#contemplating making another post for their original versions.

[wolfsbaneandthistle]

Some of the sapient species that aren't represented by the crew of the Little Bird. The majority of these guys are affiliated with the galactic governance founded by Enith, but a few of them are allied with Teth Tias, or their own governments. Also none of these are to scale :)

+ the plain lineart with some funny notes.

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[scoonsalicious]

Reminder: I am on a posting break for new content until May 23rd so that I can focus on writing WFLT...

In the meantime, please enjoy this third installment of Unwanted: Unusables, or, chapters from the original story that never made it to the final draft. Today, we're looking at an alternate Chapter 7: (what would become) Unburdened. This draft immediately follows the events of yesterday's Unusable.

I ended up scrapping this entire version of the chapter, because I decided to go in a different direction in Chapter 5, so everything had to be redone. But, it has one of my favorite scenes-- Girls' Night, so I'm glad that I could eventually share it with you, besties!

Enjoy!

When you woke up the following morning, you felt lighter than you could remember feeling in a long, long time. It was as if the maelstrom of agitation that had been coursing through you since Bucky first saw Jade's profile had finally abated, and you were waking to the calm following the storm, everything feeling newly cleansed by the rain.

Granted, your head was killing you with a tremendous hangover, but your soul felt lighter, and that's what should count the most, right?

You stretched, reaching out for Bucky, but finding only empty sheets where his body had been the night before. With a frown, you craned your head to see if he was in the bathroom, but no-- the door was open and the room beyond it dark. Against your will, you felt the weight of your insecurities begin to hover over you once again. Perhaps it was time to talk to Tony to see if you could borrow his Dr. FRIDAY therapy program for yourself. You were definitely in need of some kind of professional help.

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you contemplated whether or not you should change out of Bucky's shirt before you trekked back across the hall to your own room so you could mope. The odds of anyone seeing you were slim, since you were still the only two people living on this floor, but there was no guarantee someone wouldn't be around looking for either one of you. You wondered what would have people talking more-- the sight of you in only Bucky's shirt, or you leaving his room in the clothes you'd worn the night before. Not that it really mattered, you supposed. You were fairly confident from the team's reactions at dinner last night that the majority of them knew the two of you were having sex, or at the very least suspected it, anyway.

Before you could make your decision, however, Bucky's door opened and he walked in, carrying a breakfast tray laden with bacon and eggs and an overly-large water bottle.

"You're up," he said, smiling as he closed the door behind him. "I was hoping I'd be back before you woke, but I figured you could use some sustenance for what's probably a major hangover." He slid the tray onto the bed before crawling back in next to you.

"Did you seriously bring me breakfast in bed, Barnes?" you asked, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. That was beyond adorable of him.

"'course I did," he said, picking up a slice of bacon and taking a bite. "Figure your head's got to be killing you, since you never drink that much. Here." He unscrewed the cap from the water bottle and passed it to you. "Electrolytes. Drink up." You took a swig of the lemony-lime flavored Liquid IV he'd prepared for you.

"Thank you," you said. "This is incredibly sweet, but I could have gotten up to get breakfast myself; you didn't have to go to all the trouble."

"I confess, my motives aren't that altruistic," he said, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "I have no intention of letting you get out of this bed at all today, and I figured you should have at least something in your stomach before I launch my nefarious plan." His eyes twinkled with mischievous intent, making your heart flutter in anticipation.

"Your nefarious plan, huh?" Your eyebrow arched in curiosity as you took another bite of bacon, cooked extra crispy, exactly the way you liked. "And what might that be?"

"Well," he started, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper as he leaned closer to you, his breath tickling your ear.

"Since I was an absolute ass and made you feel like shit yesterday, I had hoped I could spend today making you feel good. I could lie and say I planed a day spent snuggled up together watching movies, but in reality I was thinking we could explore the possibility of other more... intimate activities."

A blush crept over your cheeks as you met his gaze. The promise lingering in his icy blue eyes sent a thrill down your spine, making you momentarily forget about the pounding headache. "That sounds...enticing," you admitted. "You have my attention."

"Good," he grinned, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip. "Because I also remember a promise made to fuck you until you couldn't remember your own name."

The heat that instantaneously flooded your cheeks at his words made you glad you hadn't bothered changing out of his shirt, after all. You tried to play it cool, to match his relaxed nonchalance, even as your heart pounded like a drum within your chest.

"I do seem to recall you saying something to that effect last night, now that you mention it," you said, trying to sound casually thoughtful in spite of the tidal wave of arousal that was rushing throughout your body.

Bucky nodded, the smile on his face growing wider by the second. "Let it never be said that I'm not a man of my word." You turned, leaning in to kiss him, but he pulled away from you. "Nu-uh, doll," he tsked. "You need to hydrate and protein-load first, then I'll ruin you."

"I dunno, Buck," you contemplated as you dug into a forkful of scrambled eggs. "You may have already ruined me. I could get used to this kind of treatment real fast."

"Sweetheart, if one breakfast in bed has ruined you, you've been spending all your time with the wrong kind of man," he drawled.

"Well, I think we both know that's the understatement of the year," you laughed.

Bucky chuckled, a hearty sound that reverberated through the room and eased any lingering insecurities that had arisen when you woke up alone. He was right; you were spending time with the right kind of man now. You turned to find him watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was gentle, sweet, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

You found yourself blushing again, quickly turning your attention back to the breakfast tray in an attempt to hide it. "Says the man who looks like he fell straight off a GQ cover," you teased lightly.

Even though his smile never wavered, there was a depth to his gaze that made your heart race. "Noticed that, did you?" He asked, his tone teasing as he took another bite of his bacon.

It was your turn to chuckle now, the sound soft and full of warmth. "Maybe once or twice," you said with a shrug.

"I ever tell you you make make grateful I fell off that train?"

Your heart momentarily stopped at his words. You looked at him, really looked, and saw the sincerity in his eyes. His tone was so casual, as if he were commenting on the weather, but the weight of his words were monumental.

"What?" you managed to gasp out, completely thrown off balance, breakfast momentarily forgotten.

He chuckled softly at your bewilderment, his fingers reaching out to gently caress your face. "I shoulda been dead long before you were ever even born, doll. Fallin' off that train, becoming the Winter Soldier, it was hell, but if it'd hadn't happened, I never would of gotten to meet you. That's made it all worth it."

You stammered, trying to find words that could match the intensity of the moment. "Bucky... That's..."

"True," he finished for you, his gaze steady on yours. "You are my silver lining, sweetheart. The best thing this twisted life has given me."

Your eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt admission. This was Bucky - raw and open-hearted - sharing something profoundly personal with you.

"Bucky... I..." You struggled to form a sentence that could properly encapsulate how you felt in the moment, so instead, you took the breakfast tray and put it up on the bedside table. Turning back to face him, his expression curious, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand. If you couldn't tell him what his words meant to you, you'd show him.

"I think I'm done with breakfast," you whispered, pulling him in for a kiss.

His lips moved against yours with devastating slowness. There was nothing rushed or fevered about the kiss, but it was no less all-consuming.

He responded immediately, drawing you closer and wrapping his arms around your waist and maneuvering you until you straddled his lap. His large hands roamed along the curve of your lower back, pulling you against him until there was no space left. The contact made your head spin and your body heat up in places that made you shudder with anticipation.

His taste was as delicious as his touch; a combination of coffee, bacon, and something distinctly Bucky that made your senses reel. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tangling with yours in an intimate dance that left you breathless and wanting more.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel every hard line and muscle of Bucky's torso pressed against your own. His heart pounded in sync with yours, the rhythm picking up as the kiss escalated from sweet to passionate. The sensation made you dizzy with longing.

You reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. A low growl rumbled from Bucky's chest at the action, sending a thrill of lust coursing through you. His response was immediate, his lips leaving yours to trail hot, wet kisses down your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, making you gasp in pleasure.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a primal growl that echoed in the otherwise silent room. His possessiveness was as thrilling as it was unexpected. You nodded, unable to form words as desire clouded your mind.

"Yours," you managed to gasp out, the word coming out as a half-sigh, half-moan as Bucky's fingers danced down the length of your back, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

His hands moved with a purpose, tracing paths of fire along your skin. Every touch was measured and precise - he knew exactly what he was doing and how it affected you.

It was almost too much to bear - this closeness, the intimacy of his words. It was overwhelming and wonderful all at once. Bucky's touch was like an incantation, a spell that had you completely entranced.

The world narrowed down to just the two of you. The crisp sheets beneath you, the cool morning air filling the room, everything felt insignificant compared to the heat radiating from Bucky's touch, from his gaze. You were lost in him, and it was a sensation you never wanted to quit.

His fingers dipped lower, trailing up the hem of the shirt you wore. A shiver coursed through your body as his cold metal digits met the warm bare skin of your stomach. You gasped audibly, your back arching slightly.

"Sensitive?" Bucky teased, a smirk playing on his lips. His fingers continued their tantalizing exploration, circling around your navel before moving upward.

"You have no idea," you managed to breathe out between gasps. Every nerve ending was on fire, your senses heightened by Bucky's seductive touch. His fingers traced a path up your body, fingertips lightly grazing the underside of your breasts. You bit your lower lip, stifling a moan. Bucky noticed, his ocean blue eyes darkening with a hunger that mirrored your own.

"Good," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to yours once more. This kiss was different, though - more demanding, more intense. He claimed your mouth with a burning passion that left you breathless and craving more.

His metal hand moved from your stomach to cup your breast through the thin fabric of the shirt. His touch was electrifying; every stroke sent shock waves coursing through you straight to your core. You moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch.

Bucky pulled away slightly, his gaze sliding down to where his hand was on you. "You like this?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

"So fucking much," you admitted, reaching up to grasp the back of his neck and pull him back down to your lips. You kissed him with abandon, pouring all the pent-up desire you had been feeling into the action. His groan of pleasure was muffled by your mouth, further stoking the flames of your desire.

His hand kept up its unhurried exploration, fingers finding a hard nipple through the shirt, brushing over it in slow circles. The sensation made you whimper, pulling away from his lips to gasp for breath.

His eyes were filled with a wicked gleam as he took you in, his gaze heated and full of desire. It made your heart beat faster and your body ache with need. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to melt into him completely.

"Bucky," you whispered, the sound coming out as a high-pitched plea. His touch was driving you wild, making it difficult for you to think straight.

"Hmm?" His voice was rough with desire, his breath fanning across your face.

"I... I need..." you trailed off, unsure of how to put your needs into words. You've never wanted someone this much; it was disorienting.

His lips curled up into a smirk again, understanding flashing in his blue eyes. "I know what you need, doll," he murmured against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His hand slipped underneath your shirt, skin on skin contact causing you to gasp out loud. His touch was demanding, taking and giving pleasure in equal measure.

His fingers traced the contours of your body, causing your nerves to sing with exhilaration. Playing your body like an instrument he'd long ago mastered. He skillfully made his way to the apex of your legs, his fingers just ghosting over the sensitive skin there.

"Does this feel good?" he asked in a low growl, his voice rough with need. His fingers dipped lower, hooking into the waistband of your panties and pulling them down slightly.

Your heart pounded in anticipation as you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as desire coursed through your veins. His eyes never left yours - an intense gaze filled with passion and unspoken promises.

His hand moved lower still, slipping beneath your waistband. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as his fingers touched you where you wanted him most.

His fingers were cool against your heated skin, and the contrast sent sparks through your body. You couldn't help but shift against his touch, seeking more.

"Bucky," you whispered again, this time in a desperate plea. His smirk widened at your response to his touch as he rubbed slow circles around your most sensitive area. You reached down to wrap your fingers around his wrist as he teased you. He watched you carefully, taking in your every reaction and using it to heighten your pleasure.

"You're so beautiful like this," he said in a low murmur, his voice filled with raw need that caused your pulse to flutter. He continued his slow exploration, dipping a single metal digit into your heat, causing you to gasp at the intrusion.

"Yes... Bucky," you stammered out, your voice barely above a whisper. The slow stretch of his finger inside of you sent fire shooting through every nerve ending. Each stroke of his hand was perfectly orchestrated as if to bring you the greatest amount of pleasure possible.

"Shh, I got you, doll," he reassured you, his voice low and thick with wanting. His pace didn’t quicken; instead he kept a slow, torturous rhythm that had you squirming.

You could feel the tension building within you, spiraling up from the pit of your stomach. The pressure increased with every skilled stroke of Bucky’s fingers until you felt like you were on the edge of something monumental. Your breath hitched, and your grip on his shoulders tightened to the point where you were sure it would leave marks.

You wanted to look at him, wanted to see his face as he watched you unravel under his touch, but your eyes were squeezed shut, the tension mounting within you too intense to bear otherwise.

"Look at me," Bucky commanded huskily, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You obeyed instantly, forcing your eyes open to meet his dark blue gaze. The raw desire there took your breath away. "That's it," he murmured approvingly, his fingers continued their exploration, every touch igniting a flame that threatened to consume you completely.

"I want you to come for me," he growled, pressing harder against the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core. You whimpered at his words, the knot in your stomach tightening further. His command added another layer of intensity to the already building climax.

Your body tensed and you gasped audibly as waves of euphoria crashed over you. Your mind went blank and your vision blurred as the orgasm hit you with full force. All you were aware of was Bucky; his intense gaze, his fingers relentlessly driving you through your climax, and his voice murmuring words of encouragement.

"Good girl... that's it. Let go," he coaxed, his rough voice a thread anchoring you in the storm. As the tremors began to recede, he slowed his movements, easing you through the aftershocks.

Your senses slowly returned, and you were left gasping for breath, your heart pounding wildly. You were still clutching his arm, your grip loose now but no less desperate. His touch was intoxicating, a heady mix of pleasure and need that left you craving more.

Bucky eased his hand away from your core. His gaze was steady on your face, watching as you tried to regain your bearings. His eyes softened as he took in your flushed face and disheveled hair.

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arm securely around your trembling form as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. There was a tenderness in this gesture that moved you deeply, causing tears to pool in your eyes.

"Bucky..." you murmured, turning your face further into his chest. He hummed a quiet acknowledgement in response, his fingers beginning to draw soothing patterns on your back.

"Yes, doll?" His voice was still rough, but the edge of raw need had smoothed out. Now it was gentle and filled with warmth and affection that had not been so evident before.

"You...you're..." You found it difficult to articulate what you were feeling right then. It was overwhelming - the intense euphoria from the pleasure he'd given you combined with the burgeoning emotions that threatened to spill over.

He seemed to understand regardless. "I know," he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "I know."

There was an unspoken agreement between you both then; an agreement that this casual arrangement you had entered into all those months ago had transcended into something far deeper, far more meaningful, than either one of you had ever anticipated.

You sat together in silence for a while, foreheads pressed against each other as you regained your composure, breathing in each other's breath. When your limbs had finally stopped shaking and your pulse had evened out, you met his gaze.

"Buck, we have a problem," you murmured, sliding your cheek against his, the rough stubble tantalizing against your skin.

He nuzzled into your face. "What's that, doll?"

You pulled back to look him in the eye, a wicked glint in your gaze. "I seem to still be able to remember my name."

He reached for the hem of the shirt you'd borrowed and pulled it up over your head and tossed it to the floor. "Honey, I haven't even begun to fuck you yet." With a wolfish grin, Bucky picked you up and maneuvered you so that you were lying on your back, his form hovering above you. His drew his head down to your breast, taking it into his mouth and sucking long and hard on your nipple.

"Oh, fuck, Bucky," you moaned, arching your back and pressing your chest further into his eager mouth. He devoured you like a man starving.

You lost yourself to the sensation as he continued his ministrations, and it wasn't long before he had once again reduced you to a whimpering mess. Time itself lost all meaning as he brought you over the edge over and over and over again. Finally, after what seemed like hours, you were sobbing with over-stimulation and the sheer intensity of what you felt for him.

After he'd finished inside of you for the second time, Bucky leaned over you, planting feather-light kisses along the planes of your face. "What's your name, doll?" he asked, voice husky.

You tried to answer, but no coherent thought would come to you; all you could do was pant as you tried to focus and re-center yourself.

