explain away the nightmares about Altaussee. Hadn't she put that behind her years ago? Minor variations, each time. The setting was more indistinct than in childhood but the visceral details heightened. Sometimes the gunman would shoot her on sight before she stepped outside. Most often now, she'd run over to find no gun in the cabinet, and he shot her anyway. As a child she'd lacked the mental capacity to conceptualise how it would feel to die this way; now she dreaded what she'd see when she closed her eyes.

On day four, she was finally able to get some rest on account of exhaustion rather than effort. She woke up to the sun streaming into her face. Once she left her room, the two associates got her out of the house, into the car. They drove around Valais for roughly an hour and brought her back. Upon her return to the safehouse there were men checking over the rooms and furniture. Only so much protocol she could stomach, on top of all the scrutiny.

“I don’t want them in my room when I come in,” she told Safin. “Around the premises if necessary, but that’s all. If they must check all the rooms, fine, I don’t care, I just don’t want to see it.”

Childish to her own ears. Too beaten-down to think better. But he just said: “That can be arranged.”

⁂

The nights here were getting colder. Madeleine bundled up. She had never cared much for the autumnal season. All the decay covered beneath the snow to be unearthed come spring. Upcoming holiday meant throngs of people. Indifferent towards Christmas.

Safin was rarely around. In passing, he would acknowledge her in passing with a curt nod, and after day five he was more-or-less in the background. Every now and again, she'd catch him hovering in a room, just observing. Sometimes, if she turned, she imagined a flicker of something unfamiliar trapped behind his reserved countenance. But he never stuck around long enough for her to ask.

With an abundance of free time, she was unable to let herself to fall into the illusion of normalcy. Inevitable, then, that her thoughts would stray back to the MSF. Conducting research on her own, in the mornings and evenings; parsing through official news sites on her laptop, then underground articles, statistics, and anything else she could scrounge up.

The Guinean military had been busy quelling unrest for the last four weeks, but there were few details. Several key figures in the MSF were currently under investigation, tarnishing the reputation of the organisation. That stuck around the headlines, right next to some lesser story in the corner about various pharmaceutical companies cooperating in tandem with the Red Cross and clean MSF figures to ensure there was no repeat affliction throughout the rest of Africa. Madeleine didn’t see her face or any mention of a Psychosocial Unit mentioned anywhere.

The nightmares weren't any better. But at least she had something to point her energy towards rather than direct it inwards.

On day six, Safin was lurking about the living area when she came down. He didn't wish her good morning. “I'll say this once, for your own good. Forget about what happened in Guinea.”

A week ago Madeleine would've been indignant. Arrogant enough to question this. She said: “There has been nothing short of a civil outbreak, and all the other parties walked away more or less unscathed. And you expect me to ignore that?”

“You accepted that mission knowing that there was the possibility there would be casualties.”

“Casualties? It was a worst-case scenario.”

He looked over at her. “The situation escalated far beyond any one party's control. There's no sense in blaming yourself. You did the best you could.”

Always wearing gloves. What the hell had happened to him? And why, succeeding that, would one choose security as their preferred occupation?

“Are you going to ask if it’s genetic?”

Madeleine balked. For the first time in a long time embarrassed rather than unnerved. “I didn't mean to offend you.”

He shrugged. “No offence taken.” His tone was off, like trying for sharpness without credence. “It was a long time ago.” Cordial, but not openly genial. While their conversations topics didn't leave much room for trust or even camaraderie, at the very least they were not glowering at each other anymore. “There's been a slight change of plans. Your father should be arriving later this evening.

“Well, that's convenient.”

“I'm sure you would like to ask him a few questions about your situation.”

“There's no telling he will give me a straight answer.” Safin said nothing. Madeleine exhaled, looked over at him. “Irrespective of how I might feel about your employer, you’ve given me no reason to distrust you.”

“Very well, Dr Swann.”

Madeleine smiled. “Please, just call me Madeleine. I'm not working right now.”

A beat.

“All right. Madeleine.”

#no time to die #multichapter #crime drama #not canon compliant #slow build #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #mr white #general medrano #dominic greene #fanfic #fanfiction #sorry I'm late!

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years ago

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the year i turned twenty i stopped waiting for someone to save my life and started eating more vegetables

in the winter of 2018 i got a root canal done on the molar in the upper left-hand corner of my mouth. it had been on the verge of death for a while now; two years prior to that a visiting government-sponsored school dentist had taken a look at it, frowned, and then spent the next two hours wheedling all the rot out of that tiny black hole with a drill. unfortunately the solution he imposed was both extremely painful and temporary, and so two years after the initial incident i found myself once again at the dentist's (this time at a clinic; school dentists don't like to deal with the extra-gritty stuff and are not paid enough to do so). they stuck a needle in my gum, numbed three-quarters of my mouth, then drilled a hole through the center of my tooth and ripped the withering shred of nerve-tissue right out of it.

my dentist helpfully explained all of the above to me during our consultation session in the same office in which he would rip the top half of my tooth off a week later. he was a balding, smiling man whose speech did not, unlike many medical professionals i had met over the years, have an edge of condescension to it. i liked him. i would have liked him more were he not planning to essentially castrated my tooth.

several weeks later i went to another dentist who specialized in helping people in post-root canal limbo, and she stuck a shiny metal crown on what was left of my molar. we then scheduled a series of check-ups to ensure that the crown had not flown off its liege while i attacked an ice cube or something similarly bad for my teeth and mental health, which stretched on for so long that she became, more or less, my primary dental care physician. at first the check-ups were a month apart. then two. time passed. her hair grew longer and our conversations less awkward; she was beautiful and snarky and looked like she would shoot god without hesitation if he stepped into range of her gun. she wore her hair short, red tinged with gold, in a pixie-cut that fell over half of one eye. for a while i thought i was in love with her.

'do you floss?' she asked me on my second check-up.

'no,' i said.

'well.' she broke off a length of dental floss and began to wind it around her fingers. it looked like a death threat and she looked ready to kill, though her eyes were smiling. 'you should.'

for the first year after having an utterly destroyed tooth brought back from the brink of death via a grisly temporary solution that would, at best, buy me one or two decades of peace, i didn't. i didn't floss because when she did it for me in her tiny examination room my gums bled so much it took hours for me to wash the bitter taste of iron out of my mouth. blood is a nice concept and a nicer motif in writing. but it smells awful, and it's worst on the tongue. so i didn't floss my teeth, and i went through life with the kind of casual detached disinterest with which i had approached most things up until then. at my next check-up she asked once again if i had been flossing and i lied that i had. after poking and prodding around in my mouth for a few minutes and taking a scan for good measure she gave me a look and said dryly, 'you haven't been flossing at all, have you.'

disappointing your parents, your favorite high school english teacher, or even your best friend is nothing compared to the sheer embarrassment that comes from knowing your beautiful dentist asked you to do the bare minimum, and you failed to deliver. her voice was arid but we had known each other for long enough by then for me to detect a thin undercurrent of disappointment. i had done it. i had lost the support of the only person in my life who could be counted on to support me. because i paid her for her services. and she was also very funny in a quiet sarcastic way. and she was beautiful.

having had my ego wounded beyond description i resolved to floss from then on and succeeded in dragging my poor aching gums past the bleeding stage to a point where they were merely post-workout sore. then i lost interest and forgot about the white, sterile-smelling clinic that was a fifteen minutes' drive from my house and the little pack of dental floss on the bathroom counter faded into obscurity. two weeks before my next appointment in 2020, an alarm on my phone went off to inform me of the approaching day of judgment. i panicked.

'have you been flossing?' my dentist asked as i lay back in the faded green chair and she put on a pair of new gloves.

'yeah,' i said.

five minutes later, she removed her army of dentistry equipment from my mouth with a satisfied hum. 'i see that you have.' her eyes were smiling. 'your teeth look fine. i'll just clean them a little for you.'

i celebrated impressing my favorite dentistry professional in singapore by forgetting to floss for the next two months. soon after that i got on a plane to america, and then two more for good measure in case i hadn't grown sick of sitting and burning in my own skin already, and then twelve weeks of insanity ensued, the details of which we are surely all acquainted with by now. late nights, walks in the forest, afternoons spent in the sun. mismatched footsteps and strange acquaintances. an elaborate circus act staffed entirely by misguided but well-meaning teenagers. a ring of fire.

two weeks ago i bought a box of dental floss for ninety-nine cents. i think this might be what the anthropologists call 'adulthood'. i was at target with a friend and we were getting toothpaste, which we had both nearly run out of, when i saw the little flat box of dental floss hanging from a hook on the wall. my teeth weren't particularly disgusting (they haven't been, not since i learned how to brush them properly), but they weren't beautiful. it had been a while since i had been on my own mind. for the last three months, others' pain had been my main priority, and now that we had eliminated most of them from the picture, i found myself with more time in the mornings to stare at myself in the mirror and wonder how, exactly, i was doing.

how are you doing? i asked. and the answer was i felt like shit.

while i've stayed in dormitories before for extended periods of time i always got out of doing laundry by either submitting my dirty clothes to an on-campus service which disappeared them into a hole in the fabric of reality and returned them to you a day later, cleaned and folded outside your room so the first time i did laundry by myself in america, a week after arriving on campus, i felt invincible. buying an iced chai from the cafe on a thursday morning and then settling down to work on my laptop until my first class started at noon, i felt like a character in a career advisory ad, like someone who knew where they were going and how they were going to get there. standing in front of the bathroom mirror of my summer dorm, winding a strand of dental floss around my fingers, i felt like i had aged fifteen years in the span of just one, and that just this once, it was for the better.

according to my adult friends, no one ever fully feels or recognizes that they are an adult. adulthood is an ideal that all grown children strive towards the way body-builders aim for more and more muscle mass until there's nothing left of them but a pair of well-toned biceps. there are several industry-approved ways to be an adult, but there are no suggested ways to feel like one. this is part of the gaping maw of inadequacy our generation has fallen into. this afternoon i melted butter in a pan and beat two eggs, milk, salt, and garlic powder together in a bowl. pouring the egg mixture into the pan i began to scrape the edges frantically towards the center with a spatula. the whole process took no longer than two or three minutes. by the end of it my hand was shaking.

according to my adult friends you just wake up one day and start looking for ways to re-organize your pantry and that's when you realize: i'm getting old, aren't i? and i'm getting old, aren't i? twenty's just the start of what a friend recently told me her parents refer to as 'the decade of pain'. but the beginning of something is included in the timeline of its accomplishments, too, and it takes more blind faith to start something than we give ourselves credit for. i have never used a saucepan up until today. in my younger years i often boiled broccoli or cauliflower in a small pot over an electric stove. but the butter, the eggs, the smell of fat sizzling on a pan- this is new to me. this entire life is new to me.

leaving the familiar warmth of your family home, it suddenly occurs to you how fragile life is. how everything your mother has done for you until now has kept you on the path forward, and now you have been given the keys to the basement you have to remember to buy laundry detergent before you run out. it all comes together like this: the humming laundry machines, the hand towels, the fridge full of fruit and cheese. it keeps you alive.

and it's awful. our generation doesn't know what self-care is because we're too busy trying to care for a world which tries, time and again, to kick us off the carousel of life and move on without its ephemeral teenage charges. we are bad at this 'living' thing because we often forget that we are alive at all. look out the window and the world's burning. look into the kitchen, and- quiet. this past year has done nothing to improve the paintings on the wall. we've all known hopelessness. we've all known what it's like to wake up and feel nothing at all.

and yet my flatmate has a new york times cooking subscription that she says we're welcome to borrow if we want to look up a recipe for something like paella, brownies, whatever. the other day she made shrimp scampi and when she knocked on my door and said 'i made food, if you'd like some' i remember thinking living with other people was worth it if you could sit around a table and twirl pasta noodles around your fork in silence. tomorrow i think i'll go to target again and see if i can find more acai. i miss it. i miss singapore's overpriced acai places and their stupid too-high chairs.

and i am living life clumsily, but who cares? a life is a life; all you have to do is live it. the rest can come later, after the dust has settled on the windowsill.

06.09.21

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love-and-monsters · 4 years ago

Text

Armon the Aqrabaumelu

Hey guys! Before I get into this, I’m just letting you know I won’t be posting writing for the next two weeks because it’s grad school final time and I have so much work. In the meantime, if you want to give me some prompts, I’m all ears!

M aqrabaumelu X F reader, 2,895 words

You’ve been hired to paint a portrait for a local rich family. What do you make of your irritated (and a little irritating) subject?

Fortune Falls was a small town, but it was surprisingly bustling. Perhaps it was the variety of species that kept it that way. Perhaps it was just the sort of people who came to a place like Fortune Falls, excited young people who were trying to start up new lives and careers. At least half of the shops in town had opened in the last couple of years and were run by young residents.

You weren’t one of the excited newcomers, although you could have easily been mistaken for one. Your family was one of the first to move to Fortune Falls, which meant you had some roots here, and had managed to snag an apartment toward the town center for relatively cheap. Your family was friends with the building owner, and you were handy enough to earn your low rent.

It also meant that your career as a struggling artist was at least somewhat feasible. Your family had connections with the other families in town, especially the well-off ones. The sort of families with the disposable income who could commission artists for portraits.

That was your newest job. A commission for one of the older money families, a portrait of their second-oldest son, since he had come of age. Portraits were, in your humble opinion, exceedingly boring. Trying to paint a face staring off into the distance while subtly tweaking their worst features to suit their vain attitudes wasn’t interesting. You were much more partial to landscapes and nature scenery. Much more beautiful. But you still had expenses and if painting rich people managed to pay them, so be it. You would.

The Aristota house was technically just outside of town, on an enormous plot of land. You gathered your supplies into the passenger’s seat of your ancient car and hobbled up their long, winding driveway.

It was a pretty mansion, you thought. But it was also just a little bit too rich for your taste. The chandeliers, the velvet carpets, the deep reds and golds and creams. It was all just a little too much, like they were more interested in showing off their money than creating a house that was nice to live in.

Fortunately, you knew the family well enough for them to dispense with the overly stuffy pleasantries. “Good to see you again,” Mrs. Aristota said when you entered the sunroom. She was settled on a long, red couch, deep orange carapace glinting in the sunlight. “You’ve met Armon before?”

You looked toward the person she was gesturing at. He looked quite similar to her- a rounded, but sharp-cheeked face, thick lashes, rich, black hair, and long, delicately fingered hands. Like the rest of his family, he was, from the waist down, an enormous scorpion. His carapace was a deep shade of orange and his tail was lifted, curling behind him with its stinging tip brandished outward. You knew enough about aqrabaumelu body language to read the discomfort in his posture.

“We’ve met before,” you said. It had admittedly been years ago, when you were both teenagers, and neither of you had wanted to be around each other. “Hello.”

He dipped his head to you, then went back to staring out the window. He was wearing a black coat with little gold stitches around the hems. His long nails worked at the hem, tearing the stitches out a little at a time.

“You have the specifications for the portrait?” Mrs. Aristota asked. She rose from her couch and skittered over you, looking critically at your supplies.