He had done it. The man had fucked you until you'd forgotten your own name.

And you absolutely loved him for it.

*

The days that followed were some of the very best of your entire life. If you weren't training or working (well, okay, plenty of times when you were working), Bucky had you on your back. Or bent over a desk, or up against a wall, or down on all fours. Several times, he had sat you on his face, your hands gripping on to the headboard for dear life as his tongued probed as deeply into your cunt as he could get it. You had fucked in so many positions, in so many places, you were sure the entire Tower knew what you were doing. Not that you cared; you were head over heals in love with the man, and you were fairly confident he felt the same about you.

It was just that neither one of you had actually spoken the words.

So secure were you in this new connection with Bucky that it didn't even phase you when Tony announced one afternoon that Jade Carthage had officially accepted a three-month probationary appointment with the Avengers, and would be moving into the Tower in just a few days time.

"Okay, Pocket, what gives?" Nat asked you. Girls' Night had come around again, and the two of you, along Wanda, were set up in the common room, working your way through two large pizzas and a couple of orders of mozzarella sticks. Pepper was unfortunately on the West Coast, away on some official Stark Industries CEO business. "Tony announces Jade's imminent arrival and you don't even blink."

You shrugged your shoulders as you popped half a mozzarella stick into your mouth. "I'm not worried about her anymore," you told them. "I mean, I still don't like her, and we're not going to be best friends, but Bucky and I are in a good place." You paused and gave them a knowing look. "A really good place."

"So you are sleeping together!" Wanda leaned back, lifting her feet off the floor and kicking them in delight. You ducked your head, trying to stifle the smile and hide the blush that bloomed across your face. "Okay, I have so many questions! First of all, how long has this been going on? Second, what' it like? You know, his..." she tiled her eyes down. "Third, how is it? It's got to be so good, right? I mean, look at him!"

"Slow down!" you laughed. "God, Wands, should we change your name from Scarlet Witch to the Sokovian Horndog? Cause damn, girl!"

It was Wanda's turn to blush. "I'm sorry; I've just wanted this for you for so long, I can't stand it!" She stood up and threw herself at you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug, which you gladly reciprocated.

"Thanks, sweetie," you said with a laugh.

"Thanks later, answers now," she told you, pulling back from you to lean against the arm of the couch.

"Oh, I got this," Nat said, grin plastered across her face. "Let's see... One: four months, since the night he got back from his first mission. Two: She's called him Magic Dick, to his face. And three: Sometimes, when they're done, she can't even walk." She turned to you. "That about cover it?" You laughed, nodding your head.

"Yeah, that basically covers it," you said with a grin.

"I cannot believe this has been going on for four months and you both kept it from me," Wanda said with a pout. "I have been shipping the two of you for over a year, and this is how you repay me?"

"We weren't telling anyone, Wands," you said, trying to placate your friend.

"Oh, I'm too excited for you to be actually mad at you," she confessed. "So, you two a legitimate couple now, or what?"

You paused, biting your lip in consideration. "Well, no? I mean, it started as this completely no-strings-attached, casual sex, friends-with-benefits thing, but the morning after the dinner disaster, he told me that I made him grateful he fell off the train and--"

"I'm sorry, he said what?!" Nat interrupted at the same time Wanda grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into with with excitement, kicking her feet once more.

"Pocket," Nat continued grabbing your arms and shaking you, "for Barnes, that's practically a declaration of undying love!"

You scrunched your shoulders in glee. "I know!" you squealed, not being able to help how exhilarated the idea made you feel.

"And then what did you say?" Wanda asked.

You dropped your shoulders. "Um... well, I didn't actually say anything."

Wanda's eyes went wide. "So you just left him hanging there after he said that?" she asked, incredulous.

"No! I absolutely replied!" you insisted. "Just... not with words. It was more of a... physical response."

Wanda and Nat shared a look. "Okaaaay," they both said in unison before the three of you burst into laughter.

"Pepper is going to be so pissed she missed this," Wanda said, pulling out her phone to text your missing friend. "Though she'll probably be more angry about losing the bet."

"The bet?" you asked, confused.

"Oh, I bet her $100 that you two would end up together before your birthday," Wanda said with a grin as she texted away. "Pepper thought it wouldn't happen until night of, or after."

You tossed a pillow at her, knocking her phone from her hands. "Hey!" she cried out.

"That's what you get for betting on your friends' love lives," you told her, though your voice held no heat. If anything, it was weirdly sweet. Except... "Wait, is it super bizarre that Pepper's making bets on my sex life when she's technically my boss?" you asked.

"Yeah, you going to HR with that complaint?" Nat asked, laughing at the face you made. Her laughing set Wanda off, which set you off in turn, and soon the three of you were in hysterics.

"Damn, we too early for the panty pillow fight?" a voice from across the room caught your attention, and you looked up to see Sam, Steve, and Bucky standing in the doorway.

God, Bucky looked so good. He was wearing a Henley and a pair of jeans, but damn it if it wasn't doing things to you. You flashed him a giant smile. "Hey, Buckaroo," you said, your voice coming out far huskier than you intended it to.

"Don't engage, Pocket," Nat murmured. "They'll think think it's an invitation to come join us." But it was too late; the boys had already begun walking over to where you sat, Sam immediately grabbing a slice of pizza and digging in.

"Hey, doll," Bucky said, leaning over you and placing a kiss to your lips. He quickly pulled back as though he'd been burned, realizing what he'd done of your friends, and the two of you started at each other in surprise and shock over his actions.

"You know what, fuck it," you said, fisting his shirt and pulling him down, slotting your lips over his like your life depended on it. He responded instantly, practically crawling onto the couch to deepen the kiss, pulling you into his lap. You barely registered the sounds of your friends whooping and cheering around you. After what felt like several heady minutes, when you eventually came up for air, you were both smiling, red embarrassment creeping up your faces.

"It's about damned time!" Sam shouted, throwing a mozzarella stick a the two of you. With lighting reflexes, Bucky caught it midair, bit half of it and fed you the rest.

"All this fanfare over a simple kiss?" he asked rhetorically, ignoring the pointed looks. "Stop making it a big deal."

"I have literally wanted nothing more in my entire life," Wanda said, fiddling with her phone. "And I may have taken a picture to send to Pepper to prove she lost."

Bucky gave you a questioning look.

"The Sokovian Horndog over there has been placing bets on us," you sighed. "We just won her $100." A corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile.

"Best buy my girl something pretty with your winnings then, Red," he teased. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you watched in amusement as Wanda's cheeks flushed at Bucky's words.

Your friends continued to playfully give you both shit for a few more moments when you realized someone was missing from your little group.

"Hey, where did Steve go?" You were sure the blond super soldier had entered the room with Bucky and Sam, but now he was nowhere to be seen.

"Um, he sort of ran out when you two started to play tonsil hockey," Sam said between bites of pizza.

"Bathroom, maybe?" Nat suggested, her eyes glancing towards the hallway, but you could tell there was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Bucky, however, seemed to have a better grasp on what might have occurred and his eyes scanned the room with a more discerning look. A sigh escaped him before he gently nudged you off his lap, rising from the couch. "I'll go find him," he said, turning down to give you a quick kiss goodbye. "Come on, Sam. We've disturbed Girls' Night long enough."

The Falcon began protesting, unfinished pizza slice still in hand, but Bucky grabbed him by the arm, dragging him off toward the hallway. Once they reached the doorway, Bucky turned around and gave you a quick wink.

"I'll see you at bedtime, Babydoll," he said, before dragging Sam off with him.

You waited a beat, giving the boys time to get out of earshot before the three of you began squealing like pre-teens.

"He's never called me that before," you gushed, the happiness coursing through you so intense you were afraid you'd launch into orbit.

"You are going to get such a good dicking down tonight!" Nat declared, coming around to playfully punch you on the shoulder.

And you absolutely did.

[synergysilhouette]

The Disney Renaissance: An Alternate Timeline (with additional films)

I had a lot of fun with my alternate timeline for the Revival Era post, so I thought I'd do the renaissance, along with a few scrapped films. I'm using a modern lens here when it comes to storytelling and portrayal of cultures, so it is a bit different. I'm also mixing my own ideas with scrapped ones from the films. Let's assume they began to use the "two movies a year" model during this period (and that they had the staff to support it).

The Little Mermaid--First off, the film uses a storybook opening and ending. Next, Disney embraces the abnormal, colorful palette used in original concept designs (as seen above), as well as keeping Ariel's knowledge of the human world; instead of Scuttle miseducating her, SHE teaches HIM about the human world. As a human, she has Eric teach her more about arts and sciences, though she does embrace dancing and horseriding. More time is spent giving a bit more personality to Ariel's sisters to show the world she's leaving behind, and Eric is modeled after Tom Cruise in a bid to grab more audience members. His singing voice is provided by Brad Kane, and the OG leaked ending is used (except we still get giant Ursula's boss battle at the end and the shell is still broken during the wedding because Jodi Benson is an underrated VA). The film makes about the same amount at the box office given that Disney was in a slump, but it's even more beloved by critics.

The Rescuers Down Under--Most of the film is the same as the original, except the success of "The Little Mermaid" inspires them not only to keep the musical aspect of the original, but make sure it gets just as much attention as TLM. Along with this, the idea to make Cody an Aboriginal Australian goes through, and the music takes influence from Aboriginal music, as well as being dynamic in order to continue with the action-film image that had gripped American audiences when they thought of Australian films at the time. The film makes about $150 million at the box office due to retooling it to feel more in-line with TLM's fantasy aspect while still appealing to action fans, and it makes Disney consider doing more theatrical sequels in the future...

Beauty and the Beast--The finalized version manages a better balance of aesthetic and historical, with the French influence being much more obvious in fashion and setting (though certain things like panniers weren't used in order to appeal to a modern audience's sensibilities) . Adam's name is mentioned explicitly here, as well as flashbacks to his human childhood in order to make his human appearance at the end of the film less jarring (sharing elements with the OG timeline's Broadway play and 2017 remake, such as the enchantress' magic making everyone forget the prince; let's just say that another king is ruling France around this time now--or the monarchy has already been abolish--and even when the curse is lifted, Adam doesn't press the issue). Linda Woolverton anticipates concerns of Stockholm syndrome, so she has the Beast send Belle home periodically so she can have "space" and she returns due to honoring her promise as well as her curiosity of the magical circumstances of the castle. The film is also a bit more mysterious, taking influence from Jim Henson's Labyrinth, as well as the beast being more enigmatic and contemplative rather than aggressive, though his time as a "monster" has led to him becoming more animalistic over time. Clarice is kept in this version, though Belle's loneliness is still highlighted as she's without her family in the castle, and even back home, Clarice "fits in" more than Belle does. Monsieur D'Arque is female, combining the character with Belle's scrapped aunt Marguerite, and she plays a larger role in this version. Gaston, while an arrogant jerk, is more mean than evil, and listens to Madame D'Arque's schemes in order to win Belle, as she once sees Belle visiting Maurice and believes that wherever she's been coming from houses immeasurable power. LeFou isn't kept in this version (the dynamic between D'Awque and Gaston is given more attention), Gaston is knocked unconscious rather than killed, as per the 1989 screenplay, and D'Arque is killed during the invasion of the castle. The critical and financial success to it is about the same as the OG film, and it also gave Disney breathing room to tinker around with different stories in the future.

(Also gotta give credit to MsHowlett on Deviantart for her fanart of Belle, combining both her concept art dress, which is more historical, with her final design.)

Aladdin--When drafting the film, there's a lack of clarity on whether the film should draw from Arab influences, given that most of 1001 Nights takes place in the Middle East, or Chinese influences, since Aladdin is stated to be set in China in the original story. Eventually they boil it down to being a mesh of Indian and Arab cultures (like in the OG timeline, but more culturally accurate), making Agrabah a kingdom between the Middle East and India. Because of this, the fashion doesn't really model the modern influences used in the OG timeline (though they do end up with final looks similar to their "Mirrorverse" appearances), and the phenotypes match the aforementioned cultures. It's mentioned that Aladdin's father left on a quest to reverse his family's poverty, and that Aladdin's mother died shortly before the film started. It's eventually brought up during production that Aladdin and Jasmine's relationship being built on a lie would divide audiences, so Aladdin reveals his poverty to Jasmine, who keeps the secret from her father since they'd never be allowed to marry. Jasmine and Aladdin are also aged up from 16 and 18 to being in their 20s to avoid critiques they got of Ariel being 16 and getting married. Jafar's backstory ("Why Me?") is explored more, particularly of how he worked hard to become a vizier and used to be looked down on others, and is seen as a evil version of Aladdin. Genie stays the same because he's awesome, and Brad Kane's work on "The Little Mermaid" inspired the team to call him to do Aladdin's singing voice. The film makes about the same in terms of box office, and is seen as one of the earlier examples of positive representation of Muslims in western media.

Swan Lake--Released in 1993, the film was designed as a love letter to classic Disney films, boasting Pre-Raphaelite art (mainly Dante Gabriel Rossetti's art) and operatic songs inspired by "Sleeping Beauty." There was discourse on whether or not to use the original score of the ballet, but eventually it was decided that they would use some of the score while creating some original musical pieces, as well as using ballet here and there for musical sequences. The film follows Prince Sky (taken from Tchaikovsky), who ventures to a magical land in order to find a hero to save his kingdom from the Owl King Rothbart. He encounters Odette, a wise but weary swan capable of turning into a human at night, and they team up to defeat Rothbart and his daughter Odile, falling in love along the way. The film made $400 million in box office, and critics compared it to "The Little Mermaid" and "Beauty and the Beast," with Alan Menken and Tim Rice's music earning praise. The film was nominated for "Best Original Film" at the Oscars, and the song "Moonlight Serenade" won best original song (and a commercial cover by Gwen Stefani and David Bowie). The film would later get controversy for Disney rumored to have made this film to spite "The Swan Princess," which came out the year later. Odette and Sky would later be brought into the Disney Princess and Prince line.

(Art comes from concept art for Barbie's Swan Lake; no concept art of a Disney version is known to exist. BTW, I'm not calling this art Pre-Raphaelite, but I did find it mesmerizing.)

The Lion King--For whatever reason, the team decides to move away from making the film about animals and instead make it a high-fantasy African musical with humans (though it's panafrican in style, it's said to be set in Tanzania). Pretty much all of the story elements are the same, but the enviornment is adapted for humans, with animal metaphors for one's spirit and guide. The film is largely successful (I'd say it makes less than the OG film, but still a hugely successful film since it highlights African culture in an inoffensive way) , but criticism abounds on the lack of a specific culture, particularly how several Tanzanian ethnic groups are conflated together into the story. There was also concern for the predominantly white cast (unless we change that; brainstorming a cast, but nothing's concrete). The film features more music (the OG film only had 5 songs; that's pretty low), and Simba and Nala are indicted into the Disney royal line.

(Art by s0alaina on Deviantart; not sure if it's based on Tanzanian cultures)

Amonute--Disney had the foresight and better judgment to NOT make a historical fiction piece with a sexualized lead. Instead, they allowed their Native American aides more imput on the story, eventually opting for an original story set in a fantasy world that had parallels to Indigenous colonization. The film centers on an Indigenous woman named Amonute (who the film is named after, taken from Pocahontas' birth name), who encounters new settlers with her siblings (basically Nakoma and Kocoum in this timeline). The settlers include the swashbuckling charmer Julian and his scholarly brother Lucien (inspired by Disney's version of John Smith and John Rolfe, as well as elements of Thomas, respectively; the colonists are overall French-inspired since they were seen as the less damaging of the major colonizing lands), both of whom fall for Amonute, and she returns their feelings. The film follows the same beats as "Pocahontas" in the OG timeline, and is reviewed much better due to being an original story free of sexualization, and it becomes as financially successful as Aladdin, but it isn't without criticism; there's concern of the romanticism of colonization, as well as the fact that the tribe Amonute is part of seems to mesh various NA cultures, as well as their clothing being more akin to Powwow regalia (due to colors, patterns, and accessories, but not as detailed of course) rather than anything historical. The ending is much more peaceful than IRL, and Amonute doesn't end up making a decision concerning her love triangle, so both Julian and Lucien join the Disney Prince line when Amonute joins the Disney princess line. In contrast to Billy Zane, Johnny Depp is brought on to voice Lucien, citing his singing ability as the deciding factor, though Billy Zane does play him in any work that Johnny Depp isn't available for.