“Same as the last one I did, I assume,” you said.

“This one will be a little smaller,” she said. “But roughly similar, yes. Armon will give you any more details he desires.” She walked over to him and lifted his chin in her hand. “And smile, won’t you?”

With that, she turned and headed out of the room. You finished placing your canvas on the easel and organized your paints before looking at your subject.

He’d mostly turned his back on you, staring out the windows of the sunroom into the garden. You cleared your throat. No response. You cleared it again, louder this time. His gaze flicked to you, expression unchanging.

“Are you ready to begin?” you asked. “Pick a position you think you can comfortably hold for a bit. I’ll take pictures, but I like sketching in person. It helps me with proportions.”

Armon let out a long, heavy sigh and crept across the room until he was standing in front of you. He stared flatly ahead, tail still hooked and lifted in its defensive posture. His expression was flatly neutral, almost bored. You frowned at him. “Uh. You sure that’s the position you want to go for?”

His dark eyes slid to you for a moment. Then they returned to their staring-blankly-ahead position. You shrugged. “Whatever.” You could make some touch-ups to make the position a little more interesting, more stately instead of bored. After snapping a few photos, you sat down and got to work.

A silence fell over the room. You could hear your pencil scratching against the canvas, the soft noise of your breath. Every now and then, Armon would shift a little and the hard plates of his carapace scraped quietly together. After thirty minutes, you paused, flexing your wrist.

“Wanna move around a bit?” you asked. Armon shifted his head toward you.

“I thought that would be disallowed.” His voice was both deep and quiet.

“Nah. You can shift around a little bit. Just go back to the position when you’re done. I can tweak a little bit to fix any problems. And I need a break too.” You stood up, rolling your wrist and stretching your legs. “Want to take a look at what I have so far?”

He scuttled over to you and peered at the canvas. You saw his eyes move, roving over the image, then he leaned back. There was no change in his face. “What, nothing?” you said. “I thought it was pretty good. Anything you like, don’t like, want more of?”

Armon sighed, shifting his weight. “I don’t know. I’m not an artist.”

“Well, if I think it’s a bad idea, I just won’t do it. I’m just asking your opinion. It’s your portrait.”

Armon laughed. It was a bitter, cold laugh. “This is not me,” he said, pointing at the painting.

You frowned, feeling a flicker of insult. It wasn’t your best work ever, but it didn’t look that bad. It looked like him! “In what way?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral. You’d never had any of them, but you’d heard about clients who wouldn’t let their painters stop until the image looked like a god come to earth. If he was trying that angle, you weren’t sure how long you could bite your tongue for.

Armon looked at you for a moment, then sighed out his nose and waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked back over to his position and held it again. This time, he looked even more stiff and uncomfortable. His tail tip twitched like he was threatening to strike.

You looked consideringly at the painting. Even with your careful alterations, he still looked a little stiff. His tail was arched over his back in a way that seemed unnatural, and his expression was severe. You couldn’t give an accurate depiction of his smile because you’d never seen him give one. His brother had been all grins and self-importance. Armon seemed to be sulking.

“I need a break.” You tossed down your pencil. Armon gave you a look.

“Weren’t we just taking a break?” he asked. You stretched, groaning as your joints popped. Armon blinked at you as your arm twisted around. “Humans aren’t supposed to bend that way,” he said. His expression was vaguely queasy.

“I’m double jointed,” you said. “And I need to walk around for a bit. Stretch my legs, you know? And my fingers, otherwise my hands will cramp.” You tilted your head, staring around the room with feigned interest. “Mind showing me around the place?”

Armon clicked his many legs against the ground. “Something you’re particularly interested in seeing?” he asked with little enthusiasm.

“Whatever you’re interested in is fine by me,” you said charitably. Perhaps you could get another emotion out of him that wasn’t sullen disappointment.

There was a moment of consideration, then Armon opened the glass door to the outside. Without checking to see if you were following, he stepped outside and into the sunshine.

You followed him to a small stand of trees around a pond. He settled by it, back pointed at you. “This is nice,” you said, looking around. Your fingers were itching for your supplies. It would be a lovely scene. In fact, Armon’s form seemed to fit well with it. His unfocused, serene gaze, the curl of his lowered tail, the sweep of his black hair over his brow. He seemed much more relaxed than he had in the house.

“I have an idea,” you said. Armon’s gaze became guarded as he looked up at you. “We can continue the painting out here.”

Armon gave you a bewildered look. “What?”

“It’s a nice day. And the sunroom’s really hot. We can keep going out here. Much nicer.” Armon frowned. His many legs shifted, sharp tips digging into the dirt. “Something wrong with that idea?”

“I thought Mother wanted it done in the sunroom.” His voice was stiff and his tail was starting to bristle again. You put on your easiest smile and clapped him on the shoulder. He started at the touch.

“I’ll tell her I thought it looked nicer out here. I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.” You turned and started to head back inside. After a moment, you heard the quiet scuttling of Armon following you.

He watched as you gathered your supplies up. It took some skill to juggle them. You carefully slid the easel under your arm and tried to gather as many paints as you could into your arms. Armon stared at you for a moment, then picked up your paint box from the floor. He held it still while you carefully dumped your paints into it. “Thanks,” you said.

“Just helps speed things up,” he mumbled. Before you could say anything else, he headed out the door ahead of you.

You followed him back to the small stand of trees and set your supplies up again. When you looked up, you clapped a hand over your mouth, barely preventing a giggle.

There were several birds around Armon. Three of them were crows, and one was a blue jay, which was perched happily on his tail, apparently unconcerned by the venom. A chipmunk was eying him from a short distance away, and a squirrel was sitting by one of his hands without concern. Armon seemed to consider this as relatively unimpressive. His expression was just as neutral as it had been before. But his tail, you noticed, was relaxed.

“Uh,” you said gently, “so how long have you been a Disney princess?”

His tail jerked reflexively and the animals scattered. “Oh,” you said, watching in disappointment. “That would have made a cool painting. Can you make them come back?”

“I don’t make them do anything,” Armon said. “They just know me.” He looked around, his gaze softening. “I come out here a lot. It’s nice. Better than inside the house.”

There was something peaceful in his gaze. Almost without thinking, you reached out and started sketching.

“No wonder you seem comfortable out here,” you said. You kept your tone low, trying to encourage his mood. One of the birds hopped cautiously closer. Armon stretched out a hand toward it.

“Mm. The animals are nice.” The bird, a crow, closed the distance between them. Armon let out a low whistle and it hopped onto his hand. “There are stray cats out here too, sometimes. I feed them. Can’t have them in the house, though. Father doesn’t like furry pets.”

“Allergic?”

“No. He just doesn’t like the fur.” Armon stroked a finger over the bird’s head. It let out a croaking note. His lips twitched.

For the first time, you saw the tiniest of smiles appear on his face. You sketched it into place. One of his cheeks dimpled. It was rather adorable.

He stayed still and silent for several moment, stroking absently over the bird’s head. You hurried to get the scene out onto paper. It was a much more relaxed picture than the one you’d been trying to paint inside.

“You seem to have a strong connection with them,” you said after a few minutes. “Can you speak to them?”

Armon looked at you. For a moment, you were pretty sure he wasn’t going to answer, then he shrugged. “Not like we’re speaking. They’re not that intelligent. But I’ve spent enough time with them that I understand their mannerisms.” He glanced at you. “People, not so much.”

“I feel that,” you said. “I’m better with paint than people.”

Armon turned his gaze back to the bird. “You’ve been doing well to me.”

“Yeah, that’s lots of practice. I’m not very naturally good at it.” Armon snorted and his tail lashed.

“I was never any good at it. Nothing like my brother.”

You gave an absent nod. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?”

Armon closed his eyes. “He’s much better than I am.” There was a pause as he swallowed. The bird fluttered back to the ground and pecked at the soil. “I think my parents have quite given up on me.” He said it with a bit of a laugh, but his expression was twisting in a way that almost made him look like he was going to cry.

You lowered your pencil. “Given up?”

“You need to be good with people to be good at business. I’m awful with them. I’m just too unapproachable. They keep me around, add me to the collection of family portraits, but I am not what they want in a son.”

“Fuck your family,” you said. Armon blinked at you. “Your family’s too up their own ass. No offense. Why don’t you just leave? You’re old enough, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Armon said. “But I don’t really know how. I’ve never been on my own before.”

“You’ve got a lot of money. You’ve got some time. Why don’t you just figure out what you want to do? Not saying it’s going to be easy. It’ll be a lot different than what you’re used to, but it’ll be better. I mean, being an artist isn’t easy. But it’s more enjoyable than doing something easy that makes me miserable.”

The grass rustled as Armon made his way over to you. He sat down, looking at the drawing over your shoulder. There was a moment of silence, then Armon let out a low, shaky sigh.

“That’s me,” he said, reaching over to tap the painting. He traced the slight smile that twitched at his lips, the softness that gathered around his eyes. “That one is me.” He leaned into your side, letting his head rest on your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You didn’t get much more painting done that day. Armon showed you around the grounds a little bit before dropping you off at the front gate. “I’ll show you the painting when it’s done,” you said.

Armon smiled again. It was small, and it looked poorly practiced, but it was something. “I’ll look forward to it.”

It was a couple of weeks before you returned to the house. You met with Armon’s mother before going to the sun room, where Armon was waiting. He looked up as you entered.

“Here,” you said, holding it out toward him. He took it delicately, as if he was afraid his claws would tear the canvas. He stared at it for a long time, just taking in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “It’s better than I thought it was going to be.” He gave a weak smile. “All those portraits in the halls are so stuffy. So formal. They’re never something I really wanted to be a part of. This one is much nicer.”

You shrugged. “You can keep that one, if you want. I’m not getting paid for it.”

Armon’s head snapped up. “Why not?”

“Didn’t meet the specifications your mother was looking for, apparently. She said it was too… um… casual, I think.”

Armon looked down at the painting. “I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Don’t sweat it. It wasn’t your idea, remember? I pushed you into it.” You shrugged. “Your mom’s giving me a second chance, though. I would have to do it right this time.” You perched on the side of a lounge, looking steadily at Armon. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Armon gave a small smile. “I don’t think I’d mind sitting for another portrait,” he said. “As long as you’re the one doing it.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly mad about it either,” you said. Armon made to hand you back the painting, but you pushed it back toward him. “I did say you could keep that, right? It’s a gift.”

Armon looked down at it with a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said. You memorized that smile. It was going into his portrait no matter what.

#exophilia #aqrabaumelu #fortune falls #monster boyfriend #monster lover #OCxOC #MxF

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years ago

Text

The Call of the Wild Woman

Just some fluff featuring the green-haired goddess of NXT.

Pairing: Shotzi Blackheart x OFC

Word count: 2,412

Content advisory: brief sexual references, language

The first time I met Shotzi, I instantly liked her. We shook hands and she gave me this smile that made me feel like I was having a great day, even though there hadn’t been anything exceptional about it to that point. I was a little overwhelmed with all the people I was meeting, trying to get a sense of their look, their personality, their character, but I knew from our introduction that I was going to remember her for years, even if I never saw her again.

Of course, Shotzi’s a memorable person. Tall, tattooed, pierced and sporting that incredible acid green hair, it would be hard not to remember her. But I felt like I’d remember her vivacious eyes and confident smile just as much as the things that made her stand out from a mile away. My whole first day getting led around the performance center, I found my eyes drawn back to her whenever she appeared.

I had just been moved to NXT to take over as their chief makeup artist. I’d been working on Raw for close to a year when the position opened up and I’d been so excited and nervous about whether I’d get the job that I felt as if I’d barely slept for two months. My boyfriend and I actually broke up while I was waiting to hear back and I hardly noticed. We’d been struggling since his work had moved him out of state, and things had just sort of ended like a wave washing over a sandcastle. I wasn’t bitter but I was lonely. And that, along with my desire to show that I could run a team in high pressure situations, meant that I threw myself headlong into the new job. I tried to keep some time to see friends but work seemed more rewarding.

By the time I’d been there a few months, my circle of friends was largely made up of coworkers. There were always birthdays or barbecues or other things going on, and it was fun to be able to dish about work without having to explain a lot of background detail. I was enjoying myself. But, yeah, I was definitely lonely.

I dropped a couple of hints here and there that I wouldn’t mind being fixed up with any single male friends and a couple of the women made suggestions. A couple of the men did too. But none of it went anywhere. I was too busy and too awkward to make a first move and if any of the suggested bachelors ever thought to check me out on social media, it never resulted in a phone call.

Shotzi was always one of my favorite models. I loved transforming her from the natural beauty she was to the wild child who appeared on tv every week. And while we’d talk about work, she also had the greatest gifts as a storyteller, and the crazy stories to complement her skills. She’d been raised around bikers and conservative immigrants at the same time. She’d worked as a late night host for a horror movie tv broadcast before she became a wrestler. It was like she’d been born to perform and had found a way to do so while still being herself.

I found myself sitting at home, always alone, watching the silly and shocking horror movies she’d recommend to me, or tracking down music by bands she’d mention or whose shirts she’d wear. When she’d worked on tv, she’d developed a loyal following of teenage boys and girls who used to do everything from message her begging her to go out with them to sending her love letters and poetry to showing up outside the station in the hopes of meeting her. It sounded both creepy and sad but I sympathized a little with her starry-eyed fans. She was a kind of dazzling whirlwind of a person and, indeed, I was dazzled by her.

One day, I’d showed up at work after a particularly inauspicious Tinder date. The guy had picked me up for what was supposed to be coffee and a walk but had insisted that we stop by his friend’s place so he could get some pot. The three of us shared a joint and I assumed we were about to leave when another joint appeared. Being a lightweight, I declined but the two of them proceeded to smoke it themselves. Then the friend’s roommate came home from band practice. She pulled out her bong and that was getting passed around while she played us the hour-long piece of meandering prog that they’d created that day. All three of them seemed really entranced by what they could hear in the music, which I was pretty certain they were imagining.

About an hour later, my date and his friend started playing video games. I quietly tried to suggest that we leave and at least grab that coffee because I was clinging to the hope that maybe the guy, who was way cuter than I’d counted on, might have some redeeming qualities. He assured me we could leave in a minute. He and his friend were completely absorbed in their game, while the roommate randomly started telling me about how her mother had given birth to her at a Grateful Dead concert in the eighties, after following the band on tour for years. She didn’t seem to care much if I responded and would focus entirely on her phone every minute she wasn’t speaking.

Eventually, the roommate had begun to complain loudly that she was hungry and the guys agreed that we should order pizza. I handed over some money and advised them that I was a vegetarian, only to be surprised by a pizza that arrived looking like it had been fished out of a trash can, topped with pepperoni and cheese. I knew the place they’d ordered from and some quick math in my head made it clear that I had paid for basically all the pizza. They assured me that I could just pull the pepperoni off.

I was about to leave but my date insisted that we could head out in a few minutes to find me something I might actually want to eat. He was cute enough that I‘d agreed to stay just a little longer. A few more guys showed up to buy pot. Then friends of the roommate‘s had shown up with beer and put the stereo on so loud I thought the ceiling might cave in. I ended up leaving at eleven without even saying goodbye. When I got home, I realized that I‘d lost my house keys and had to ask a neighbor to help me break into my apartment.