Sinbad--Released in November 1995, the film's setting being influenced by Iraq was controversial given real-world circumstances concerning the country's relationship with the United States. However, Disney was inspired by the success of "Aladdin" and the (mostly) positive feedback "Aladdin" had received in terms of Asian cultures and Islamic representation, as well as motivated by the controversy of the film conflating India and Saudi Arabian cultures. Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio considered the love triangle aspect, but given how Amonute's love triangle divided audiences and growing concern that it'd make Sinbad look like a jerk, the idea was dropped, with his best friend being uninterested in Aaliyah, Sinbad's love interest (who, like Jasmine, was named after a celebrity). Sinbad was modeled after Aladdin to be clever and crafty, but rewritten to be more reserved and quiet to contrast with previous outgoing Disney men, while Aaliyah was more rough and tough than previous Disney women (she was also designed with Salma Hayek as inspiration and Wendy Malick to play her, but it fell through). Let's imagine they got a mostly Arab cast (I doubt they'd go for actors of Iraqi heritage alone), and the film's focus is on Sinbad recruiting Aaliyah to help him rescue his best friend Zayn from being executed for a crime he didn't commit--but Aaliyah did. The musical was highly successful, making over $300 million at the box office and the song "Never Again," detailing Sinbad's rough childhood to his friendship with Zayn and falling in love with Aaliyah, being nominated for BOS at the Oscars. Despite concerns about how Aaliyah might be perceived as a former criminal, she still joins the Disney princess ranks.

(Note: This concept art is from Dreamworks; Disney never got to a point where they made concept art, as far as I know.)

The Hunchback of Notre Dame--Mostly the same as the OG timeline, though with notable changes. Claude Frollo, while still a villain, does show to have a twisted love for Quasimodo, the twisted part coming from his own skewed worldview as well as Quasimodo's perceived "ugliness" and guilt over killing his mother. Quasimodo is also given a bit of a deeper skintone and darker hair color to remind the audience that he is a person of color--not that light-skinned/haired people can't be POC, but this film depicts all Romani people with certain attributes. At best, Quasimodo is mixed, so his features should exhibit that. The gargoyles are less comedic, but they still represent a softer, lighter side of the film as they represent hope and kindness, trying to teach Quasimodo the good of the world, as well as the archdeacon being involved in his life (with the gargoyles never explained as literal magic creatures of representations of Quasimodo's psyche; I like it both ways). It's noted that part of Frollo's obsession with Esmeralda isn't just lust, but also his guilt again over the death of Quasimodo's mother. Esmeralda and Phoebus' lives are fleshed out a bit more (particularly Esmeralda's, highlighting French-Romani culture), as well as giving Phoebus moments to sing. Esmeralda is also tweaked slightly so certain things that she does aren't read as romantic towards Quasimodo, even though he takes them as such. The film makes the same impact financially and critically, along with Esmeralda sadly not joining the DP line due to difficulty marketing her darker film. There is NO SEQUEL, though Madellaine is shown at the end, with Esmeralda and Phoebus singing part of the reprise of "The Bells of Notre Dame" to an infant Zephyr after the events of the film.

Hercules--Given the wide range of feedback they've gotten on cultural representation before, Disney decides that rather than label this a film about Hercules, this is an original story set in an Ancient Greco-Roman-inspired culture that take from a variety of Greek myths, with Hercules, Perceus, Achilles, Orpheus, and Bellephron being influences for the protagonist Nikanor, a kindly demigod prince on a quest to discover the secret behind his magical abilities with his sardonic lover and clever nephew, all while avoiding obstacles set forth by his wicked stepmother (as you can see, they were inspired by "Hercules: The Legendary Journeys"). While a colorful and creative journey (noted as a possible influence for the "Hades" video games by Supergiant), it's also been noted for it's psychological exploration of madness and depression, earning comparison to various mature video games. The music was equally praised for helping to uplift the film at important moments without ruining the vibe. The film made $400 million at the box office, and it's success led to a sequel TV series as well as Nikanor and his love interest Chania joining the Disney royal line given a lack of negative feedback from Greece as in the original film.

Mulan--In this particular timeline, Disney didn't have an issue with Stephen Schwartz working with Dreamworks for "The Prince of Egypt," though the tone is still the same as the OG timeline (ie maintaining that Mulan joined the army for her father, not for personal gain--except to prove she could do something that could make others proud of her). There are more songs in the film, including a "Reflection" reprise sang by Shang and Mulan (or whatever the equivalent would be now that Stephen's writing the music) after Mulan's identity is revealed, as well as a song detailing Shan Yu's motivations and "Mulan's Decision" with lyrics. Mulan has an older sister and a younger brother, both of whom she views as superior to her due to her sister having married and being much more graceful (the progenitor to Isabela Madrigal, in a sense--but it's not an act) and her brother automatically being more valuable thanks to being male. Shang's also mentioned as having a younger brother, and we get a bit more detail into his personal life, mirroring Mulan's desire to protect her father and make him proud. Most of the film is the same, otherwise. The film makes about the same as the original, with the particular praise for Mulan being a lot less underrated thanks to more music.

Tarzan--While an unspoken musical was considered at the time, the characters instead sing in this version, with director Kevin Lima coming around to it under the condition that Tarzan himself didn't sing while other characters did. During production, Tarzan was retooled in a rather unique way. Taking influence from the critically acclaimed show "Batman: The Animated Series," Tarzan, while still kind and empathetic, was made to be more brooding and mysterious and less humorous in order to help make his character (more) intriguing as well as beguiling the audience. The dreadlock hairstyle is also removed, and Jane, Archimedes and Clayton are American (to diffuse the misconception that only British people can be sophisticated intellectuals) while Jane teaches Tarzan to not just speak English, but French as well, similar to his cousin in the book. The film is just as financially successful, with plans for Jane and Tarzan joining the Disney royal lineup, however this is walked back on when Disney decide Jane is too similar to Belle and concern that a white cast in an African setting would come back to bite them.

Aida--Released at the end of 1999, Disney released their take on "Aida," an opera about an Ethiopian princess who is captured by Egyptians and falls in love with the Captain of the Guard. Disney adapts most of the story in order to create an epic and emotional tale like "Amonute," but without the tragic ending of the original opera. In this version, war is prevented between Egypt and Ethiopia, and Radamès and Aida survive. Certain issues plagued production, from Elton John's resistance to do another animated film and Disney catching wind of Dreamworks' "Prince of Egypt" (which ended up releasing the year before), but it became a worldwide hit at making $400 million at the box office, and praise was brought to the fact that Disney learned from the casting of "Aladdin" and cast actors of Middle Eastern descent for Egyptian characters. Needless to say, Amneris and Radamès join the royal Disney line.

(Note: not sure if Elton John and Tim Rice collaborated here like they did for the stage musical in the OG timeline, or if Alan Menken and/or Stephen Schwartz got involved instead)

Lemme know what you think! I know the renaissance is the Roman Empire for a lot of Disney fans, but I wanted to give it a shot. Maybe I'll tweak it later (currently wondering if a should include "Hocus Pocus," which, while never planned to be an animated film, would probably get more attention outside the Halloween season. If I do, it's replacing TRDU).

[atundratoadstool]

How do you think the story would play out if Mr. Hawkins never got that attack of gout and was the one who went to Castle Dracula?

[CW: General spoilers]

There's so little in the text as it stands about Peter Hawkins that it's hard to predict what would have happened. Stoker clearly seems to have contemplated making Hawkins (or some version of the character) have a bigger role in the text, however. I've seen other posts circulating that draw attention to the fact that the Hawkins of the notes originally agreed to sent the Count a clerk who did not speak German, which one might read as giving the character some sense of complicity in what eventually befalls Jonathan, and I recall that I saw one headcanon pre-DD that Hawkins' decision to make Jonathan his heir is informed by some feeling of guilt--justified or unjustified. If you take the notes as a means to read Hawkins a character perhaps a little more willing to ignore some potential red flags with a client somebody else is dealing with (and as somebody who's already been corresponding with the Count and might have a better feel for him), you might be able to envision a different trajectory were the characters swapped. I can see Hawkins, given this characterization, being a little less naive at the onset and a little less willing to defy the Count once things get hairy--somebody a little more likely to adhere to professional distance and make more excuses for the unfolding horrors of the castle as misunderstandings or bad dreams.

This is all an extraction, however, from a page or two of Stoker's abominable scribbling, and another direction in which I think you might be able to take those scribbles is an observation that Hawkins' earlier name was Abraham Aaronson. Virtually every character Stoker writes has some element of himself (Mina's brain/heart division, Seward's workaholic nature, Jonathan's legal training), and I feel that it probably signifies something that Hawkins originally had Stoker's first name... particularly given that the text as completed contains a character named Abraham who also has Stoker's physical attributes down to the phrenological forehead bumps (Van Helsing). If we read Hawkins as yet another Stoker self insert, I think you can end up with a really fascinating story in which the guy being menaced and gaslit by Count "looks very similar to Henry Irving" Dracula is much closer to Stoker's age and position in the world. I can't say what direction, precisely, that would go, but you could suddenly have a text that is a lot more overtly and painfully biographical.

Lastly, if one wants the author firmly dead and to undertake readings that remain only within the confines of the text, I think that Peter Hawkins is a figure--like many of Dracula's parental figures--whose primary skill is dropping dead very suddenly. I think a very boring but very realistic Watsonian option is that he arrives at Castle Dracula and suddenly drops dead, leaving the Count with less cooking to do as he completes his real estate transaction.

[livewireprojects]

Old fancomic cover WIP

For the sake of cutting down rambling that semi goes off subject I made a post explaining the back story behind the program I used for this originally.(LINK)

So yeah I made this in manga studio/the old version of clip studio paint. At some point while exploring around I found two versions of this in old computer backups. One version was a colorless sketch(well if you ignore that I used a lot of colors for the sketch lines) & one was the sketch but with a colored background. I did some edits so that Shadow & Sonic from the "colorless" sketch version were in the colored background version because it's really hard to see the sketch at points.

Besides editing them in another program I have no idea how to remove the text at the bottom, this happened every time I made comics with more than one page instead of an one page image. This was meant to be the cover of a comic so maybe I should have made this an one page image.

According to the files before editing(I'm mentioning this cause it's interesting to see how old shit is) the sketch was last worked on February 5,2012 at 12:02am while the colored background version was last worked on February 26, 2012 at 7:02pm.

I tried to cut down on text & I still end up with a lot of text...

So with that all out of the way, this was meant to be the cover of a comic I wanted to work on but never got any further than this. As you can see it's pretty old, these outfits were based on fanart of gijinka Sonic & Shadow by someone called Mikuhoshi(account is gone).

I'm not going to spoil too much(I mean I did explain it on DA but I realize I should try harder with shit) but the idea is Shadow & Sonic worrying about the future while spending time together. In the end both hope that things work out for them in the future as they contemplate finally telling a secret to each other.

I want to try & make the comic at a later point when I get a chance. It'll be the same story I had planned but there's going to be some changes here there that won't effect much.(Like the fact the art has changed since I drew the original pic) It'll be interesting to see how things changed.

[georges-chambers]

for the character asks...ishmael, ofc :3

Idk when you sent this but I wish I had seen it earlier because !!! VERY glad to do this!!

'How I feel about this character': So Much. In general. What can't I say about him? On one hand, as many point out, he's an almost definitely some kind of undiagnosable neurodivergent and due to this is incredibly relatable. ACCIDENTALLY CLICKED POST WHEN I MEANT TO SAVE THIS TO DRAFTS. ANYWAYS. I HAD MUCH MORE: He Also Suvks!!! He knows a lot but that doesn't mean he actually believes in objectively true things! Hes aware of his own faults but we get the feeling he's not too concerned with changing them very much! I also feel like some fans of Moby Dick kind of choose to gloss over the ways in which, beautifully as he puts it, his love for Queequeg is also almost definitely through a very warped lens due to the way he just thinks of Queequeg, and at times it also seems almost obsessive. And another important part of him, I think, is that he becomes just as obsessed with things that are important to him as someone like Ahab, just in a way that doesn't lead to relentlessly chasing them down and trying to kill them. Well, breaking down a door to 'save them' is. I'm sure you can see the similarities. But of course there's the way he writes obsessively about minor details about the whole voyage and people on it and Moby Dick himself in a way that implies he has a fascination with it all borne from the trauma it gave him. Which reminds me of how much he seems to actively want to hide any part of himself and his past from the reader but where it starts slipping out are often memories that seem kind of. Worrying(?) Definitely not Pleasant anyways. Which again, he seems to zero in on a bit. Also to me he is Not Cis. Of course.

'All of the people I ship romantically with this character': Ishmael's one of the very few instances where I think the only romantic ship I have of him are with the canon love interest (Queequeg of course). Aside from probably 2 ships or so, but those are either rather RPF (about someone who is dead but nonetheless real. I mean. He's kinda implied to exist in Moby Dick too, but he's very much real, its based on the real version) focused or Angst Heavy, so I would only share those in DMs at request.

Now as for potential sexual relationships? Another entire area I will leave to DMs.

'My non-romantic OTP for this character': Okay nevermind, I lied. I could Never explain it fully because its Not in the book and not based on anything in the book, but the 2011 movie. Showed me a whole layer to the potential of whatever was going on between Ahab and Ishmael and god. The toxic workplace relationship he had with that old man. That whole movie became Their Movie to me. Queequeg can of course become involved. I also like the idea of him and Bulkington of course.

'My unpopular opinion about this character': Its hard to say what'd be considered unpopular for this kind of a fandom, but I feel like the fact that the racism from his POV was progressive for its time only makes it even more immersive to him as a character. Its the sort of thing that's like . 'This is a fascinating indication about the time and the author writing in this time' and 'This could be considered a part of the character narrating all of this and how they view the world' Can very much coexist here. To me they feed into each other and I love it. Less like that, though, since that'd probably be the more popular of the two: I feel like a lot of adaptations are a bit less than accurate to what I personally think of with Ishmael because they often make him (even including the 2011 to some degree) a lot more overtly 'benevolent' than really fits. In the book, he does shit like contemplate just boarding up the room he's in and basically steal it from its original owner, and just the near frantic, almost aggressive tone he often takes with fucking Cetaceans, In General, towards his audience, I love, and really wish there had been like. Any of, in most adaptations, which seem to want him to be a much more 'relatable nice hero' which he just Fundamentally Isn't. There are so many times reading this book and rereading it where I've just gone, 'Ishmael, whoever you're having this argument Isn't here right now. I love you, but Please.'

'One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in-canon': I feel like actually learning more about what he did in his Past would kind of spoil some enjoyable and very fitting mystery and ambiguity so really what I wish we knew more about were his travels and life in general between the wreck of the Pequod and when he's writing that. Actually, no, if I absolutely Had to choose to actually be told 1 more thing about him? When and where was he a stone-mason. I love how hes very intentionally like, 'At Some Point in Time, For Some Point In Time, Neither of Which You Need To Know, I was a stone-mason.' And its just like. Actually no. Normally there'd be nothing odd about that but no, now I really do need to know what he could be hiding with that.

Once again Thank you so much for asking this and once again encouraging me to ramble incoherently about Moby Dick

[garden-ghoul]

Happy Gushiwensday Shabbes! We have another Wang Anshi tonight, "Miscellaneous Poem #5."

The morning sun shines in--I slept wrapped around my book and dreamed about Bell Mountain. I'm all old feelings. I face old age with composure, though I've been dragged through the mud, and I think today I can do it again. I'll wash in the cold stream.

Notes and original text under the cut.