I told this story to my coworkers to a chorus of loud “nos'' and peals of laughter. Others shared some bad date stories but this one did seem pretty dire. Everyone commiserated and it did make me feel better, like the night hadn’t been a total washout because I had a good story to tell and, as a couple of the girls pointed out, dates I had in the future were likely to seem pretty good in comparison.

“You should have taken some of the pot!” Shotzi exclaimed to a round of agreement.

“I wish I’d thought of that.”

It was a few days later that I was prepping Shotzi’s makeup and I noticed that she was a bit quieter than usual. She wasn’t unfriendly but there was something off.

“You ok?” I asked quietly, sweeping my brush out to give her the perfect cat’s eye flip.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

She didn’t sound great, or at least not in the enthusiastic way she usually did. I felt my neck getting tense as I tried to lead the conversation for the first time, knowing I wasn’t nearly as good at it as she was. I didn’t want to push her to tell me what was on her mind and at the same time, I felt like my forced smalltalk was probably grating on her nerves. I wanted to be entertaining but I lacked the stories and the flair.

Finally, when I announced that I was finished, she stood up just a few inches from me. I expected her to tell me to wish her luck, which I always did, but she didn’t move, her bright eyes focused on mine.

“Do you want to go out some time this weekend?” She asked.

“Like, hang out? Sure.”

She shook her head. “No. Do you want to go on a date with me?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, not knowing quite what to say. I fell back on the default. “Um, I don’t actually date women.”

“Oh.” She looked sad for the first time and a little surprised. “I’m sorry, I read some singles wrong. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Not at all. I mean, it’s no big deal. I just… you’re gorgeous. I’m just not…”

“It’s fine,” she insisted, extending a hand as if to pat my arm but withdrawing it before she did. “Please, forget I ever said anything.”

Of course, I couldn’t forget that. In fact, I couldn’t even get it out of my head. I’d always dated men. I’d known women who were bisexual and lesbian but none of them had ever expressed an interest in me and I hadn’t found myself attracted to them. But Shotzi was attractive. She was stunning. And the more I thought about that first reaction I’d had to her, the more it seemed similar to the way I’d reacted to men I’d been involved with in the past. I just hadn’t noticed the similarity because she was a woman and I wasn’t into women.

But maybe I was into one woman.

She stayed friendly with me, although she didn’t linger as long in the makeup chair regaling me with tales of her rock ‘n’ roll childhood or films that had made her who she was. I hadn’t even realized that she had been lingering before. I just thought we’d been having great conversations. We had been having great conversations. Had I been sending the wrong signals?

I knew that I had marveled at how beautiful and unique she was. I’d gushed, really. But I’d been so floored by her that I felt like I had to let off some steam in the form of compliments or I’d never be able to focus on anything else. That didn’t change after the “asking me out” incident. The fact that I couldn’t release any of my thoughts made it harder to think about anything. I’d see her and I’d spend ten minutes feeling like kind of an idiot, then half an hour thinking about her chatoyant eyes, about the perfect heart shape of her face, or her full lips.

It was a few weeks later that I caught myself staring at her from the safety of the shadows while she prepared to go out for a match. I’d often stared at her body and I figured that it was because she had the kind of body that every woman wanted to have: perfect curves, toned limbs, smooth skin… Looking at her in that moment, though, I wasn’t so sure about my motives. Was I wishing that I had those taut thighs or was I wishing that I knew what it felt like to drag my lips along them, to feel her shudder at the sensation of my breath on her sensitive flesh?

Her match was thrilling, as her matches almost always were. She was whipping around the place looking completely out of control, although we all knew she wasn’t. The more danger she put herself in, the more she seemed to glow with internal electricity. It was no wonder that the company was already treating her like a star. You’d have to be dead not to get drawn in by her. But it occurred to me as I watched her that I was more drawn in than others.

When I saw her come backstage, I retreated to my makeup room and counted down what felt like enough time to allow her to unwind, shower and change before I made my way over to the locker room.

“Hi there,” I greeted her, a little shyly.

She glanced up and gave me a big smile while she patted her hair dry.

“Hey you.”

“So, if the offer is still open, I’d like to say yes.”

She arched her elegant brows and gave me a coy smile. “Now what offer would that be?”

“If you still want to, then, yes, I would like to go on a date with you.”

“Interesting,” she drawled. “What brought about this change of heart?”

“You did.”

She bats her eyes and points theatrically at her chest. “Moi?”

I couldn’t help but smile. The light in her eyes told me she was happy but she still wanted to make me work for it a little. Fair enough.

“Ever since I met you, I’ve found all these things- movies, music, all sorts of stuff- that I just never thought of checking out because I either didn’t know about them or because I just never thought I’d be into them. And the more I think about it, the more I think that I might have made a lot of decisions about what I like just because it was what I saw everyone else doing.”

“Well that’s cool, but I’m not a movie or a book.”

“No. You’re this incredibly cool, funny, exciting, sexy person who I love being around and who has me thinking about all sorts of things I hadn’t considered.”

“Ok. How would you feel about a midnight picnic at an old shack I found near the river?” She grinned.

“Will you hold my hand if I get scared?”

“I promise.”

I gave a little laugh and stepped closer to her, cupping her cheek in one of my hands and marvelling at how perfectly it fit there. Unable to resist the temptation, I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against hers. And immediately, a delightful shiver ran through every part of my body.

When we separated, she gave me an almost coquettish smile and laced her arm through mine, steering us out of the locker.

“You know,” I mused, “you don’t seem really surprised by this.”

“I’m not,” she responded with a wink. “I knew you’d come around.”

#shotzi blackheart imagine #shotzi blackheart fanfic #nxt imagine #nxt fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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dragonagecompanions · 4 years ago

Note

DA2 You've probably got this many times - how would companions react to mage Hawke being made tranquil? Particularly interested in how a friendly/friendly romanced Fenris would react

Carver: While he might have resented many things about his older sibling and how their family’s magic affected their childhood, Carver would never ever wish for something like this. Ever since they had gotten to Kirkwall, Carver had warned his older sibling to be careful with all of the templars roaming the city. This place wasn’t like Lothering which only had a few templars in the Chantry that could be avoided; no, Kirkwall was teeming with templars that would look for any reason to lock up Carver’s older sibling. But did they listen to him and his warnings? Of course not. They had taken risks and look where it had gotten them. As much as Carver almost wanted to say ‘I told you so’, seeing his sibling in this state just left him heartbroken and full of anger. Not anger at his sibling like usual, just anger. Who the hell thinks that doing this to someone is a solution to anything?!?!?! And as Carver holds his sibling close, a sentiment they don’t really return, a pit in his stomach and the feeling of bitter bile rise in his throat as the worst kind of thought hits him. Now he won’t live in their shadow, and even if that thought would have been nice, these circumstance were not ever how he would have wanted this.

Aveline: Aveline might have married Wesley, who happened to be a templar, but that doesn’t mean that she agrees with the Order. The rite of tranquility was often something that she did not agree with the templar order on. Since she became a guard in Kirkwall and she was taken to the Gallows for guard work or with Hawke, she has not ever liked the sights of the Tranquil mages. So when there is a pounding at the door to her captain’s office, a pit starts to form in her stomach. Pounding is never a good sign. She opens the door to her office and the sight outside makes her sick to her stomach. Hawke is in the arms of two templars, but they aren’t fighting the templars as they usually would. There is no more of Hawke’s fire in their eyes and the calm voice that greets Aveline is not right. Hawke is unceremoniously shoved in her arms and her nauseous feeling melted away a bit to anger. This…. this was not the Hawke that she had fled into the Korcari Wilds with, the Hawke that would have died to protect their younger sister from Wesley when they met. There Aveline was left, with this broken version of her friend, seething with anger and a sense of pity for what had been done.

Varric: There is basically one way to get onto Varric’s bad side and that is to fuck with his people. This means that the templars that brought Hawke to him in this state as well as every other stupid templar in those Gallows that allowed this to happen had made an enemy of Varric. However, that is an issue for another day as Varric would never abandon his people, which includes the now tranquil Hawke sitting at his table in the Hanged Man. It becomes quickly apparent that they are not like the Hawke he has known. They listen to the stories that Varric spins as he drinks to handle all this, but any of his clever quips that would have at least gotten a smile from Hawke now seem to just go over their head. As was said, Varric does not abandon his people, including Hawke, so he will always make sure to take care Hawke. But, the Black City will crumple before Varric gives up doing everything that he can to find a way to help Hawke, using whatever connections he has to gather that kind of information.

Anders: The minute that Anders finds out, from the moment that tranquil Hawke seems to stumble their way into his clinic, he snaps. Karl had been bad, and the threat to the girl had been worse, but this? All Hawke ever seemed to do is try to make a difference in Kirkwall and now they had been dealt the worst punishment out there. Vengeance roars inside of Anders and all of his self restraint is gone was he looks upon another friend made tranquil. There is nothing left to hold Anders back and if you think that what he did to the Chantry before was brutal, then the hell he would raise for Hawke would be at least ten times worse. And just like with Karl, I think that Vengeance’s powerful presence would bring some of the fade back to Hawke, but it would not be permanent to bring Hawke back. They would be gone, deprived of the fade, and while Vengeance roars within Anders, he also is taken with a sense of grief as he has lost another person to tranquility.

Merrill: The Dalish do not concern themselves with the things that humans do, but that does not mean that Merrill has not heard rumors about the Rite of Tranquility. Especially after she moved to Kirkwall and suddenly the threat of templars was so much stronger, she had to keep from being discovered. However, when the short knock came to the door of her home in the alienage, she had not thought that she would be confronted by that reality in the form of Hawke with the tranquil brand burned into their skin. Everything was wrong, even their greeting of her was wrong and Merrill started crying immediately. This was Hawke, the one who brought her to the city and helped her settle her, but without their magic, they were so much duller. Merrill tries to offer them tea since they had come to visit her, but in the end, she breaks into sobs over lost friend. She already lost Tamlen to that mirror and now Hawke is gone. Merrill becomes even more sure of her decisions as she sees Hawke like this. It seems that though blood magic might be the only way to bring them back, all of her lost friends.

Isabela: Before Isabela had come to Kirkwall, she couldn’t say that she knew that much about this conflict between mages and templars. Those kinds of things tended to have a habit of staying on land and away from her ship. Even still, isabela has her morals that everyone deserves freedom and well, the tranquil she met in the Gallows... they creeped her out. When she wraps her arm around Hawke’s shoulder, there was something just... wrong about their postures. She quickly sees the brand on their forehead and sucks in a breath. She isn’t drunk enough for this. Every time she glances at Hawke staring blankly at her, Isabela has to take another shot. She might not have heard much about the mages and templars on the seas, but she sure as hell can use the seas to travel, searching for anything for Hawke. All she needs is a ship! This time, for Hawke.

Fenris: Fenris is dully aware of every single comment to support the rite of tranquility when he arrives at the Hawke estate to see his friend. Seeing Hawke just standing in front of the fireplace as their mabari whines at their feet was... startling. Fenris is aware that this might be the first time he has seen a tranquil mage, except maybe Karl, but this was disturbing. Tranquility was for blood mages, not good mages like Hawke! Everything that Fenris had learned from Hawke had taught him this: not all mages were bad and Hawke was one of the good mages. The lyrium in Fenris’s skin hums as his anger causes them to glow. What was it?! What was the reason to do this to someone as good as Hawke?! Why?

Sebastian: There had been plenty of times that Sebastian had made comments about Hawke being a mage or made comments that preached the Chantry’s ideals, but he wasn’t aware that this would actually happen. There is a pit in his stomach as Hawke dully enters the Chantry and Sebastian approaches him. Throughout all of his years with the Chantry, he can’t actually recall seeing any Tranquil come into the Chantry in Starkhaven. No, he knows he would remember it as he sees the way that Hawke moves, without any life that they once had. The Tranquil are made the the templars, servant of the Chantry, so why does seeing Hawke like this make Sebastian’s stomach hurt so badly? This is the Chantry’s rule, right? So why does this feel so wrong to Sebastian?

Dog: From the moment their master comes home, Dog can tell that something is terribly wrong. They don’t smell right and they gave a whine confusion. They didn’t hug Dog, didn’t bend down and affectionately kiss Dog, didn’t call Dog the best mabari in all of Thedas like they usually did, merely patting Dog as they approached their master. It’s not right and they whimper, burying their nose and their master doesn’t paying that much mind at all, instead going to their room without a weird. (I know that Dog is typically just in origins but Hawke can also have a mabari and I wanted that angst)

-Direct From Orzammar

#dragon age #dragon age reaction #dragon age 2 #carver hawke #aveline #varric #anders #merrill #isabela #fenris #sebastian #dog #Anonymous

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elyvorg · 4 years ago

Text

“Well, they’re more like a mom and dad who have a... hands-off approach to parenting.”

“That sounds... awkward. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than never knowing your parents at all.”

“Yeah... me neither. I’m lucky to have my uncle, at least.”

“...Hey, Kaito? You’ve been quiet for a while. Is something wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, nah, it’s nothing. Just spaced out for a bit, that’s all. My bad.”

“You know, Kaito... you live with your grandparents, right? And you never talk about your parents. It... it might not be any of my business, but I couldn’t help but wonder... are you... like me? Or... perhaps a bit like Maki, and you don’t even remember them?”

“Huh? N-No, it’s... neither of those.”

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to—”

“Hey, it’s fine. I... I guess I don’t mind telling you guys. They... my parents died in a car crash when I was ten.”

---

@trainingtrioweek Day 5: Family

Instead of an art today, some rambly thoughts that this prompt gave me the perfect excuse to bring up. (If you’re finding my blog through this event: as well as arts, I also do quite a bit of meta and not-quite-meta rambling such as this kind of thing on here, usually still about the training trio!)

It’s only especially relevant in non-fiction AUs such as UTDP where everyone’s families are actually real, but – can we talk about the fact that all three of the training trio, in very different ways, are lacking in parents with both the qualities of being alive and being decent parents?

Shuichi

Shuichi’s parent issues are only mentioned briefly in one of his FTEs and don’t get nearly as much focus as his detective-related issues caused by that one case that traumatised him. But it’s possible that they could actually explain quite a bit about him.

It seems to be only in fairly recent years that Shuichi’s parents moved to work overseas and he was sent to live with his detective uncle. However, his bitter comment about his parents’ “hands-off approach to parenting” (that part of the line I wrote here was taken directly from his canon FTE) implies that they weren’t particularly there for him even when they were his primary caregivers.

He also mentions in this FTE that he became an apprentice to his uncle “as thanks for looking after me”. Which, like… that shouldn’t be necessary? Having someone take care of you is a basic human right for a child. But apparently, being properly looked after is not something Shuichi takes for granted, to the point that he feels like he needs to repay the person who does it for him. Ouch. Poor Shuichi.

Thinking on this, it feels like Shuichi’s distant parents could be a big part of why he grew up so anxious and insecure, and why he instinctively seeks out people he can depend on wholeheartedly and latches onto them when he finds them, like he did with Kaede and Kaito. And most likely with his uncle too, for that matter.

I can definitely imagine Shuichi managing to pick up on the clues about Kaito that suggest things aren’t great regarding his parents, and quietly wondering if they’re the same – maybe even sort of hoping they are, so that he’d have someone who really understands. And, well, turns out they aren’t quite the same after all, but nonetheless, knowing that Kaito’s gone through something similar and can relate on some level would still help Shuichi feel less alone with this.

Kaito

Meanwhile, what happened with Kaito’s parents probably also played a bit of a role in shaping him into the person he is, but in more of a positive way.

I’ve seen some people assume that the deal with Kaito’s parents is that they’re shitty parents kind of like Shuichi’s are, and that this is why Kaito talks himself up to be so super awesome all the time, out of a desperate need for the validation that he never got from his own home. But I don’t think that fits. While the stress of the killing game and his illness begin to really get to him and gradually break down his self-worth, it absolutely reads to me like Kaito’s confidence in himself at the beginning of the game was completely genuine. I don’t believe – at the start – that he needed validation from anyone else to know that he was the awesome person he said he was.

So, I believe Kaito’s parents must have been great and supportive parents. They’d need to have been, for Kaito to be able to grow up with so much real confidence, so unashamed of being bombastically himself all the time even if everyone else thinks he’s a ridiculous idiot. But then, if those lovely parents had died all of a sudden when Kaito was young (young-ish, but old enough to properly remember)… that would also have helped shape him into the Kaito we know, in that it’d make him even more determined to live his life to the fullest and not waste a moment of it.

[There’s more than just these general unsubstantiated feelings about Kaito’s overall character that make me sure his parents died, though – there’s also a few canon lines that I believe are deliberately subtly hinting at it. If you want to see which lines and what I think about them, I’ve compiled them in a section at the end of this post.]

Of course, Kaito losing his parents would have been an incredibly difficult and painful experience at the time. But with his grandparents’ support and his own natural resilience and optimism, Kaito appears to have dealt with it as well as any kid losing their parents could be expected to. He’d be determined to use it to push him forward rather than let it hold him back, and it definitely seems like he succeeded.

(Even so, it’d still hurt sometimes. He still misses them, even if he mostly does a good job of not dwelling on it or letting it get him down.)

Unlike most of his other “weaknesses”, Kaito wouldn’t ever try to outright hide or lie about what happened to his parents. He’s come to terms with it by now, and he’s not and never was ashamed of it – every kid’s expected to grieve for their parents, after all – so I don’t think it’d quite set off his hero issues and make him afraid of letting his sidekicks down if they found out.

But still, I imagine Kaito wouldn’t bring it up unless specifically asked about it. No matter how much he tries to focus on the positives and assure people that he’s okay with it now, it… tends to make people feel sorry for him, and he doesn’t like that.

However, after being prompted to talk about it during this conversation with Shuichi and Maki about their parent situations, Kaito would come to realise that maybe that’s not such an issue with them. Maki and Shuichi each have their own painful lack-of-parents problems that they’ve had to get used to, so they’re not going to be unconsciously pitying Kaito for his. That’d make a refreshing change from most people.

Maki in particular must have known some kids at the orphanage who’d been in Kaito’s situation, in that they used to live with their parents and had to go through the grief of losing them. From this, she’s able to tell that, while it’s partly because he was lucky enough to still have his grandparents, Kaito really does seem to have dealt with losing his parents remarkably well. Kaito already knew that – his grandparents would have told him how proud they are of him for coping so well – but it’d help to know that someone from outside the situation thinks the same thing.

(He still wouldn’t quite bring up the moments where it still hurts and he finds himself missing his parents terribly, because that’s weakness, isn’t it? But at least, knowing that his sidekicks understand this kind of pain, albeit in a bit of a different way, would help it hurt just a little less whenever Kaito can’t help but feel like this. He wouldn’t tell them, but he’d be really glad to have that.)

Maki

Maki’s probably actually the least interesting one to talk about here, because she grew up in an orphanage where not having parents was normal and never felt like the odd one out, and she never even knew her parents to have any feelings about them in particular. It seems she had more just a general fantasy of what having parents would be like which she could share with the other kids there – she talks in one of her FTEs about how she and her best friend played House in the role of the parents and just had to make it up. Then, of course, Maki gained much worse things to be dealing with and shaping her into the person she is than a simple lack of parents.

Still, being at Hope’s Peak (or whatever other school they’re at together in this non-fiction AU) and suddenly being surrounded by other kids who constantly talk about their parents like it’s normal… it probably feels vaguely alienating for Maki, on top of every other reason she has to feel like she doesn’t belong.

But at least Shuichi and Kaito understand, in a way. They know what it feels like to hear the other kids casually talk about doing things with their parents while only being able to wish that were normal for them. Maki’s not so much of an outsider, not when she’s with these two.

And in that same way, Kaito and Shuichi would feel less alone in this regard when the trio are together. All three of them have learned to live with their situations and not complain, but it must be nice to have someone else – two someone elses – who know the kind of feeling they’re going through and can relate, even if it’s rather different for each of them.

They’d be able to bond over this – and not just as hero and sidekicks, but as equals, because this is something even Kaito isn’t completely okay about. They are friends.

(Or, maybe, they’re also like a found family? Shuichi and Kaito are certainly the closest thing to a family that Maki’s had in a long time.)

---

[appendix: why I’m sure Kaito’s parents died]

First off, there’s the possibility that Kaito’s grandparents are the subject of his motive video simply because he never knew his parents at all, a bit like Maki. But that can’t be the case, based on this line from his second FTE:

Kaito: “When I was a kid, I’d go to my gramps’ place to play sometimes…”

If he considered it his “gramps’ place” at the time and only went there sometimes, he wasn’t living with them back when he was that young. So apparently, his parents were still around at that time.

Which means that something else happened with Kaito’s parents to make his grandparents the most important people in his life. There are pretty much two possibilities for this: that Kaito’s parents died sometime after those stories he told in his FTEs, or that Kaito’s parents are just assholes and so he prefers his grandparents to them.

With regards to the possibility that his parents are assholes: aside from how I don’t think that fits because Kaito’s confidence is too genuine until the killing game beats it down, there’s also one line vaguely relevant to this topic that suggests they aren’t. In UTDP, in a scene where he’s being pestered by Kokichi:

Kaito: “You’re still like this at your age? Doesn’t it make your parents cry? Do you even visit?”

Kaito automatically assumes that Kokichi’s parents care about him, even though it could potentially begin to explain a few things about Kokichi if they didn’t. If Kaito’s own parents sucked, you’d think this’d make him likely to consider the possibility that Kokichi’s might do too. Instead, though, that option doesn’t cross his mind, so it seems like Kaito unconsciously sees parents being decent as the norm.

Meanwhile, there are a few subtle bits throughout the story that indicate Kaito might have some experience in dealing with grief prior to the killing game. At the end of trial 1, after suggesting Shuichi visit Kaede’s lab to help come to terms with her death, he says this:

Kaito: “Understand? There’s only one way to get through this awful feeling. No one’s gonna be able to console you if you’re just sitting here alone. If anyone’s gonna help you, it’ll be her… in your memories.”

This really reads to me like Kaito is speaking from experience – that he’s saying this because he found that something similar helped for him when he was going through a similar kind of pain.

Then there’s the part in trial 3 where he’s encouraging Himiko to face up to Tenko’s death:

Kaito: “Our only option is to face her death head-on!”

Himiko: “…Nyeh? Face her death?”

Kaito: “Himiko… I understand what you’re going through.”

It’s a little oddly specific of Kaito to say that he understands what Himiko’s going through when he hasn’t personally lost anyone he was especially close to in the killing game like she has. And Kaito is absolutely not the kind of person to lie or exaggerate about something this serious and personal to somebody else – this moment is about Himiko and her feelings, and Kaito knows that and wouldn’t try to artificially make things about himself. So this strongly suggests that Kaito does in fact have some idea of what Himiko is going through and is thinking about a loss he suffered outside of the killing game. Facing it head-on sounds like just the kind of thing Kaito would have tried to do for his own grief, doesn’t it?

Then, only a few lines later in that same conversation, Kaito says this:

Kaito: “Abandoning someone who died and only thinking about your own survival… That’s just as bad as a hit-and-run! I won’t forgive something so messed up!”

Which would be an extremely weirdly-specific thing to say in this situation… except that it makes perfect sense if you assume, based on his earlier lines, that Kaito was already thinking about how he felt when he lost his parents.

So, yeah. When I wrote that Kaito’s parents died specifically in a car crash, that wasn’t pulled out of nowhere either. I really believe that’s what the writers had in mind as the truth about Kaito and deliberately hinted at here.

(It does make sense that Kaito would have lost his parents to an accident like this rather than to something like illness. It’s statistically more likely that he was raised by both his parents, and if that’s the case, an accident is something that could take both of them from him at once where illness most likely wouldn’t. Plus, if he’d lost his parent(s) to illness, spending the days and weeks leading up to their death(s) knowing he was going to lose them, you’d think Kaito would have ended up better at psychologically dealing with his own deadly illness than he actually is.)

There’s also a few lines Kaito has here and there about making the most out of the time you’ve got:

Kaito: “If you’re not going to get yourself in gear now, then when!? Now’s all you’ve got!”

Kaito: “Life is short! I don’t have time to waste loafing around here.”

…which, granted, is a very Kaito-like sentiment in general. But it does suggest that he might have learned first-hand that life is short, like he could be thinking about how his parents’ time got cut off abruptly when he’s saying this kind of thing.

The only part of this idea I pulled somewhat out of thin air for this post was that the accident happened specifically when Kaito was ten, but I think something around that age range seems right. Based on the fact that it’s so relatively hard to spot the signs of this in Kaito’s behaviour, it feels like losing his parents wasn’t so recent that the wound is still raw, and also not so early on in his childhood that it would have left a huge, noticeable scar on his psyche. Kaito’s long since managed to come out on the other side and develop a healthy, positive way of dealing with grief that he can try to pass onto both Shuichi and Himiko during the game, such that doing so is the only real noticeable sign that he even went through anything painful himself at all.

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 spoilers #kaito momota #shuichi saihara #maki harukawa #training trio #friends #training trio week 2020 #ramble

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

Text

Missing 3.2

Cliffhanger below! But it still can’t be as bad as the season finale, right?

“Thank you for coming.”

“It’s all right. I didn’t want to cancel on the charity, but I certainly couldn’t sit by when a classmate is still missing. If I can do anything to help, I have to at least try.”

“That is very considerate of you, Miss Rossi.”

“Thank you.”

“What can you tell us about Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

“Well, I’m probably not the best source for who Marinette was as a person. I’m still fairly new and she wasn’t exactly…”

…

...

“Miss Rossi?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to speak ill of a missing girl, but Marinette was far from an easy person to like.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She played nice at first. She seemed very kind and demure, but...I caught her doing some...unscrupulous things.”

“Such as?”

“She has a boyfriend.”

“Does she? This is new information.”

“Oh yes. I’m not surprised no one else mentioned it. It’s been a big secret she’s kept from everyone, so it’s no wonder nobody knows. He has to be at least twice her age. And when I saw them, I just...I don’t understand why she would want to be with someone so wild. I’ve overheard them talking about running away together a couple of times before.”

“Do you know anything about this man? His name? His features?”

“No. I only saw him the one time and it was so dark, I could barely make him out. He was tall and had dark hair with pale skin. He had a goatee, I think.”

“And what were they doing together?”

“They were...oh, I shudder to even think about it. He ran off pretty quickly when I caught them. I just couldn’t believe it! I tried to tell her how improper it was. How it wasn’t safe, but...but…*sob*!”

“Miss Rossi?”

“She just accused me of being jealous and wanting him for myself. She wouldn’t even listen to me. And ever since then, she was so cold to me. I was too scared to mention it to anyone. And who could I tell? She had such a reputation that nobody would believe it if I tried.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe if I had done more to warn her, she wouldn’t have run away like this.”

________________________________

Nino was angry. Unbelievably so. But he had never thought that he would ever become so angry at his own best friend.

He had trusted Adrien. If Adrien at any point had said something, he would have listened.

Did he regret not listening to Marinette? Certainly. He had called her out for following and eavesdropping on Adrien, and as a friend of the boy, he stood by that. But he knew her. He knew her better than to be the type of person who would try to incriminate someone without just cause.

But Marinette wasn't his best friend.

Adrien was.

Nino wasn't obligated to believe Marinette. And she had no obligation to inform him of something that could hurt him. But he and Adrien were supposed to be closer than that.

At least, he had believed that on his end.

He was the one who had always tried to look out for Adrien. It had been Nino who first befriended the other boy—and quite possibly became his first real friend. Nino wished he could brag about that, but honestly the thought was more depressing than anything. Now that this had come out, however, Nino was starting to wonder if there hadn’t been a reason for Adrien’s lack of friends before.

It was cruel of him to think that way, but he was feeling particularly bitter at the moment. Kind of happens when one finds out his best friend willingly let him be played for a fool. He had thought that their friendship meant enough to Adrien to be willing to look out for Nino the way he did for him. To talk to him when there was a problem. To at least warn him if there was something going on. Even if Adrien didn’t want to confront Lila, he could have at least warned Nino and allow him to do something to protect himself.

And it hurt. It hurt because Adrien didn’t look out for him. Because Marinette was gone. Because he had believed lies. Because he was finding out all of this only after it was already too late. Everything that happened could have been easily avoided if only for any one of a multitude of reasons.

Adrien was one of those reasons. And he was right there and easy to blame.

He wanted to yell at Adrien, he really did. There was even a part of him bigger than he wanted to admit that really wanted to deck him. He wanted to literally shake Adrien. He wanted to demand a reason.

But that was the thing about being a best friend. Nino knew him better than anyone, so of course he already knew the reason why.

It was because Adrien hated conflict. Because of his father or his sheltered life, Adrien was anxious whenever in a high-tense situation. It was why he always stayed silent when others were upset or went out of his way to try to fix things even when he didn't understand the real problem. It was why he catered to Chloe so much—he was used to her tantrums and like her father, knew that the easiest path was generally to appease her rather than argue with her. And yes, it was why he would choose to talk Marinette down when there was a conflict, even if Marinette wasn't the one in the wrong.

Marinette was a good person with some of the same people-pleasing tendencies that Adrien himself had, and Adrien knew that. In some ways, he even used that against her.

He knew that if there was a conflict, she was the one—sometimes the only one whom he could reason with without fear of her becoming angry and lashing out at him. She would listen to him, and even if she didn’t necessarily agree, she would act in a way to accommodate him. She was at least willing to look outside herself and her own wishes to act in the interests of someone else.

She really wasn’t given enough credit for that. If anything, now that he was looking back, Nino wondered if they all hadn’t just come to expect it from her. Maybe that was why they had all been so appalled when she hesitated to be moved to the back when Lila returned. Because it was Marinette and she was always willing to help others—why wouldn’t she agree? Why would she argue against it? Even if she hadn’t necessarily gotten a say in where she sat, she’d be okay with where she ended up because it made everyone else happy, right?