杂咏五首

朝阳映屋拥书眠，梦想锺山一慨然。 投老安能长忍垢，会当归此濯寒泉。

This one we translated because we were unsatisfied with Hinton's translation that we looked at a while ago. I'm a big fan of this poem. Very contemplative and melancholy, a little esoteric. Here are some notes!

wrapped around my book --- or with books gathered around.

Bell Mountain --- Laurence tells me that this is the mountain where Wang Anshi's favorite monastery was; he was friends with the abbot and visited many times. We think that this poem was written after he retired (post the death of his son) to "Halfway House," which was pretty much in the shadow of this mountain, which makes it curious to say he dreamed about it. I wondered whether he wasn't dreaming of a version of it from the past, when his life was simpler.

all old feelings --- 一慨然 is a really fun phrase. 一 is here used as "entirely" or "thoroughly" and 慨然 is like, in a heartfelt sigh kind of way. I'm still not totally sure whether this describes the mountain or the narrator, but I lean toward the latter. I've also used "old" feelings rather than "deep" feelings because I felt like he was dreaming about the past.

I face old age --- 投 is a fantaaaastic character. It can mean to throw something, to surrender oneself, to cast a vote/glance/shadow (!!!), to throw oneself into something like a river, or even to seek refuge. Applying this to old age has such a richness.

dragged through the mud --- Literally "a long time enduring dirt/disgrace." Obviously the poet has used a word for disgrace that primarily evokes physical grime (at least from the binomes it's in) because the next line is about washing.

I think today... again --- Grammatically puzzling! 会当归此 might be literally translated as "I'm able to manage returning to this" or "I'm able to withstand it and return to this." The referent of 此 "this/that" is unclear---I've resolved it via line-to-line word parallelism. ie, assuming "return to this" is paralleled with "can be calm" in the previous line. According to Laurence's researches Wang Anshi is known for being quite meticulous with his word parallelism, and this poem has a few other potentially interesting parallels:

In the first couplet, maybe 映 shine and 锺 bell are being paralleled: one visual image and one sonic image. (Laurence's interpretation) I'm not entirely sure whether most bells had a shiny finish, but if so it could also evoke the shine of metal!

Also in the first couplet, 拥 could either read as gathered or embraced, and either way it has a nice resonance with 一 perfused or in totality.

Very obviously, in the second couplet, 垢 dirt contrasted with 泉 stream or spring. The dirt or disgrace is from his political career, so it also evokes the simplicity of life in retirement and a remove from the "material world."

In the second couplet, potentially something interesting is going on with 长 always, forever, or constantly and 濯 wash, a clear material action that happens once and changes your state.

[hopeful-rack5]

Newscapepro Creepypasta rewrite update!

hey everyone i'm back with another post about Newscapepro yay :D

from the title my Creepypasta rewrite is on the docking

for one the main cast of Creepypasta is still here Tommy, Nick and Cory are all still here but i do have plans to include other newscapegang members as well... but that'll be it's own post probably.

for now i want to talk about the Creepypasta stories being used in this rewrite, because yes the Creepypasta's in this rewrite will either be change in someway or out right replaced. so let' start off with the list of creepypasta's staying... and changing.

Jeff the killer - obviously he's staying because for one "ICONICNESS" and "POPULARITY". and two is because of his importance in the story..... with that being said though I'm not using the original "Jeff The Killer" story for my basis instead I'm using the rewrite @Pastrapec made for my basis and for his chapter and character, that is to say i will still try and keep some of his original "CHRISMA" he had in the original Newscapepro Creepypasta series.

The Rake - now i know in the original NSP CP series, the rake story was in actuality a story about SCP-096, with this rewrite i have been contemplating on changing the story to actually be about "The Rake" and what it truly is you know.... but i really do like the Scp-096 story.... so I've decided this. the canon version of the second chapter will be about "The Rake" and i mean the actual Rake meanwhile i will make a non-canon chapter dedicated too the Scp-096 story that way we can have both.

The Keyhole - i haven't read the original story so this one will probably be the same as it was in the original series... maybe with a change if i check the original story out.

(anyway thats all i have for now, will provide further update later)

[purefandomonium]

Just realized I never did get around to posting those headcanons for this version of Red, so I decided to do that.

General:

Red in this iteration is more supernatural than sentient glitch.

He works using similar logic to another version I have of him, where he is linked to the cartridge and will never be very far from it. However, unlike the other version, it's not as simple as passing the game off to some other sucker. Red here is in full control of his fate, having figured out how to leave the game at will and even being capable of pulling players in and trapping them, although doing that takes a lot out of him so he doesn't do it often.

Once he's decided to torment a player, the only way they're getting rid of him is--well, they can't. The only options are die, die, or go insane and then die.

There's a 0.0000001% chance Red himself will get bored of the torment and leave without killing them, but that's basically never going to happen.

There is no way to harm him physically and it's impossible to damage the game as well.

The cart is in a perpetual state of just being playable and will remain that way regardless of what's done to it.

The Glitchy Red pokepasta exists in this universe, and Red is very aware of it. He does not enjoy hearing about it.

It's unknown if he's even the original Glitchy Red or some kind of replica. His whole deal makes zero sense. I mean, how does a game from the '90s, whose code is held together with duct tape, used gum and best wishes, suddenly develop a digital spirit? Perhaps some supernatural meddling was involved at some point... Red himself certainly won't tell.

Personality:

Is an asshole with zero remorse for his actions.

Tormenting players is a game to him, and it's the only one he'll play. He likes to see how long they'll hold up against the psychological onslaught. It's usually not long.

Despite how much he enjoys his violent acts of revenge, he does get bored of it. Most players don't survive for very long and he doesn't even need to try for them to break. He's capable of so much more yet never gets a chance to use his full power. (That's why he's so pumped when Reader shows up. Finally, a real challenge.)

He's perpetually bitter and dare I say angsty from the suffering he's been through.

He's capable of feeling any emotion, but his primary state of being is angry and spiteful.

On the off chance he is feeling something different, it's likely only because there's no one messing with the game. If left to his own devices he's actually quite contemplative and serene, and tends to spend his time basking in the sunlight or enjoying nature.

Is basically a bitchy cat when calm.

It's impossible to befriend him if you're someone in possession of the cart. By default, that makes you an enemy regardless of your intentions or even if you had no idea about it. Ex: Someone gives you a box of old games and junk and you tuck it away in an attic without so much as looking through it. Doesn't matter that you didn't know he was there, you do now >:(

The only chance anyone has to befriend him is if they're someone in a similar predicament/a fellow entity. Escaped tortured experiment who knows nothing but misery? Welcome to the club.

Might also consider a being who likes to torment humans a potential friend too, if given the chance. He does like his torture.

He's actually very intelligent and crafty. He knows how to get his desired results without even needing to lift a finger. Whether it be forcing players to destroy their lives, tricking them into doing his bidding, or making them agree to a terrible deal and trapping their soul within the game to be used as a spare punching bag.

A couple of players have managed to beat him at his own game and he's still holding onto that grudge.

Abilities:

Intangibility--he can interact with the world/people, but they can't touch him.

Limited mind control--he can hypnotize players and alter their dreams but can't turn them into full-on puppets unless they're really worn down. Even then, it's usually only limited to things like obsessively playing the game or forcing them to stay awake.

Can inflict a powerful sense of fear onto others without even needing to do anything. Think Patrick's "He's just standing there... menacingly!"

Energy drain--the thing that allowed him to break free of the game. Over the years he learned how to steal and harness players' lifeforce, using it to bring himself into the real world. It's also how he went from glitch in the matrix to full-on evil spirit.

Shapeshifting--mostly into glitches or Pokemon, but can do people too if he feels like it. He's used this ability before to imitate dead loved ones as part of his torment.

Despite his origins, he can't interact with technology. He lost any ability to do that when he became what he is now. He still causes electronics to glitch out when he's near/his temper flares but only in the way supernatural entities do. Move the devices away from him and they'll return to normal with no damage done.

Teleportation--Only outside of a certain distance of the cart, as he can't be too far from it. He can only teleport himself as well, and has to actually have the cart with him to teleport that too. If he's got it, then he can go anywhere he pleases.

[zdbztumble]

Yet Another Kingdom Hearts Revisit, Part V

This playthrough has been a blow to my pretensions of having a good memory. I'd completely forgotten that King Triton isn't the only good Disney character from outside Disney Castle who knows something about Keyblades and Keyholes. It makes perfect sense for the Genie to have some insight into them, but I really like that he knows less than Triton does. It's better for pacing reasons that he doesn't, but it also fits his character - I can't imagine that a magical being who spends so much time contemplating mid-20th century American pop culture while stuck in his lamp would keep his ancient legends straight.

Of all the Disney worlds in the series that try to condense their source films into the game, KH I's Agrabah is the most successful IMO. It's really the only level in the game that did so. Olympus Coliseum, Halloweentown, Monstro, and Neverland feature original stories, and Wonderland, Deep Jungle, and Atlantica use only pieces of their films (to greater and lesser degrees) in their stories. Agrabah has almost all the major elements of Aladdin in it: Aladdin's street rat origins, Jasmine's escape from the palace (albeit under entirely different circumstances) and her love affair with Aladdin, Jafar's scheming to take over Agrabah, the quest for the lamp in the Cave of Wonders, Genie's comedy, his freedom, and the three wishes. Even "Prince Ali" gets worked in. The only thing left out from the film is the finale where Aladdin and Jasmine get together.

Why it works here compared to later worlds in the series is that, despite using so much of the film, all of those elements are re-contextualized to fit the time frame that KH I had to work with and, more importantly, were modified to fit the needs of KH I's larger story. There's no room to fit the "Prince Ali" element proper into the plot, and if the attempt had been made, it would've been an abridged version lacking the comedic texture that makes it work in the movie, and it would have distracted from Sora's story and the plot of the League of Disney Villains. It was much better to make that a brief mention and have the three wishes applied to the battle with the Heartless.

And speaking of battling Heartless - Aladdin's in my Top 3 for Disney world battle partners in the entire series. The dude rocks. And Jafar makes for one of the more challenging two-part bosses in the game. Kurt Zisa is, for my money, the most difficult secret boss in the game, Sephiroth very much included. And that's (usually) a good thing! I like having to shift between physical and magical strategies, and I like that he's a boss that let you get good value out of the Summons (sadly, I wasn't able to duplicate my last playthrough, where I beat him with multiple Summons instead of just Tinkerbell and dumb luck at dodging his vertical spin after she bought me a free life).

Part of me wonders if Monstro and Agrabah shouldn't have been reversed in order. On the one hand, Riku nabbing Jasmine makes for a good shock and a sense of foreboding; the player knows how far gone he is at that point, but Sora doesn't. But why does Riku need the quest for the seven princesses explained at the end of Monstro when he's already captured one of them?

And I might as well cover Monstro in this post, as I don't have too much to say about him. This is one world where I agree with the complaints about KH I's platforming. I appreciate that the bowels of a space-whale should be a claustrophobic place, but the chambers are too small and too packed with crap to make the concept work in an enjoyably challenging way. Instead, it's just tedious.

Storywise, however, Monstro is a great turning point for Sora and Riku. Taking a cute Disney character hostage might be an easy way to sell moral decline, but it's so much more effective than three minutes of lore gibber-gabber by one-note pricks in black coats. And whichever executives at Square and Disney are responsible for giving the final OK to these games' plots should have made the staff re-watch this scene ahead of every scripting session since KH I. The first game as a whole works against later characterizations of Responsible Riku being the one to clean up after lazy, do-as-he-pleases Sora, but that scene and this world demonstrate most clearly how big a retcon that change was.

[project-aphelion]

09.02.2023 - Chapters 11 & 12

Hi. So. These updates are going to be a little bit different now. Originally I wanted this current draft to be a polish pass, but after making many changes to the wip, I realized this is going to be another regular draft, with the focus on knocking the story into place rather than finetuning edits. If I'm going to finish this draft in a meaningful amount of time, I can't be contemplating over minute wording and pretty prose. The goal now is to just get this new version of the story done.

So what does that mean, exactly? Honestly, I'm not sure. I just know I'm changing my attitude on this draft and not letting myself get caught up in the details of it all.

Anyway, onto the story and what I wrote! We're officially in Part 2 of the story now. Chapters 10, 11, and 12 cover a spicy jailbreak (spicy as in it's action packed, not that it's sexy) and Bee and Rian finally meeting! Woo-hoo! The fun thing to play with here is that Bee has no idea about Rian's superpowers. She's just like "why. is this child in prison."

There's some connective tissue missing in there, but I'm not gonna let myself worry about that right now. There are a looooooot of things I'll need to edit in Part 1, lots of exposition that are handled really clumsily, but I'm just going to make notes for myself and tackle them way later. This was the process I had with Suddence, and that worked pretty well for it. There are just certain things you won't know how to properly edit and execute unless you actually have a whole (if messy) story to work with.

Currently the word count is at 42364! I'm letting myself write shittily from now on, so the excerpts won't be as pretty. Still, I think it's fun to share them, and it's always fun for me to look back on these documenting posts and see what changed.

(Photo description in alt!)

[aurorawest]

Hey! 7 & 14 from the deep fic writer asks? If the questions weren't asked already and if you feel up to it. 😁

Full disclosure, I answered this once already and then LOST THE POST just as I was about to post it, so this answer probably won't be as good.

7. How does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

Receiving feedback is amazing and makes me really happy. Not receiving it has, at times, contributed to spirals where I've contemplated deleting my AO3 account and pulling all my fic down.

I haven't written any new MCU fic in months (my series is finished, it just gets betaed and polished now before posting each week) and idk, there are a lot of reasons for that, but one of them was definitely falling engagement. And I know that's not specific to me, there's just falling engagement within the MCU fandom. In a way that's been a really good thing for me, because I've funneled my energy into original novels, but it bums me out when I see I haven't posted a Loki/Stephen oneshot since last September.

14. Do you compare yourself to other writers? In a positive or negative way?

Oh yes, definitely. Not to sound like a total dick, but I'm...pretty confident about the quality of my writing, especially within the MCU fandom. It definitely depends on the fandom though. There are some where there's some truly incredible writing. Like, just lyrical and gorgeous and the kind of stuff that makes me so jealous that someone else came up with it, but also so happy that it was something that I got to experience.

15. How do you think your writing as improved over time?

In every single way, haha.

In my original post that got lost I had comparison screenshots of the opening of a Darkwing Duck fic that I originally wrote when I was 15, and then a rewritten version from when I was 29, but I've gotten a rejection from a literary agent since making that first lost post and now I'm not feeling quite so brave about sharing that.

No but like, I started really seriously writing when I was...10? 11? It was 5th grade. And don't get me wrong, I had nearly an adult reading level at that age, and my writing was definitely cogent, but. I was in elementary school. Now I'm 38. I've been a teenager who had a difficult relationship with their parents. I've been suicidal. I've experienced grief. I've lived in another country. I've been married to a man and subsequently divorced. I've come to terms with my queerness later in life (and am still coming to terms with it!). I've read a lot. I've been in a writing critique group. And I have written a freaking shit ton of words. I cannot even begin to imagine how many words I've written. I have over 2 million posted on AO3, and that's...not really a significant portion of all the words I've written over my life.

Anyway the point I think I'm trying to make is that the things that improve your writing are: writing, reading, and living.

Thank you so much for asking!!

deep fic writer asks

[clowningismyboyfriend]

Intro and a little bit about me..

Hi!

Welcome to my first ever blog and first ever blog post!

My name is Dani, I am 36 years old and a mother, step-mother and foster Aunty to 6 kids in total. Yes you BET it’s chaos and heartache but yes there’s a little magic sometimes, too. There is always love though, something that keeps us clinging on through the darker periods. I find that pretty much most of Taylor’s songs run with a love theme, too.

As you could imagine, the balance in my world is not where I would like it to be with lots of things, music helps to ground me and keeps me reminded that I need to find the balance,but what I mourn and yearn for the most is when it comes to the magic of creating.

I generally love the hands on type of creativity- crocheting, making handmade jewellery with crystals, anything to do with colours, macrame and snapping that perfect photograph of a perfect moment in time. Nothing too fancy, just identifying the moment and seeing the vision.

I have always absolutely loved music as well- As early as I could remember, I always felt it deeply within my soul.

I hear everything all at once within a song and have done so for so long.

I adore how, when combined with a melody and rhythm, a lyric can transform into that all encompassing song that has the power to move and captivate me all at the same time.

When a song and/or performance connects with you on a level where you feel pure, unbridled exhilaration or even that choking lump in your throat, and the sudden, warm tears pooling your eyes and usually both of these times you’ve got goosebumps or the hairs are standing up on your arms- It reminds me how insignificant everything else is, because in that single moment you are so connected with the performer and it’s honestly a connection that is transcendent; one that that ebbs and flows throughout whomever is lucky enough to tap in. It reminds me that at our core, as human beings, we are connected through love and emotion above all else.

..Then there’s the likes of Taylor Swift, who does all of this and more, for so many of us, seamlessly, meticulously and uniquely.

I should preface this with the disclaimer that I originally kicked off a rough version of this blog concept over on Tik Tok and wanted to post my next/upcoming theory on there.

Given the length and detail of what I had to say, it made more sense that Tik Tok would have to play the role of marketing medium for this blog.

Up until now, I have only uploaded two Taylor-Theory aka clowning themed videos that I really enjoyed putting together. But with the way I upload, I just think the sustainability on a platform like Tik Tok though will be short lived. As I’m not thrilled on the idea of filming myself let alone filming myself!

I also have too much to say sometimes and not enough time to say it.

Condensing my thoughts for me, especially when I’m passionate about something, is like trying to catch butterflies in the dark blindfolded and with one arm tied behind your back 😂

That idea of restriction to my expression hurts to even contemplate.

I loosely reference the two Tik Tok videos throughout my next post, I may perhaps do so the one after that. You shouldn’t be too lost on anything either way, but if you would like to, please watch them here:

.. If there’s one last thing I’ve noticed about Taylor and failed to mention so far, it’s her multi-faceted, layered and web-weaving approach to easter eggs and the way that one thing could seemingly mean another thing.. Or even nothing!

Time is not always the perfect measure when we are hunting for all the treasures 🤡

.. Stay tuned for the next post where we really start Clowning around in downtown delulu

Until then,

… Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye

Dani

Xxx

[coffee---bean]

a little post about blue lights

the cage thing has blue lights on it, hopefully. i'm thinking little electric candles inside blue ping pong balls, or maybe fairy lights stuffed inside ping pong balls, strung along the top of the cage.

i have a few visual references and associations that kind of explain why i'm doing that.

i think i associate blue light with spirituality and something profound happening. maybe that started with watching mulholland dr. by david lynch when i was a kid.

this scene is stunningly beautiful, and the blue light makes it feel like a dream, to me. i think i wanna convey that same idea. the scene also features a singer performing something completely life-alteringly beautiful, like a kind of prayer, deeply affecting the main characters' senses of reality.

there's also this cover for brockhampton's album roadrunner -

the glowing blue light...

and the lights atop chain link fences... it feels very abandoned or secretive facility. something existing locked away in your mind. something you aren't allowed to access, something designated for a special time - like a tabernacle or a staff bathroom.

and also, metal gear solid: ground zeroes, directed by hideo kojima, a kind of weird tiny game that has a strange metaphysical feeling. it kind of feels like an expression of a psychological state, rather than a "canon" set of events. and it's filled with chain-link fences, blue lights, darkness, rain... the feelings of someone stuck in purgatory, running around a tiny facility, doing the same tasks over and over...

another influence on this work is only god forgives, directed by nicolas winding refn.

this movie features a god-figure doing karaoke after enacting vengeance upon the criminals in the movie. the vibe is very religious and emotional and worshippy, which connects karaoke and prayer in my mind. both can be communal celebrations with a focus around one or two performers, like how people in a church could speak-in-tongues or express their faith before a congregation.

plus, music is a very healing and contemplative thing to me. i love the warmth consistent tone of a keyboard. pianos are more alive, but when i'm sad or lonely, the support of a stable tone like a keyboard can really comfort me.

another thought and connection to that i have is this cover of once in a lifetime by kevin abstract of brockhampton fame. the original song is by the talking heads, a band which kind of played with aspects and phrases and motifs throughout American 70s and 80s culture, repeating them over and over or putting them in weird contexts that make you rethink them.

once in a lifetime is another kind of prayer or existential crisis song - another song with a relatively simple musical foundation and a kind of shouted, preacher-like or spoken-word delivery, with a spiritual chorus.

talking heads' music also emphasised groove and dance, which feels relevant to the idea of dancing as a form of prayer.

as a big brockhampton fan, this cover is automatically interesting to me, and kevin abstract is an artist whose perspective on American society is valuable to me! his version of the song has this kind of karaoke vibe. and the whole idea of karaoke to me is like taking part in a larger tradition - a popular song exists and then the artist takes themselves out of it, so that someone else can take on that role. we can all be that artist when we're on stage, we fill that space for a little while. cover songs are kind of the same, but karaoke is obviously so much more accessible.

another influence on this work is old video games from the ps2 era. the way light looks like it travels through fog or air with those old graphics, or the blocky hexagonal shapes. everything is square. that kind of aesthetic really lives in my head, and i think it influenced the hexagonal shape of the cage in my designs.

also, the donda listening events orchestrated by kanye west in 2021, especially the 3rd one, which featured a faithful recreation of his childhood home atop a dirt mound in a centre of a football field.

[yellourr]

WEDNESDAY NIGHT’S ALL THE RAGE ࿐ NANAMI KENTO

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ SYNOPSIS. an argument with your husband forces the two of you into life-changing situations for the night, allowing you both to realize what’s important before it’s too late. [ WORD COUNT: 13k ]

✧. ┊     CONTENTS. black fem!reader, semi-canon jjk plot, written in third person (she & her is italicized), use of explicit language, unsettling content ahead so beware, art creds: hugues merle - mary magdalene in the cave (edited)

✧. ┊     LISTENING TO. love drought by beyoncé

✧. ┊     BEHILS NOTE. ah, first time I’ve posted any writing in over a year lol. I'm happy that I stayed dedicated to finishing this because this was so close to going into the pile of fics I've brainstormed and started but never finished. originally, this was going to be a retelling of the shibuya incident but… the original idea felt too boring and played out. I also think that this version allowed me to explore how I wanted to write the reader, nanami, and their overall dynamic. anywho, enjoy and happy reading!… or not ;) [ likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. ]

IT WASN’T HER INTENTION TO MARRY YOUNG. The idea of marrying in her twenties, and committing her entire life to one person whom she met when she was too immature to even know herself was frightening. There was so much to think about and even more to consider. The person she chose to marry needed to be everything she wanted all at once and that was too much pressure for one man to bear. 

In those minor instances, the concept of marriage to her just wasn’t enough- vows weren’t enough. Declarations of love were stale and overdone and anyone could disguise words with a promising tone. Even as she laid there- side pressed against the mattress, hand held to her chest while the other ghosted over her belly- her mind was stuck on that decision. There was no better time to contemplate it than today. The seventeenth of October, a Wednesday. Another day of ordinary activities besides the blaring weight she felt on her lower back. 

The room was cool, air conditioning combating the blaze of heat that washed over Tokyo.  She wasn’t excited to see the additions to the bill by the time November rolled around. Even when the heat prompted a third shower on the previous day, she snuggled closely to her sheet for comfort. No foreign legs were sliding across her heels, or arms wrapping around her waist. Not even a huff of air in her direction or the faintness of snoring. Just his blonde tuft of hair messily plopped on a pillow with his back facing the cushions of the couch, his face buried in them.

Nanami had come in the last few weeks like this. Exhausted, with barely any energy to spare. He’d greet her with a chaste kiss on the cheek as he stripped off his suit to shower. He’d be working after hours, unable to make it to bed by the time she wanted to rest. There were sleepless nights when she’d get up and brew some tea. She’d have it with a muffin from the bakery she got during lunch. The kettle would be left on and a mug with tea leaves in case he woke up. She’d find the untouched mug in the morning.

His hasty distance was strange but his punctuality was more concerning. He never stepped into their apartment later than seven o’clock, usually. But as of late, he was coming in a few minutes past seven. “Something just came up at work. It’s been pretty busy.” He’d tell her with a monotone voice- though it didn’t ease her mind one bit.  He still came in past seven, sometimes past seven-thirty without any further explanation other than busy days.

The behaviour was bothersome, consuming her mind as she showered, and even more as she settled into her clothes. A part of her fought with leaving a message about tonight’s events- but this was too important of a date for Nanami to overlook, not even with his character one-eighty. She found herself marking a post-it note, ‘Don’t forget about tonight, meet me over there @ 6:45.’

Surely there was a reason for his sudden change. It must have been quite the job, what with late-night calls from a Gojo Satoru that popped up on his phone while he showered. Which was as exasperating as the ones from an Ieiri Shoko. 

Jealousy wasn’t her thing. She was hopeful that the answers to her suspicions would ease later tonight, though she was nervous that maybe the truth wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Listening was a trait she learned to take just as seriously as talking. It didn’t even come close to the mounds of listening she had to do for her clients. After all, how else was she supposed to get paid if she didn’t?

“Shall we continue, Mr.?...” She twisted in her seat, attempting to alleviate some pain that pinged in her back. But also because the client today had an aura about him that was unsettling. He was a sight to see- dark attire consisting of a green and yellow robe, black hair that stretched just above his rear, and an unnerving smile. His legs crossed over each other while his hands lay in his lap.

“Getou, Getou Suguru.”

Her glasses hung on the tip of her nose, hairs framing her face as she stared harshly at the notepad atop her lap. For a moment, she looked up at the man, giving him a nervous smile. “When did you arrive in Tokyo?”

His smile widened, “It hasn’t been too long. This December will make it a year since I’ve moved into my new home. It almost feels cozy, though I don’t feel very welcomed.”

She nodded, “It takes a lot of time to get used to. Some find it easier to adjust more than others but that’s dependent on the person.” Her hand planted flatly on the notepad before pushing the glasses up, “If you don’t mind me asking Mr. Getou, where did you live previously?”

“Here, but I moved around after the death of my husband. I’m just struggling a bit with readjusting.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him?”

This time, he smiled fondly. His fingertips grazed over his lips as he spoke, “He was a wonderful man, full of joy. Very understanding, very loving, and very honest. He was always honest with me.”

Of course, this was the client she would get today. One enamored in the memories of his late husband when hers was nothing but distant. She knew that digging herself into a hole by opening her mouth was imminent, but it’s always been a part of the job to judge business that wasn’t her own. She was nothing if not curious, “He certainly does sound like a wonderful man… is he the reason you came back to Japan?”

“No, there’s an old friend I’m here to see. He’s been difficult to pin down.”

“Is he helping you with this adjustment?” She circled the ‘mystery man’ markings written down on the pad. In the last session, he brought him up briefly- only letting it slip that he was a teacher. She assumed this friend was the kind suited to helping him out with an issue as big as relocating.

“No. He will though, once we’ve seen each other.” 

That made her scribblings stop. He came to Japan unsure of whether or not his friend would welcome him. Much like her other clients, he was a creature for punishment. Another twinge of pain hit her, which made her straighten - the change in stature noticeable to the man in front.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. Y/N?” He spoke softly, concern etched into his voice, “You seem very uncomfortable.”

She shrugged, “I’m fine.” Setting the notepad down on the desk next to her along with her glasses as she gave her undivided attention, “About your friend- what if he doesn’t want to see you? What are you going to do then?”

This gained another smile, one that was followed by a chuckle, hearty and deep within her ear. “He hasn’t changed much. Sure there is more for him to lose but he’s still the same man I’ve known him to be.”

Before she could even think to respond, the clock had struck- eleven forty-five. The ending of today’s session.

“Well,” He started, dusting off his kimono as he stood from his place on the couch, “ I’m sure that that’s more than enough material for you to devise a plan of action for me. I’m hoping that this isn’t our last session together- I would love to see you on the thirty-first.” was the last thing he said while he exited the room. If he wished to make another appointment- Kiyoko was the one to chat with. Hopefully, by the end of the month, she’d be gone.

Today’s session was a bit tough. But tough sessions usually came and went. She envisioned that it would be a handful to talk to clients outside of something that she hadn’t personally experienced. When she first moved here, it was because of a position to provide recently moved-in foreigners with some assistance. 

The money was decent enough to pay for rent and groceries but the work was always a reminder of why the job was so daunting. If there was a wall between her clients and her, the wall was a mirror that resembled her frame. The wall reflected her insecurities and pain like light bouncing off water. At times, she even heard the implications of her voice spewing words of sadness, remorse, and regret. Speaking on parental issues and fears of change, the sessions at times were too grave to continue. She had been so eager to prove worth in her decisions that she hadn’t considered the mind state she needed to be in to help her clients.

Even now, what could be said to Getou Suguru that would ease his mind from his husband’s passing when her own would barely even look at her?

Not that there was much to look at now as she stared at the bottle of Marques De Riscal. A quarter of the bottle down and it was only six fifty-eight. Her eyes began to wander around the room, a sea of people accompanied by their partners as they sipped wine and laughed, making the area around her feel lonely.

“May I take your order?” 

“Oh not yet, I’m waiting for my husband- he should be here soon. But thank you!”

Time had passed since then and half a bottle was consumed. She could feel glares move towards her every few seconds, whispers grew, weaving their way into her head. The atmosphere seemed stifling, squeezing around her windpipe as her finger twirled around the rim of the wine glass. Interestingly enough, she found herself reminiscing about her mother. Imagining her in the brown leather couch she begged her father to purchase just a few days after they moved during her senior year. 

She’d sit there with her legs crossed and a ball of red string and needles with her glasses touching the tips of her nose. Paired with gasps in between breaths to spew her I told you so. Her condescending words on how right she was about the course her daughter’s life would take. How much her mother wished she were more like her sister. The last time she had seen her was the last time she made the effort to care. She supposed Tessanne getting into medical school was enough to not look at the failure of her eldest daughter. 

How easy was it to forget about her? Nanami had never been late, not when it came to events or special occasions. Not for something as tortuous as work. He might have been held up there, or some idiot on the road was driving too fast on the highway and built up traffic. She stared at her phone hesitantly. Seven fifty-one and only a simple message pinged on the screen to ease her mind. ‘Running a little late- don’t know when I’ll be there but if you’re hungry, order something.’ Maybe he had other things on his mind- other people on his mind. 

Or maybe, he just didn’t care.

Her phone rang with anticipation as she called. Nanami’s lateness might be prompted by work, but surely the company could let him go for the evening. 

“Hello, this is the Japanese Exchange Group- this is Jin speaking.”

“Hi, can I please get on the phone with Nanami Kento? He’s one of your employees.” She said lowly into the mic. It was weird enough to be in here for over an hour waiting. It felt even worse to have to blast spouts of anger through the phone while everyone around her carried on with their conversations.

“Give me one moment, ma’am.” He said faster than she could respond, leaving her with complete silence on the other line. 

He came back with a low grunt, “The person you’ve requested to speak to is no longer with us.” 

“That’s impossible… he’s been working there since 2015.”

“Actually, he hasn’t worked at this establishment since December tenth.” She felt her fingers tremble. Busy days…? How busy could the days of an unemployed man be?

That was one certain thing- Nanami Kento wasn’t a truthful man. Even though he prided himself on being a person who ruled with morality. With compassion for those who couldn’t provide it for others, or even for themselves. It was, after all, his duty to take care of things that other people wouldn’t dream were possible. 

“I’m gonna be so late to this dinner,” He murmurs to himself as the needle pierces through his lower abdomen. The blood compiled around his side as he laid steadily on the table. The clock above the door read seven-ten. Twenty-five minutes late but he knew he wouldn’t make it to the restaurant until minutes to eight. If the universe was trying to tell him something, it was that he might leave the night a single man. 

“I never told you to go and get yourself hurt, oh great salaryman.” Nanami could hear a hint of laughter in his voice. He let out a deep sigh like a petulant child. Of all the people he could have been stuck with for the moment, Gojo was not the one he wanted to be around. He stood there slanted at the door frame as he watched.