They…hadn’t really appreciated her, had they?

Marinette had always ultimately worked to make others happy. Arranging a reshoot of the class picture for Juleka. Trying to defend Mylene’s position in the lead role of the amateur movie they were making. Offering to give up her spot in the gaming contest for Max. Defending Sabrina. Arranging that party for Chloe. Even helping Chloe with her mom. Heck, he knew from conversations with Alya that she always caved in when it came to anything Manon wanted. And looking back, it seemed the same may very well have been true of just about anything.

But where Marinette chose to act in the interest of others, Adrien would choose to act in the interest of keeping the peace. Marinette corrected problems while Adrien seemed to be trying to prevent conflicts. Despite what Adrien may think, those were two entirely different things. While he meant well, he tended to go about resolving a problem the wrong way.

Adrien had a hard time with having anyone be upset with him. As such, he would rather try to reason with the people who he could talk to without having to deal with that fear. Usually, this would end up being the person who was wronged because they were less likely to lash out at him. As such, his method of handling any issues that could come up would come at the cost of the feelings of the people who were being hurt. Oftentimes, it was a small price to pay for overall peace and stability of the environment. But then there were some instances where that just wouldn’t work.

Adrien struggled to accept that sometimes, conflict was necessary and things needed to change if they were going to improve. That just because he could ensure things remain peaceful, that didn’t mean he should or that it was necessarily healthy to do so. Sooner or later, people would get tired of being pressured to let themselves be pushed around. Especially if it was becoming clear that the promised change being encouraged wasn’t going to happen.

Lila was one such case. She had no reason to change and clearly no desire to. Why would she when lying got her what she wanted? Though he didn’t necessarily know what she got out such blatant falsehoods, it was gaining something for her otherwise she wouldn’t keep doing it. Telling Marinette to take the “high road” by letting Lila keep lying and manipulating everyone wasn’t helping anything. It wasn’t making Lila a better person and did nothing to encourage her to be, regardless of Adrien’s hopes.

But Adrien had long since shown himself to be overly hopeful. He tended to want to hope for certain things to happen rather than push those desired outcomes to happen. He wanted things, sure. He wanted Chloe to act better. His father to be there for him more. His mystery girl to return his feelings. And though he tried not to show it, Nino saw how Adrien would struggle even to the point of becoming rather petulant if those hopes didn’t pan out the way he wanted.

It was easier to wait and hope something would happen.

But it also meant that people who could do something, weren’t. And were ultimately only being harmed in the process.

A part of him—a pretty big part, actually, really wanted to call Adrien out on this matter. It was the part of him that was feeling hurt and angry that his “best friend” would willingly leave him in the dark about being lied to and manipulated because it was easier.

Nino clenched his fists.

He understood. He didn’t WANT to understand, but he did. And that only made him more frustrated.

What Nino wanted was to be angry. He wanted to rage. To rant. To make Adrien feel as horribly as he did.

Except…

Adrien already felt horrible. And for as badly as Nino felt, there was nothing he could say or do that could make Adrien feel worse than he already did.

Calm down, Nino. Adrien already feels bad enough about this. And as much as shouting at the blond might make him feel better—and he really REALLY wanted to, it wouldn’t solve anything.

Think...what would Marinette want him to do in this situation?

…low blow, conscience. Really low blow.

He knew Adrien well enough to know that nothing he did at that moment could make the blond feel more guilty or remorseful than he already did. No amount of words or physical blows would ease the pain he was feeling. And as much as he may have wanted to at least shout at him, it wouldn’t help and it wasn’t what either of them needed right now.

Adrien needed someone. And Nino needed to be needed. He needed to feel that not everything was broken.

Despite the unfairness of it all, he knew that they couldn’t blame Marinette disappearing on this—whether on Lila’s manipulations, Adrien’s “high road” take, or their own ignorance. They didn’t know the circumstances of her going missing. They didn’t know if she was gone by choice. They didn’t know if anything that had happened had played a hand in her disappearance. Because right now, they don’t know anything. They can only make the best conclusions based off what they DID know. They can only act on what’s in front of them now.

The problem here and now isn’t that it may be their fault Marinette was gone.

It’s that Adrien thought it was.

So he took a breath, forced himself to step back from those harsher feelings, and after promising to let himself rage about it later, he tried to be the friend that Adrien needed in that moment.

“Adrien, that wasn’t cool.” He said evenly.

Adrien flinched.

“I know.”

“Regardless of when Lila’s lies fell apart, people were bound to be hurt.”

Adrien shuddered, trying to keep his emotions contained.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

Adrien turned away, silent.

Nino frowned and pressed on.

“Adrien, I want to understand.”

“You’ll be mad.”

“I’m already mad.”

Adrien flinched at that. Nino found it hard to feel bad for it.

They both sat in silence for a minute. Nino waiting and Adrien gathering himself.

Until finally…

“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Nino stayed silent. And like a dam had burst, Adrien finally let it all out.

“They were lies, yeah, but they were just about minor things! About places she claimed to have visited or people she claimed to have known. I thought once the hype died down, she’d stop or people would figure it out or get bored.” He laughed, but there was no joy in it, only frustration. “One of the easiest turn offs in any social setting was people bragging about themselves. I had to deal with that all the time, even when the stories were true. It got tiring quickly. No one could ever complain, of course, and we’d all politely smile and nod and give half an ear or just pretend to listen. It got old, but it was a standard song and dance we all had to sit through. I thought…” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even know what I thought anymore.”

Nino did. It was easy to see what the other boy had been thinking. At the beginning, Lila’s lies only amounted to bragging about herself. Heightening her own importance. Making herself look better. To someone like Adrien, it had to be so common. So much so that he probably hadn’t even considered that other people wouldn’t think the same.

“It sounds like you put a lot of faith in us.” Nino replied. Because that was true. Adrien believed they would figure things out. That Lila would stop. That they would get tired of Lila’s narcissism and grandiosity. That things would resolve themselves. He hadn’t known he needed to intervene. He hadn’t realized just how taken in everyone had been by her. He had just acted as he always had in polite society...by being polite and saying nothing.

“I knew Lila was lying. I told Marinette to stay quiet.”

It was what Nino wanted to hear him admit, but it didn’t make him feel any better for it.

“I told her it would be better to keep the peace and not cause conflict. That...” his breath hitched. “It wouldn’t make a bad person be good. Like that was the important thing.”

Adrien took a shaky breath.

“Like getting Lila to be better was supposed to matter more than not letting anyone get hurt because of her. And look what happened...she hurt everyone. I let her hurt everyone. I let her hurt Marinette, even after I promised her we were in this together.”

He hugged his knees, despondently.

“But we weren’t. It was just her. And I just left her.”

He curled in on himself, hiding his face in his arms.

“God, I’m an idiot.”

Nino couldn’t really bring himself to disagree. He really didn’t want to.

What he wanted was to shake the blond. He wanted to yell and rage. And he very well would have been justified.

But...

Do it for Mari, he told himself. You’re angry and scared and looking for someone to blame. And while Adrien was part of things, he wasn’t the main source of it.

Almost like she was there whispering encouragement, one thought rang clear and dispelled the turmoil.

Focus on what you can do.

Nino couldn’t turn back time. He couldn’t magically make Marinette appear. He couldn’t fix the mess Lila’s lies have caused. He couldn’t undo the week’s of wasted time and effort on that manipulator’s behalf.

But right now, he could help Adrien. And despite everything, Nino was still a good friend.

“This is my fault.”

Adrien jumped at that and whirled on Nino in shock.

“What? No!”

“Marinette told us how she saw Lila try to manipulate you that first day and how Ladybug called her out. All I had to do was just talk to you and it would have resolved everything.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh really?” Nino looked up at him. “Would you have lied and told me that wasn’t what happened?”

Adrien gasped and his features took on a fierce expression, appearing outraged at the very suggestion. “Of course not!”

“Then it was on me.”

“But Nino, you didn’t know this would happen!”

“And neither did you.”

Adrien’s eyes widened in surprise.

“But...but I knew Lila was....”

“Yeah, you knew Lila was lying. But you didn’t know how far she would go. Or just how hurt we would be.”

Adrien hesitated.

“I won’t say I’m okay with this. Because I’m not.” Nino was far from being “okay” with any of this. “And the one thing I don’t get is that you knew what she was doing but didn’t act, even when it was affecting you directly. “

That time...looking back, he felt like an idiot for buying Lila’s claims and helping her get closer to Adrien. But Adrien allowed it…

“That one time she said she needed help and asked me to talk to you on her behalf. She used me to manipulate you and you knew but didn’t say anything.”

That, out of everything stuck with Nino. Because although Adrien knew what Lila was really like...he did nothing to protect himself. And that was concerning.

Nino stared him down, more serious than he’d ever been.

“Why? You let her manipulate me to get to you when you knew I would have had your back if you needed me. And the thing that really infuriates me is how I was used to put you in a bad position you never wanted to be in and you let it happen. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

Adrien looked away.

“I thought that was what friends were supposed to do.”

Nino winced at that.

The thing about being Adrien’s best friend is that means that Nino knows Adrien well enough to understand him. And he knows that before coming to school, Adrien only had Chloe as his friend. Except the thing was that for someone like Chloe, being a friend meant giving her what she wanted—whether it was buying things for her, doing tasks for her, or just telling her what she wanted to hear. That last thing in particular was key, as Chloe was widely known to be spoiled, and looking back, it wasn’t only from her father.

Adrien was used to settings where he had to be “nice” by doing what others wanted. Whether in social settings or even in the closest thing he could have to a friendship. Make people happy. Tell them only what they want to hear. Don’t argue or refute points. Just nod and agree. Don’t say anything that could make them upset.

It stands to reason that some of that would carry over to his other friendships. Though it hurt him to think he was seen as comparable to Chloe. And wow, Nino was getting a deeper look into his friend’s psyche than he ever imagined.

“Adrien, I wouldn’t have been mad if you’d told me.”

“Yes, you would.”

“Okay, yeah.” He admitted sheepishly. “But I would have been mad at Lila, not you. You know that, right?”

Adrien took a breath.

“I’m your bro. I’m supposed to have your back. And it was like you didn’t trust me to do that.”

“I just...I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Nino sighed, leaning his head back on the wall behind them. The two sat there in silence. Was it just him or was it getting darker? It might rain soon…

“I was going to be hurt no matter what.” He admitted. “If I had to have reality smack me in the face, I can’t think of anyone else I would have preferred to be the one to do it.”

Adrien startled, looking back at him in surprise.

“You’re a weenie, Adrien. If you had to tell me bad news, I at least knew you would be nice about it.”

That actually got a sincere chuckle. Progress!

“Lila’s lies are on Lila. You’re not at fault for what she chooses to do. Hell, you were giving her a chance to be genuine and make real friends.”

“But I didn’t tell you.” Adrien admitted.

Nino hesitated.

“No, you didn’t. But you shouldn’t have had to.”

He should have listened to Marinette when she tried to warn him. He should have realized how unlikely it was that a teenager could get him a free connection to a famous movie director. For all that Adrien should have warned him, Nino really should have figured it out for himself.

But none of that would fix the current situation. Whether it was him or Adrien or both of them, it didn’t change why they were there.

And it was difficult to ignore that fact.

Adrien wilted. “The bad thing about liars is that there’s bound to be a bit of truth somewhere in what they say.”

“Not always.” Nino countered, annoyed.

“I know she can’t be trusted.” Adrien agreed, but seemed conflicted in a way that caused Nino to worry. “I know not to believe her. But...what if this is the one thing she’s right about? Because Marinette’s gone and no one knows why. And...I know things haven’t been easy for her and I’ve been no help.”

“Adrien…”

He lowered his head.

“Did...did she leave because of me?”

Nino’s eyes widened in shock.

“What—Adrien, no. Don’t say that.”

Afrien merely shook his head, unable to let it go. “I cared more about keeping the peace and not upsetting anyone than how she was feeling. I knew she was unhappy about the lying. I knew Lila responded badly to anyone calling her out. All that time I knew and I kept silent because I was scared I would make things worse. But if I had said something then...would she have stayed?”

Nino placed an arm around his shoulder. “You can’t think like that.”

Adrien had experienced loss before. His passivity and need to not upset people came from a place of fear, whether of abandonment or rejection, Nino didn’t know for sure. What he did know was that it was a dangerous thought process to follow.

Why did she leave? Why do they leave me? If only I’d tried harder. Fought more. Said something different. What could I have done to make her stay?

Nino had been lucky in a sense to be able to avoid the worst of that trap he had seen others fall into. The “what if’s” and “could have beens” can drive a person mad after a while.

He didn’t want that for Adrien.

“You knew Lila was lying. And yeah, I have to say it was a poor move to just let her and not even warn any of us.” Adrien did tense at that. “But you didn’t know just how far she’d go.”

“But—”

“But nothing!” Nino insisted. “Yeah, not gonna lie, the others aren’t going to be happy when they find out. But the only one to blame is Lila. They’ll understand that.”

And if they didn’t, he would be having a serious talk with them.

Adrien finally—FINALLY seemed to accept the comfort, leaning into Nino. The two stayed there for a time, merely sitting together and offering each other support.

“Hey, Nino?”

“Hmm?”

“Marinette...what do you think happened to her?”

Nino winced.

There was no good answer he could give. Whether Marinette ran away or whether something happened to her to keep her from coming back, there is no happy answer.

If she ran away, that meant it was her choice but that she may be safe somewhere. If she did not run away, then while she may not have meant to leave them, she could be hurt or worse. And none of them knew. None of them had any way of knowing for sure.

And that was the scary thing.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “And that’s okay, because that means we can still hold out hope and can still try to do something.”

“Like what?”

Nino simpered. To be honest, he didn’t have any plan. Marinette was the planner among them, after all. If it was her in charge, she would have drawn up an entire map of the city, sectioned it off, and had detailed steps for everyone to follow to search for clues. Nino was certainly not that adept.

Still, he was an extra pair of hands in the search. And maybe now that the truth about Lila was coming out, the class could try helping with the search properly. Without her trying to sabotage their efforts or distract them.

“We’ll talk with the class and come up with a plan. Maybe see if we can’t check with law enforcement to volunteer as search parties?” He smiled, feeling the beginnings of a plan fall into place. “I’ll check with Alya. She may have some ideas.”

Adrien smiled at that. And Nino couldn’t help but feel that maybe they were making some real headway. With Adrien. With Lila. With finding the truth. And maybe even with help in finding Marinette as well.

“At the very least, we’re all in this together.” Nino assured him, giving his best friend a squeeze in the half-hug.

Adrien gave a shaky smile at that.

At least they would still be together.

“Could you just stay with me for a little bit?”

Yeah.

He could do that much.

Neither noticed the black butterfly turn away from their location.

___________________________

The verdict was swift, unmerciful, and lacking any logic or fairness.

Suspension. Two weeks for something she didn’t even do, based solely on the word of a liar. A classic Wounded Gazelle Gambit, Alya realized all too late. Once in Damocles’s office, Lila had immediately put on the waterworks, looking up at the Principal with teary doe eyes and red cheeks, explaining her “side of the story” with all the flair of a master poet.

Damocles didn’t even bother to question Alya at that point. He was practically dabbing at his own eyes with a tissue at Lila’s story, and Alya knew she had no chance. Right away, he had called her parents to explain the charges. None of them had even listened to her or let her explain what was going on. She wasn’t given any opportunity to.

She tried though. Heaven knows, she’d tried. But she was cut off at every turn.

“She wouldn’t hurt herself!”

“Why would Lila lie?”

“Alya, you should at least own up to what you did!”

They believed her without any proof. Hook, line, and sinker. Lila just smirked at her from behind the row of would-be defenders whom stood in front of her as if trying to protect the Italian girl from Alya, all of them blind to the sinister expression on the girl’s face. That girl who tried to manipulate her. That girl who tried to ruin her best friend.

And now because of her lies, Alya was to be suspended.

She wished she had slapped Lila, if only to make the punishment worth it.

As things stood, her parents ordered her to her room while they tried to work out a suitable punishment. No computer. No internet. She at least had her phone, though, which she was using to try and reach out to Nino.

But no luck.

Nino knew she was innocent. He had to know. He was the one to force her to admit Lila was a liar. Surely he wouldn’t believe her now.

No. Knowing him, he may still be trying to help Adrien. Unless he hadn’t tracked him down yet. She was glad for that, really!

But it meant there was nobody for Alya to turn to for support.

Marinette was gone.

Nino was unreachable.

Her parents were fully trapped in Lila’s lies. And boy wasn’t Alya kicking herself for singing Lila’s praises to them all this time and helping Lila get her hooks into them.

The school was completely under Lila’s thumb. The principal. Ms. Bustier. Her classmates.

If there was any consolation, at the very least Alix had been willing to hear her out. And given her reaction, Alya was hoping the skater would continue to believe her. But what she would do was questionable. And Alya had no way of knowing if she was really on her side or what that would even mean.

Alya was on her own.

There was no Miraculous Cure for this.

And she felt so...hopeless.

Hurt. Betrayed. Angry.

She was innocent! She was the victim! And nobody…

Nobody believed her.

“How unfortunate…”

Well...almost no one.

“You have been used and betrayed by someone who continues to use others without remorse or consequence.”

She shouldn’t give in. She KNEW that.

But…

“And now you’ve been blamed for something you didn’t do by the very one making everyone think she’s the victim.”

If she could just hold on to something...something to focus on! Something besides Lila and revenge!

Focus on something else! Focus on someone!

Marinette!

Think of her! Think of what she would want!

“Oh? The girl who was chased away by that same liar and her tactics?”

Alya flinched.

But if that something could be used against you?

Marinette...if she could find her? Make it up to her in any way?

What can you do against that?

“I can give you the power to expose the truth.”

Except...

“There’s only one truth I want to find out.”

“You know the conditions.”

She shouldn’t…

But...if there was a chance?

“Yes, Hawk Moth.”

“Welcome back, Lady Wifi.”

___________________________

If asked, Max would admit with not just a little pride that his intelligence was far beyond what was normal for his age. His grades were the top of his class. His technical ability was genius level. Still a teenager, he had successfully created a working AI. Where even adults struggled with basic computers, he had made a functioning robot that could feel emotions.

He knew numbers and statistics.

But for all his “genius” and intelligence, he didn’t understand people.

If he had, then perhaps he would have known better than to encourage Kim’s pursuit of Chloe last Valentine’s Day. He ran numbers, noted probabilities, and analyzed every possible angle to give Kim any edge in winning Chloe’s heart. He observed her movements to know where she would be and at what time. He studied the market and built statistics to note what the most popular accessory item at the time was to serve as the perfect gift for Kim. He even watched a number of romantic movies to evaluate confessions to determine the most effective lines Kim could use. With his collection of data, he had pulled together what was technically the most effective plan to win a girl’s heart.

But all the numbers and figures in the world couldn’t account for Chloe Bourgeois.

She rejected him. Horribly. And Max couldn’t help but feel that it was due to a failing on his part. That he had made a miscalculation somewhere in his research that had led to the outcome they all had faced that day. Chloe rejecting Kim and humiliating him. Kim becoming akumatized. The city in danger yet again.

It had taken quite a bit of time and reassurance from Kim for him to accept that he wasn’t to blame.

It had taken even longer for Max to understand that there were simply some things you couldn’t plan for.

There were unseen, unquantifiable aspects that all played their own roles and had effects that couldn’t be foreseen. Feelings, emotions, relationships, personalities, and preferences all mattered. Maybe that was why Max often struggled when it came to the more…social side of things.

Kim was a good friend to him. But for all that the swimmer tried, he just couldn’t understand. To be fair, Kim seemed to understand people as poorly as Max himself did, if the situation with Odine was any indication.

That was part of what originally drove him to create Markov. So he would have a friend he could relate to. Even if he wasn’t human, that didn’t matter. Markov was his friend. Someone who could understand him. Someone he could converse with without fear of misunderstandings or assumptions or concerns about how he appeared to others.

It helped. He didn’t feel as isolated. And with the way that everyone seemed to accept Markov, it showed just how open and understanding they were. Since they were able to accept what many saw as a simple toy robot, he felt like he was able to be closer to his classmates as well. Because he didn’t feel that far off from a robot himself at times.

Math and science were easy. Simple. Equations were what they were and they stayed that way. Science involved more unknowns and discoveries, but there was still a method behind it to build on. Theories and procedures to follow when trying to encounter any such unknowns. Even if he didn’t know something, there were still ways to find out. That was how he ended up making Markov. Robotics was simple.

People were…complicated.

That incident weeks before in the cafeteria with the napkin still made him want to bang his head against a wall when he thought back on it.

Take out his eye? Seriously?

The napkin barely came up to chest level. His glasses would have prevented most objects making contact from his eye—and the trajectory meant the napkin would have barely even reached him, which made sense given that he obviously wasn’t the intended target. The aim and force behind the throw was poor. And it was a napkin. Not even a decently made one. He was surprised Lila was proclaiming to be in as much pain as she had when she caught it.

He thought she was intentionally exaggerating the napkin as a threat for the sake of humor. He had decided to play along because that’s what he thought he was supposed to do. But he felt like an idiot because he didn’t understand the joke. It really wasn’t that funny to him and it felt like he was the only one who simply couldn’t get it.

Was she joking? Was she serious? What do you do in a situation like that? There had been so many fallacies that he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Do you go along with it? It seemed to be better to simply follow what others did. In many cases it felt like they all knew something he didn’t. Or at least understood what was going on better than he did. He still felt lost and confused, but at least he didn’t look foolish for questioning it.

Do you turn it into a joke? Kim seemed to be good at that, though admittedly it didn’t seem intentional in many instances. But he was well-liked regardless or perhaps even because of it. Kim was easy to get along with and took everything in stride. Max…struggled in that regard—possibly because he took everything too seriously. He didn’t really understand what people found funny or why it was supposed to be funny.

Do you correct the assumption? He had wanted to. It had been his immediate inclination at the time. He had quickly analyzed the trajectory and force and could have gone into full detail and perhaps a powerpoint presentation on why it was harmless. But people didn’t like it when he did that. All it did was make them think he was showing off or acting like he was smarter than them. All he had wanted to do was correct a presented error—because it was there, because he didn’t want others to be misinformed, because he wanted to share information, and because it was RIGHT THERE. There was always something inside nagging at him whenever he saw a mistake like that, and it bothered him to no end when he had to force himself to stay quiet because he couldn’t tell when trying to correct someone would be appropriate or not. So he simply stood by, fighting everything inside him screaming to correct this and instead attempting to ignore the clear error before him that was as grating and invasive as any computer virus.

How do you interact with people? What was the right thing to say? How would they take it if you told them something they were saying was wrong? Was it intentional? Was it not intentional but still upsetting to them to be corrected? Did they know? Did they want to know? How do you make people like you when you always zero in on things they want to avoid acknowledging?

He didn’t know. He just didn’t really understand people. He didn’t understand Lila. Just as he didn’t understand Marinette or the reason for her disappearance.

Max was best with math. So in the safety of his own room, he stuck to what he knew. Numbers, equations, and statistics.

Unfortunately, in terms of the more morose topic he was investigating, it was that knowledge of the latter that already told him what the likely fate of his missing classmate was.

He wanted to believe in Marinette.

He wanted to believe she was alive and safe.

He wanted to believe that she would return.

Marinette had done a lot for him and everyone else. She had arranged a retake of the class picture that included everyone and honestly was more enjoyable than the initial take they had to do. She ran for class rep because no one else had the courage to stand up to Chloe. She had at least tried to retrieve Markov for him. She even went so far as to willingly let herself be in trouble in order to help simply because he told her that he was concerned. He was certain she could very well have succeeded in reuniting the two had it not been for the akuma getting to Markov first.

She actually listened. For all that he struggled to convey his feelings, Marinette was patient. She stayed with him and let him work out what he wanted to say. She didn’t judge him for his feelings. She didn’t look down on him for his struggles. And at no point did she pity him. Sympathize, sure. Want to help, certainly.

Because that was simply the type of individual Marinette was. She was a truly kind person. And she deserved better than whatever fate must have befallen her.

But the statistical outcomes for missing people…weren’t good. He knew that full well. He had spent the better part of the last week looking up all the variables in hopes of having some good news to share with his classmates. But in light of this information, he instead kept quiet. He didn’t want to make them lose hope. Though he suspected that most—if not all of them probably already knew that the outcome was not favorable.

Maybe it allowed him to have hope as well. Statistics were only probabilities that showed the likelihood of certain events. That didn’t mean they always would occur, just that something may be more likely to. And there were always hidden factors that the numbers couldn’t necessarily account for.

Variables that simply couldn’t be quantified. Personal strength. Ingenuity. Conviction. Love. All of which Marinette had in spades.

Maybe Marinette would be an outlier.

He really hoped that would be the case.

“Hello, Max.”

He startled as his chair was spun around and he found himself looking into a pair of violet eyes framed by a black mask.

“A-Alya?”

She grinned, not at all nicely. “It’s Lady Wifi right now, actually.”

He gaped in horror. Alya was an akuma. Why was she an akuma again?

Why was she HERE?

“How would you like to help me with a little project?” She asked him, looking all too pleasant.

Max gulped.

He had the feeling he wasn’t going to get a choice.

#ml fic #missing #missing au #miraculous ladybug #tales of ladybug and cat noir #nino lahiffe #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #max kante #lila sucks #bad things ahead #to be continued #hawk moth

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springtimebat · 3 years ago

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A Family of Draculas

Chapter Three: Wasp Eyes

My child wasn’t human. He never was. He never could be.

He arrived on a grey day in Autumn, when the winds were particularly strong. He was born with cloth ears and button eyes. I lifted him into my arms and he gurgled, his felt lips stretching into a stitched grin. His stumpy legs kicked my side with a strange giddiness, as if he’d known me for a long time and was greeting an old friend instead of his mother. Curled up between his legs was a tail, scaly and pointed. He lifted it high into the air and allowed me to stroke it.

“I’ve made a demon,” I chuckled. The baby, small and comfortable in my arms, gurgled in agreement. Mrs Darling, completely forgotten and left in a dark corner of the house, suddenly gave an exasperated groan.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Mrs Darling grumbled, “Children are thoughtless creatures. Sometimes they get your hopes up, sourdough. Then they’re born and they are...bitter disappointments.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” I grinned, tickling my baby’s tummy.

“I don’t need experience,” The old lady huffed, “I know enough parents to know that baby will be more trouble than it's worth.”

“The only child you’ve ever liked is me ma'am. At least, I think you like me.”

Mrs Darling looked at me and, suddenly, her eyes didn’t seem to fit her face, which was all boils, warts and scars. Her eyes were that of a small child’s, wide and longing.

“Sometimes,” She started, and she now gazed at the son in my arms, not directly at me. It seemed she didn’t have the strength, “Sometimes...you seem far older that you appear to be... sometimes you even seem older than me. Your father was like that.”

“I guess it’s just in my nature then,” I sighed, hoping to change the subject. The witch never liked to talk about the Unicorn. My father always made the old woman sad and wistful. I looked down at my baby again. He seemed bigger than before and his eyes were slowly opening to the light.

“Look ma’am!” I gasped, holding my son up to the sky, “His eyes! Look at his eyes!”

“His eyes?”

“They’re glowing! They’re yellow! As yellow as a lamplight!”

“Yes. Indeed they are.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I did. I saw eyes like that once.”

“Where?”

“Your father’s pair. He has his grandfather’s eyes,”

I stilled, “We don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

The witch was quiet for a moment. Then she turned to the front door, tears in her eyes.

“I think I’ll go out for a walk,” Was all she said.

And, just like that, she vanished into the woods.

I growled in frustration and held my baby tighter. He began to struggle against my chest and gave a little cry that reminded me of the birds that sang on the roof at night.

“ They say that those birds are the souls of the departed, travelling to the lonely places of the world,” I whispered, setting the baby down on the floor, “What if I cried like that as a babe? No wonder my father gave me up!”

I wrapped the boy in an old blanket, pushing him onto my knees as the clouds shifted outside.

“She’s gonna catch a cold out there,” I muttered to the silent room, “She’ll catch a horrible cold and she’ll blame me.”

My son giggled and grabbed my forefinger with a chubby fist. His hands were manufactured out of different strands of felt, cloth and cotton, just like his face. But his fingers seemed to have melted, fused together . They were unable to move fluidly. He tried his best though, struggling to keep a grip on my flesh. I grinned as his brow furrowed in frustration.

“I should really give you a name,” I whispered, “I can’t just keep calling you The Boy or Wasp Eyes can I?”

He gave a little nod, directing my thumb up to his mouth.

“Huh, you have no teeth. Fancy that. You’re just like a sock puppet. I guess I could name you after your father...you do kind of resemble him, no matter what that old hag believes.”

The baby gave a small yawn, too focused on my hand to care.

“Fricorith’s a fine name. I don’t know what it means but I’m sure it’s something sweet. I tried looking it up in the books I could find but it was never there. It was as if the name never existed. As if the man had been erased.”

Our son pulled away from my hand and lay back in my lap, his golden eyes straining, trying to keep open.

“Your father’s gone, tired old thing,” I smiled, “It’s ok. We can think of a name later.”

I rocked him with one hand and adjusted the blankets with another. Thunder pierced the sullen ground outside and my bundle whimpered against me. I grabbed onto his hand tighter and stooped over in the dark, more shadow than flesh and bone in these long night hours. A phantom. That’s what I was. Motherhood overtook me.

“It looks like she’s gonna be a long time. She hasn’t even come back to avoid the rain. She intends to get the flu. There’s no doubt about it.”

I stroked my son’s hair, a mixture of real baby curls and matted braids. He began to toss and turn in his nest, clearly tired but too nervous to sleep. It was a feeling I knew all too well, sleeping alone for months with only the corpse cradle for company.