“Please shut up.”

He gasps, hands shooting up to cover his mouth, “you talk to your wife with that mouth?” The comment made him turn up in frustration. Which only prompted a swat from Shoko as she sutured the stitch through his skin.

Nanami also wasn’t the best liar either. But honesty had begun to run low on his scale of importance. And though he would like to assume that it didn’t affect him, it was her who suffered through his dishonesty the most. He could feel the way it changed the tone of the apartment. The both of them maneuvered around each other, never getting in the other’s way. Almost like roommates rather than husband and wife.

“Well look at that, looks like she’s all done.” Gojo called out as Shoko wrapped gauze around his wound.

“Change the gauze every few hours. If it’s still bleeding, you know where to come back to.” She handed him a bottle of ibuprofen.

“Thank you.” She gave him a thumbs up before she rolled her chair over to the nearby drawer, pulling out a stick from a Seven Stars pack. Shoko’s eyes averted from Nanami to above the doorway as she blew smoke through her nose, “It’s already late. Tell Itadori we shall discuss today’s mission tomorrow morning.”

Neither of them could respond as he stepped out of the room- leaving the both of them to look at each other. The heaviness of the room lightened a bit.

What was he to do with his feelings of despair? Ones that disguised themself as love? A part of him regretted it. A chill swiped down his spine the moment he heard the word yes from her lips. What had he gotten himself into? To be the man that he vowed to be on their wedding day just one year prior. And through all of these years of knowing each other- she never knew the truth. Not of what he used to do before he became a salaryman, or of what he does now.

But how could he ever regret her? The radiant curl of her lips showcasing her teeth. The passion in her voice when she’d tell him about whatever new food, or drink she was eager to try. The sound of her voice- stern and informative… but when it turned to laughter- it nearly made his heart constrict. How long had it been since he heard the serene sounds of laughter that vibrated throughout her chest? Or since he felt the heat of her fingertips dance along his skin? 

It felt so selfish to put her through this. He knew that from the moment he asked her to marry him- putting her through the pain of losing the man she loved. But allowing her to walk out of his life would’ve destroyed him. He could handle it, he would tell himself, he could handle the curses that got in his way if it meant he’d make it home to her every night. He swore he wouldn’t allow himself to be taken- especially not on his wedding anniversary.

He only hoped that along with his thorough explanation and an apology- that he’d be able to rekindle their relationship to where it was supposed to be, maybe even better than before. It was all he could think about on the drive home, where he smelt the familiar scent of vanilla and jasmine. Her clothes scattered across the bed as he searched for his suit, which dawned a deep blue that she thought complemented his hair colour so well.

Flowers that bloomed reds and pinks were encompassed in his forearms as he closed the car door. The sky was starting to darken but he could see the plethora of lights that spread across the windows of the restaurant. The sight was as beautiful as he imagined.

He stormed through the door to catch the receptionist, nearly exasperated,  “I have a reservation under Nanami for 7:00 pm. My wife should be waiting at our table.”

The receptionist stared amusingly at him. She eyeballed his sweat-ridden face which caused the hairs to stick to his forehead, his disheveled look, and the bouquet in his hand. She popped a bubble in her gum, not even bothering to check the paper in front of her, “The reservation has been closed.”

Nanami watched as her fingers played around with the pages of a magazine she had by the stand, right above the reservation paper. He sighed, brushing the hairs that covered his eyes slightly, “Look, I understand that I’m late. But the spot is supposed to be open for three hours. It’s only four minutes past eight-thirty.”

“And I am telling you, once the spot is empty the reservation is closed.” She said once again, pointing at the empty table at the far right. One that sat next to the vast wall of windows- giving the perfect view of a gorgeous body of water that remained at the back of the restaurant. Ridden with flowers of pink and white, with trees of equal colour. The same table that was being cleared of its glasses and a bottle of wine- one he could smell if he had been close enough. Marques De Riscal.

What an expensive bottle with such an earthy taste to it. Barely any hints of sweetness to cover up the blazing fire in her throat. She couldn’t understand how people drank so frequently- and to drink alcohol that tasted so damn boring. It had nothing on the hints of raspberry and lime with splashes of rum. One that had her chugging on her fourth daiquiri since she sat in the bar for not even a good fifty minutes.

The bar was quiet, nearly vacant. No one would be foolish enough to drink on a Wednesday night knowing the alarm would ring as early as seven. But then again, someone who wasn’t foolish didn’t have a partner who was late for their anniversary dinner. She sat, with her fingers dancing around the rim of the glass before huffing to herself. 

“Tough night, huh?” A raspy voice called from the side of her with slurred words and the prominent stench of vodka. Her eyes peered to two seats down to reveal a woman, with a glass at her fingertips, mouth ghosting over it. The woman’s skin was fair, possessing a button-like nose that raised at the base. She didn’t look any older than her, presuming the lady was in her early thirties as she dawned dark brown hair with strings of silver filling her hairline. The lady possessed equally dark eyes, at equal distance away from her nose, that watched her tentatively. “I mean it must be. Considering you’re sitting in a bar drinking on a weeknight.”

She hadn’t entertained the lady’s point, continuing to sip at her drink while her eyes became occupied with the large fish tank in the corner. Still, as she kept her distance, the woman moved closer- now only one seat separating the both of them. 

“I don’t mean to pry,” she started again, “but you’re sulking a bit. It’s kinda bringing down the mood.”

“I’m sure my ‘sulking’ wouldn’t bother you if you were a few seats away from me.”

“Feisty.” She chuckled, setting the glass on the counter and placing her hands up, they stayed on either side of her head, “My apologies, you just look like you need to vent about something.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Very, so please.” She raised her hand to her face, trying to block the view. Another chuckle erupted from her chest, making her tap her fingers on the glass surface in anguish. Surely the lady was drunk or tipsy, the vodka practically stitching into her nostrils with each passing moment.

Another wave of silence washed over the space, before the lady pulled her hand back, reaching for her jacket pocket. Eyes finally moved towards her direction again as her fingers glided through the inner pocket of her woolen sweater pulling out a spout of cash, “Bartender, another vodka sprite for me and a raspberry daiquiri for the lady over here please.”

The man behind the counter nods, taking the money, “Can I also have a separate shot of tequila?” She told him as he nodded a second time and then moved to the other side of the table. Now she was left alone with the mysterious woman next to her. “What? You want my number or something?” 

Another laugh came from her, this one much heartier than the last one, “No, I just wanted to chat- I’m quite bored if you couldn’t tell.”

“And buying me a drink is the way to start.”

“I tried to appeal to you before the drink but you weren’t having it- you’re too,” she taps her temple with her middle finger, “preoccupied.”

This garnered a laugh from her. She didn’t find it humorous but after today, she’d laugh at anything.  “I’m Y/N. and yeah- it’s been a night.”

“I’m Kira.” She mumbled, holding a hand out to her. Her gaze was still fixated on Kira’s eyes as she took her hand.

“Haven’t seen you around here… you just moved or something?”

“I’ve lived here for quite some time, just… never came in here before.”

“So, what’s with the change of scenery? You get stood up or something?” Kira blurted out quickly, causing her eyes to widen as her lips parted. “You’ve got a pretty dress on, your hair’s done and there’s makeup on your face- people don’t dress like that to come to an empty bar with no one to talk to for almost an hour.”

Suddenly, the memories of Nanami and the night thus far flooded her mind. She came here to take her mind off him and here his actions were, loud and bright and plastered all over her body language. It was enough for even a drunk woman to see it. Through the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the bartender. Dressed in full black, they moved swiftly to her and Kira with the dark pink drink in one hand. “A raspberry daiquiri, a vodka sprite, and a shot of tequila.”

“Thank you.” The both of them commented as the two new glasses rattled on the counter's surface. She quickly turned the miniature glass up her head, twitching a little as the cool liquid slid down her throat. She took a deep breath, contemplating the next moves carefully. She didn’t want to give a stranger a one-way ticket into her mind. It wasn’t her concern. So why did she feel this need to explain herself?

“I got married a year ago today, and my husband didn’t show up to our dinner reservation.”

“Ouch,” Kira remarked loudly, dragging out the sound of the word as she gulped her drink, “that’s shitty.”

She shook her head lightly, peering at her lap, “It wasn’t always like that.”

“Well clearly, he wasn’t always like that- or else you’d be somewhere else.”

She snickered, taking a sip of the daiquiri. Her sight moved to Kira’s full body. “He’s been working a lot and it’s taking up a lot of his attention. I don’t know, it just feels like I’ve become second best. To a job no less.” 

“Familiar with the whole second-best bullshit?”

By the time she finished her question, she already was down to half of her drink. When Kira remained still, she decided to continue, “My father loves my mother- supported her through everything, even when she was never right.” Her hand gripped the glass tightly as her mind began to navigate through the emotions that she swore died when she moved from the States. “She was the one who thought it was a terrible idea to become a therapist. Told me I wasted my education and her money on foolishness.”

Another gulp of her drink, “She preferred my sister.”

“Heh, let me guess, she’s studying to be a doctor or something?” Kira remarked, finally bringing the glass in for a sip.

She nodded, “Even my best friend- hadn’t talked to her in years before my wedding because of a falling out we had over her boyfriend. And yes, they’re still together.”

Kira nodded her head slowly, “So, what exactly does this have to do with your husband?”

“Nothing much I guess, I’m just worried about him. Where he is, where he’s been.”

“Worried?... Sounds like you think he might have someone else.” Kira retorted.

She felt like her throat clogged up on the spot. Is he seeing someone else? It wasn’t a foreign concept- it was something she pondered. But it wasn’t possible- not for a man like him. “I don’t know- he’s been distant these past few weeks- more so than usual. Maybe the problem is me.”

Kira’s eyes watched her attentively as if to examine every behaviour she exhibited without having known her ten minutes ago. Kira sighed, eyes dazzling with familiarity, one that she had only ever seen in the office with a client sitting on the sofa. “I doubt it- people don’t change overnight. I mean look at you, years away from your family and you’re still flooded with insecurity.”

“Thanks.” she scoffed harshly, “That makes me feel great.”

“Well, it’s true. Your husband is keeping something from you- probably was waiting for tonight to tell you. That’s why he was late. You’ll probably walk into the house and catch a glimpse of the young woman on his arm.” Kira’s tone began to mutate. The once playful sway that prompted her to open up about the thoughts beating against her skull now prompted a drawback and was open to unwarranted criticism.

“It’s what cheaters do-” She continued, turning the glass completely up her head, “they don’t care about hurting you because they don’t even care about themselves. And they probably hate you for putting up with them.”

Kira turned to her, much to her dismay as the atmosphere of the bar weighed dense with agitation. From Kira’s perspective, the heat that radiated off her body was present. “That’s not Kento. He would never.”

“Really?” She responded with laughter. “And that’s why you’re in a bar drinking away on your anniversary while he’s somewhere you don’t even know?”

Her hands tapped a little faster. Her body resembled a child, sitting and taking a lecture, remaining quiet. Wishing she could rewind before the start of this conversation with her. The lady with dark eyes and a drag in her words. Her hand planted flatly on the table, lifting her off the chair to lace fingers into the silkiness of her jacket, “Thank you for the drink, but I think it’s time for me to go.”

Kira’s eyes remained fixated on the glass in front of her, never daring to look back. It wasn’t until she turned her heel to leave that she spoke in an undertone, “Word of advice, sweetheart- leave. Don’t give him the satisfaction of watching you destroy yourself to keep him.”

All that mused Kira’s thoughts as she stormed out the doors of the bar was how she knew this wouldn’t be the last encounter. Because she wasn’t going to leave. How could she when things weren’t certain? Feelings of doubt like this were only reserved for new couples- not ones who were three years into their commitment.

Not when her mind was so fresh with the first meeting.

━━━━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━━━━━━

MAY 2015

The air felt warm- the warmest it had been in months as spring made way for new bloomings. There was a faintness of sunlight, the clouds covering any shine. It was eleven thirty-seven- lunch break. She decided to stop by a local bakery, which was empty, except for the workers, a man, and herself. One that’s cologne filled the atmosphere, a gentle smell. She paced around between cakes and muffins, small cookies, and various breads. How could one person be allowed access to such large amounts of food? 

Moments passed, and she finally settled on two danishes before she heard a familiar buzz. Her next appointment was waiting in the office. She couldn’t wait for the blonde man in front to finish ordering as she set the danishes down and strolled out of the store, jogging back to the building. The patience she was willing to exhibit would have to wait. An hour later, the acid in her stomach was bubbling and growling. Causing her to run over to the bakery this time, which was now vacant of any customers. Picking up the two danishes and grabbing her wallet to pay- searching for an extra dollar or two to drop in the jar.

“These are already paid for, ma’am.” The cashier called out, standing on the opposite side. Her eyes moved slowly to the young lady’s face, attempting to see cracks in the expression. Surely she was being joked around with.

“I’m sorry?” She said sternly.

“These are already paid for.” The cashier repeated with a wide curve of her lips, as her fingers gently massaged her shoulder. “The man who was in here before you asked to put it on his receipt and give it to you once you came back.”

She was definitely joking now. The only people who were there were her and the man. But he stood in front of her, how could he have known that she wanted the danishes, or that she’d even come back to get them? Why would he even pay for a stranger’s food without knowing that for sure?

Those words echoed in her head as she walked to the office, with her stomach still growling. The pastries stayed untouched on her desk. Untouched as it dangled from her hand as she stood on the train. Her keys fell to the wooden countertop of her apartment along with it. For days staring at her each time she entered through the door,  growing a thin layer of grey spots over the fruit as it made its way to the now-hardened dough.

For a time, she avoided the bakery, fearing having to face the man and confess that she never even tasted the danishes he insisted the bakery girl give to her. She found herself back in there after four days once she had grown too curious to taste the tenderness of the pastry. The day that her teeth bit into the flaky and buttery crust was the day that she, fortunately, hadn’t encountered him. She intended to thank him and hand him the money it cost him whenever she got the chance to see him again. But every day that she was there, she didn’t catch a glimpse of the man- almost like he disappeared.

She’d imagine it would’ve been a simple interaction. Nothing more than a few moments and then silence. As he imagined that the interaction wouldn’t take more than a few seconds if he ever got the chance to see her again. He’d been working for longer hours, dozing off at his desk with his stomach roaring for attention. Too much work and his appetite was shot- that was a first. 

It had been only two years since his transition into corporate life. And he found himself dragging along, increasing an already wealthy corporation’s stocks. He wanted to convince himself that it was better than being a sorcerer. He was distraught, but accepting of his decision to leave that part of him in the past. He was screwing people over by selling them mucky stocks. But at least he wouldn’t have to see anyone he cared for arrive at the school tattered and dead. A cowardly move yet one that allowed him to have a shred of peace.

However, the peace didn’t satisfy him for long. Not when he’d stepped through the door, the aroma of fresh dough and baked fruits filled his nostrils. Only for his sights to be set on the winged creature wrapped around the cashier’s shoulder like a possessive cat.  It made his eyes burn with disgust, and shame. 

“Can you take a step forward?” The words came out harsher than he anticipated. Still, she took a step towards him- her grin hitched. With a swipe of his arm, too close to her face, he asked, “How is your shoulder?”

She rotated the joint, feeling ease near the point, “Woah, it feels so light.”

“If you still have an uncomfortable feeling in your shoulder, please go to the hospital.” He began to step away, “Pardon me.”

As he turned to make his way to the door, the familiar jingle of the bell rang. He stood there frozen in place, gripping the bag with his cassecroute. There she stood, huffing and ridden with beads of sweat on her forehead. She dressed in a long button-down and a skirt to combat the growing heat that swarmed over Japan’s temperature. The deepness of her brown skin glistened in the artificial lights while her dark coils of hair were held together in a puff high up on her head.

“Right on time, I have your usual Miss Y/N.” The girl called from behind him. A smile flashed across her face, raising her cheeks and showing her teeth. How hadn’t he seen her in here before?

“Thank you so much, you already know I had to run over here.”

“You usually do.” She commented which allowed a sprout of laughter to fill the bakery.

He watched her intensively, fingertips lingering on the packaged goods with a wad of paper peeking out of her palm- face brimming with delight. Her presence was unfamiliar- especially for this part of the city. That piqued his curiosity- she must have moved here not too long ago. The thought, however, wasn’t enough to form a conversation with her- which just prompted him to eye her like a deer in headlights.

“Sorry sir, are you finished with your order?” she asked in a voice that poured into his ears like honey. He wouldn’t be able to process that she’d been referring to him if he wasn’t looking directly at her. Her face began to contort with anxiousness as she raised her hand to his face, snapping her fingers in hopes of gaining his attention. “Um, sir- is everything okay?”

His eyelids fidgeted, “No- sorry.” He responded abruptly, twisting away and catching sight of his head back. Blonde and short, and familiar- though she couldn’t put her finger on why. Then it hit her- the faint scent of his hair. Almost as similar to the aromas that surrounded her but as potent as the cologne he was wearing. The same one she smelled the first day she was in here.

Her legs moved faster than her mind, and before long, she was already out the door. Prepared to chase him down if she needed to, though it wasn’t necessary- he was sauntering. “Excuse me, sir.”

His tracks stopped and his head peeped back over his shoulder, seeing her sweat-ridden face out the corner of his eye. A part of him wondered if he dropped anything on his way out and how awkward it would have been.  “Something wrong, Miss?”

She managed to notice his phone pressed up against his ear. “Uh, s-sorry. You’re on the phone, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s not a problem- but you came out here in quite a hurry. I didn’t misplace something, did I?” He questioned, a tinge of irritation in his voice. She’d already felt like walking back inside, the embarrassment wasn’t worth it.

“Oh, is that woman? She sounds pretty.” She could hear the faintness of giggling through the speakers of his phone. Which only made the present irritation light with flames, and lifted a weight from her chest.

“Shut it!” He whispered loudly enough to be heard, resulting in him hanging up.

He turned back, brown eyes searching for hers. “Sorry about that. Co-worker, he’s a special character, to say the least.”

All she could do was stare into the eyes that looked into hers earnestly. There were etches of tiredness above his prominent cheekbones- ones that sunk in slightly, shaping out the rosy tint of his lips.  “So,” he started again, “ something you wanted to say?”

“Right, uh…” Her hands moved to the nape of her neck, fingers gliding over it. “I know this might sound weird, but I think I know you… Well, not really but I’ve smelt that cologne before so I know that I’ve seen you before or been in the same place as you.”

“You mean that place?” He responded, pointing behind her.

Her head snapped at the back of her to catch a glimpse of his direction. Dropping her sight to turn to him again. “You’re a comedian, I see.”

She laughed with saccharine sounds that caused an upturn in his mouth. He thought the peek of her teeth when she did so was pretty. Once she caught his gaze again, she stopped. “The point of me coming out here- I don’t know if you remember but the first time I came here, you kinda paid for the danishes that I wanted in the store.”

“I came back and the bakery girl told me what you did, which was kind of you. But I just haven’t seen you since to thank you.” She fumbled through her bag, getting out the wallet, “And well, give you this.” She stretched out to hand him a few crumpled bills that looked as though she ‘straightened’ them with the corner of a wall.

“There’s no need.”

“I insist,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while now. And I wouldn’t want to have to owe you back in the long run.”

“You don’t need to. It took nothing off of me, especially since you like them so much now.” 

She chose not to fight him on it, with his tailored suits, refined demeanor with high cheekbones, and a warm gaze- money probably wasn’t an issue. How could it be when he looked the way he did? She nodded slowly, “Guess I’ll see you around.” 

He nodded his head, watching as she widened the distance between the both of them. Making her way back to the bakery’s entrance. It would be a dime a dozen if he was able to spot her again. He wouldn’t be back over here getting his cassecroute anymore. Because he wouldn’t even be working that lousy company job.

She pulled him from his thoughts as he noticed her approaching him again, this time with less urgency than the first time, “My manners are shot, sorry. I didn’t even introduce myself. My name’s Y/N Y/L by the way.” She said, extending her hand to him.

He took her hand graciously, nearly making her flinch from the chilliness of his fingers. “Nice to meet you Y/N. I’m Nanami Kento.”

She smiled, “Nice to meet you, Nanami.”

━━━━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━━━━━━

Nanami thought life was so much simpler when he wasn’t involved in the inconvenience of politics. Before he became aware of his ‘condition’. Back to the age of eight, when his parents were happy, and in a way- he was too. When his mother would hum as she cooked in the kitchen. She’d trod off to work with his father who dressed in his nice suits- tailored to perfection. They would always make it back home after his eyes had closed and soft snores escaped his mouth. They’d return to the kitchen where the supper was eaten and packed away by Chisa, his babysitter, who was between school terms.

They never had the heart to tell him about his father being laid off from work- prompting his long-term unemployment and Chisa’s obsoleteness. The difference in the atmosphere came almost instantly. His father was snappier with his eyes glued to his computer screen and his mother was barely home except for a few moments in the morning.  There was no time for the new adjustment, but at least he could stay in the comforts of his room- his little bubble and wait for things to return to the way they were. 

It was naive of him to believe so. Especially when his sight was fixated on the gremlin-like curses that hid from his mother and father’s vision- plaguing his home and tormenting him. How could a child tell their parents monsters existed and were leeching onto them like parasites?

His mother couldn’t fully comprehend what his babbling was about. Assuming that their lack of interaction was the cause of it. “Maybe you’re just imagining it, honey.” She told him with her hands running through his hair. “I promise things will get better soon.” Mumbling and groaning as she flopped on the bed with half-lidded eyes.

His father wasn’t willing to hear it- a child with an overactive imagination wasn’t foreign.  A person living in his own home like a freeloader, on the other hand, was. He nearly jumped at the opportunity to get back into the field, landing his first interview and leaving him to call back Chisa to look after Nanami for a few hours. She accepted though time wasn’t on her side.

Things began looking up as his father shook the CEO’s hand in agreement with his availability to work. He drove home feeling accomplished, excited to tell his wife that she didn’t need to kill herself off by working sixteen-hour shifts. That excitement quickly drained and filled his face with dread. Blood splattered on the hardwood and the walls. Chisa’s body, mangled and torn, laid promptly on the living room carpet.

His father’s eyes searched for him- checking the entry point of their home. Hearing faint sounds of crying coming from his room. Inside the closet, with his legs clenched tightly to his chest, Nanami rocked back and forth repeating through choked sobs, “It was the monsters, I swear.”

It was that thinking that got him into the college in the first place. Seeking out the institution he stumbled upon two guys, dawned in dark clothing covering every bit of their bodies aside from their hands and faces. Watching the white-haired one take down the curse with ease, similar to the curses he’s been seeing all his life. 

It was the dark-haired one who suggested he talk to their teacher, who oversaw the students' tasks and acceptance. The hardest part wasn’t getting accepted, but telling his parents what exactly he’d be doing for the next three years at this school. Making up some lies about how the college was supposed to help them get internships to work at different companies in the country. The lie flowed out so easily, almost scary how quickly it came from him. But to be met with his mother’s warm smile and his father’s accepting eyes was all that he needed.

He spent his days slashing at curses that were much too powerful for his standing. Days with one who was all too enthusiastic about being there. Yu Haibara, the young boy that kept him from drowning in the misery of responsibility. A responsibility that was much too grave for a couple of sixteen-year-olds to handle. That unfortunately resulted in the same fate that came down on Chisa going down on his friend.

He wished for simpler times again. Prayed for that light at the end of the tunnel, a purpose that would make the sacrifices of those around him feel worth it. Just a measly piece of hope- but he struggled to find one. How pitiful he felt when he graduated and left the last three years behind him. ‘It’s what you wanted’, is what he repeated to himself. But how could he when no one knew what they did? No one saw what they’d do to people- how they’d devour their victims without remorse? What type of pathetic man would allow that to happen to innocent people? The same pathetic man who was lying to his wife. 

He tapped his dress shoes anxiously, waiting to hear the turn of the door handle. Pondering his thoughts- how would she react to it? She loved him no doubt, but the play-by-play in his head told him this would end sourly. It was easier to be labeled as a child with an overactive imagination. To be an adult and preach the same gospel was a one-way ticket to padded walls and artificial light.

He heard footsteps before she walked through the door- standing suddenly as the keys jingled through the lock. There she stood, in a gorgeous blue slip dress that highlighted every curve, every rounded edge. A chuckle left her mouth as she finally met his eyes, “Well, it’s nice to see you’ve arrived somewhere before me.” She glanced over the table, toppled with his flowers in a vase and an envelope for her sitting next to it.

“Baby,”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” she stepped past him into the bathroom. He followed behind a few seconds later, catching a glimpse of her back before his hands stiffened close at his sides. On the lower end, stood a slimy green creature, coiled around her skin.

“Y/N, if I asked you to turn around, would you?” he asked as she stooped down to search the cabinets of the bathroom. His comment made her head turn up, straightening herself out.

“What are you talking about?.”

“If I asked you to turn around, can you?” he repeated.

Her shoulders began to fall as a sigh escaped her lips, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Please, just- please?” he begged further- hoping that at least he could do this one thing before she managed to rip him a new one. She turned away from him, hand gripping the edge of the countertop. When he was certain, he stepped forward, swiping his arm across the area. Lucky enough the curse wasn’t anything too big and the relief came almost instantly. It surprised her how lighter her back felt- one swift move from Nanami prevented a drive to the ER as soon as dawn broke. 

“How do you feel now?” he asked, voice present with curiosity. It was faint, the opposite of the tone her own had taken.

She shook her head, turning to face him, “Weirded out.” she whispered, “But furious no less. I mean- waiting in a restaurant for two hours is embarrassing enough but getting stood up by my husband is laughable.”

He could hear the tremble in those words. The rage that was laced with them as she spat more venom towards him. “Nothing to say for yourself?” she said, breaking through his thoughts. Being this close to her face allowed him to catch the scent of alcohol on her breath. The stench of tequila burned through every other aroma.

If the both of them were to have this conversation, it had to be when she was in the right mind to listen to him. Not that he believed he deserved the kindness of her ears, “You smell of alcohol, where have you been?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know…” she scoffed, picking up the wipes from the cabinet, and placing them down on the counter. His eyes stayed fixated on her face. Another spout of laughter came from her, “What?... You don’t believe me? Think I’m keeping something from you?” her head snaked up towards his ear, whispering into it.

He drew in a strong breath, “We can do a little without the sarcasm here, don’t you think?”

“No.” she drew away, and the wipe moved along the surface to clear off the foundation and blush. “What I can do with is the truth. What happened to you tonight?”

“Something came up.”

“Something like what?... Work?”

He kept a stiff face, but his response was even more predictable, “What do you mean like what? You know I have to work.”

“I don’t know, it’s just hard to work when you have no job.” She shrugged, continuing to rub off the foundation. She wished he didn’t make her spell it out for him- he was a smart enough man to know when he’d been caught.  Her frustration grew the longer the silence went on. Once the wipe was done, she turned to him again, “Fine- when did you leave your job?”

His eyes widened at the question, face draining of the red colour that printed over his cheeks and on his full lips. That was the best response she had gotten tonight, “I called the company today to figure out where the hell you were that you couldn’t be on time for our dinner. Imagine my surprise when they told me you quit, after having believed that that was where you were going off to in the mornings.”

His gaze softened, shame overtaking his features as she continued, “So, I’ll ask again, when did you leave your job?”

There was no use in lying to her now. His voice was small, the words coming out muttered. “December.”

“What date?”

He shook his head, jaw clenching at the persistence, “I don’t see how that makes a difference.”

“Humour me, Kento.”

“The 10th.”

“A point for truthfulness, give him an award.” Her hands slapped against one another as she cheered, steamrolling past him out of the bathroom to their shared bedroom. She stripped herself of earrings and bracelets, watching his figure come to life in the mirror- his body just inches behind. His hands were starting to feel moist, a thin layer of sweat ghosting over his palms.

“I had every intention of telling you, I just-”

“Then why didn’t you?” she spat, “Something getting in the way?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Like hell you do,” the words came out in a rumble. She slammed the last of the jewelry on the dresser, turning to face him, “Late night phone calls, the distance, you walking through that door almost half an hour past time but I guess now I can see why.”

He said calmly, “Why don’t you just spit it out instead of beating around the bush?”

“Fine! Are you cheating on me?” The statement came blunt. A pin drop could be heard with the space the silence filled between them both. Her gaze moved away- fearful of his response or worse, his expression and ashamed of the insinuation. Nanami wasn’t a cheater- he wouldn’t do that to her. She knew that. She had to have known that.

Nanami could feel his eyes heat up with water. A lump caught in his throat as he followed the direction of her eyesight, focused on her painted toes. “You think I’m stepping out on you?” He took a few steps forward. His hands reached out to touch her face, cupping her cheeks. “That’s ridiculous. How can you even insinuate something like that?” His tone wasn’t berating, though it came off differently.

“Why should I believe you?” she shook her head lightly, “All you’ve been doing this entire time is lying to me.”

“There’s a clear issue here- accusations won’t help.”

Another chuckle erupted from her, “Oh, you’re insulted? Can’t imagine how that might feel.”

Her hands pried his from her face, stepping away from him as she slipped the straps from her shoulders. Her body was now bare, with only her underwear covering her. “What’s so funny?”

She searched through the drawers for a large t-shirt to put over her, feeling an instant chill from the exposure. “You. This. Everything. I mean- I feel like I’m going fucking crazy here.” shouts swelled from her throat, turning to him abruptly.

“You don’t kiss me the way you used to. You don’t talk to me the way you used to, I don’t know how your day was or what you dreamt about the night before… I mean, you’re sleeping on the fucking couch for Christ’s sake.” His stature hadn’t ceased yet, and he remained as still as she left him. A stitch of envy poked through the air- so much of her was exposed when he was shielded. Even his eyes, pools of a honey brown, appeared darker, more reserved. It infuriated her, to pathetically beg for answers to questions that wouldn’t come. Even more when she sensed the hot tears beginning to drench her cheeks.

Her body began to tremble as she spoke, fresh with anguish. She hobbled over to the bed, dragging her feet as she placed herself at the edge. “You come home and it’s like- you’re here but you’re not really here. And today,” she sniffled, wiping her nose, “today of all days, you decided to leave me in the restaurant that we made reservations for three months ago for two hours and only God knows why.”  

His distance was closing in, hands reaching out to touch her. His legs caged her thighs as he stood in front. The choked sobs coming from her throat, the shuddering of her face between his fingers- how could he do this?  She melted into his hands this time, looking up to follow the gaze of his eyes as they twisted in another direction. “Look at me, please.”

Her fingertip lightly grazed under his chin. “Tell me the truth. Tell me that this is all in my head, that I’m just drunk and not thinking straight. That there’s a reason for you quitting your job and keeping it from me for a year. That your behaviour is for a good reason- one that’s too out of the box for me to even have thought of.”

His breathing was ragged, paired with the deadpan of his stare. She knew what she was spewing tonight wasn’t unlikely. But god did she want it to be false. She just couldn’t believe it. She exhaled, tears continuing to drop from her eyelids. A million different scenarios of this conversation played in her head on the way here. Half of those included variations of this exact conversation. Ending with her, broken, rabidly scraping through bits of something that didn’t belong to her- recalling the familiar crack of her mother’s laugh.

She lingered a last effort to get the truth out of him. “Baby, please say something.” 

His expression was unreadable, making her more anxious than she had been the entire night. What more needs to be done? Eventually, there was a swift intake of air and his nostril flared. His eyes, maintaining contact with hers, were gentle,  “I shouldn’t-” He hesitated, his tongue lined with the grains of his answer. Her ears perked up gently, “I shouldn’t have married you.” 

Nanami’s tone came out so softly- she almost hadn’t recognized the words he said. Then the words registered- twisting her face into an unrecognizable expression. Shattering through her resolve, through what little careful maneuvering she did to prevent this. Fear. She searched for any implication that he was lying, but his demeanor remained. His eyes were unwavering- there was no thumping of his heartbeat that pounded against her eardrums. No bob of his Adam’s apple or trembling on his lips.