“You really need to sleep, little guy,” I sighed, formulating a plan, “What if momma tells you a story? Will you sleep then?”

He stopped wrestling with the sheets and gave an anxious nod, looking about the room for any monsters.

“Very well. This is the story of the Witch and the Unicorn.”

{The Witch and The Unicorn: A Bedtime story for Ragchildren}

Once, long before you were born, a Witch and a Unicorn met at a bar.

The Witch was withering away by the fires, as she often tended to do. Her job was to rake her claws among the glowing coals and fly with the smoke out of chimneys. This evening, the witch had a night off from ember work. Yet, she seemed transfixed by their wonders still, hoarding its light from ordinary folk. She knew something was coming. Something special was coming to her.

Midnight passed by and the Unicorn entered through a back door. He hadn’t slept in days, his skin was a pale silver and his hair a long plait down his back. Yet, he continued to attract merchants, thieves and hustlers, who clutched scissors and desired his hair, his limbs, his moon-white eyes. People who wished to see him taken apart in jars. Because of this, he hid in the Witch’s smoke and the bar’s natural smog. He sat before the old woman, kneeling in ashes, frozen as if he were a statue made out of marble. The two had never met, only heard of the other through strange songs and wishes caught on wild winds. The Witch stared at the Unicorn with young eyes, her heart beginning to strain. The Unicorn watched the Witch with contempt, sick of being gawked at by people who were not worthy to.

No introductions were made. But a conversation took place.

“I have a girl.” The Unicorn said.

“Do you now?”

“Yes. She is four months old. She will be five months old next Thursday.”

“Fascinating.”

“She holds lightning inside of her.”

Silencio. The Witch continued to gawk, uncaring of proper etiquette.

“And I’m sure my blood flows through my veins.”

“Mhmm. Why are you telling me this?”

“I heard that you are interested in bringing on a ward. A ward that you could teach them magic.”

“I may be thinking of doing so in the future. Why, dear thing, would you want to give away your daughter to me?”

“The girl will hate me. It will hate me for what I’ve done.”

“The mother-”

“Dead. Not gone. Just dead.”

“I see.”

“She died with the boy nestling into her. She died delivering.”

“The boy?”

“The other twin. We had twins. The boy died hours after. He had fur, silver fur.”

“Does the girl-”

“She’s just like her except for her abilities. She sings and the wolves feed her for me.”

“The Corpse Cradle will crave her.”

“She will be able to support herself in time. Those first few years... she will need help in those first few years. These are my terms. You must promise her your protection.”

“Very well, luvvie. I’ll take her off your hands.”

“How will I find you again?”

“Just send her to me with chalk on her feet.”

“Thank you.”

“You may visit if you wish, my dear.”

The Unicorn said nothing.

“If you wish it, luvvie.”

“We’ll see, old woman.”

A few days later, the Witch brought a small girl into the woods. A baby who enchanted wolves and seduced the trees before she was even able to speak. She offered to pay but the girl’s father didn’t care for money. And so, the girl was brought up to live in the woods, to feed and placate all the eeries things of the world. Eventually, she became an eerie creature herself.

The girl never saw her father again.

{Exeunt}

The Corpse Cradle let out a hysterical cackle as I finished the story, thrusting mismatched fingers and toes out of separate fleshes.

“Laugh all you want,” I growled, “It got the baby to sleep.”

At mention of the baby, the cradle made a disgusting slapping noise with its teeth and one of its stomachs twisted inside out.

“Don’t do that, it’s unbecoming. Besides, it won’t get you anywhere. You will never touch him. I’ll kill you before you ever touch him.”

The Cradle groaned and flipped onto its side, its bulbous veins pulsing underneath their skin. I rolled my eyes, shifting on the dirty floor. The baby mumbled in his slumber and rolled around in his makeshift bed.

“I wish he was here,” I mumbled to myself, “I wish he could see the baby.”

I turned back to the Corpse Cradle, eyes narrowed.

“But he’s not. He’s never coming back and it’s all your fault.”

I waited for a laugh, or a groan; any signs of life. Instead, the creature stayed silent, feigning sleep.

Rolling my eyes, I clutched my baby tighter, pulling him to my chest like a shield.

“They’re not gonna get to you, Wasp Eyes. I’ll die before anyone gets you.”

We fell asleep, curled up together on the floor, and dreamed of wild winds and Unicorns. The Corpse Cradle watched us from the dark, its domain seeming more and more like prison bars as the hours flew by.

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carrottuan93 · 4 years ago

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Haven’t met you yet | Mark

Masterlist (1/4) | part2 - part3 - part4

Starring: MK x You

Tags: Mark Tuan, Fluff, Destiny, Waiting, Christmas, Bookworm, Nerd, Love, Fate

Total WC: 2631

Foreword: You promise yourself you’re going to wait for the perfect love even if it takes forever but you’re already barging on it’s doorstep without even realizing that love has met you already in the first place.

It’s all about timing and seeking reassurance in all the right places.

It’s a chance you never want to miss and an opportunity that you wouldn’t trade for anything.

Learn to take risks and learn to fall in love along the way. Cause true love is patient and it’ll come when you least expect it.

Have you been good all year round? You never know what Santa has in stored for you this Christmas.

[Feel free to listen on the playlist that I made for this one shot :)))]

"Eunhee, I should probably take a break from your endless blind date setups. Nothing is working out for me, seriously." You heaved a sigh, slouching on the couch as you gave your best friend an exasperated look the moment you entered her humble bookshop. She's too excited for your love life ever since she and her long-time university crush Jackson became an official couple on your birthday when you celebrated it on Jeju last year. It was a really cold New Year’s Eve when you chose to reserve this romantic restaurant by the beach as the venue for your special day. Eunhee doesn't have any idea about Jackson's plan when you booked a flight to Jeju Island for a week despite the busy season. Since you wanted to play the fairy godmother role for the both of them, you saved Jackson from worrying and suggested that he'd do it on your birthday instead. And just like that, they spent the New Year countdown melting into each other’s puddle while greeting you a happy birthday. The things you do for your friend, if that ain’t salty for your part (it is, for being the third wheel), automatically elected you as the sole Queen of singles club after Neun’s grand exit.

Since their anniversary is just around the corner, they are planning to spend it once again on Jeju and Eunhee, for being the supportive sister from another mother that she is, will surely drag you with them at all costs since it has been your tradition to celebrate New Year’s Eve with your best friend. She is dying to set you up with someone so you won't be celebrating your birthday alone anymore.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I thought you and my friend Hae In will work out. What happened by the way? tell me about your date." She sat beside your spot after closing the shop and did the honor of pouring you a glass of your favorite merlot. This girl knows how to calm you down for sure. I mean she isn't your best friend if she have no idea that wine is your comfort drink. For whatever reason it is, you don't know why it helps to lessen your loneliness by drinking the night away. Maybe knocking you down into a deep slumber and finding yourself completely clueless the next day, alongside the horrible hangover can patch up the painful truth that you are still single up to this point of your life. In addition to the earthly and God-sent smell of neatly piled books crowding the interior of her paradise, Eunhee's bookshop is your go-to place at all times. You used to frequent this a lot during your childhood days where you first met her and together you shared the same passion and love for books and wine through all these years.

"He's too overrated for my type. Like I don't know why we need to talk about all of his exes and why his relationship with them didn't work out when we can sit and be comfortable with just talking about our interests, 'us' the present and not his past. He's a perfectionist per se and I don't like it when a guy shows disinterest whenever I told them about myself as some nerdy bookish girl who craves for a netflix kind of night compared to his ideal dream girl-next-door whom you can freely bring to a club the minute next." You look down on the red liquid in your glass, appreciating its refined and classic smell that is clouding your nostrils. You're way too excited to go home so you can finally sink on your newly changed bed sheets and savor the enticing smell of fabric conditioner which you cannot live without. You glanced outside the window, observing the couples walking together under the falling snow, as if Valentines day has come all of a sudden in the middle of December. Red roses are a popular gift for the ladies as you've observed and you cannot help yourself from wondering if someone will ever give you flowers on Christmas, particularly pink roses, which you really admire. You always dreamt of tending a bed of pink roses only for yourself because the sight of it makes you really happy. It's just unfortunate that they aren't in full bloom during this season that's why you can only wait for February to come so you could save the trouble of finding a lame date and just buy yourself a bouquet for Valentines. You can give yourself flowers and still feel like in a relationship with all the fictional characters on your novels. No one is stopping you from dating them in your mind, you thought.

“Ugh I can’t believe that guy. I thought he’s a good catch but actually a bummer for real. Don’t worry, I’ll choose better next time." She gave you a warm hug, patting your head as you lay your cheek on her shoulder. She released you and you gave her an 'I'm-okay-don't-worry' kind of smile. And you sat there for almost an hour talking about your other failed blind dates in the past week that all belongs in either Jackson or Eunhee's circle. You have no idea why none of them matched your personality. Either they are too wild or too boring for them to function as your potential boyfriend. No one could really captivate your specific taste in a guy. It's not that you are too picky and have a high standard when it comes to scouting a lover. You just have your own preferences when it comes to choosing someone whom you'll devote your precious time into. No relationship is perfect because everything is built out of flaws, misunderstandings, heartaches and drama but if you'll enter in a commitment at least choose someone who's worthy of that pain. You aren’t getting any younger and all you need right now is someone reliable, honest and trustworthy enough to not waste your feelings and emotion. You need a serious guy who will not take you for granted and who welcomes the idea of settling in the near future. At least someone with a nice job? Or a bearable attitude, outlook and philosophy in life? He doesn't need to be the most handsome or richest guy in the planet. After all, you always talk to God about giving you with someone who will really love all your imperfections and flawed nature. You always pray to the heavens above that maybe he'll cross the mountains and bring you the moon and the stars like they always did on the movies and in stories but you're fed with too much fantasy and began to think that maybe the guy for you was rather inexistent or an alien inhabiting a distant galaxy located in a million light years away.

"A break is all I need after all. I will be fine tomorrow at Christmas eve. Don't worry about me having a date on our dinner. I'll bring some macarons as an antidote for all things bitter for you and Jackson's couple party." It's your best friend’s first Christmas with her boyfriend that's why they are throwing a mini gathering for their family and close friends. You had this feeling that you will be the only one attending the party without a date so might as well go straight to the kitchen and grab a bottle of whatever wine you can get and spend the evening dancing on tipsy toes and the floor would be very much pleased to accommodate your drunken needs. But you will not gonna end up wasted on a party especially Eunhee will not be there beside you to take you home since you do not want to rob Jackson of his time with her. Their happiness always matters before you and that's what makes you happy, to see your best friend happy with the man that he really deserves.

"All right sweetcheeks. We'll not let you feel gloomy on Christmas eve. Good girls get a reward from Santa so you have nothing to worry about." She gave you a wink and clanked your glasses in unison as you both emptied the bottle of wine to your heart's content. You both agreed to watch a romantic holiday movie over a shared furry blanket and hear out your friend as she talked to you mostly of his boyfriend, as if you’ve read a book about the guide to 101 ways on how to fall for Jackson. Maybe the love bug bit too hard on your friend now that she really has the man of her dreams right on her fingertips, she can’t ask for anything else. Their love story is too underrated and you’re one of the living witnesses that a coin is never wasted on a wishing well. If you only joined Eunhee on her wishing spree every time you both pass by your University’s fountain of love, your coin bank would have gone empty by now. But you didn’t do it and saved all of your coins for yourself cause you really enjoy playing basketball in the arcades for fun. For all you can remember way back in college days, your friend is just one of the many timid girls who are cheering and admiring the ever-famous fencing athlete, business student and heartthrob, Jackson. You have classes together with him and that is how your job as a love guru began. You really deserve a raise because you did succeed on making them a couple. You could set up a dating agency and earn better than your current job for all you care. But amidst all the love advice that you gave to them, you’re the complete opposite of a matchmaker. Because love never finds your way despite making love work for the others. Love is sweet but a bitch most of the time.

If love finally came to Eunhee and Jackson, hopefully yours would come in a whirlpool, sweeping you off of your feet and rendering all the other love stories made in the history irrelevant. You love spontaneity and you’re up for the extraordinary. In fact, you already made a dozen of playlists on spotify and counting, awaiting to be dedicated to him. You may have weird habits, like using ketchup as a dip for your honey glazed donuts, and still act straight and sit the whole day finishing a book with your favorite espresso at coffee shops. You love taking midnight trips to the art museum and you wonder if he can appreciate the abstract the way it makes your soul come alive. You love travelling back to time and studying history and it would be a bonus if he’ll join you on the 3% mint choco enthusiasts in the whole world. And your list goes on and on and it’ll take a lifetime to introduce yourself to someone but you want to meet him soon. You can’t wait for that time to annoy the hell out of him and if he still chooses to come back after your endless nagging, that’s the time when you’re not gonna let go of him anymore. You know for yourself, you’re looking for an almost perfect individual but you’re ready to tear up your never ending list of your ideal guy if someone could really surprise you and made you want to look at the world in a different dimension. After all, an ideal can never be achieved in real life. You cannot make someone ‘the one’ but you can only search for someone and make them ‘your one’. Things may not come out the way you want them to be but things will work out if he’s your destiny. It might be hard to find the rarest form of love, which is true love, but you’re willing to go on a train trip bound to a destination you’ve never been to given that he’ll meet you at the end of the tunnel. Love isn’t hard. Love is supposed to be easy. You just need patience and it’ll come to you when you least expect it.

It's nearing 11 pm already when you feel lightheaded because of your wine intake and maybe due to the fact that your early sleeping schedule has been breached by tonight's unfortunate event. You bid goodbye to your friend despite her invitation that you should just sleep on her place and decided to call for an uber to save yourself from zoning out like a zombie because you can no longer walk straight with your clouded vision. Eunhee lives upstairs her bookstore because she manages her family's business when her father passed away that's why she isn't living with you anymore. You've grown to be independent now that you're living on your own after sharing the same apartment with your friend during your university days.

"Tomorrow night at 8. I'll text you the address. Don't be late, Y/n. Have a goodnight!” Eunhee tucked you up nicely on your seat and soon the taxi sped up passing underneath the city lights in the mood for the radio's yuletide playlist. You're a bit drunk to see clearly but you can recognize the faint Christmas lights flickering throughout the busy streets. In just half an hour, the uber came to a stop and you hopped off the cab as you made your way towards the entrance of the condo that you’re residing in. You walked past the concierge and romantic music is donning the halls screaming love is in the air but not for you cause it makes you suffocated. Inside the elevator you noticed that you'll join a couple on your way to a 5-minute trip to the 12th floor. You silently wished that nobody would enter in between floors so as not to slow down your fast lane to your unit or else it'll be another episode of 'You-are-single-fgds' slapping your face. Geez, you badly want a damn break but the couple is too absorbed in their own selves, doing whatever cringey couple thing it is behind you, so you chose to ignore their reflection on the elevator walls.