An isolated vibration echoed through the walls of the apartment. The tremors of her body that had longed to snap, ceased. She pushed past him, skipping to her bag on the dresser top. Answering the phone as quickly as her hands could swipe.

“Hello, this is Y/N,” she greeted politely, hoping her voice wouldn’t be deceitful. Though she focused on the phone call, her attention never left Nanami. “Good night to you- no this isn’t a bad time, is everything okay?”

“No, I should be off for the next two weeks. Tell Mr. Getou he can book with me sometime in November when I get back.” She explained. In the instant, she could see his eyes narrow though she couldn’t understand why. “Any day past November 1st is fine. Okay- no problem. Bye.”

She took the phone from her ear, placing it on the dresser as she blew out a huff of air before she could hear his voice calling out again. “Getou?”  He questioned, fingers tracing over his palm while he stood. Her mouth never opened nor did her eyes make their way back to him.

“It’s late and you’re tired. Maybe we should talk about it in the morning.” He explains- attempting once again to move closer, every step he took- she took one as well in the opposite direction. His whole body felt clammy now. “I should probably go, give you a good night’s rest.”

He moved towards the door, fire burning hot in his belly, creating a pit in his stomach.

“Kento,” she called out, causing him to turn. “There’s a hotel that I passed on my way over here. On route with that bar, you pass to get to…” she paused briefly, “used to pass to get to work.”

He nodded, turning on his heel to exit through the door. She heard the familiar turn of the knob and then the faint click in place as the door closed. Leaving her in the loneliness of the living room as the tears rained down from her waterline.

“I shouldn’t have married you.” She didn’t know if it was one of the only truths he told tonight. But he knew he should’ve stayed, held her tightly with his thumbs rubbing circles into the rolls of her back. He knew it was sinister to have left her to meticulous thoughts. The way his own was inked with the same fixation as his hands laid steadily on the wheel. The streets were quiet with a drizzle and fog covering the once-dark sky- surrounding the car with a thin veil of gray. 

The words tasted of bile and acid once they slipped from his tongue, scorching through tissue and muscle. It’s all that was coming to him at the moment. Here he was met with the opportunity to be honest, to explain what he intended to and his words came out wrong. Maybe he didn’t feel the need to defend himself too heavily. He knew things other people didn’t and kept things other people wouldn’t. Maybe he did regret meeting her- marrying her and keeping her all to himself. Maybe in this scenario, on this occasion- he was the bad guy. 

How could he not be when the love of his life now believed she plagued his thoughts with her inadequacy?

The words replayed over and over, wiggling their way through his brain like an earworm. Even as badly as the utterness of Getou’s name. It had to be a different person. It couldn’t be the person he thought it was. But getting to the school through a vulnerable source- a non-sorcerer, a human who was believed to be a waste- that screamed the person he once knew. It made him even sicker to think about how that source was his wife. It soured his mind even more- what was his reason for even targeting her?

Nanami would have to tell her the truth, in hopes that she could believe him and that through that, she’d understand the dangers that Getou posed to her. She wouldn’t believe him, but he’d be willing to do whatever it took to get her there. His mind also ran on Gojo for a brief moment as he came to a stop at the light. He’d have to call him in the morning too, it could be nothing after all. But their lives were never so lucky.

He pressed gently down on the gas searching around to see the bright signs indicating the entrance to the building. He noticed the light first, the shine of it nearly blinding his view. Then came the screech of a tire that made him crack his neck to the side. The car in the opposite direction collided head-first with his side sending an initial wave of shock over his body, feeling a sharp pain. The car drifted, stopping swiftly due to the dullness of the asphalt- flipping it on its side, again and again and again until the car rested on its top. 

It left him dangled above the ground, blood gushing out of his head. The sharp pain pierced through his sides. Nanami didn’t have the energy to scream so his eyes just moved around slowly, catching a small glimpse of a car next to him. The car was on its side with its driver a few feet away from it, blood drenching the silver strands in their hair. His sight was starting to get droopy, he couldn’t even make out the figure approaching, “Oh my god, someone call the ambulance!” He didn’t hear anymore after that- his eyes grew too heavy and shut too abruptly.

“Someone please call the ambulance.” The man through the screen shouted out with his hands pressed down to the source of the blood. Her fingers pressed the buttons of the remote shakily, with a bag of sweets taking refuge in her other hand. She thought she’d be asleep by now. Ten twenty-six and her eyes were clawing for rest as she flicked from channel to channel. It was apparent that she should be in her right mind to talk to Nanami tomorrow. But sleep was evading her- preventing her from escaping the nightmare of the night into a dream of a new day. Even blinking took too much energy.

She wondered what could even be said in the morning. If anything he said tomorrow could take back the words of confession he revealed tonight. If it could fill the black hole in her chest that widened with each passing minute. The intention of tonight was to get him to tell the truth- the whole truth. He hadn’t told her what she expected but what was the difference in what he said? 

Her fingers continued to switch through station after station, almost on its own before she made it to the news channel. Nothing caught her attention- there were the typical weather reports, local crime in the area- nothing too out of the ordinary. At this rate, she might as well force the sleep on.

Before she could think to turn off the television, something flashed quickly over the screen. A crash- two colliding cars that left one of the participants dead on the spot. Though she wasn’t sure why, there was this awful pit in her stomach that prevented her from switching it off. Her eyes scanned over the bright lights to piece together the crime scene. And then she noticed the car. The car was exactly like Nanami’s- scratches and scraps painting the doors. The same paint job, the same model. The street was the exact one she passed to get home- the one she suggested he take to get him to the hotel. What were the odds, right?

The words of the reporters began to drown out, just mumbles crowded the atmosphere. The only sounds that got through were those of her heartbeat, threatening to burst out of her chest. She could feel the bottom of her belly tingle, the emptiness of her stomach, and the build-up of urine that suddenly appeared. Even the saliva accumulating in her mouth became almost too watery. Her fingers were nimble and trembling as she let the remote slip from her grasp. 

She nearly jumped out of her skin to get to the phone, “Hello ... .this is she.” There were constrictions around her throat, tightening as more warm tears were attempting to spill from her eyes. “Is he okay?...”

It didn’t take long to get to the hospital after the lady had told her where to go. The difficult part was not being able to see him. The doctor let her know that he had some cranial bleeding and two of his ribs had broken. One of them pierced through his spleen, which they planned to remove. Sitting in the crowded lobby, picking at her fingernails, she watched countless people passing in and out. Their injuries spanned from stomach aches to deep lacerations to full limbs missing from their bodies. The blood that dripped from the wounds added to her unease.

“You must be Nanami’s lovely lady. Y/N, right?.” She heard an upbeat voice call to her from above. Her vision slowly examined the slender body of a man who dawned dark slacks and a white button down. Dark glasses over his eyes with a dazzling white smile and hair to match. He extended one hand out while the other was occupied with a can of soda. Her attention left him as she continued to pick at her nail beds.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He continued, placing himself in the empty seat next to her. “I’ve heard much about you.”

Her head remained away from his direction, “Strange, I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.”

“Ah, the businessman must be embarrassed talking about me or something.” He joked, soft giggles leaving his lips as his eyes studied the pattern of footsteps passing them every few seconds. His gaze made its way back to her face, with the same grin printed on, “Well, in that case- I’m Gojo Satoru.”

She figured if he knew who Nanami was, he was an associate of his. Maybe one from his new ‘job’ that she hadn’t known about. Not that she knew of any friends from the company. But, this was Gojo- the man sitting next to her with his legs crossed over one another- the same man whose name brightened up on Nanami’s phone late in the night. Strangely enough, with this new information of his identity- it made his appearance glow.

How’d he even know to come here? Did he get a call too? Was he watching the news like she had been and decided to rush over here? “Gojo,” She whispered to herself, barely audible to anyone else. One moment with him, and he was consuming empty spaces of her thoughts- the ones that weren’t occupied with Nanami.

Almost as if he had been reading her mind- his voice lowered to a whisper. Taking a sip from his can, he voiced plainly, “The lady at the front desk called me. I was in the area so it didn’t take me very long to get over here.” In the area? This was the closest hospital to the crash- how could he know about it so soon unless he was already here. Was this man on his emergency contacts list? Before his parents? Before…

“You must’ve been so worried. Car crashes in weather like this seem so obvious, but I’m sure that’s not really what you wanna hear, right?” He continued, nearly unaware that her attention was anywhere except the conversation. He briefly caught a glimpse of the vacant expression that washed over her features, “Hey, you okay?”

It wasn’t a long silence as she turned to him, being met with the intensity of his eyes. An icy shade of blue- nothing like the warmth that came from Nanami’s.  “Can I ask you a question?” She asked hesitantly. He nodded, eyes so bright it felt like he was peering into her soul. It left her naked under the lens of his scope. But not vulnerable enough to pass the opportunity to question him, “What’s your relationship to Kento anyway? What is it that the two of you do?”

The smile he had worn before changed, turning it into a solemn expression as he answered, “He didn’t tell you?” His voice sounded concerned, though it only read to her as some sort of confirmation. There was a bob in his throat as he took another sip of soda, “Maybe I’m not the best person to tell you about it then.”

“I don’t think it really matters.”

She focused back on her hands that lay steady in her lap, thumbs circling around each other. He contorted in his chair, resting his knee up on the chair’s back as his elbow rested on the top, “Look, whatever happened between you and Nanami tonight, it’s not his fault- I mean not entirely at least.”

There was a curve of her lips, shaking her head as he pleaded with her. “I’m serious. I mean he’s been ranting about how shitty everything’s been lately- how he wishes things were easier. I mean it took him weeks to find some good plane tickets to Malaysia.”

The sentence made her fingers stop, and her blood ran cold. The envelope on the table… His hands clamped over his mouth as fast as the words came out. “Shit- I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

He wasn’t sure what her reaction would be to him spilling such an important secret. He knew if Nanami was awake, he’d strangle him for opening up his big mouth. But all she did was chuckle, “It’s fine- I’m happy about how unintentional your honesty was just now. I needed it.”

“Mrs. Nanami Kento,” The overhead speaker boomed through the ceiling, alerting every person whose eyes weren’t too tired to close. She took one last look at Gojo and then rushed to the front desk instantly, watching as the woman’s face stared patiently at the blinding screen in front of her. “Your husband’s out of surgery. You can see him now.”

She took a step away from the desk, up the elevator then straight down to the end of the hall- the post-anesthesia care unit. Her body stopped just before she could make it to the opening. She wasn’t sure what to expect, more fearful of what couldn’t be done. She hadn’t seen the effects- all that ate away at her was guilt.

And when she found herself turning the corner to see the damage, she was stunned by the image of him lying there. Half of his face was covered in scratches while a wide gash printed over the base of his forearm up to his bicep. The wound was held together by fresh sutures while his upper torso was covered with a large gauze. Another gauze printed over the other side of his torso, though it was much lower. His blonde hair now resembled a faint red.

“Kento,” she croaked, falling to her knees at his side as the welted tears came forth again. She took his hand in hers, thumbs ghosting over his knuckles delicately. His breathing was being taken care of by the ventilation machine- pulse oximeter tracking his heart rate which was stable for the moment. But the look of him made her stomach collapse inside itself.

“You can’t even allow me the courtesy of being angry with you for the night- you’re so selfish.” She starts up again, attempting to smile through the flames that were engulfing her lungs, “I mean- you weren’t cheating, though a part of me isn’t convinced. Your friend, Gojo… he’s very pretty, too pretty for his own good.”

She waited. After a while, there was no response, only the tranquil sound of beeping. It didn't raise, or slow down at all. There was no flutter of his eyelids, or huskiness in his voice, or movement in his fingers. There was nothing but a shell of him and the shame printed on her face. Whether it be through her suggestion of route or her persistence in fighting with him tonight- there was no denying it.

“Baby, you can’t go now- not like this.” She begged, lips pressed against his knuckles as her forehead rested on his thigh. She felt her eyes growing weary, if only she could fight it. She didn’t wish to sleep, or for the day to end. Not when there was a possibility that tomorrow would come with more pain.

“Please, just come back… come back to me…” Her voice crept into a lower tone, hoping that her prayer would only be heard by the ears of her unconscious husband. 

She wasn’t sure when she’d fallen asleep. Nor was she sure what dreams her mind had come up with to pass the time, but the sound of shuffling, a loud crackle in voice, and a tap on her shoulder were enough to wake her. She was met with multiple attendees by the bedside, pushing her to the corner of the room, closest to the door. 

“Start the compressions now.”

It wasn’t until she was fully conscious, rubbing her eyes to notice the stable noise of the machine. Nanami’s pulse was dropping rapidly, which left her panicked. She attempted to jump through the crowd of people, reaching her hand out to simply feel the tips of his fingers. Only to be pulled back by one of the attendees in the room. “Ma’am, please don’t move.”

Her gaze moved towards Nanami’s hand- the only sight of him that she was allowed to see in the ocean of bodies. The doctor's hands were placed across his chest, pumping up and down. “His vitals are dropping and fast.” He continued, now opting for defibrillators, the nurse attaching the pads across his chest. 

He rubbed the two pads together before yelling “Clear!” A jolt came from Nanami’s body, but the ringing persisted. Another wave of electricity flowed through him though it didn’t do much, the consistent sound continued to torment her ear.

And then came that abrasive chime, the flatline. 

For that moment the room went still, and she found herself in the position of multiple pairs of eyes to stare, inspect her expression. She couldn’t take her eyes off of his still hand, unmoving with the warmth draining as fast as the colour from her face. The words grew stuck on her tongue and the acid in her stomach churned to burn her insides. There was nothing but the sound of the machine.

The doctor finally broke the silence clearing his throat to speak in a low voice, “Call it. Time of death- 11:10 AM.”

━━━━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━━━━━━

They say death is supposed to be peaceful. To be rid of a hell that wasn’t of a person’s own choosing. Born into a world so cruel and spiteful to its inhabitants riddling them with anger and loss. It was what consumed her throughout the week, as her phone rang to contact her parents-in-law. A piece of her wished she had someone close enough to call, to just bask in their comfort while her head spiraled. To heat the numbness that chilled her exterior.

Here she was, making pointless conversation in the small room as people one by one came to place their flowers and make their amends. Nanami’s mother stood close to her, holding her hand in hers as she wept. His father was closer to the door, talking to colleagues while he glanced at the urn in front, filled with his son’s ashes. She couldn’t wait to step away from the crowds of sadness that drenched everyone’s faces. She caught a glimpse of a similar mess of white hair with the same shades. Next to him stood a much shorter woman with long brown hair and bags under her eyes. There was wetness on her cheeks and her hands were crossed over her chest. All Gojo had done was bow his head to her.

Within the next week’s time, her final sessions came to a close- though she could never get a hold of Getou. She assumed that he might’ve been busy- talking about loss was complicated.

It took everything in her to pack away the life she curated in boxes. To deplete her hopes and dreams into failure. To tear the memories of their love and lust, of their pain and anguish from the walls of their apartment. To see remnants of them in the people she would interact with, in the fragments of him he left her to grasp onto. It turned into an empty lot with the boxes piled away in trucks ready to become pieces of someone else’s memories. Invaluable pieces of her life that she used to end the consistent nagging from the landlord.

If she’d known, if only she had known- she’d never let him walk out that door. She’d never be forced to grip the envelope for dear life- her last bit of him. Even as she focused through the window, seeing wide sheets of clouds over the horizon, the words of him, his last, replayed to her like a song.

To My Y/N, My apologies mean nothing to you- they shouldn’t after how I’ve been behaving these past few weeks. I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve told you sooner- I hope that someday I will be able to let you know about the piece of my life I’ve wished to hide from you. I know I do not deserve the blessing to hold your ears nor your kindness. I know that your love for me is one that I could spend a thousand years looking for and never find anything close to it. I hope you know, that you were never a second priority, you are and have always been the brightest star in my sky. Love, Kento

Marriage was sometimes painful- scornful even. But death was peaceful, just not for those who remained.

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