God spared you for that ride and luckily you reached the 12th floor in the fastest speed possible. You walked in a crazy zigzag pattern when you reached the front step of your door and you held on the handle to prevent yourself from falling directly on the ground. Your eyes are zooming in for the door lock as you punch in your keycode multiple times and still wonder why the door isn't granting you any access at all.

"The fudge why aren't you opening?" You tried all possible combinations already but to no luck, you are still denied. For the 10th time, the lock gave up on you and is now urging for a password reset when all of a sudden the heavens finally heard your prayer and the door automatically opened. You fell towards a pair of arms, as if on cue you are saved once again from falling directly on the floor. You grabbed on a pair of shoulders, and you felt like you've reached your bed already as your senses are welcomed with a lovely scent of fabcon, which for you is the sweetest scent in the world.

"Hmm. I can finally sleep now." You smiled the moment you felt safe and secured within the parameters of what you think of as your bed.

"Wait, you cannot sleep on my arms." It's too late for you to wake up because you're already dozing off to dreamland.

"Oh shoot. What am I gonna do with you?" You barged into someone's room and you haven't had the slightest idea of what you'll gonna do the next morning when you wake up.

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featherburnt · 3 years ago

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skdjbfsikfd Y’all, okay, so back before I knew what I was even doing with Saryn’s character, I was super torn between making him a villain or a hero, completely forgetting that vigilante was an option and also that you can still be a hero with a complicated opinion/thought process/history, etc etc. This rant is MONTHS old, but it really helped me decide where to take his character - which is...well, not to make him a villain. Just a super angsty hero.

So, there are two potential outcomes that could result from all that’s happened in Saryn’s life and what arises from the ashes of his shattered resolve: Will he become a hero, like he always wanted to be, or will he shift the blame from himself onto pro heroes and become a villain? Will he hold fast to his desire to protect other people, be they civilians, friends, even lovers? Or, will he seek refuge among those who, in some ways, understand him, stoke the flames of his rage, corrupt him? Both are possible and equally as likely, and here’s why.

It begins and ends with his trauma - just like everyone else.

————-

His younger years (up to age 8) were spent in the care of his birth parents, Shiroma Hisato (a mid-level hero; Firebrand) and Juno Miris (an American low-level hero; Dogstar). The first five years of his childhood were altogether very normal. He was free to watch tv, play, be a kid, and get excited about heroes such as All Might, and both Hisato and Juno encouraged him to become a hero some day - just like them. They started training him early on, before his quirk ever began to reveal itself, pushing him through certain forms of endurance training and mixed martial arts in an effort to both prime him for his quirk and his future as a hero. He had to be ready for anything that came his way; The world was far more dangerous than it’d ever been and he was their only child. He had to be the best, no matter the cost, and, so, they were incredibly strict about his training. But, when he began to display aspects of his quirk, a touch later than most (age 6), their views on the matter turned on a dime. It stopped being about providing him with the tools necessary to survive, to become a hero, and entirely about controlling him. See, his quirk was an unexpected marriage of their own and instead of being proud of what they created, instead of finding an upside, all they could see was a blackmark, a wild and vicious mistake. The love they had for him had been quickly replaced by regret and disgust, seeing his aggression, making note of how easily he could be set off when he was overwhelmed. The dog in him came first, and it became a point of contention between him and the other children his age - and the worst part was, he didn’t understand why.

He wasn’t aggressive at first, still figuring things out about his quirk, excited to even have one. He wanted to share it, show everyone, boast about it, and play with all the others, but some found him a little scary despite having only seen one aspect of his quirk and it was entirely because of his increased aggression. Any hands that came near him were instinctively bitten by jaws transformed by exposed muscle and twisted fangs (beginnings of Devil Dog), and while this began as an instinctual defense mechanism, it became much more severe, often resulting in terrible injuries. Things only compounded when the other aspect of his quirk (flame) came into the mix. In the end, he was ostracized, alienated, and left to flounder on his own - Ironic, considering there are other students with aggression issues and interesting enough quirks to match that weren’t given the same treatment. His teachers chalked it up to him simply acting out and this was true, for the most part, but he had no idea how to control his instinctive impulses, let alone his quirk, on the whole.

Regardless, something had to be done about his behavior. He needed to be corrected lest he bring shame upon the family name - or kill someone. Hisato and Juno’s fears were warranted in some ways, but proved to be terribly irrational the moment they took to…disciplining him. Any outbursts, back-talk, use of his quirk for anything but his training, childishness, etc. was met with over-reaction and violence. They did not level with him. They hardly spoke to him outside of training. Every bit of love was gone, replaced only by steadily building hatred of him. Hisato took on the bulk of his punishments and often had he dragged him along for training sessions, hands overheated by agitation, and every single time did he leave a burn. Saryn was not allowed to protest, but throughout the duration of these sessions, he was terrified of his father. Again, he had no understanding as to why he was being treated this way, not by his peers at school and certainly not by his parents. So much of his time was spent crying, and even that was met with harsher treatment.

In sparring with Hisato, it was common for him to make use of his Devil Dog ability, in which his body would shift and change to allow for flexible ‘plates’ made from raw, exposed muscle to form over vital parts of his body, the most notable being his face (shite reference here). He was, of course, instructed to use it and, despite his fear, he would inevitably wind up biting the ever-loving shit out of his father. Sometimes, a chunk or two would be taken. This is what made way for the use of a muzzle, and focus was then turned onto other aspects of his quirk. It was humiliating, painful, and crushing for Saryn - because even after each training session, the muzzle would stay on. Demoralized, depressed, alienated, afraid, and gradually becoming more and more bitter, his parents would begin to see the changes they wanted; He was so lethargic and low-energy that his teachers reported no further incidents. He rarely spoke, and he wouldn’t even when he was called on to answer questions or read passages from school books. His grades slipped, too, and some of his peers started thinking he was stupid. He was teased and bullied accordingly.

The only good thing to come out of any of this was the steady gain of control over both his emotions and certain aspects of his quirk, and he’d progressed to a point Hisato and Juno deemed it necessary to soften a little, throw him a bone. He was their son, after all. Their only son. During one particularly messy training session in late autumn, Saryn asked his father to make things harder for him. He wanted to know that everything he’d suffered up to this point meant something. He wanted to know that he’d made progress. Hisato relented, and everything went about as well as you’d expect. Saryn used his anger, his pain, his sadness as fuel, pushing himself to keep going even when he didn’t have the energy, and, for a brief moment, both of his parents were proud of him. For a long time, they’d been pushing him to and beyond his limits, leading to the discovery of a handful of abilities in relation to his quirk, and he was using them intelligently for his age. Of course, this momentary sense of pride was terribly short-lived, as when Juno went to remove his muzzle, he reacted like an animal, caught by surprise and trapped in the throes of his quirk; He snapped his jaws around her hand so fast, it was ripped clean off. Hisato burned him for this, grabbing him by the arm and damn near lighting him on fire - and he couldn’t even scream.

Life after that was very different for him. While his mother was in the hospital, his father sought out the necessary avenues for putting him up for adoption. Saryn was entirely on his own from then on. Hisato never spoke to him again and Juno swore she’d never return home so long as he was there. A few short months later, he was dropped off at some adoption agency and he never saw his parents again. By this point, he is only 8-years-old.

Truthfully, he didn’t rightly know how to feel, let alone how to express his feelings. He started life well-loved, his dreams encouraged, but the moment his quirk developed, everything was turned on its head and he was punished for it. He didn’t know how to control it at first and wound up harming the people around him, be they fellow students or his parents, and it frightened him. Worse, still, were the punishments themselves. Being muzzled for hours at a time, burned or beaten into silence, pushing and pushing and pushing to be what his parents wanted him to be– It took its toll, and Saryn could not trust himself, couldn’t trust anyone else. He missed his parents, but he hated them, too. He wanted to be a hero, to use his quirk to protect others, but how could he when all he seemed capable of doing was hurting people? He felt guilt, shame, disgust in himself, and he was bitter about his life, hateful, angry– And he’d no outlet, no one to turn to at all.

A few months later, a woman by the name of Yana Ivaniuk (a Ukrainian scientist specializing in quirks and DNA, working with the Japanese government), came into the agency. She was a kindhearted woman, and she’d chosen him. The paperwork had already gone through when she visited and he was taken away with her that very same day. It was a confusing time for him, to say the least. He didn’t understand why she’d wanted him, what she hoped to achieve, and he didn’t trust her by any stretch, but some parts of him wanted to. Over the next several years (ages 9-16), his training continued and he was given a surprising amount of support and encouragement from Yana, who had come to genuinely love him as though she were of his own flesh and blood. Great effort on her part was put into repairing the damage caused by his birth parents. She included him on the not-so secret aspects of her research, teaching him all about how quirks work and more. She gave him the space he needed to train on his own and would check on him to see how he was doing. Her gentle, supportive approach had a significant impact on him, enough for him to eventually let his guard down completely. He grew to trust her and, eventually, love her. She was his mother, in his eyes. The next several years would pass without incident. Their little family unit was stable, tight-knit, and he even started to come out of his shell in other social situations.

He loved Yana. He looked up to her, valued her advice, valued their little family with all his heart. He learned so much more from her than he ever did Hisato and Juno. And he was loved in turn.

Unfortunately, however, during his first year at U.A. High, just two weeks before the sports festival, Yana would tragically lose her life to an unknown villain. Heroes did nothing. The police did nothing. And he could do nothing. There were no updates. As far as he knew, there was no further investigation. All he knew was all that would consume him: Grief. He saw the blood, her lifeless body, the state of their home. He saw the lights, all those horrible faces looking at him, camera flashes, officers collecting evidence, shattered windows, decimated floorboards. She put up a fight, at least, and he wasn’t sure if that’d made everything worse. He felt nothing but shame, guilt, like it was his fault she’d been killed. If he’d only come home sooner, he could’ve done something. He could’ve protected her. If he hadn’t gone to school at all that day, she’d still be alive. If only, if only, if only, if only– Old habits beaten into him as a child resurfaced and he withdrew once more, socially isolating himself from his classmates. He put himself on auto-pilot, focusing his energies into his studies and preparations for the festival, cutting off any who tried to converse with him. He moved into a small apartment relatively close to U.A. with his inheritence, but even that was put off and procrastinated on in favor of burying himself in busywork. He had to keep going. He had to keep pushing himself forward or he’d fall apart.

But he did anyway, when the festival came.

After the festival, he begins to really question his role as a fledgling hero, kept alone with his thoughts in hospital. He questions the lines drawn between heroes and villains, what makes someone a hero, what makes someone a villain. He questions everything he’s seen on tv, everything he’s been led to believe. He questions whether or not the ends justify the means, if becoming a hero is worth all his own suffering and loss. His resolve has all but tanked and he has next to no morale, struggling with his own preconceptions of what it means to be a hero, all the while still very much dealing with the loss of his adoptive mother. What point is there to any of this when he’s lost everything? Why should he keep pushing himself to move forward when there’s nothing left? What difference would it make if he became a hero or villain, if he lived or died? What good could he possibly do? And why should he continue looking up to any of the pro heroes when they did nothing about the villain who slaughtered his mother? How can they be role models if they don’t follow through on the promises they swore to fulfill, if they don’t catch the bad guy?

And the rest is ultimately history.

————–

So, we see his trauma here. Abuse from his birth parents and the death of his adoptive mother. We see this profound lack of support early on in his life, suddenly gaining it, and eventually losing it completely. We see him beaten, burned, muzzled, and abandoned. We see him supported and loved, only to lose that when his adoptive mother is murdered. We see him beginning to question every aspect of his life, his motivations, how things really work between heroes and villains. We see him lose his resolve. And we see him push through every bit of it anyway.

The way the rest of his life plays out is entirely dependent on his upbringing and certain events and trials faced during his time at U.A. As I said before, there are two possible directions he can go: Hero, or Villain. What it will come down to is whether or not he can hold true to what motivated him to become a hero in the first place. He hates unnecessary suffering, hates seeing people suffer, and it was his goal to protect people, keep their families together, prevent tragedy where possible, put villains behind bars. This was such a strong motivator for him even when he was facing his abuse that no matter how bad things got for him, he was still so focused on becoming a hero so he could make up for everything he’d done and protect everyone he’d ever hurt. Even Hisato and Juno. Having his resolve shaken and ideals challenged by his circumstances pushes him to a certain point where he could either rediscover his core desire to protect or head down a dark and terrible path.

Does he put his nose to the grindstone to achieve his original goals, or does he allow his anger, hatred, sadness, and grief to consume him? Does he make his concerns known to the pro heroes he’s learning from, or does he bottle them and let them fester? What would serve as the catalyst to solidify his position as a hero or villain? Would his classmates try to level with him, befriend him, and support him in what ways they could? Would he even accept it? Would some horrible person try to convince him that he is justified in his thoughts and feelings, that it’s okay to be angry and let loose, punish those who have harmed him or stood by and done nothing all the while? Would it be a mixture of both? Would he continue to be confused and torn on what he’s supposed to do with himself well into adulthood? Would he consider hunting down the villain responsible for his mother’s death, and would he attempt to kill them? Would he succeed? Would he die himself?

I’d like to say it’s clear cut for him, but it isn’t. Saryn’s always been on his own mentally and emotionally, and the resounding lack of support from people who are supposed to support him is more demoralizing than you’d think. The weekly chats with the guidance counsilor do absolutely nothing for him. Passing comments from his teachers do nothing for him. Even if there are people who understand his plight, he has been lost in the shuffle, no focus put on him for anymore than half an hour once a week. He’s already feeling like he’s been hung out to dry, forgotten, like everything that’s happened in his life is just meaningless suffering on top of more meaningless suffering, that he has no place among heroes, and he’s so angry, hurt, still grieving his loss. Will no one look at him, talk to him, anything? Is he not worth the effort?

I think, ultimately, the answer to the question of whether or not he’d become a hero or a villain is muddied and unclear. At the very least, he’d have a complicated relationship with the idea of heroism and would be the sort of hero to make the hard decisions no one else wants to make or are bound not to by law. He’d make reactive decisions, sacrifice one to save many, and I think this, too, would take a huge toll him. His career as a hero would be dramatically cut short by his decisions and he’d either be imprisoned or killed in action, which is already an occupational hazard and statistical probability. In the end, though, it’s somewhat more likely that he would give up on becoming a hero entirely. He might not side with other villains or any one organization, but he would become one if only by virtue of his desire to hunt down those responsible for his mother’s death and the resulting cover up (her research was vitally important and if word got out that it was stolen by villains, there’d be hell to pay, so all but her murder was kept from the public, and he only knew this because he had some knowledge of her research to start with). If he had any influences during this time, it’s possible he could be swayed to kill others, including heroes and other villains. His birth parents would also be victims of his wrath and for good reason.

He’s just this kid who gets lost in the shuffle and has to navigate everything on his own. No one gives a shit. No one cares. So, why fight for them at all? He’d end up parroting the same bullshit as some people in the LoV, so consumed by the pains of his life and his rage. At best, he’d be disgruntled hero with no faith in the system, and at worst, he’d become what he once aimed to protect people from, the monster he never wanted to be.

He’d just end up a killer.

#hellhound #old rants

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